The Duke’s Desire Read online

  “No.”

  “For that you have my deepest gratitude, Fanny. But how did you know about the duke? I never told Daniel who I had been with.”

  “I didn’t know it was the duke until I saw him. Then I saw the resemblance, and the way he looked at you.” Her sister-in-law raised her tearful eyes. “Where is Clive? Did the duke have him arrested?” She started to stand. “I must go to him.”

  “No, he didn’t have Clive arrested,” Verity replied, even as she marveled at the depth of Fanny’s devotion to both her brother, who deserved it, and her husband, who did not. She spoke reluctantly, knowing her words were going to hurt Fanny. “The duke gave Clive the money he wanted, with the provision that he leave the country.”

  She watched as the realization that Clive was alive and well, but had not returned, sank into Fanny’s understanding. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, Fanny.”

  “He’s left me?”

  “It seems so.”

  Fanny buried her head in her arms and great, wrenching sobs of despair filled the room.

  So did the whistle of the boiling water in the kettle, and Verity had never been so glad to hear that sound. She hurriedly prepared a strong pot of tea, found the dishes and other accoutrements, and poured Fanny a cup, fixing it as she liked.

  “Fanny,” she said gently, stroking her hair. “Fanny, please have some tea.”

  When Fanny raised her head, her expression was one of utter desolation. “Where shall I go? What shall I do? Without Clive, I…I have nothing!”

  “That’s not true, Fanny. You have your family—me, and Jocelyn.”

  “But we were so mean to you.”

  Verity shook her head. “Not you, Fanny. Besides, if you can forgive me as your brother could, I can forgive you for what is past, too.”

  “I tried not to forgive you,” Fanny confessed after she finally took a sip of the hot tea. “If it wasn’t for you, I would have had money and Clive would have loved me.”

  Verity gazed at her sympathetically. “He wasn’t worthy of your love, Fanny.”

  “But I loved him nonetheless. I’ll never love anybody else.”

  Verity thought the time had come to tell Fanny more. “You may have another chance. The duke and I are getting a second chance. Why not you?”

  “A second chance?”

  “We are to be married.”

  Not unexpectedly, Fanny began to cry again, the tears falling into her cup. Verity didn’t know what to do or say, so she let Fanny weep.

  Just as Fanny’s sobs were beginning to grow quieter, somebody knocked on the front door, making them both jump.

  “I’ll see who it is,” Verity offered.

  She went down the narrow corridor and opened the door to find Galen on the step. He looked as taken aback as she was. “Galen! Didn’t you get my letter?”

  “No.” He came inside and closed the door. “Why are you here? Where is Mrs. Blackstone?”

  “Clive never came home after he left you. Fanny was desperate and wrote to me, begging me to come, poor woman.”

  “Oh, God,” Galen sighed, leaning back against the door and regarding Verity sorrowfully.

  She noticed how pale he was. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “Her husband is dead. He was in a tavern near the docks and there was an argument, then a brawl. If he had the money I gave him, it’s gone.”

  They both heard a whimper like that of a wounded animal. Verity turned quickly, to see Fanny sink to the floor in a faint.

  By the time Fanny woke, Galen had learned all that Fanny had told Verity. Together, they suggested Fanny allow Galen to make the arrangements for Clive’s burial and take care of any business or legal matters. Fanny silently acquiesced, and Galen departed.

  Verity remained and sat beside Fanny’s bed, regarding her sister-in-law compassionately. “Please, Fanny, won’t you come home with me to Jefford? You should be with your family.”

  Fanny managed a tremulous smile. “Thank you, Verity. I would like that very much.”

  Epilogue

  T hree months later, Galen slowly opened the door to his bedchamber. “Verity?” he whispered, wondering if his bride was already in bed or still disrobing. Myron and George had kept him far too long drinking toasts, in honor of the festive occasion.

  But considering that George had abandoned his beloved dogs in honor of the Duke of Deighton’s wedding and Galen had been living at Myron’s until a week before the ceremony, he had not thought it polite to leave them too early, no matter how much he wanted to.

  Nancy had long since taken a happy, cake-filled Jocelyn to bed, and the other ladies had retired not long after that.

  “Verity, are you here?”

  Perhaps she was in her own bedchamber, which connected to his via the dressing room. It had been a long day, what with the wedding that morning at St. George’s, Grosvenor Square, small though it had been, then the wedding luncheon at Eloise’s house, until they had come home with Jocelyn, Fanny, Rhodes and Nancy to another smaller supper.

  He stepped farther inside. Only one small candle burned in his dressing room, leaving the larger room dark. Indeed, his bed was deep in shadows.

  Perhaps Verity was making sure Jocelyn was asleep. He had never seen his daughter so happy or excited, but in that, she was quite like the rest of the wedding party.

  “I’m here, Galen,” Verity said softly from the vicinity of the bed.

  His heartbeat quickened as he closed the door. “I can’t see you.”

  “I’m in bed.”

  He had never heard a more exciting sentence in his life.

  “Don’t be long.”

  He was wrong. This was the most exciting thing he had ever heard.

  Very aware that the woman he adored was watching him, he shrugged off his jacket and laid it over a chair. Then he started to undo his cravat with surprisingly fumbling fingers. “Jocelyn seems very happy.”

  “She is. I haven’t seen her so delighted in a long time.”

  “Have you given any more thought to when you will tell her that I’m really her father?”

  “When she is a little older. This has been quite an exciting few weeks for her. I would rather wait until things have calmed a little, and she is more mature.”

  “Whatever you think best. You know her better than I.”

  “I’m sorry for that, Galen. Truly sorry.”

  Finally getting the knot of his cravat untied, he raised his eyes to look at Verity, or as much of her as he could see in the shadows. “Remember, my love—no more recriminations. We are starting anew.” Then, to lighten the mood, he said, “I must say I don’t think this is fair. I didn’t get to see you undress.”

  “Yes, you did. Ten years ago. Now it is my turn.”

  He grinned. She had him there, after all. “I hope I don’t disappoint you.”

  “I don’t think you will, although I must say I’m sorry you cut your hair.”

  “Rhodes insisted that a bridegroom shouldn’t look unkempt.”

  “Rhodes should have asked the bride what she thought. Besides, you never looked unkempt.”

  Galen emitted a low chuckle. “It will grow.” He tugged off his cravat and tossed it onto the chair. “It’s too bad Buck and War couldn’t be here.”

  “Yes, but I was glad to meet Hunt. He looks as I imagine you must have when you were his age.”

  Galen strolled toward the bed as he began another struggle, this time with his shirt buttons. Really, he was as nervous as a lad, he thought wryly. Either that, or trembling with excited anticipation.

  He rather suspected the latter. “Unfortunately, he’s in a fair way to acting like the young fool I was, too,” he replied. “I caught him in the pantry with one of the maids.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. And here I thought Nancy was going to rule my household with an iron fist.”

  “Give her time. In the meanwhile, don’t say anything to Nancy about the maid. Let me speak to
the girl first.”

  “Gladly. I’m sure you’ll be a little more forgiving.”

  “I must be, mustn’t I?”

  “And I shall speak to Hunt before he goes back to school.” He sighed softly. “I hope he’ll listen to the voice of experience.”

  “I thought Fanny was looking much better, although she is still far from recovered.”

  “She’s well rid of Clive.”

  “I know that, Galen, and I think, in time, she’ll see that, too. It’s very sweet of Eloise to invite her to visit.”

  “She’s not going.”

  He heard Verity move. “Why not?”

  “It seems she prefers to stay here with us awhile yet.”

  “Oh? Oh!” Verity laughed softly. “Now that I think a moment, I can’t say I’m surprised. Rhodes has been very solicitous. I think he’s quite taken with her, and I get the impression that she’s not completely averse to his attentions.”

  “I would rather he be taken with Nancy. How will it look, the Duke of Deighton’s wife’s sister-in-law married to his valet?”

  “You sound like Eloise and her gossiping friends.”

  He laughed softly. “I do, and if Fanny and Rhodes care about each other, that is enough for me.”

  “Well, if we’re going to gossip,” Verity said with a hint of amusement, “what about Myron and Lady Mary? Eloise assures me that they will be engaged soon.”

  “Eloise is likely right about that. Myron was quite smitten with her from the start and once I was out of the running, well, he’s a surprising good hunter, you know. I don’t think she stood a chance.”

  “I think you’re underestimating Lady Mary. She’s in love with Myron. I’m sure of it, and it says much for her if she is. He is a very kind and good man.”

  Straining to see his bride in the dark, able to see only the outline of her head and the covers up to her neck, he slowly drew off his shirt. “Are you trying to make me jealous?”

  “Is this slow disrobing a scheme to increase my desire?”

  “Perhaps. Is it working?”

  “I must confess it is,” she answered in a low, sultry voice that made him even more aroused. “You have a remarkable figure, you know, Galen,” she continued in that incredibly enticing tone.

  It was nearly enough to make a man forget what he was about. “So do you.”

  His hands went to his trousers and with rather more speed, he removed them, then tossed them onto the nearest chair.

  “You will ruin your trousers.”

  “Now you sound like Rhodes,” he replied as he approached the bed.

  “You haven’t finished undressing.”

  He blushed. “Really, wife, my modesty.”

  “Very well. I shall look away—although I must say I am surprised to discover you’re modest at all.”

  “This is…different.”

  “Why?”

  Now minus his drawers, he slipped between the sheets. “Because I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  “You forget we have made love before.”

  “I assure you, madam, I have never forgotten that.”

  He felt her move closer and with both surprise and delight, realized she was naked. “So there are no secrets between us.”

  Galen laughed, then ran his hand along her naked leg to the curve of her hip. “And no clothes, either.”

  “Lie back, Galen.”

  “What?”

  “Lie back a moment. I need to do something.”

  He felt the feather bed shift. “You’re not putting on a nightdress, I hope?”

  “No.”

  She got back in bed.

  “That didn’t take long,” he observed.

  “I just had to fetch something.”

  He nearly jumped out of the bed when he felt her fingers moving over his chest.

  Her sticky fingers.

  “What the devil—?” A familiar scent reached his nostrils. “Is that honey?”

  “You seemed to find my childish prank with the molasses amusing.”

  The sensation of her fingers stroking his chest and lingering on his nipples, was making it rather difficult to think—and when she put her leg over his, it was nearly impossible. “Is it molasses then?”

  He was so aroused, it could have been coal oil, and he wouldn’t have cared a jot.

  “It’s honey,” she confirmed as she lowered her head. “I don’t like the taste of molasses.”

  “I had no idea…” he moaned as she began to lick him clean.

  “Don’t you like it?”

  His only answer was another moan. She shifted closer, and he felt her breasts brush against his arm. He reached out to caress her silky skin, beginning at her shoulder and moving slowly downward.

  The sheet rubbed against his naked flesh and his passionate excitement intensified.

  Then there was more honey, and her fingers were stroking him lower yet. Past his nipples…. his navel…lower…

  He bit his lip to keep from crying out as the tension built and increased more and more inside him.

  Suddenly and abruptly, she straightened. “Oh, dear!”

  He groaned with dismay. “What is it?”

  “Hair.”

  “You got honey in your hair?”

  “Not my hair. I just realized this is going to make a terrible mess.”

  “My dear, sweet and frustrating wife, I am a duke, and dukes have servants. Therefore, I forbid you to worry about that. All I want you to think about is us.”

  With that, he reached out and pulled her to him, pressing a hot kiss on her soft, honey-sweetened lips.

  She leaned against him, passionate and eager—as passionate and eager as he. All thoughts of cleanliness apparently forgotten, she made a low whimper of need as she parted her lips. Needing no further enticement, he slipped his tongue into her warm, wet mouth.

  Then, slowly, gently, still kissing her deeply, he pushed her down among the pillows and the soft feather bed. His lips left hers, trailing along the curve of her jaw and down her neck, over the throbbing pulse.

  “There seems to be something even sweeter than your flesh here, my love,” he murmured as he encountered a smear of honey on her breast.

  Her only answer was another moan, and he knew full well exactly how she was feeling.

  As she had never felt before.

  That one night with Galen had been but a small taste of the passionate desire he was creating within her now.

  She had been starving for so long. Here was a feast. She had sampled a moment’s fleeting desire. Here was passion and love combined. She had stolen a brief embrace that had yielded shame and fear.

  Now she was his wife, their love declared before family and friends for all the world to know.

  No more secrets. No more lies.

  She was free to love him as she yearned to do, to show him in a way beyond words that she belonged to him forever. “My love,” she whispered.

  “My wife. My beloved, beloved wife,” he murmured as he placed his hand between her legs.

  She inched closer, welcoming his caress. Her breathing quickened. That first time, he had never done this. She did not know anything could feel like the delicious tension increasing within her. “Oh, yes,” she cried softly, arching to meet the pressure of his palm.

  His fingers slipped inside her, into the waiting warmth. She writhed with pleasure, seeking more of his firm touch. All too soon, the tension crested and she cried out, carried away by throbbing release.

  Then, in the next instant, he was between her legs, thrusting steadily into her, moving as she moved. She arched and pushed her legs against the feather bed, seeking better purchase, wanting him to drive deeper and deeper, to fill her completely. To be surrounded by her. Held. Cherished.

  Panting, he moved faster and faster, his aroused excitement adding to hers. All thought fled, replaced by the burning need he inspired. He felt so good, so right, so perfect. She had dreamed of this so many times, yet never had the dream ap
proached this reality. Never in her wildest imagination had she conjured such exquisite agony.

  A growl burst from the back of his throat and at the same time, her anticipation exploded in a climax of waves, then ripples, of rhythmic delight.

  His movements slowed, then stopped, and he lay against her, breathing heavily.

  Only then did she realize she, too, was panting.

  “Oh, Verity,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck. “I love you.”

  “I love you, Galen,” she replied, lifting her hand to stroke his sweat-damp hair. With her other arm, she held him close.

  This was perfect. He was perfect.

  She was content.

  “I think we’re going to need a bath in the morning,” he muttered sleepily.

  “We could share one.”

  Galen lifted his head and his gaze searched her face. “Are you in earnest?”

  She grinned. “Absolutely.”

  “Good Lord, Verity! Where do you get these ideas?”

  “Didn’t Eloise warn you? I thought she told you I had a wicked imagination.”

  “Well, yes, I suppose she did, but I had no idea—”

  Verity kissed him lightly on his adorable forehead. “If you don’t want to…”

  “I never said that.” He laid his head back upon her soft breasts and smiled blissfully. “And here I thought I would not enjoy being married.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-6159-8

  THE DUKE’S DESIRE

  Copyright © 2000 by Margaret Wilkins

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.