The Unclaimed Duchess (11 page)

R
hys moved through the milling crowd, smiling and greeting those who looked his way, dodging the elbows of the exuberantly drunk and weaving bodies weary from exercise and excess. The night was in full swing now, and after several dances, he was thirsty and so was Anne.

He saw a table a short distance ahead, laden with ales and a heady punch with some enormous level of spirits. His mouth watered just thinking of its sweet and tart flavor.

When he reached the table, another man stood before him, back to Rhys, filling his own cup. Rhys waited, trying to maintain patience and not snap out an order as was his usual mode of getting what he wanted in this world.

Finally the man turned, and all thoughts of drinks and irritations fled Rhys's mind. Before him stood a person he knew. Someone he had grown up with. A
man who belonged at this common village gathering no more than he did.

“Caleb Talbot?” Rhys took a step back and stared.

The other man looked at him for a long moment, almost with no recognition in his pale blue eyes. Rhys frowned. From all appearances, Talbot was well on his way to being drunk, and not in the playful way of others around him. From the looks of his sallow skin and haunted expression, he wasn't enjoying the state.

“Great God, if it isn't the Duke of Arrogance,” Caleb finally drawled, if only briefly. “Have you come here to laugh at my sorry state, or tell me you knew I'd come to this, having no rank and all?”

Rhys's brow wrinkled. Caleb was right, as the second son of the Marquis of Stratfield, the other man had no rank, though he did have standing in Society due to the highness of his family and the respect with which others regarded his brother, Justin, who was currently Earl of Baybary, and his father. Still, as children, that hadn't been enough for Rhys. Once he formed his “Duke Club,” he had actively shunned men like Caleb Talbot.

Now he truly looked at the man. There had been rumors he had been out of good Society for nearly a year after some kind of falling-out with his brother. He was disheveled, but his clothing was still of the
highest quality and cut, and there was something in his air that elevated him from a servant or villager. It was evident he didn't belong amongst the happy peasants around them.

But when Rhys looked at the other man's eyes, he saw something that made him step back. Something he felt deep within his own soul now that he knew the truth about his birth.

Caleb didn't seem to belong amongst their upper rank, either. There was a lost, painful expression in his eyes. One Rhys felt a strong connection to and empathy for. Those unexpected feelings gentled his tone when he spoke again.

“Talbot,” he said softly, “I had no idea you were here at all, actually. This area is connected to my family and I'm in attendance with my new wife.”

Caleb's nostrils flared and he made a quick glance over the group until he found Anne. She was standing across the courtyard, watching the two of them, though in the darkness Rhys couldn't make out her expression.

“I heard you married Lady Anne at last.” Caleb snorted. “Don't deserve that one. But then, men like you rarely deserve what you get. Bastard.”

That barb came quite a bit closer to the mark than perhaps Caleb knew and it stung Rhys. In other circumstances, he would have lashed out at Caleb for
daring to speak to him in such a fashion, but tonight…tonight he didn't feel a desire to do so. In some way, he recognized he deserved the slur.

He tilted his head. “Talbot, I realize I've been…difficult in the past.”

Caleb snorted out a harsh burst of unhappy laughter before he swigged an entire glass of punch in one gulp. “That would be one way to put how you've behaved toward me and many other perfectly decent men.”

Rhys nodded. “Yes, I know, and I have regrets for my actions.”

“You?” the other man said with a shake of his head. “Regret anything? I don't believe it. What could have brought on such an earth-shattering change,
Your Grace
?”

Rhys shook his head. Perhaps he owed this man no explanation, but he did want him to believe his apology. For some reason, it mattered.

“Recently things have happened,” he began, “which have turned my world upside down, and it has made me reevaluate my life.”

Caleb suddenly stared at him, and the sarcastic, heated hatred that had bubbled in his stare faded, replaced by a surprised understanding that Rhys hadn't expected any more than his own uncharacteristic candor.

“Well, I know a bit about that,” Caleb murmured as he stared at his empty cup.

Rhys frowned. “In the past I wasn't gracious. And I-I…” He trailed off, uncertain of how to proceed in these uncharted waters. “I
apologize
for it.”

He blinked, realizing in that odd moment that he couldn't recall the last time he had apologized for his behavior and actually meant the sentiment.

Talbot slowly shook his head. “This has been the strangest year of my life, so this fits into that entirely,” he murmured, almost more to himself than to Rhys.

Rhys was about to smile, but then Caleb looked at him and he could see there was no forgiveness in the other man's stare. There was nothingness.

“I suppose I should appreciate your attempt at amends,” Talbot said with a shrug. “I should ignore everything in me that says you have an ulterior motive and simply accept your words with the grace you claim you've lacked. That would make me the bigger man, after all. But in truth, I'm too exhausted to pretend that I give a damn, or that a few empty words could alter a lifetime of pompous superiority.”

Rhys clenched his teeth, but remained silent.

“
You
are one of the worst individuals I've ever known in my lifetime,” Caleb finished as he set his empty cup down. “And you can't take that back
with words, Waverly. Perhaps you can't take it back at all.”

With that, the other man turned and walked away, leaving Rhys to watch after him with a frown. And a sinking feeling that perhaps Caleb Talbot was correct. Perhaps there was no way he could ever change who and what he'd been.

 

Anne slipped up beside her husband, feeling like she was approaching a skittish colt. With a smile for him, she took his hand and squeezed it gently. He glanced down at her, but the brief upturn of his lips could hardly be described as a smile.

In the hour since she had seen him speaking to Caleb Talbot, Rhys had been distant. Oh, he had remained by her side, he had even continued to partake in conversation with those around them, but he seemed troubled, aloof. She had no idea what the two men had spoken about, but it had apparently been quite serious.

“You remain troubled,” she said, not a question, but a statement. She hesitated as another couple weaved close to them, talking softly in the darkness.

Rhys shrugged one shoulder and gently extracted his fingers from hers.

“It's been an odd night,” he admitted, looking around him at the fading party. The musicians were
packing away their things, leaving only a lonely lute player to strum his instrument softly, the forlorn sound carrying in the still night air.

“Because you saw Caleb Talbot?” she asked, retaking the hand he had removed. This time he allowed her to hold it. “Would you like to tell me now what you spoke of?”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye briefly, then he lifted his free hand to scrub it over his face.

“It isn't really a question of what was said between us,” he admitted. “It's just…being here, Anne…it's like looking into some stark, cold mirror. I am now seeing myself for the first time. I see the things I've done…the things I've said and been.”

Anne tilted her head at the unhappy expression in her husband's eyes. His regret was unexpected and painful, but it sparked hope in her, just as all the changes she had seen in him since her arrival had.

“We aren't static beings, my love,” she whispered. “The wonderful thing in life is that we can change our behaviors, our identities. If you truly wish to be a different man, you can be. I-I'd help you if you'd allow it.”

He started, and suddenly his dark eyes turned on her, fully taking in her face, really seeing her. And there was such sadness in their depths that she almost
turned away from it because it showed how hopeless he felt the situation was, and that broke her heart.

“A different man,” Rhys murmured, then he turned his face away. “Yes, I fear that is inevitable. But who will that man be? Who am I?”

She reached for him, her hand trembling as she cupped his cheek and forced him to look at her.

“You are my husband,” she whispered. “And it is late. Let me take you home.”

He didn't move away from her touch, but the distant smile that tilted his lips gave her no comfort. Even though they were closer than ever, even though she felt the shift in Rhys's behavior every day, he continued to withdraw from her. There seemed to be no way to keep him by her side.

“Home. What is home?” he asked.

She hesitated. The cottage just a short walk away was beginning to feel like a home to her, no matter how different it was from the life she'd come to know and expect. Their estate in London was also home, though a much colder and more proper one.

But those weren't the answers that would comfort Rhys in this odd moment of rare self-reflection. He needed more. He wanted more. For once she thought he might accept what she could give him.

“Let
me
be home,” she said, her breath and words catching on the lump that filled her throat.

He drew back and opened his mouth. She saw the protest in his eyes, the denial, once again, of the love she felt for him, of the future she wanted to share with him with such desperation. She couldn't allow him to say those things. She couldn't hear, once again, that he felt nothing for her but a desire he regretted.

“Rhys.” She lifted on her tiptoes and pressed her fingers to his mouth. “Please. Just for tonight.”

He didn't respond for a long moment, but then she felt his lips shift against her fingers. Slowly he kissed them, then he lifted his hand to take hers. He turned her hand over and kissed the top, gentle but also seductive as he tasted her flesh.

She sucked in a breath, almost against her will, and her knees went weak. He smiled, and for the first time since they danced together, since he left her side to fetch her drink, it was a real expression, laced with sensual promise and a longing and passion that rivaled her own.

He bent his head and then his mouth was on hers. For a moment, Anne was too shocked to respond. Here they were, in the midst of the village square, lingering strangers still milling about, and Rhys was kissing her with abandon under the light of the lamps like he didn't care who saw them.

It was delightful.

The shock at the situation faded and Anne put her arms around him, holding him close as she opened her lips to allow him access and melted into the kiss.

Before it could go too far, Rhys drew away and looked down at her with another smile.

“Come, before we shock the neighbors,” he whispered, then he grabbed her hand and they ran toward the cottage, laughing like naughty children.

 

The moment the cottage door closed behind them, Rhys's mouth was on hers again, and he backed Anne toward the bed with a purposeful, driving motion. She offered no resistance, she felt no need to do so. Of course little was resolved between them, of course she felt the drive within him to banish his unhappiness in the cradle of her body.

But she didn't care. She didn't even care, in that moment, if this was only temporary. What mattered was that they were here,
Rhys
was here, and perhaps tonight would be the night he wouldn't be able to resist the desire to drive his body into hers and claim her as his bride once again.

She ached for that, not only because it would force their union to go on a little longer as they waited to see if she would breed, but also because even as an innocent, Anne recognized she was missing something by not joining her body to his. Now that the feelings
between them were deeper, she had no doubt the act of making love would mean more, as well. She ached for that union of body and soul, she craved the intimacy of it that no one could take away.

They fell back on the narrow bed, his body covering hers, his hot mouth moving away from her lips to suckle her throat as he yanked and jerked at the buttons that were pinned between her body and the bed.

He made a sudden sound of frustration and then they rolled and Anne found herself on top of him, her legs splayed open around his hips, her body covering his. She stared down at him as he flicked open the buttons he hadn't been able to free before and her gown gaped. They had never been in this position, but already Anne could see the advantages. Why, if she was on top, perhaps she could have enough control to—

Before she could finish the thought, Rhys tugged her gown around her waist and then flipped her beneath him once more. He brushed hair away from her face as he stared down at her, his ardor apparently slowed by the need to remove her clothing.

“You were so beautiful tonight,” he whispered.

Tears leapt to Anne's eyes as she stared up at him. Before the cottage, Rhys had never been loose with his compliments, only giving them sparingly and almost with distraction. Now, with him looking at her with
such fascination and desire, she felt that he meant this one, and it warmed her.

“You don't even know what you do to me,” he murmured as his mouth came down on her shoulder and his hot breath steamed around the thin strap of her chemise. “What you always did to me.”

Her eyes widened at that unexpected admission, but before Anne could respond or question him, he pulled the chemise straps away and bared her from the waist up. Immediately he cupped one breast and took it into his mouth, sucking gently on the nipple. The thoughts Anne might have had dumped from her brain like sand from a child's shovel, and all she could do was arch helplessly against his chest.