The Shy Duchess Part 12

Emily studied him warily, remembering Charlotte running around Welbourne with her hair flying and her snorting pug dogs at her heels. "What would that be?"

"A puppy," Stephen whispered. "One of her blasted pugs is to have a litter any day now, just like Charlotte herself. But don't tell Nicholas, it's meant to be a surprise."

"Indeed it will be." Emily took the box and shook it lightly. "No snorting or barking. You're right, I do like it better."

Stephen laughed. "Open it, then."

It was a tiny gold horseshoe, set with an emerald chip, hung on a thin gold chain. "How very pretty!"

"It's for good luck. You should wear it all the time. Everyone needs a good-luck charm, especially when they embark on something as perilous as a marriage."

"Will you help me put it on?" she said.

"Certainly." As he fastened the little clasp and the horseshoe fell beside the emerald pendant, he said, "Our family has not always had the best of luck at marriage. But I hope you know, Emily, that my brother has a good heart. He cares about us, and I think he works very hard to take care of us all. He never thinks of himself."

Emily pressed her palm over the horseshoe, and remembered that terrible day at the park: Nicholas rescuing the child, diving in front of a carriage to s.n.a.t.c.h her to safety. Nicholas saving her at the ball, saving her reputation at the expense of his own freedom.

"Yes, I know," she whispered. He was a good man-and now he was trapped with her, a woman he did not love, who did not know how to be a good wife to him.

"He needs someone to look after him, to be kind to him," Stephen said.

Emily stared up at him, at his handsome, earnest face that looked so much like his brother's, and she remembered her promise to herself. She would learn to be a perfect d.u.c.h.ess. Even if his family could never like her, they would respect and accept her.

"I will try my hardest to be a good wife and d.u.c.h.ess," she said. "I will never hurt your brother, or make him ashamed of his wife."

"Thank you, Emily." He kissed her hand. "That is all we can ask."

"Are you monopolising my bride, Stephen?" she heard Nicholas say.

Emily turned and smiled at him. He smiled, too, but the look in his eyes reflected her own feelings of the day-relief, fear, a brittle, tense expectation. The wedding was over, the dice were cast-what would come next?

"Your brother gave me a gift," she said, showing him the charm. "Isn't it pretty?"

"Ah, Stephen, you and your amulets," Nicholas said, laughing.

"I fear that she will need all the luck she can find, married to you," Stephen retorted. "I should have given her a dozen."

Emily took Nicholas's hand and held it very tightly. She feared not even a dozen horseshoes, ringed around with spells, could protect her heart now.

Chapter Thirteen.

Nicholas paced the floor of his bedchamber at Manning House, the hem of his black-brocade dressing gown sweeping in a wide arc every time he spun around and stalked back the other way. He felt a bit like the brooding villain of one of the romantic novels his sisters loved, lurking and scheming outside the heroine's chamber.

From behind the door that connected his room to the d.u.c.h.ess's next door, he could hear soft feminine voices and laughter. Emily's maid was helping her change from her wedding gown, and there were mysterious rustles, gasps and laughter, and bursts of some fresh, rosy fragrance under the door.

He had only been married a few hours, and already his house-and his life-were being transformed.

Nicholas strode to the window and stared out into the night, the darkness that spread out over the garden and on to Green Park beyond. It was cloudy tonight, threatening rain, and there were no guiding stars to be seen even with his telescope. He was on his own, with his new bride.

A burst of wind swept past the window, rattling the old gla.s.s and making the draughty chamber even danker. Manning House certainly needed to be transformed by a mistress's guiding hand, refurbished and made into some sort of home. But maybe he was wrong to bring Emily here for the wedding night. He didn't want to frighten her away before they even began.

He thought of her as she had looked during the ceremony, her face pale as milk, her hand cold in his. It seemed she was already frightened even then, and would bolt at any moment.

But then it looked as if she resolved on something in her own mind. Her shoulders stiffened, her back straightened and her jaw was set in a determined line. She looked like a soldier in her fluffy silk-and-lace gown and white rosebuds.

"I will," she had whispered, and they were bound together.

Nicholas drew the old, dreary, brown-velvet curtains across the window. If she was resolved, then he would be, too. He had not been a good husband the first time; there had to be a way he could atone for that by making Emily happy, and by keeping her safe from the curse of being d.u.c.h.ess of Manning.

But how was he to make her happy? t.i.tles and jewels didn't seem to excite her. Manning House was unlikely to entice her, with its dark gloominess and chilly hallways. But tomorrow they would travel to Welbourne Manor. Welbourne was small and pretty, filled with good memories. They would be relatively alone there, and he could start to get to know Emily. To try to decipher what would make her happy.

In the meantime, he had a task to perform. Nicholas tightened the sash of his robe, feeling a bit like a soldier armouring for battle, and went to the connecting door.

All was silent now on the other side. He knocked, and heard her call softly, "Come in."

He slowly turned the handle and pushed it open. Aside from the last few days, when he had inspected the room for cleaning and the installation of new curtains and hangings, he hadn't been in the d.u.c.h.ess's chamber since he was a child. Then it had belonged to his mother, and no one had used it since. Not until tonight.

Like the duke's chamber, it was a vast, high-ceilinged, echoing s.p.a.ce, barely warmed by the marble fireplace. He had tried to make it less gloomy than his own room, which had not been changed since his father last used it in the unhappy final days of his first marriage. There were new yellow-taffeta curtains at the windows and draped from the old carved oak bed. The triple-mirrored dressing table was hung with green satin tied with yellow bows, and a yellow-velvet counterpane with green satin bolsters and cushions was spread over the bed. Emily's trunks and bandboxes were stacked by the silk-papered wall, ready to go to Welbourne.

The counterpane and the new, lace-trimmed linen sheets were turned back invitingly. But Emily didn't rest under them. She sat perched on the edge of the high bed, her feet in their kid bedroom slippers resting on the steps. Her hands were folded on her lap, her fine, pale hair brushed over her shoulders.

Nicholas stared at her in startled fascination. How very beautiful she was. He had always known that, of course, but now, in her pale-green dressing gown trimmed with waterfalls of white lace, she looked like an ethereal fairy princess.

A pale, delicate fairy princess. Valentina had been tall and robust, yet even she had not been able to survive childbirth. How could a dainty fairy?

Her lower lip trembled, and she quickly bit down on it. Her hands tightened in her lap, the knuckles white. Nicholas remembered his resolve to make her not regret their ill-begun union. He wasn't making a very good start to that resolution, staring at her like a callow schoolboy.

He smiled at her in what he hoped was a rea.s.suring manner, and slowly went to sit beside her on the bed. She did not move away, but he could feel the stiff wariness of her body.

"I'm sorry we had to come here to Manning House tonight," he said. "There was no time to see about much refurbishment, and I fear it's not very comfortable. When we return to London you must make any changes you like."

"I'm not sure I would know where to begin," she said softly. "This room is very pretty."

"New fabrics were brought in, but there was no time to replace the furniture."

"I like it. And I do hope the wedding was to your taste, and that of your family. My mother would have preferred something more elaborate, but like the furniture there was no time."

"Would you have preferred a bigger wedding?"

Emily shook her head. "Not at all. Everyone is talking about it quite enough as it is. But I would not want your family to think it was not done properly."

Nicholas laughed. How adorably earnest she looked, his serious new d.u.c.h.ess! "My family has never given a moment's care to what is proper. They're just happy I am married at last. They will love you."

"Will they?" she said doubtfully. "Your brother said Charlotte is going to send us a puppy. Is that love? Or some sort of warning?"

He laughed even harder. "One never really knows with Charlotte. I can tell her not to send it. Her dogs do shed a copious amount."

"No, don't do that! I don't want to offend her when she is being kind." Emily glanced around the dark room, the crackling fire doing its gallant, futile best to warm the s.p.a.ce. "Besides, a dog might liven up the place a bit."

"Emily." Nicholas gently took her hand in his. It was still cold. Her emerald ring and a thin, new, bright gold band sparkled on her finger. Stephen's good-luck gold horseshoe flashed amid the lace ruffles at her neck. "I know we have not started well, but I want you to know I will do my best to make sure you are content. Whatever you want, you must only tell me and it will be yours. I don't want you to regret this bargain we have made."

Emily stared at him with her wide, solemn green eyes, her fingers curled around his. "You mean, if I want a carriage or a diamond necklace?"

"I suppose so, yes. Whatever might make you happy."

Her hand tightened. "I don't want those things, though I will admit that when you gave me a ride in your carriage I thought it was very fine indeed! All I want is to do my best as your d.u.c.h.ess, to never make you ashamed."

He gently brushed his fingertips over her soft, white cheek. He watched in fascination as a pink, warm blush followed his touch. "How could I ever be ashamed of you? Look at you-there could be no more perfect d.u.c.h.ess. I would just think you would be ashamed of us, as harum-scarum as we are."

Emily shook her head, her hair rippling down her back. "I will work very hard at this, Nicholas, you'll see. I am ready to do my duty."

She slowly laid back on the bed and untied the ribbons of her dressing gown. The green silk drifted away to reveal a thin, low-cut, white-muslin chemise that clung to her slender body. It was a body as lovely as the rest of her, tiny-waisted and long-legged, with high, white b.r.e.a.s.t.s that pressed against the lace neckline. He could see the berry-pink shadow of her nipples through the fabric, and he remembered how it felt to kiss her at Vauxhall. The heady heat of it, the sweet taste of her.

His own body responded, immediately hardening. He wrapped the folds of his robe closer over that rebellious erection. "Emily..."

"I am ready to do my duty," she said. "In all things."

She laid her arms along her sides, palms flat to the sheets, and closed her eyes. Somehow Nicholas was reminded of Ophelia, pale and perfect, sinking below the waves amid her floating flowers.

He smiled, but quickly suppressed it. He didn't want to make her indignant with his amus.e.m.e.nt again.

She seemed to sense it anyway. She opened her eyes and frowned up at him. "I know what I have to do as a wife. My mother and-and a friend told me all about it. I'm quite ready."

He shuddered to think what her mother and this "friend" had said to her. It made his resolution to not hurt or frighten her even harder.

He leaned down and gently, softly kissed her lips. Her body was stiff under his, and he was sure he knew now what her mother had advised her-to lie back and think of England. But that was not the way he wanted his marriage to be. Despite his vow to never hurt Emily as he had Valentina, to never force his fairy princess to bear his child, he wanted them to be friends. To form some sort of partnership so they could be content together.

And, blast it all, he had not been with a woman in much too long! Emily was so beautiful, and she smelled so sweet. His body ached to have her, to feel her heat closing around him and lose himself in the pleasure.

Slowly, he told himself sternly. Carefully. She was Emily, his wife, not one of the girls at Mrs Larkin's or an opera dancer he could make his mistress, who understood everything and was sophisticated in the ways of the world.

He kissed her again, a little deeper, and laid his palms lightly on her shoulders. She trembled under his touch, but he felt her lips part a bit, felt her begin to relax. He slowly slid his caress down her arms, smoothing away her dressing gown.

The chemise was sleeveless, and her bare skin under his touch was soft and cool. He kissed the corner of her mouth, the curve of her jaw. He lightly touched that soft spot just below her ear with the tip of his tongue. She had seemed to like that before, and he knew she still did when she sighed. A shivering ripple went through her body, and he nipped at that spot before sliding his open mouth along her throat. She tasted of roses and sugar, of sweet femininity.

In the hollow at its base, her pulse beat frantically just beneath her skin. He swirled his tongue there, tasting the hot life of her. That scent of roses grew stronger, headier around him, intoxicating, and his own desire rose up inside him like an irresistible tide.

Her arms wound around his shoulders, holding him against her. But he could not have left even if he wanted to. His desire for her had been growing and growing ever since Vauxhall. He had fought to suppress it, but now it would not be denied.

He kissed the swell of her breast above that lace, tasted the hollow between them. There was a tiny freckle hidden there, pale amber on her white skin, and he licked at it.

"Nicholas," she gasped. Her hands curled tight on his shoulders, and her neck arched against the pillows.

He touched that spot he had just kissed, caressing, testing the weight of her breast on his palm. She was so very soft, so warm-perfect. With one fingertip he traced the edge of her pink aureole. Her nipple puckered tight and hard against the thin muslin. He closed his mouth around it, tasting her deeply at last, rolling her taut nipple over his tongue.

She moaned. Her hands fell away from his shoulders and twisted in the sheets, her head tossing on the pillow. He doubted she was thinking of England now, and that gave him a deep, primitive feeling of satisfaction. His plan to make her happy seemed to be going rather well.

And he felt quite happy himself. His body was hard as iron with need for her. He eased the straps of her chemise down, baring her body to his avid gaze. She was not so very pale now. Her skin was flushed a delicate pale pink everywhere, over her full, high b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her flat belly.

She suddenly grabbed his hand before he could draw the fabric over the dark triangle between her thighs. "Y-you're not supposed to remove my clothes, I think."

"Emily, my dear," he whispered against her breast. "I wish you would not think. Not just at this moment. But you do have a point."

"I do?"

"Yes. It is unfair for me to be clothed while you are not."

Emily stared at him as he rose up on his knees beside her and reached for the sash of his robe. She squeezed her eyes shut as the velvet loops pulled free.

Nicholas laughed, and shrugged out of the heavy garment. He tossed it to the floor. "It's quite all right. I'm not that frightening, I promise."

She peeked warily. Then she closed her eyes again. "Not frightening according to whom, exactly?"

He took her hand and pressed it flat against his chest, right where she could feel the pounding of his heart, the rise of his breath. It was hard to breathe easily with her touch on his bare skin, with her so near him. Curse it all, but he did want her, more than he had ever thought possible. More than he had ever wanted any woman.

More than he ever wanted to want her.

"I'm just a man, a human being," he said. "And I want to make you happy, Emily. I want to give you pleasure, if I can."

Her eyes opened, and she stared up at him in raw astonishment. "You want to give me pleasure? But my mother and Sally said-"

Nicholas swooped down and covered her mouth with his, kissing her with all the pa.s.sion of his pent-up hunger until she moaned. "Emily," he muttered, "I want you to forget what your mother and this Sally person told you. Trust me now. Please."

Slowly, she nodded, and he kissed her again. He slid his tongue over hers, tasting her deeply. When he felt her body relax beneath his again, he gently slid down her chemise the rest of the way and cast it to the floor with his robe. He caressed her shoulders, her waist, the soft flare of her hips.

He lowered himself between her thighs, nudging them apart, and softly touched her very core.

She gasped and tried to pull away, but he refused to stop kissing her, to let her go so easily. He combed his fingertips through the damp curls before easing inside. She was soft, wet-and very tight.

She made a strange mewing sound deep in her throat as he touched her, as he tried to find that one perfect, sensitive spot. When she cried out against his mouth, her hips arching, he knew he had found it. She felt like hot satin against his skin, and he could smell the delicious musk of her desire. The desire that rose up to meet his.

"I'm sorry, Emily," he whispered. "I can't wait any longer."

She nodded. "It's all right, Nicholas. I'm ready."

He reached between their bodies and guided himself carefully into her. It took every ounce of his strength to move slowly, to be careful, to not drive himself forwards and find his pleasure in her body. She was very tight, her virginal body pressed around him, and the heat of her made him groan.

Beneath him, she squeezed her eyes shut again and clutched at the twisted sheets. She made no noise.

Nicholas braced his arms to either side of her, holding his weight away from her. Beads of sweat trickled down his bare back as his desire screamed at him to move, to take her!