To Marry The Duke (22 page)

“
Always
. Yes, I know. But that’s just it, you see. She is your mother’s choice, not mine, and I am nothing like your mother.”

That was becoming more and more clear to him every day.

“I wish to choose for myself,” she continued. “I want someone I can feel comfortable with. Perhaps then I wouldn’t mind my maid doing all the things a maid is supposed to do for me.”

Comfortable
. “All right then. Why don’t you see the housekeeper about it? I’m sure she’ll be able to look into—”

“I already did. I explained everything to Mildred last night, and she agreed to accept her pension early. She was quite relieved, actually. I think I might have… how shall I say it?… put her off more than once.”

James couldn’t help smiling at the thought of Sophia putting Mildred “off.” “Somehow I’m not surprised.”

Sophia returned his smile. “You don’t mind, then?”

“Of course not. If it will make your adjustment easier.”

James realized with an unaccustomed sense of easiness that they were having an orderly, casual discussion about the household. Perhaps it was possible for them to abandon what they had been to each other on their honeymoon—when they’d touched and kissed constantly, held hands, locked ankles under clothed tables.

There was some aloofness on Sophia’s part today, as if she was willing to operate in this marriage without wanting his affections. As if she was getting over the anger she felt toward him. She seemed stronger.

Perhaps he had not made such a terrible mistake after all.

He slapped the side of the carriage to signal the driver and watched until they grew distant down the rocky, winding road toward the house.

Sophia did not permit herself to turn around in the carriage and look back at James at the Jenson cottage. He was too handsome, today, too charming, and she was afraid that if she did, she would slip back into that hopeless obsession, for she still loved him far more than she should. Instead, she violently suppressed the urge and forced herself to gaze up at the clear blue sky.

Lord, she’d had so many moments of flip-flopping emotions over the past month. One minute she wanted to pitch a vase at her husband, who had been inconceivably cruel to her on that horrible night—still with no explanation that made any sense to her. On top of that, he’d thrown her into this new life with a cavalier “sink or swim” approach, and had offered no support.

Other times, on those rare occasions like today when he spoke to her and flashed a smile, she wanted him back. More than she’d ever wanted anything. The knowledge that he would make love to her again when her body was ripe to produce an heir was, quite frankly, the only thing that kept her going. She could not let go of the hope that they would rekindle something of what they’d had, for she needed intimacy in her life, a deep soulful connection with another human being. She could not live without it. Her visits to the tenants were filling a small part of that need, but it was not the same thing as the spiritual and physical connection she’d thought she’d had with her husband.

She pulled off her gloves and felt a sting at the realization that she had given up all her previous intimacies for him—her sisters, her mother, her father. She had been so sure that he would be there for her.

With a heavy, melancholy sigh, she prayed that one day they would come to a livable arrangement that would suit them both and that she would understand the real reason why he had rejected her.

Chapter 18

Exhausted, hoping sleep would come swiftly, Sophia climbed into bed after an evening of interviews with possible new maids. Sophia required a woman with experience—for she needed to rely on her maid to understand and teach her aristocratic protocol. Yet at the same time, Sophia did not want anyone quite as “experienced” as Mildred.

She turned the key in her crystal lamp and snuggled down into the ducal sheets.

A gentle knock sounded at her door. Sophia sat up in the darkness. “Come in.”

The door opened and there stood her husband in his black silk night robe, holding a candelabra. The robe was open in front, and Sophia could see the smooth, muscular curves of his chest and stomach. His jet-black hair tumbled loose and wavy about his shoulders.

A quiver coursed through her veins. She wiggled on the bed and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. He was the most magnificent specimen of a man she’d ever encountered in her life. She could not even imagine that anyone on the planet could be more visually impressive.

“Did I wake you?” he asked.

She struggled to sound casual and at ease. “No, I just put the light out a moment ago. Come in.”

Was he here for what she thought he was here for? To make love to her again, after all this time without so much as a smile or gesture of affection? Had the time finally come?

A hot lightning bolt of desire slammed into her, for despite all her anger and determination not to think of him these past weeks, she
had
thought of him. She’d dreamed of making love to him again, imagined the feel of his hands under her gown, the heavy warmth of his naked body on top of hers, the mind-numbing sensation of his erection sliding into her.

He moved into the room and set his candles on a chest of drawers. Like Sophia, he must have been counting the days until the time was about right to conceive a child.

A more rational part of her felt some indignation at that, for he was making it clear that their lovemaking was still about duty, nothing more, just like he’d said it would be that dreadful night before he left for London.

Another part of her—the more hedonistic part she could not seem to deny no matter how hard she tried— couldn’t care less about his motivations. All that mattered was that he was here. He was here to make love to her, and she was going to enjoy every sinfully glorious minute of it.

She only hoped she would be able to maintain her composure through it all, and not push him to explain why he was so against loving her, or feel heartbroken when he left. She had made it her goal to be strong and patient, for she certainly could not force him to love her.

Her husband closed the door behind him and locked it, then sauntered confidently like a lion to the bed. All Sophia’s senses prickled with awareness of him as a masterful, sexual being.

“Any luck finding a new maid?” His voice was low. Husky.

“Not yet.” She tried to keep her voice from revealing the quickening of her heart as he approached. “But there are two more ladies coming tomorrow.”

“Excellent. The housekeeper’s been cooperative, then?”

“Yes, very.” She had the distinct feeling that James might have spoken to the housekeeper himself, to ensure the hiring went smoothly.

He sat down on the edge of her bed and stroked her forearm with a finger. “How are things otherwise?”

Gooseflesh shimmied up her back. “Fine, though I still have a great deal to learn.”

“I don’t doubt you’ll master it in your own time and in your own way.”

“My own way? I don’t think your mother would approve of that.”

He grinned. “I don’t expect you to be my mother. In fact, I’d prefer it if you weren’t.”

The flirtatious look in his eye fired another hot thrill straight through her.

She scrambled to keep her mind alert to what he was saying, when all she really wanted to do was stare at him in awed silence. “Do you mean I can do things the way I want?”

“Within reason.”

“What do you mean by that?”

James raised a leg to rest on the bed. “I’ve been watching you the past week. I’ve seen you go riding and visiting tenants. I know about the scullery maid you sent away on holiday.”

Sophia felt her cheeks flush.

“I can only guess what kind of opposition you went up against to accomplish that,” he added.

“The housekeeper wasn’t impressed. Nor was your mother.”

He laughed. “I don’t imagine she was, but it’s good for Mother to have someone stand up to her. You did a brave thing, let her know you’re not a jellyfish. If you hadn’t, she would have had strings tied to your limbs and joints in no time, and the servants would continue to look to her for direction.”

“They still do. They listen to me when I’m alone, but when your mother is in the room, they glance at her for a final nod about whatever request I make.”

He touched her cheek. “They’re set in their ways, Sophia, and they expect things to be done the way they have always been done. They’ll adjust to you eventually, as you will adjust to them.”

His fingers were a soft, soothing caress, and Sophia for the first time in weeks felt the comfort of having someone acknowledge what she was going through, and care enough to try and ease her woes. She wanted to preserve this feeling of closeness and understanding.

If only James could come to her like this every night and talk to her, this strange, new existence would be so much easier to bear. She needed this emotional closeness. She needed
him
.

Sophia cupped his hand in hers and kissed it. “Thank you, James. I’ve been feeling so lost and—”

He stopped her words with a kiss, and Sophia responded instantly, burying her fingers into the hair at his nape. She wasn’t sure why he had stopped her—if it was because he wanted to make love to her and couldn’t wait, or if he simply did not want to talk anymore about personal matters. She suspected it was a little bit of both, but whatever his reason, she would accept it, because she wanted him now, more than she’d ever wanted him before. She wanted the warmth and the touching, and no amount of pride or rational restraint was powerful enough to make her refuse him.

He withdrew from the kiss and fondled her earlobe between two fingers, sending a rush of titillating shivers down her spine.

“I presume you know why I’m here,” he murmured.

She nodded.

“And you’re willing this evening?”

In some indirect, roundabout way, he was handing the reins to her, letting her be the one to decide what would or would not occur in this bed tonight. Letting her know that he was in this small way, her servant.

“I’m more than willing, James. I’ve been waiting for you. For days, now.”

His eyes became sexual. Predatory. “And what,
exactly
, have you been waiting for? This?” He slowly and tenderly pressed his mouth to hers again, parting her lips with his own and probing inside with his tongue. His fingers played in the wisps of hair around her temple, igniting her senses with tantalizing, tingling desires.

Sophia clutched at his head, deepening the kiss.

“Or this?” He growled out the words as his hand slid down her neck and into the warm confines of her nightgown, stopping to relax upon her breast and massage it gently.

Awakening to a sudden and intense onslaught of need, Sophia sucked in a breath. She couldn’t speak to answer his sexually charged question.

“Or perhaps you’ve been waiting for what I’ve been waiting for…” He eased her down onto the bed and leaned over her.

“And what was that?” she asked breathlessly, her heart racing, seeming to burn a hole inside her chest.

James smiled wickedly. “Everything. Beginning with this, I believe.” He gathered the hem of her nightgown in his huge hand and carefully drew it up, sliding his fingers up the side of her leg as he did so, then he found the damp center between her thighs. “Is this what you’ve been waiting for, too?”

Completely disabled by his skillful touch, she nodded.

He slid his finger inside her, then slowly… teasingly… drew it in and out, again and again until she was slick with burning need.

“And what about this—what I’m doing now?” he whispered in her ear. His breath was hot and moist, sending waves of gooseflesh all over her body.

Sophia melted like butter in his hands. She closed her eyes and barely managed to whisper a reply. “Yes, James, that.”

She gave in to the overwhelming, erogenous power he had over her—the debilitating pleasure he knew so well how to bestow, the pleasure that was now forcing her senses into a whirlwind of eroticism.

He slid under the covers, tossed his robe to the floor. Sophia’s desires screamed inside her head. She wanted him inside her now, quenching her impossible lust.

Dizzy with a need so fierce, it would have knocked her off her feet if she were standing, Sophia tore at her nightdress with frantic fingers and pulled it off over her head. She had no idea where she threw it. The cool air met her bare breasts, and the sensation enflamed her already savage desires. She wiggled down and indulged in the feel of her husband’s hot skin as he lowered himself upon her, and the bone-hard feel of his arousal pressing against her pelvis.

“I’ve missed you, James.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” he whispered into her mouth.

She gloried in the atonement, however small it was, then at last parted her legs to receive him. He blinked down at her, rubbed his nose over hers, then—as if he couldn’t hold out against the waiting any more than she could—he entered her with a single, violent thrust that took her breath away.

He pushed into her once, as deep as he could, then went still against her womb. “Don’t move,” he commanded. “I need a moment.”

Motionless they lay there in the candlelight, while Sophia thought her heart was booming loud enough for the servants to hear.

“There,” he whispered, then smoothly withdrew and slid back in.

An instantaneous orgasmic swell enveloped Sophia as she arched her back and pressed her fingers into her husband’s smooth, sweat-drenched back to push him deeper inside. They moved together for an immeasurable length of time, until a sweet ache shot through her in a series of swells, followed by an overpowering tingling. She cried out in a perfect, shuddering release.