To Desire a Wicked Duke (14 page)

Ian awoke in the gray light of dawn, painfully hard. He lay on his side cradling Tess’s back, his arm around her slender waist, his throbbing erection nestled against the softness of her buttocks.

For a moment he savored the sweet ache.
Torment
was the word that came to mind. It had been pure torture to sleep beside Tess for an entire night without giving in to his craving for her. Obviously he hadn’t completely succeeded, either. Betrayed by his primal instincts, tempted by the potent sensuality of her body, he’d unconsciously drawn her to him while they slept.

A damn fool thing to do
, Ian thought with a silent oath.

Taking care not to wake her, he twisted away from her warmth. Tess shifted in protest and turned toward him, as if seeking his embrace. Ian froze, but she remained slumbering peacefully.

Against his will, he lay there watching her in the faint light of morning. Her hair—a glorious deep sable—tumbled around her face and shoulders in
lovely wanton disorder. He’d always wondered about the texture, how it would feel to bury his hands in those rich waves. In truth, he could remember past nights when he’d lain awake wondering what her skin would feel like, how her mouth would taste. He’d also imagined pleasuring her, pictured her beneath him, writhing in the throes of desire he’d awakened in her.…

Now he knew. And that stunning knowledge would make it even more difficult to resist her allure. Touching her, tasting her, had left him burning for Tess with the kind of desperate hunger reserved for green youths.

The irony of it didn’t escape Ian, either. He’d spent the better part of four years learning to subdue his fantasies about Tess, ruthlessly restraining his impulses. Yet even though he finally had her in his bed, even though he could
legally
assert all the rights of her husband, he couldn’t satisfy his fierce urges. Not when he’d vowed to delay the consummation until she was eager for it.

His unrelenting desire for Tess still annoyed the devil out of him, Ian acknowledged. At least his lust was understandable, though. What worried him more was the strange stirrings inside his chest.

He shook his head in bemusement. It shocked him that he could feel such bewildering tenderness for any woman. He was supposed to be a coldhearted bastard like his late father.

He didn’t feel at all coldhearted just now, with Tess looking all sleep-tousled and warm.

Ian reached out to touch the vibrant cloud of her hair, feeling the silk of it slide through his fingers. His
gaze moved over her face, admiring the elegant sweep of her cheekbones, the heart-shaped fullness of her mouth.
That luscious mouth
. The taste of her would be forever branded on his memory.

He wanted to taste her again.…

Berating himself, Ian drew back his hand. Forcing himself to leave their marriage bed would require extreme willpower, yet he’d managed to hide his weakness for her all these years. He could continue to do so for a while longer.

It was some consolation that Tess was not as impervious to his lovemaking as she pretended, Ian thought as he eased from the bed. She had professed not to want him, but her body had told him differently. And he was gratified that her innocence and inexperience was no pretense. He’d been afraid Richard had taken their betrothal beyond genteel bounds.

Silently, Ian carried his dinner clothes into the dressing room and donned breeches and boots and riding coat. When he escaped the bedchamber, he descended the stairs and headed directly for the stables. After ordering his favorite mount saddled, he indulged in a long gallop. It was a chill autumn morning, with rolling blue-gray mists covering the verdant hills and dales, but the brisk exercise helped to ease his frustration and restlessness a small measure.

He returned to Bellacourt in a marginally better mood—until he reached the breakfast room and found Tess there before him. Ian halted on the threshold momentarily. He wasn’t accustomed to sharing his breakfast table. In fact, he liked the solitude of his bachelor’s existence.

His solitary habits would have to change, of course.
He was a married man now, and he had a wife whose interests he would have to consider in addition to his own.

Tess looked fresh and lovely, a sight to warm any man’s loins. Her feminine figure was garbed in a long-sleeved morning gown of jade green muslin, while her skin had an enchanting flush to it, reminding him of her shuddering climax last night.

The desire to make love to her still stinging his body, Ian made himself enter the room. It was her uncertain smile, however, that seared him. For a suspended moment, his heart beat oddly as their gazes touched.

Ian swore mentally. He wanted to feel detached from her; he didn’t—not in the least. Particularly when he passed her chair and bent to kiss her cheek for the benefit of his servants.

“Good morning, my love,” he said as he took his seat beside her.

Tess murmured “Good morning” in return, but Ian noted the color blooming in her checks.

While his footmen proceeded to pour coffee and fill his plate from the sideboard, he politely introduced a neutral topic of conversation.

“Would you care to take a tour of the estate this morning?”

“Thank you, I would,” she replied just as politely. “And I hope to meet the household staff also.”

Ian had little doubt Tess would fill the role of his duchess to perfection. She’d been reared to be mistress of a genteel household, and her dealings with her diverse charitable organizations had only increased her experience in managing large staffs.

Yet he had no desire to add to her obligations. To Ian’s knowledge, Tess allowed little time for herself, devoting most of her waking hours to benefit others. And since his cousin’s death, she’d rarely engaged in any idle, frivolous fun.

She might not welcome the suggestion, however, that she think of herself for a change instead of her numerous responsibilities. Thus, he waited until he’d dismissed the servants before saying casually, “There is no rush for you to take over the management of Bellacourt.”

“I know, but I like to keep busy.”

He could give her more pleasant occupations for her time besides work, Ian reflected, although he refrained from saying so. “We ought to remain at Bellacourt for a few more days, but I have business in London that needs tending. Would you care to accompany me there sometime this week?”

She met his gaze eagerly. “Yes, very much. I will feel at loose ends here with nothing to do.”

“You are welcome to invite any or all of your friends to Bellacourt, of course. Their visits might make your exile in purgatory a bit less onerous.”

At the reminder of her complaint, Tess blushed again, yet there was a hint of humor in her reply. “It might at that, your grace.”

“Perhaps you should call me by my given name,” Ian suggested. “You often use ‘your grace’ as an epithet. And when you address me as ‘Rotham’ in that certain tone of voice you reserve strictly for me, I always wonder if you are about to challenge me to a duel.”

Amusement did curve Tess’s mouth then. For a moment
as she returned his gaze, her eyes held genuine warmth, not coolness and wariness as they usually did with him.

When she didn’t immediately reply, Ian prodded her. “You can always reserve my title for whenever you are out of sorts with me—which is likely to be often—but perhaps we can call a temporary truce over breakfast.”

She continued smiling at that and relaxed back in her chair, appearing to capitulate for the time being at least. “Very well … Ian. A temporary truce. Although I doubt it will last much past breakfast.”

Ian relaxed as well, and for the next short while, their truce seemed to hold. By tacit agreement, they both made an effort to minimize the level of discord between them.

The moment of harmony ended abruptly and unexpectedly, however, before they were halfway through the meal.

A small boy, little more than a toddler, ran into the breakfast room, heading straight for Ian.

“My grace, my grace … Eee-ahn!” the tot chimed in a singsong voice. “You came back from Lon’on.”

Seeing Tess start in surprise, Ian stifled an oath at the poor timing. He was fiercely glad to see the young boy, but he hadn’t wanted for his new bride to be confronted with this fresh issue quite so soon.

The towheaded child raised his arms, however, asking to be held, so Ian pushed back his chair and scooped Jamie onto his lap.

Just then the boy’s nurse hurried into the room after her charge and halted in consternation upon catching sight of Tess.

Looking harried and flustered, Mrs. Dixon curtsied and began apologizing profusely. “I beg your forgiveness, your grace. Jamie got away from me when my back was turned. We were eating breakfast in the kitchens, but he wanted so badly to see you. He could scarcely sleep last night, knowing you had arrived home.”

“It is all right, Mrs. Dixon. I know what a handful this little scamp can be.”

Grinning, Jamie threw his little arms around Ian’s neck, hugging with all his might, while Ian watched Tess. The resemblance had clearly dawned on her, for a hint of shock flashed in her eyes, followed by an even more fleeting look of hurt.

Yet she quickly masked her reaction and kept her expression carefully neutral, merely raising an eyebrow in question, silently asking for an explanation.

Ian’s attention was promptly claimed by the child, though.

“You bring me present, my grace?”

Jamie was incorrigible, outspoken, and supremely confident of his unshakable place in Ian’s affections.

“Of course. Mrs. Dixon will deliver it to you shortly. But you will have to learn manners, my boy. You know it is bad of you to worry her.”

Ian shifted his gaze to Tess. “This is my ward, James Mortimer, and his nurse, Mrs. Dixon.”

Tess sent the woman a polite smile, but returned her focus to the boy. Jamie turned shy for a moment and hid his face in Ian’s shoulder, then peered back at Tess.

“She won’t bite you, scamp,” Ian said, adding in an undervoice, “she reserves her bites for me.”

Tess visibly swallowed her retort at his provocation and offered her hand. “How do you do, Master James? I am pleased to meet you.”

The boy giggled and clasped her hand briefly, then buried his face against Ian’s chest again.

“Say good morning to Miss Tess, Jamie. She is my new duchess. She will be living here at Bellacourt from now on.”

He raised his head to gaze worshipfully up at Ian. “With
us
?”

“Yes, with us. It would be kind of you to welcome her.”

James considered Tess seriously before pointing at her. “Pretty lady.”

“Yes, she is,” Ian agreed. “But a gentleman does not call attention to a lady’s looks if he knows what is good for him.” His tone turned more firm as he held the child’s blue-eyed gaze. “Mrs. Dixon will bring you your present shortly. For now I must attend to some matters with Miss Tess. But I will visit the nursery later today.”

“So we can feed the ducks? I want to feed the ducks, Eee-ahn.”

Ian glanced out the window at the gray autumn day. “There are few ducks left this time of year, imp. But if it doesn’t rain again, I will show you how to build a fort out of leaves. The gardeners have saved a large pile especially for you.”

Jamie squealed and clapped his small hands. “You promise?”

“Yes. Have I ever broken my promises to you?”

“No.” The toddler beamed, then abruptly changed the subject. “I have a new friend her name is Sheila
and she has a lamb, his coat is so
soft
when you pet it, you should pet it Eee-ahn and you will see how soft.”

“I want to hear all about your new friend and her lamb, Jamie, but for now you should go back to your breakfast.”

“Yes, my grace!”

Ian relished the violent hug the child gave him. Then, still grinning, Jamie scrambled down and ran back to his nurse, who led him from the room after giving the duke another curtsy and a humble, apologetic look.

When they had gone, a profound silence reigned.

Tess stared down at her plate, avoiding Ian’s gaze. It was several moments before she finally spoke. “Why did you not tell me about Jamie?”

Ian hesitated, knowing he had to choose his words with care. “I planned to eventually, but there has scarcely been time in the past two days.”

She looked up, her dark eyes measuring him. “Is he your son?”

Ian parried her question as he picked up his coffee cup. “Why would you assume he is mine?”

“He looks very much like you.”

Although he didn’t reply directly to her observation, he responded with a significant part of the truth, not wanting to lie to her. “Jamie is not a by-blow, Tess. When his mother bore him, she was wed to one of my London footmen. Jamie was a mere baby when he lost her to the same influenza epidemic that took your mother. I legally made him my ward to give him a better life.”

Tess’s sympathy was immediate at the tale of a helpless baby growing up motherless, yet he could see
the distress on her face. Any genteel young lady would be angry and hurt to think her husband had sired a child out of wedlock, which was clearly what she had assumed of him.

“I never heard any rumors that you had a ward, natural born or not,” she murmured.

“My servants are protective of Jamie and shield him from the gossips as much as possible.”

“How old is he?”

“Three, nearly four.”

Ian saw her making the mental calculations … determining that Jamie had been born the year after her London Season and that he’d lost his mother in December of 1814, the same hard winter that Tess had lost her own mother.

“I don’t know why I am surprised,” she added quietly. “Richard always said you were a wicked rake.”

It irked Ian that she would leap to conclude he was the one who had sinned. It irked him more that Tess had always relied on his cousin’s account of events to make her judgments of him. But he clamped his lips shut. He didn’t intend to offer her meaningless defenses, nor would he shatter her illusions. Prevarications would hurt her much less than the truth.