The Trouble With Being a Duke (25 page)

Footsteps sounded beyond her door, and Isabella prepared herself to turn whoever it was away, but nobody knocked. Instead, there was a scuffling sound followed by rustling as a white piece of paper folded neatly in two was passed under the door. For a long moment, Isabella didn’t move as she just sat there on her bed, staring down at the note that lay upon the floor. She knew who it was from, of course, and feared opening it, wary of what it might say.

Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her and she knelt down to pick it up, climbing back onto her bed and settling herself against her pillow as she unfolded the missive and read:

My dear Isabella,

No matter how dire this situation may seem to you, I believe I can solve it with ease, if you’ll only trust me.

I shall await your response patiently in the parlor.

Yours always,

Anthony

With a sigh of relief, she clutched the letter to her chest and allowed herself to relax. He was not about to let this come between them, and she felt suddenly chagrined that she’d ever imagined he might—he, who’d proven himself willing to do anything to make her his. A cautious smile teased the corners of her lips as she slipped her feet inside her slippers, strode toward her door and turned the key. If he still believed they had a chance in the face of all this, then so would she.

A
nthony was a nervous wreck by the time he entered the assembly room with Isabella on his arm (her hands elegantly dressed in the blue gloves he’d given her) and her parents following closely behind them. They were the last to arrive, and as they did, everyone else present turned to them with gawking eyes. As Isabella and Anthony sank down onto a bench that stood close to the door, Anthony felt his hands grow clammy while his heart beat erratically in his chest. Dear God, he felt on the verge of a seizure.

“Are you all right?” Isabella asked in a low whisper as she leaned a bit closer.

“I’m fine,” he managed, barely getting the words past the knot that was forming in his throat. She obviously didn’t believe him, for she immediately responded with a skeptical frown.

He tried to think of something other than what he was about to do in an attempt to calm his nerves, his mind going to Isabella and the trouble she faced. Even now, as they sat there to one side in the hope of keeping a low profile, Anthony could hear the whispers circulating as everyone’s eyes continuously sought Isabella. It was enough to send the most confident person running for the nearest exit, which, incidentally, happened to be right next to where Isabella was sitting—it was a miracle that she was still here.

“Shall we begin?” Father Green, the local rector, asked as he stepped up in front of the assembled crowd as moderator. “I understand the Flemmings would like to suggest—”

“If you ask me, we ought not continue this meeting until that fallen woman over there has left—there are children present!” The words were spoken by a man Anthony did not recognize and followed by cheers of approval, as well as clapping by others.

“She’s a disgrace to this community!” a woman added, encouraging the crowd to grow louder still. “One can only thank the Lord that Mr. Roberts discovered her true nature before it was too late.”

“How can you say so, Millie?”

Anthony’s head snapped around at the sound of Isabella’s voice, so full of outrage as she jutted her chin forward, daring the Millie woman to do her worst. Devil take it if she wasn’t lovelier than ever as she stood there defending herself before all the townspeople, though there was no mistaking the hurt that shone in her eyes.

“You’ve known me your entire life,” Isabella continued, “and yet you’re eager to think the worst of me without a shred of evidence.”

Millie looked momentarily uneasy, but then another woman said, “The account of your disgraceful actions has come from a reliable source, Miss Chilcott, and as far as lacking evidence, you’re wrong about that, for there was a witness who saw you accepting money for favors.”

“Who?” Isabella asked, not budging at all, though her hands were balled in tight fists at her sides. “Who witnessed the incident, Mrs. Garrison? I should like to have a very firm word with that individual.”

A hush settled over the room as the townspeople whispered amongst themselves. There were a few shrugs before Mrs. Garrison spoke up again, saying, “That is irrelevant. The point is that you’ve been ruined—who witnessed the incident is neither here nor there.”

“I’ve nursed your children through bouts of influenza, Mrs. Garrison, when work kept you from doing so yourself,” Isabella whispered. “How can you be so cruel?” Her voice rose. “How can any of you?”

To their credit, the townspeople looked well and truly ashamed now.

Anthony clenched and unclenched his fists. He didn’t have to look at Isabella to know that she was trembling, for he could feel her whole body shaking at his side, and yet her courage did not fail her. She remained exactly where she was. Turning his head in search of her parents, he saw that they had both gone pale. He offered them a smile, hoping to ease their concerns, but it didn’t look as though it had any effect. Someone else added a comment as Anthony studied those present. He found Mr. Roberts, whose mouth was set in a grim line, his eyes dark with anger, and then, just beyond him, Lady Harriett’s smug face. As Anthony saw her eyes sparkle with delight, he shot to his feet and stormed forward. He’d had enough.

S
till shaking in the face of her accusers, Isabella watched as Anthony strode toward the spot where Father Green was standing, approaching the rector with the fury of a man about to commit murder. He’d looked terribly nervous when they’d arrived and taken their seats, which was why she’d decided to save him from having to address those present by doing so herself. Watching Anthony now was like watching a man about to slay a dragon to save her, and it spoke to something so primitive inside her that she felt her heart might burst with love for him. Whatever qualms he’d had about coming here appeared to have been replaced by an anger so tangible that it ought to have terrified even the bravest of men.

Sure enough, the loud voices of accusation died as the townspeople watched his progress. One by one, they all shrank away from him, sinking onto their seats and averting their gazes for fear of incurring his wrath. And yet, in spite of how cowed they all were, Isabella feared that no matter how afraid the people of Moxley might have been of their duke, their opinion of her would remain unaltered. Truthfully, Isabella felt fortunate that a stake was not present, for she was confident that many of those present would have taken savage joy in seeing her go up in a blaze.

Nothing Anthony could say or do would change that. The rumor had taken its natural course, and Lady Harriett had won. Heaven help her, Isabella had even heard a woman claim that Isabella had lured her husband away from her and that he couldn’t put food on the table because he was spending all his money on buying favors from Isabella. The lies were rampant, and she in turn was ruined.

Eyes trained on Anthony, Isabella held her breath, unable to determine what he planned to do or say. He was standing perfectly still now as his dark gaze swept across the room, meeting hers across the distance between them. Outwardly, he looked frightening in his apparent ducal confidence, but Isabella knew better, for the way in which he rocked ever so slightly between his feet gave him away. He was as nervous as he’d been when they’d first arrived, perhaps even more so now that he was standing up there with everyone’s attention pinned directly on him. This was his Achilles’ heel—the one thing that unnerved him more than anything else, and the reason why he’d postponed taking his seat in Parliament: public speaking.

Isabella’s heart lurched in her chest. She wanted to leap to her feet and run to him, offer her support as he bravely stood up to do the very thing he always avoided. And he was doing it for her. She’d never thought it possible to love him more than she already did, but she was wrong—this selfless act on his part was enough to melt her heart. Nevertheless, as she moved to do what instinct demanded, he gave her a slight shake of his head, staying her act of kindness.

“It is remarkable how quickly a rumor can spread,” Anthony said as he looked at all the people gathered before him. “Especially when it is negative, born of nothing but hatred and jealousy. Did any of you even bother to consider the truth of it? I know that many of you have met Miss Chilcott personally. Did you not wonder how a woman of such decent and honorable character could turn to a life of depravity?

“Yes, it is true that her family is struggling and that she was hoping to marry Mr. Roberts in order to better their position, but I daresay that Miss Chilcott would rather starve than lower herself to the degree that all of you are suggesting.” There was a fire blazing in his eyes, and Isabella couldn’t help but notice that he was standing perfectly still now. “You may ask yourselves how I know this; how I can possibly be so sure that she did not do what the rumor suggests . . .”

Oh dear God!

Surely he wouldn’t. Gripping her seat with her hands, Isabella waited with bated breath for him to continue. She was powerless to stop him.

“I know,” he went on with steel in his voice, “because
I
was the man whom she was with at the barn. It wasn’t one of my stable boys or fieldworkers as some would like to believe, but
me,
the Duke of Kingsborough.”

A cumulative gasp went up from the crowd and Isabella just sat there, stunned and unwilling to turn and look at her parents for fear of the shame she’d undoubtedly see in their eyes.

“But,” he was now saying, “contrary to what you may think, nothing untoward occurred between us while we were there. I merely wished to speak with her privately so we could discuss the matter of her becoming my wife.”

Another gasp and Isabella’s heart was galloping away with her. Some of the people present started to speak, to ask questions, but Anthony raised a staying hand. Good God, it looked as if he had more to say.

“Now, I know that Mr. Roberts has had designs on Miss Chilcott for some time, but he is not in love with her, whereas I am.” Were some of the women who’d only moments earlier been willing to toss Isabella to the dogs actually sighing? Isabella blinked, and his words began to sink in. He loved her. Heaven above if he hadn’t just said as much to everyone present. Isabella sat in a daze while her heart thumped with delight and her stomach fluttered with anticipation. Anthony loved her, and nothing had ever felt more wonderful. “Now that Mr. Roberts has retracted his interest in Miss Chilcott, she is free from all responsibility toward him, and I am finally able to ask her the one question that I’ve been so desperate to ask.” Meeting her gaze, he finally allowed a smile as he extended his hand toward her, beckoning for her to join him.

Isabella couldn’t move. Her mouth had grown dry, and she just sat there staring at him as if he’d just dropped from the sky. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She no longer had an obligation toward Mr. Roberts, not just because he’d cried off but also because her parents had accepted her right to choose the man she wished to spend her life with herself.

Her mother had realized how wrong it was to keep Isabella from Anthony on the basis of her own terrible experience. Since then, Lady Margaret had warmed toward the duke, going so far as to tell Isabella how kind she thought him to be. And then of course there were Isabella’s own feelings to consider. She loved Anthony and had longed for them to find a way to be together since she’d first seen him striding across the ballroom toward her that evening they’d first met.

It all seemed so long ago now, with everything that had happened in between. The fairy tale she’d always wished for was about to be hers, so although this wasn’t the private, romantic moment she’d been hoping for, with every gossipmonger in Moxley staring wide-eyed upon her instead, she felt a surge of happiness bubbling inside her. It spread rapidly to every inch of her body until she felt herself growing warm and giddy from it. And when her mother gave her a gentle nudge, reminding her that Anthony was still standing there waiting for her to join him, she knew she must have looked a fool with the loopy grin that captured her lips.

Somehow, he’d done it—he’d discredited the rumor, saving her reputation and offering her his name and protection in one clean sweep. Of course, if anyone ever discovered the truth, his honor would take a severe blow indeed. She knew that Lady Harriett was sitting diagonally to her right, and she fought the urge to look at her, keeping her gaze trained on Anthony instead. Lady Harriett deserved nothing from her, not even the acknowledgement of her presence, but the fact that she had witnessed enough of Isabella’s rendezvous with Anthony to base a rumor upon it was most disturbing, to say the least.

Pushing the vile thought aside, Isabella smiled up at Anthony as he took her hand in his and dropped to one knee. Silence filled the air as everyone present trained their ears and listened.

“Isabella, you know that I love you, and I believe I have proven myself willing to do almost anything to secure your hand in marriage. Would you please do me the honor of becoming my wife, my duchess, and in so doing, of making me the happiest man in the entire world?”

As she stood there, gazing down at that handsome face of his, so full of hope and happiness, her eyes misted, and her throat closed against the yes she so desperately wanted to give him, so she nodded her enthusiasm instead as the first tear trickled down her cheek. It was kissed away a moment later by Anthony, who’d leapt to his feet and was presently hugging her against him while the whole room erupted with applause.

Finding her voice, she quietly whispered against his ear, “I love you too, Anthony, so terribly much.”

Chapter 24

W
ith Isabella on his arm, Anthony started leading her toward the exit, only too happy to get away from these people who had been so eager to pass judgment on her only moments earlier. As they drew up to where Lady Harriett was standing with her parents, however, Anthony turned a dangerous glare on Lord Crooning. “I did not wish to publically humiliate you, my lord,” he said in a muffled tone. “But I think it prudent to tell you that your daughter is to be found at the core of all this spiteful gossip. Had she been a man, I would have called her out. Do whatever you must to keep her under control and out of my sight, or so help me God I’ll see her shunned and ostracized to such a degree that her only option will be to leave the country. Do I make myself clear?”

Lord Crooning gave a curt nod of response, his eyes flickering with something akin to fear, and as Anthony’s gaze went to Mrs. Crooning and Lady Harriett herself, both kept their faces downcast, the arrogance they’d both displayed in his parlor only a week earlier completely gone. “I hope you’ll forgive me for bringing you into all of this,” Anthony said as they passed Mr. Roberts in the doorway.

“You did the right thing,” Mr. Roberts said, taking Isabella’s hand and bowing over it to show his regard. He might have had his ulterior motives for wishing to marry her, but Isabella had had hers too—theirs had
not been
a love match but one from which both parties stood to gain, and however much Anthony had disliked Mr. Roberts’s intentions toward her, he’d proven himself a gentleman in the end.

Thanking him, Anthony led Isabella outside to join her parents, who stood waiting for them.

“Congratulations,” Lady Margaret crooned, embracing her daughter while Mr. Chilcott shook Anthony’s hand. “And welcome to the family, Your Grace,” she added, releasing Isabella, whose face was beaming with unabashed joy.

“I should say the same to you,” Anthony grinned. For the first time since his father’s death, everything in his life felt good and right. Now, if he could only get Isabella off to the altar as quickly as possible, he’d be most content. Of course, there was also his mother to consider. He would have to send word to her immediately, and once she heard the news, a quick marriage by special license would be out of the question.

Not that he minded too much—she deserved the joy of helping Isabella arrange all of those little details that women were so fond of. The only problem this presented was that he’d probably have to wait a couple of months before taking his lovely bride to his bed. He groaned. Somehow, he’d have to find a solution to this unless he wished to subject himself to a constant state of discomfort. Needless to say, he did not. Of course, she’d snuck out of her home before on the night of the ball, so perhaps . . . ?

He escorted them all back to the Chilcott residence, but as soon as Isabella’s mother and father had alit from the carriage, he waited a moment before helping Isabella down, affording them a bit of privacy, since her parents had now almost reached the front door. With her hand tucked snuggly against the crook of his elbow, he leaned close to her as he whispered, “Any chance I might convince you to have another midnight escapade?”

Her head turned sharply toward his, and though her eyes were initially filled with surprise, they quickly started to sparkle with mischief. “Why, Your Grace, I do believe you’re hoping to seduce me.” There was a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth, suggesting that she was struggling to keep a straight face.

“Meet me at the garden gate tonight at eleven?” he pressed, determined to come to an agreement before they arrived at the front door, where her parents stood smiling and waiting for them to join them.

“I’ll be there,” she promised just as a lovely pink hue flared in her cheeks. And then their moment of privacy was gone and they were being ushered inside for tea while Lady Margaret prattled on about how happy she was for her daughter and how they must sit down together with Anthony’s mother and discuss the wedding gown, the flowers and whatever else would be required to make the big day perfect. Anthony, on the other hand, said nothing, his thoughts straying to the promise of what that night would bring.

W
ith a thick, woolen shawl draped about her shoulders, Isabella quietly opened her bedroom window at precisely five minutes before eleven and climbed out, careful not to wake Jamie, who’d fallen peacefully asleep an hour earlier.

Easing herself down from the ledge, Isabella closed the window, jamming a wad of fabric between the two frames to hold them in place while she was away. She then walked brusquely around to the front of the house and down the garden path to where Anthony stood waiting. “My horse is this way,” he whispered as he placed his arm about her shoulders and hurried her along. “I thought it best to leave him tethered a short distance from here so his whinnying wouldn’t arouse suspicion.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Isabella said beneath the strong weight of his arm. Heat coursed through her, and for the first time that day, she considered what she was actually getting herself into by agreeing to meet him like this. Her heart’s pace quickened with anticipation, for there was no question about it—Anthony would not wish to get her alone like this for a mere chat.

“Where are we going?” she asked as soon as they’d located his horse and were riding along the dirt road, increasing the distance between themselves and Moxley.

“Why, to Kingsborough Hall, of course,” he said with distinct amusement in his voice as he urged the horse onward.

Good Lord!

“But that’s . . . that’s . . .”

“Outrageous?” he offered, his voice still ringing with mirth.

“Well, yes,” she said. She attempted to look back over her shoulder at him, but her position made that impossible. “What if someone sees me? The last thing I wish is to incite more gossip.”

“We’ll just have to be extra careful,” he said as he angled his head to place a kiss against her neck, which in turn made her skin sizzle. “And besides, my mother is out of town, and I have sent all the servants to bed.”

Isabella actually gulped. The consequence of her actions had suddenly become very real, and for a fleeting second she considered asking him to turn the horse about and take her home.

But then she recalled their time together in the barn—how sensual it had been and how utterly incredible. She loved this man and he loved her; they would be married soon, though probably not soon enough. Did she really wish to wait until her wedding night to be with him? The answer rang loud and clear inside her head, and she shook off whatever misgivings remained. In another month or two (depending most likely on how good she would be at convincing their respective mothers to hasten things along) he would be her husband, but for tonight, he would be Anthony, the Duke of Kingsborough—her lover.

It felt both right and wicked all at the same time, sending shivers scurrying down her spine. But then she recalled the book she’d found in his library, and whatever excitement she felt was replaced by a sudden nervousness. He probably had vast amounts of experience in this area, whereas she . . . dear God, she knew nothing on the matter.

What if she did something wrong? Something that might displease him or, worse, hurt him? Heaven help her if he suddenly decided that they did not suit after all, due to her lack of expertise in the bedroom. Whatever would she do then? It would be too late and . . . and . . . worst of all, he would see her in a state of complete undress.

Well, she might as well call off the wedding now, because she was only too aware of what she looked like beneath the gentle folds of her gown. She wasn’t fashionably thin, her thighs had too much meat on them, and her breasts were larger than what was considered proper. God help her!

She was so caught up in her frantic imaginings that she barely paid attention to her surroundings until she’d been lifted off his horse, ushered inside Kingsborough Hall through a back entryway and whisked upstairs to his bedroom. Not until the door closed behind her and the lock clicked into place did it dawn on her where she was, and by then, she was in full panic.

She felt his hands upon her shoulders in the next instant and she flinched, stepping away from him as her gaze wandered the room in search of a chair. If she could only sit down a moment, she was sure she’d feel better.

“Is something wrong?” he asked with a hint of concern.

“Oh . . . er . . . no, not at all.”
There!
In one corner of the room was a small seating arrangement—two chairs with a table between them. Isabella hurried toward it, feeling in no small part like a complete imbecile as she hastily seated herself in one of them. She then looked at Anthony, who was still standing exactly where she’d left him, regarding her with a bit of a quizzical expression. “I’m just ah . . . er . . . oh, bother!”

One elegant eyebrow lifted in response. “You don’t seem quite yourself. Would you rather go home?”

“No!”

The other eyebrow shot up as well before he recovered from her unexpected outburst, whereupon it relaxed back into its usual position. With slow, careful steps, Anthony crossed the floor to where she sat. He gestured toward the empty seat, and when she nodded her approval, he lowered himself into it. He watched her for a moment before saying, “Something is making you uneasy, Bella. Would you like to tell me what it is so I can help you relax?”

She shook her head. It would be impossible for her to confide the source of her fears in him—or so she thought until she felt his hand upon hers and looked up into his eyes, finding nothing but loving reassurance there. With a deep breath she told him of her worries while he, in turn, sat patiently and listened.

He didn’t frown or smile or make any other attempt to judge her, but when she was finished, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed each of her fingertips before saying, “First of all, you must never allow yourself to think that I find your figure displeasing, for I love your lush curves and the softness that your breasts and thighs have to offer. Your body arouses me to no end, Bella, and if you don’t believe me, then allow me to show you.”

And before Isabella could fathom what he was about, he lowered her hand against his groin. He was hard there beneath the fabric of his trousers, and though her heart was beating wildly in her chest and her mouth had long since gone dry, she found herself unable to pull away. There was something fascinating and empowering about this effect she had on him.

“Second of all,” he continued, his gaze locked with hers as he moved her hand over him, “there is nothing you can do to cause me displeasure, nor anything that would ever cause me to think less of you. Just do what feels right, try whatever piques your curiosity . . . experiment in any way you please. This is our playroom, Bella, and as long as we are alone here, there will be no boundaries between us.”

His words of reassurance eased away her troubled thoughts, and as he lowered his mouth over hers, she did not pull away but welcomed his kiss instead.

Feeling the hot, moist pressure of his tongue as it traced its way along the seam of her lips, she opened her mouth to allow him entry. A low, throaty groan escaped him in response to her acceptance and she found herself leaning toward him, trying to get closer just as his arms came around her waist, pulling her from her seat and onto his lap.

Not for a second did he disengage his mouth, his tongue roving over and under hers as he pulled her against him. She pressed herself closer, flattening her chest against his and delighting in the wave of heat this simple act evoked. He abandoned her mouth to trail hot kisses along her jawline and down her neck. “Forget your inhibitions,” he murmured as he ran his hand up along her side, but then he stopped his progress (annoying man) and said, “Open your eyes and look at me.”

On a deep, steadying breath she complied and was instantly stunned by the ravenous look in his eyes. His lips were slightly parted and his breathing was deep and labored. He didn’t say anything further as he gently lifted her until she was almost standing, then he raised her skirts until they were bunched around her thighs and turned her so that when he pulled her back down she found herself sitting astride his lap. “That’s much better,” he muttered with a wolfish grin as he placed his hands against her bottom and scooted her closer until she felt herself pressed against his hardness. “Now move, touch me, let yourself go.”

Unsure of herself, Isabella hesitantly raised her hands against his chest. Remaining perfectly still, he watched as she ran her hands over him. She knew he wouldn’t mind her touch, and yet something inside her—some stupid, ingrained reservation—stopped her from acting on the impulse she felt to undress him.

She bit her lower lip instead and closed her eyes to draw a deep breath. His lips were on her again, this time lower, against the swell of her breasts, his tongue tracing a trail of embers along the edge of her gown, and when he gently pinched that tender flesh with his teeth, a flood of sensation darted straight between her thighs, and she gasped in response.