The Duke and the Lass by Jessie Clever
Chapter 5
He had felt a modicum of guilt for lying to her, but the urgency to have them well and truly wed outweighed any sense of remorse.
He had meant to seek a wife. Only with the responsibility of looking after his sisters weighing on him, the idea had remained murky in his thoughts even if he said otherwise. Though his sisters were now all wed, he was still their brother, and after the debacle that was the start to his eldest sister’s marriage, he knew he could never let his guard down. It was only the responsible thing to do.
Marrying now complicated matters, but it did not prevent him from returning to London to see to his family. It only, rather, added to his familial obligations.
Responsibilities.
He glanced at Della as if she might have heard his thoughts. She thought herself a burden, which was not unexpected based on the evidence he’d gathered so far of her life. He didn’t want to give her any more fodder to add to that falsehood.
It wasn’t as though any of this were her fault anyway. She was simply the victim of circumstance as was he.
They returned to the inn they had passed earlier, only the gentlemen who had slept beneath its windows were no longer there. A lit lantern still hung by the door, and he could see movement through the front windows.
He had procured a room earlier in the day, but he feared the repercussions that might have assailed the inn after the evening’s celebration.
The innkeeper he remembered from earlier opened the door swiftly, and Andrew was not surprised to find the man still dressed.
He nodded in greeting. “I understand there was a bit of a to-do this evening, Stuart.”
The older man’s whiskers twitched when he smiled. “It was a magnificent harvest, Your Grace. You can’t fault the men for wanting a wee drink and dance.” His eyes shifted to Della. “And is this the wife you mentioned earlier?” The innkeeper’s words were soft and round with his Scottish accent, almost beckoning an answer.
Della, however, remained frozen beside him.
“Yes, it is,” Andrew said. “Stuart, please allow me to introduce my wife, Della Darby, the Duchess of Ravenwood.”
He wondered at the way his chest squeezed when he spoke her married name.
Stuart gave a nod. “It is a true pleasure having you, Your Grace.” He indicated the stairs behind him. “I’ve saved the best room for ye.”
He stepped away to allow them entrance to the inn, and Andrew took Della’s arm to lead her inside. He glanced back and raised a hand to St. John and Aldrich as they made their way to the stables where the horses and carriage were being kept. They’d overnight there to ensure everything’s safety. Andrew felt a pang of guilt at thinking of the men being forced to see the night through in a carriage instead of a proper bed, but seeing the weary bent of their shoulders, he thought they’d likely be happy with any warm and dry place to sleep.
He would see to giving them a raise when they returned to Ravenwood Park.
“Thank you, Stuart,” Andrew said to the innkeeper as he drew Della to the stairs. “Is there somewhere we might procure a meal in the morning?”
Stuart gave a short nod. “I shall see to it myself.”
“I’d like to get an early start if possible. I regret that will not leave you much time for your bed.”
The innkeeper waved off his concern. “It’s all the same to me. I prefer to see my guests properly cared for. Good night to the both of ye.” He raised a hand as he drifted toward the back of the inn and likely his bed.
They climbed the stairs in silence then, and Andrew became all too aware of Della’s stillness. He wondered now if it were the weariness from their journey or the enormity of what they had just done that plagued her.
They gained the upper floor and found their room. A crackling fire greeted them, and Andrew was grateful for the warmth it gave off. Although the room was small, it was clean, and the bed looked generous.
He swallowed at the sight of it, but not for what he was about to do. Unfortunately, it was simply because he was utterly exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to climb atop it and go straight to sleep but matters dictated otherwise.
He turned to Della. “Do you require…” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence.
He was suddenly struck by the realization that he had a wife, and she was there, and they were here at this inn, and he must consummate his marriage to prevent her father from attempting to discredit the union.
Della’s eyes darted to the side and back as if she were chancing a glimpse of the bed. He didn’t miss the way her features softened as though longing for the bed the way he did.
“I can give you a few moments,” he said and backed to the door.
“No.” Her voice was soft, and he almost missed it.
“No?”
Her chin went up, and she faced him directly. “No, please don’t leave. It’s been a rather unusual night, and I should not like to be left alone.”
He stopped on the threshold, his hand on the doorknob. He let his fingers slide off the brass.
“Very well. I’ll stay.”
The innkeeper had brought up a tray at some point and it sat on the small table in front of the fire. There was an open bottle of wine, a couple of glasses, and a plate of hard biscuits. It was hardly a meal, but then he hadn’t found himself very hungry in the last twenty-four hours.
He indicated the table. “Do you require refreshment?”
His voice sounded odd. Somehow wooden and hollow, and he hated how his insides twisted with what he must do.
Was it only the previous night he had slept in this woman’s bed to protect her honor and now he planned to take it from her?
He gave himself a mental shake. It wouldn’t be taking her honor now that she was his wife. He had every right to be in this room with her, and he had every right to take what he wished. It did not make what he had to do right or even make him feel better about it. He cursed her father for putting her into this position, for taking away her choice.
He turned sharply, and she jumped.
“Della, I’m sorry for this. I want you to know that.” Her eyes went wide, and her lips parted, and he rushed on to reassure her. “Not the marriage. I’m not sorry for that. I told you the truth when I said I needed a wife, and I am grateful that you’ve agreed to the match. Rather I’m sorry your father would take away your freedom like this. That he would force your hand to avoid a worse fate.”
She blinked, but her lips softly came together.
“Thank you, Andrew, but it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t wish for you to spend another moment of regret over my father’s actions. The man isn’t worth the time.”
He realized then she clutched the folds of her skirts in her hands. She hadn’t even had time to fetch her tattered traveling cloak.
“Are you cold?” He stepped forward as if he might help, but she took a quick step in retreat.
He paused, and she stared.
“I’m not cold. Thank you,” she said, her tone rather wooden as well. “It’s just this is…”
“Awkward.” He spoke the word like a judge doling out punishment.
Della’s shoulders deflated. “Precisely.” The stark look in her eyes dissipated, and she took in the room about them with a softer glance. “It is rather warm in here, isn’t it?”
“You understand why we must do this, why we must consummate the marriage. I understand you might be nervous…”
Her gaze flashed back to him. “I mean the temperature, Your Grace.” She hardly got the last word out when a large yawn consumed her. Her hand moved to her mouth as if to cover it, but it was too late.
He yawned in response, his body yearning toward the bed.
She gave herself a small shake as if she could rid herself of the sleepiness that clearly was overtaking her. “I shouldn’t wish to give my father anything with which to deny this marriage.”
He thought a shiver passed through her then, but it could have been a trick of the firelight.
“Would you mind terribly if we just got it over with?” Her hands moved from her skirts to press against her stomach, and he recalled what she had told him about her nerves. “I should very much like to try for sleep if we are to leave in a few hours.” Her eyelids fluttered, and he wondered if she weren’t asleep on her feet.
“Yes, of course,” he responded automatically.
He had never pictured his wedding night to be like this, but then there wasn’t much in his life that had gone as he’d pictured. Since his mother’s death, he’d taken on a role he hadn’t planned for, that of caretaker to his sisters when his father proved loving but inept for the task. Then upon his father’s death, Andrew’s responsibility had increased tenfold when it came time to find suitable matches for them.
Now it seemed he faced a new responsibility, one which like the others had been thrust upon him.
But as he studied his wife in the dancing glow of the firelight, he didn’t feel the burden that so often came with responsibility. Instead, he felt desire. He wanted to ignore it. He didn’t want to believe that he could feel such base emotions when his wife’s life had so recently been turned upside down. He should be comforting her now, reassuring her that all would be well.
Instead, he only thought about how she would look in the firelight, her beautiful, curvy body touched by the soft glow.
He swallowed as he felt himself harden. It was probably best that they get this over with quickly.
But before he could do anything, she wandered over to the bed, still fully clothed, and collapsed upon it.
“I do beg your pardon, but did you…well, that is…” she licked her lips as she muttered from her reclined position atop the bed. “Do you wish for me to undress, or should you like to merely lift my skirts?” She flapped her hands in the general direction of her legs as her eyes slid shut.
His chest tightened, and he felt every inch a rake for wanting her when she was so clearly exhausted, but right then he was overcome with an intense desire to join her in bed, to pull her into his arms, and fall asleep with her pressed against him.
It was too much even for him to resist, and he turned away, shucking his boots and coat. He kept his back to her as he went to the small table and filled one of the glasses with wine. He took a long drink. He willed the alcohol to stop the riot of thoughts that barged through his mind, the self-recriminations that plagued him.
It almost worked until a snore ripped through the warm quiet of the small room. He swung about to find Della completely asleep, her mouth slightly open as another snore erupted from her. He hadn’t recalled her snoring the previous night, but then, he was a heavy sleeper. He wondered if he’d simply missed it.
He set down the wine goblet and made his way over to the bed, finally allowing himself to collapse atop it. He didn’t feel right falling asleep before the marriage was well and truly consummated, but he wasn’t so much of a bastard to wake her when she was clearly exhausted from the events of the day.
There was always the morning to see to the thing.
He closed his eyes and buried his head in the pillow only to realize the bed was a great deal smaller than it had looked. Della snored softly now beside him, her head nearly on his pillow. Without another thought, he turned and scooped her against him, turning her just enough that the snoring ceased almost immediately.
He kept his arm around her, slipping one leg between hers before falling promptly to sleep.
* * *
She wokefor the second time in his arms. It was an occurrence she was beginning to enjoy, and unlike the previous, she was not immediately assailed with remorse.
For now, this could happen every time she woke because Andrew was her husband.
The thought reverberated deep within her, and something warm and pleasant spread through her. Was this happiness? Was this hope? She couldn’t be sure.
Her life had been so narrow until Andrew arrived. There were a whole host of things she was experiencing that she had only ever read about. She didn’t even know if she could trust her own feelings. Was this truly happiness or was she simply blinded by the newness of it all?
Honestly, she didn’t even know much about Andrew.
For instance, what of these four sisters? Four sisters seemed like a lot. Would they like her? Her stomach twisted at the thought. What was there to like about Della? She knew more about books than people. Surely she would make a ninny of herself the first moment she stepped into society.
Her eyes shot open, her gaze focusing on the wall beside the bed.
Oh, dear Heavenly Father.
She was a duchess now.
A duchess.
Her stomach rolled over and played dead, the upset causing a gurgling noise to erupt from her middle regions. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying it did not wake her husband.
The quaint room contained only a single window, and it had been shrouded in curtains when they arrived. She eyed it now and could just make out the telltale lightening of the darkness around its edges. Morning was near, but she doubted she could have been asleep that long.
She wondered what had woken her, but then her stomach growled again. She closed her eyes, willed the noise to stop, so she could get a few more hours of sleep, if that. But her stomach was persistent, and her thoughts took the opportunity to remind her that there were plenty of new things in her life over which to worry.
Reluctantly she slipped from Andrew’s arms and made her way to the fire, which had died down in the night. She reached for a log from the pile beside the hearth and added it to the embers. It sparked and flared, sending a wave of much-needed heat into the room.
She rubbed her hands, realizing the chill that had settled over her after leaving the cocoon of Andrew’s arms. She slid a chair from the table and turned it toward the flames as she settled on it. She plucked a biscuit from the tray, and regret washed over her instantly.
She tapped the biscuit against the small table only to have it ring hollowly back to her. She might lose a tooth in the attempt, but if she didn’t, her stomach would eat her backbone. She tried a small bite and found the morsel broke more easily than she’d expected. It was still a rather tough go, and the biscuit held no flavor at all, but it was food and soon her stomach settled into an acquiesced daze.
As she sat there, she pulled the few remaining pins from her hair and set to work on untangling it. There wasn’t much she could do without a hairbrush, but she tried nonetheless. She was distracted though when she realized the state of her dress.
Carefully she pulled the folds of her skirts apart to see the damage the pine tree had wrought on the delicate fabric. Puncture marks decorated the area about her knees, and the hem had come undone along one side.
But in her inspection of the dress, the firelight glinted off the signet ring Andrew had placed on her finger. She’d almost forgotten about it. She turned it to the light and wasn’t at all surprised to find a dragon head sitting in the center of the heraldic shield. A dragon, the protector of treasure and valor. She glanced toward the bed and her husband’s sleeping figure, wondering not for the first time what his act of valor would cost him.
She poured a small measure of wine in the empty goblet and took a sip, the heat of alcohol burning her throat. She coughed lightly, unused to such a burn, but once gaining control of herself, she drank the rest of it down. It did little to parch her thirst, but it was something.
She stood and went to the window, brushing aside the curtain to see down to the yard below. Their room faced the alley between the inn and what was likely the stables, but there was no movement in the gray light of dawn.
She let the curtain fall back as she turned to the bed and stopped.
Andrew watched her from his reclined position.
“Good morning, wife.” His voice was thick with sleep, and it sent a shiver straight through her at its suggested intimacy.
“Good morning,” she returned, a tightness suddenly coming to her throat.
He ran a hand through his hair as he sat up. “What time is it?” he asked even as he drew a watch from his waistcoat. “It hasn’t even gone five yet. We can sleep for a couple more hours.” He tucked the watch away and collapsed back against the pillows, throwing one arm over his eyes. “Come back to bed.”
He meant the invitation casually, but she couldn’t help the way her toes curled against the wooden floorboards.
She did as he suggested and crept over to her side. She shed her slippers this time and slipped beneath the covers, surprised to find the linens smelling freshly laundered. She settled her head back on the pillow, and her eyes fluttered shut. Her whole body relaxed into the softness that surrounded, and she welcomed sleep.
“Della, there’s something I should tell you.”
Her eyes opened with a flash. She turned her head ever so slightly to find Andrew had leaned over so he could see her face.
“Yes?” The word was tremulous, and she willed herself to be strong.
“You have an incredible snore.” He spoke with such seriousness at first she didn’t understand his meaning.
When comprehension dawned, she couldn’t help the snort that escaped her. “I did try to warn you, Your Grace.”
“You didn’t try very hard.”
“Well, I mentioned it.”
He raised an eyebrow in reply.
She rolled so she was facing him. “If we are going to play this game, then might I add you didn’t tell me you were going to kidnap me.”
He fell back on the pillows with an exaggerated gasp. “Kidnap? I think the words you’re searching for are daring rescue.” His trembling lips hinted at the smile he was trying to hide.
“I fell out a window. A little more notice next time would be welcomed.”
He frowned with such intensity a deep furrow appeared between his brows. “Please tell me I shan’t be needing to rescue you again. I daresay once was enough.”
“I’ve never required rescuing before, so I do hope I can keep it to just the one time.”
She was smiling.
She wasn’t sure when it happened, but the tension of the past several hours had melted, and the muscles along her back and shoulders were loose, her stomach settled like a slumbering beast. It was odd to feel this kind of peace, especially there in the inn in Brydekirk after her clandestine wedding.
Recollection of the wedding shadowed her sudden happiness.
“Do you think my father has discovered me gone?”
Andrew shook his head, his hair rustling against the pillows.
“I wouldn’t think so. We left him rather deep in his cups along with the rest of them. If the spirit-induced haze doesn’t prevent him from searching you out, I’m sure his fear of the stag come to seek its revenge will keep him locked in his room for some time.”
Her face heated at the memory of what she’d done with her book. “I didn’t know they would think it was the stag coming back to get them. I had only wished to draw them away from the front door.” She plucked at the quilt between them. “And now I’ve lost my book to boot. I’ll never find out what happens.”
His eyebrows lowered in concern. “What book was it? Not some novel, I hope.”
Her eyes flashed on his. “Are you opposed to novel reading, Your Grace?”
His reply was a snort. “Hardly. I think novel reading is a splendid way for one to widen one’s mind. However, I am married to you now, and I shouldn’t very much like the idea of being victim to any grand ideas you may get from your books.”
“Grand ideas? What do you have in mind?”
He leaned up, drawing his face so close to hers. The intimacy of the moment struck her, and she thought she should be rather more overcome than this. But she wasn’t. It just felt right to be lying there with Andrew.
“My sister, Louisa, read a novel once on natural camouflaging. After that, she wanted to try out fashioning clothes that matched one’s environment. She chose our drawing room because it offered the most differing aesthetic, and then she determined I was the only one tall enough to make the exercise worthwhile.” He shook his head, but he was smiling at the memory. Her heart squeezed wondering what that could be like. To have a sibling over which to have fond memories. “She dogged me for ages after that.”
“You mean you wouldn’t let her try it?”
His features hardened in playful objection. “I most certainly did not. She wanted to dress me up like the wallpaper.”
“There are worse things, I suppose.” She laughed but his eyes dimmed at her words, and she wondered what misstep she’d taken.
Her apprehension at realizing she was now a duchess swam once more to the surface, and she lay back on the bed, letting her eyes drift to the calm plainness of the ceiling.
But the quiet space above was soon invaded as Andrew leaned over her, his beautiful face filling her vision.
Except concern knitted his brow. She had the audacious urge to reach up and smooth the wrinkled lines there, but instead, she curled her fingers into the quilt beneath her.
Within moments Andrew’s expression began to soften, and it turned into something curious rather than concerned.
“Della, I think we should be honest with each other. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes.” The word hardly came out. She was mesmerized by the way he studied her. It was almost as if he were memorizing the shape of her face. She’d never been so observed in her life, and she thought it would be uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. It was almost…wonderful.
But immediately upon that thought came another. Was he going to tell her what he expected in return for rescuing her from her father? Did he plan to keep her in his London townhome and never let her out? Was he so ashamed to marry someone like her? She hadn’t even been properly introduced to society, and now she was a duchess.
Or did he have a country home somewhere? It was easier to hide unwanted wives in country homes she supposed.
But he said none of those things.
Instead, he said, “I’d very much like to make love to you.”
His declaration was so unexpected it startled her, choking her at the throat until she coughed and laughed a noise of disbelief.
“You would?” she managed.
A frown touched his features. “Yes, I would. Is that so hard to believe?”
She met his gaze, more perplexed by this line of conversation than afraid of it. “Well, it is rather. Until I met you, I didn’t have many acquaintances, and now I have a husband. It’s an extraordinary step if you think of it.”
He didn’t say anything right away, and his eyes continued to travel over her face.
“Has anyone told you how beautiful you are, Della?”
She wasn’t sure if it was the focus of his gaze or the intensity of his words, but suddenly there was a tightness she’d never felt before in her chest, a tingling along her arms. She wanted to reach out and touch him and reassure herself that he was real.
But then he reached up and ran a knuckle along the curve of her cheek. The touch was brief, the gesture small, but she felt it all clear down to her toes.
“No,” she heard herself answer him, but it was as though she were at a distance from herself, watching this incredible thing that was happening to her.
This handsome man had come into her life and stolen her away from everything only to give her so much more back. She didn’t know how she knew that yet, but she did. She could feel it. Her whole world was suddenly filled with anticipation when there had been nothing but static quiet.
“Well, I’ll need to tell you every day then, shan’t I?” he whispered as he leaned down and kissed her.