The Forbidden Duchess Read online

  She tried not to think much about the future. This…thing would run its course. So inexperienced, she didn’t know how call it. Who could ever have told her that this could happen between a man and a woman? Why didn’t anyone warn her? She’d come under his spell, craving more and more. No chance of this lasting for long though. Sooner or later he’d have to find a suitable lady to get married and produce heirs. She couldn’t let him in. This completely bizarre situation would come to a close. What then? She’d be left with memories. It was more than she’d expected. She’d prepared herself to live an endless arid life. She’d been given this interlude, she’d enjoy it while it lasted. She just had to be prepared to part when the time came.

  As soon as she came to her room, she rang for a bath and sat in the tub soaking and remembering the past days. The next ones she spent on cloud nine, fluttering between scorching nights and days when she could think only of the nights and count the hours for when dinner ended.

  “The Duke and the Duchess of Crompton.” The doorman announced Philip and Selene’s arrival at Lady Pendleton’s ball.

  She hadn’t given a thought to how they’d be announced at their first social function together. It felt weird, as if they formed a couple. In sight of what had been happening behind closed doors, it sounded positively sinful.

  She joined Lady Milton and Lady Wilkinson, her best friends, for a chat, sitting on the chairs lining the ballroom’s wall. Selene dressed a dark purple velvet dress lined with lace on the cuffs, neckline and skirt.

  The ball started and she watched eagerly. She loved dancing and wished she could try a few steps. Society would deem it utterly improper, though. So she kept her body silent to the music.

  Not long afterwards, the Earl of Pendleton approached her and engaged her in conversation. The information Philip had given her about the earl’s finances helped her put his approach in perspective. She had no interest whatsoever in remarrying. Ever again. As a widow of means, she had ample mobility and she had no will of giving it up. What for? To have duties upon duties and little freedom? No, thank you very much. She preferred her present condition. With or without that carnal duke in the picture!

  Unless she intended to have children, then her plans would have to change. She’d never thought about it. Right now, the subject seemed superfluous.

  Philip watched as the wretched pauper aimed the rich widow and seethed. She was not available. He considered Selene his…territory! He didn’t care if she agreed with him or not. Most probably not. She belonged to him. End of! His woman! He wasn’t the sharing kind. He did not intend to give her away. She had the right to re-marry if she so wished. The thought made him see red. Another man touching her? Another man in her bed? Never, never! Ever. He tried to calm down. He’d not make a scene here. Not at her first ball after six months. Worst of all, he’d not be hinting people about their…liaison so publicly. The situation had traps enough. He waved to a footman.

  Selene walked to the refreshment table, relieved to have freed herself from the boring earl. He’d held her in endless conversation, to which little she paid attention. The music enchanted her and held her appreciation. A footman stood in front of her, bowing and delivering a folded paper. As he left, she unfolded it. “Meet me at the garden temple. P” What the autocratic man was up to now, she wondered suspiciously. If she let him, he’d control every inch of her life. Anyway, better to go see what this was all about, rather than risk having the man making a scene. She retraced her steps to the French doors.

  Beyond the terrace surrounding the ballroom, pitch darkness dominated the lawn. The faint silhouette of a Roman temple lay a couple of yards away. Carefully she reached the small circular construction that served as a shady retreat in summer. Her eyes adjusted to the moonless sky, the faded sounds and lights from the ballroom still divisible. The first accords of a waltz had just begun.

  “Would you give me the honour of this dance?” She heard the rich velvet sound of his voice in the dark. Dressed in black, except for his shirt and cravat, little could she see of him. She sensed more than she saw the tall, broad-shouldered shadow near her.

  She inhaled the manly scent of him, so near her. “I…” His proximity addled her senses as usual.

  “Nobody can see us.” He husked in the dark, taking her hand and lacing her waist.

  They began to dance, the fresh night enveloping them in a world only theirs. He guided her steps around the temple. From afar, the music seemed out worldly, stars blinked here and there, as they swirled on marbled floor.

  The music, the night, the man involved her in a dreamy dance, where only the senses and emotions played. He seemed to have pulled her closer, the contact with his strong body intoxicating her. She let herself go with the music, with her senses. With that seductive man. More and more, she felt detached from reality and immersed in a fluctuating state filled with music and him. They danced and danced in this magical atmosphere until she no longer felt her feet touching the ground. He’d lifted her to level with him and twirled them both with the orchestra. She looked at him elated and delighted in him and their dance.

  The music faded in the last notes. Silence followed. Slowly he lowered her to the marble floor, while she grazed his body in the process. His head bent to her; hers lifted to his. They stood there in the nightly stillness, staring at each other, their breaths mingling in the fresh air. Selene was warm all over with the waltz, her emotions and her reactions to his magnetic allure.

  His kiss came hot, full, carnal. She welcomed him in kind, opening to him, entwining her tongue with his, lacing his neck, gluing her body to his. He embraced her tighter, his hand at her nape. Her fingers dived in his dark sleek hair and the kiss heated to unbearable peaks. Their mouths devoured each other as if this was the last day of the universe.

  Her body aflame, one of her legs snaked his, rewarded by his moan. He walked with her, pining her to a column, their entire bodies touching. She registered the hard ridge in his middle and hungered for it, moving her pelvis to have more of it. His hand rested on her breast over her dress, provoking, igniting, giving, demanding.

  “Let’s go home.” He murmured against her lush mouth. “I need you like crazy!”

  He sent her to the carriage and strode the ballroom to tell Lady Pendleton that Selene had an indisposition. In minutes he sat in the carriage, signalling for it to drive.

  Selene sat wide eyes, lips parted and breathless in front of him. He couldn’t resist her, just couldn’t. He pulled her to sit astride on his lap, bunching her fine dress, and resumed kissing her with gluttony. Her pelvis moved yearning for him, he pulled her closer, kissed her deeper, his erection in a painful state.

  Yanking her dress down, he took her whole breast in his mouth; so famished for her, it hurt. Her head fell down and her breath caught as she clutched his hair to keep him there. He took the other, his fingers searching her centre in a frenzy. He found her hot, wet, void.

  “Selene.” He moaned. “I can’t wait till we arrive!”

  No need to say it twice. Her hands unbuttoned him. His removed her drawers and two starved bodies joined in one heavenly thrust. He laced her waist firmly and guided her up and down, panting in desperation. She also breathed fast in his ear and she moved her pelvis instinctively seeking pleasure.

  His erection felt so hot and extreme he thought he might explode. They moved on each other blindly, she gasping, he in grunts. The more he thrust, the deeper he went. He managed to shatter her to such a point, her head fell back, her hand tamped on her mouth to keep it silent. Her body grasped his repeatedly and he was helpless. A few more thrusts and he became shamefully unmanned, spewing uncontrollably in her chore. She fell on him, he held her, both breathless.

  They managed to go back to minimal decency a minute before they arrived at Crompton house. Philip dismissed the driver and Jenkins. At the deserted top stair, he picked her up in his arms and took her to his room. They helped each other undress and sneaked under the covers, clinging to each o
ther, bodies sated and lax.

  The last dazed thought Philip had, wondering if he’d ever be able to live without her. Oblivion caught him and, spooning her, he closed his eyes.

  The following evening, there would be no social function. Therefore, dinner would be at home. After meeting in the drawing room, he offered his arm and they came to the dining room. There, Selene saw that her dining place had been set by his right side. Arching her brows, she eyed him inquisitively.

  He smiled innocently. “I directed Jenkins to rearrange our dining places.” The butler helped her sit.

  As a matter of fact, the managing of the household had been under her responsibility since she’d got married and it hadn’t changed much after the new duke took over. He had this terrible habit of overseeing everything he possessed; he contradicted her orders to infuriating point. Her eyes darted shards of anger he pretended to ignore.

  First course served, Philip dismissed the staff.

  “Judging by the length of time you conversed with the pauper earl, I presume, he’s proposing.” Philip begun, before a forkful of his dinner.

  “Remarrying is not on top of my list.” Her voice steady.

  “Oh?” He looked attentively at her. “How is that?”

  “I’ve already been married, I can take a break.”

  “I see.” He drank his wine, and rang for the next course.

  They waited in silence as Jenkins and the footmen moved around and then left. A long silence ensued, both concentrating on their plates. Selene felt rather awkward eating so near him. Yesterday evening would be branded like fire in her memory. The waltz, the carriage ride, the clinging in the night. It’d unsettled her like nothing had before, not even the fact that her father forced her to marry. She’d awoke at the first lights and hurried to her room to put her wayward thoughts in order. Or try, at least. Unsuccessfully. Still at a loss what to think, she spent the day wondering the house as a ghost. Philip had gone to the club, giving her some reprieve.

  Her mind, her memories, her body had been very concentrated in these last weeks. She’d been living her life in a daze of rippling emotions, consuming desire and disordered thoughts. He and all he evoked, provoked, incandesced in her kept rounding her thoughts over and over. She couldn’t concentrate in any task. Reading, sewing, society had become hard chores. She felt languid, needy. Wanton. Her whole being concentrated in their fervent nights, when their bodies entwined and she lost her soul to the darkness.

  “You’ve been rather scarce today.” He lifted his clove eyes to hers. “I woke up to a cold bed.” He drawled.

  “That’s how it’s supposed to be!” She said firmly.

  “It doesn’t need to be that way.” He lifted his eyebrows.

  “How so?” She tilted her head inquisitively.

  “Marry me.”

  Her eyes widened on him. That had to be the last thing she’d expected to hear from him. Ever. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

  “Absolutely not.” His rich velvet voice casual. “Have you stopped to think you might be pregnant?”

  She blanched. She’d never thought about the possibility. Goodness Gracious! What would she do if it came to that?

  “I never did anything to prevent it.” He added.

  “Prevent it?” How uninformed could she get?

  “Yes, withdraw before…” He paused, seeing she’d flushed violently. “I’m usually half mad when I am…” With you? Inside you? Dancing with you? She didn’t care what he’d say.

  All she did was stare at him dumbfounded, her body reacting intensely to the images he evoked.

  “The sensible solution would be marriage, naturally.”

  “Sensible?” Her eyes wide, her brows pleated. “It’d fall like a cannon ball in the ton!”

  His clove glare hardened. “I don’t care what others think! If you have my heir, you’ll have my name.” He shrugged. “Not that you don’t already have it, you know.” The crux of the question fell exactly in this irony.

  She gazed him, her mind racing. What the darn was happening here? Marry him? Risk ostracism? Scandal? Someone got crazy here and it wasn’t her!

  In the beginning, he suspected her motives, bullied her, misunderstood her, tantalized her. Then he discovered she had been a virgin and now this. What would have he done if her marriage had been consummated? She’d be the widow at hand? The convenient mistress? The live-in paramour? His proposal insulted the hell out of her. She wasn’t a dame in distress! She didn’t need saving! Princes in shiny armours existed only in novels. He’d be the last candidate she’d conjecture for the role, by the way! For sure, he proposed only because of the blasted hymen!

  Feigning a calmness she felt miles away from, she folded her both hands on the edge of the table and ogled him stonily. “You insult me with your proposal, Your Grace.” She sipped her wine with finesse. “I don’t want you to touch me ever again!”

  She rang for Jenkins. “Jenkins, I am indisposed. Please, serve His Grace. I am retiring for the night.” She stood and left.

  Bloody hell! Bloody blasted hell! Philip thought, as he watched her stomp out of the dining room, hips swaying deliciously. What had he done now? As far as he knew, proposing marriage figured amongst the honourable thing to do by any woman! Not by this one, it seemed. Why did she think it an insult? There were dozens of starry-eyed debutantes who would kiss the floor he walked on for the chance of marrying a duke. Alright, so she already had the title. That was it then. She had the title, the money, the freedom. Would she think him a hassle in her life? What went through the damned woman’s mind? On top of that, she’d leave his bed. What was he to do? Go insane, certainly.

  Chapter 11

  A week had passed since that abnormal conversation. Philip spent his nights in a hell of unfulfilled desire and his days in bitter frustration. He’d been rough with the staff, bad-humoured with his friends and excessively combative in Parliament. Worse still, she’d been avoiding him like the plague.

  And, hell, he missed her, like a shipwrecked soul. How could it be possible? It’d never happened to him. Women constituted part of life, not a big one at that. She occupied his thoughts as no one else. Worse still, he wanted no one else, ever. She had this power to monopolize his attention, his desire, his…guts! A fever in his blood. That had to be the only explanation.

  Tired of playing this cat and mouse game, he summoned her to the library. Big mistake, he concluded, as she knocked and came in. She looked delicious in that grey dress. The sight of her made him think only of taking her upstairs.

  “You wanted to talk to me.” Her vivid green eyes focused somewhere beyond him.

  “Yes.” He imprinted authority in his tone. “It’s time we resumed our previous…conditions, so to say.”

  He would not ask her. Beg her? Never! He was the duke, she was a woman, his woman, supposed to do his bidding.

  “I don’t think so, Your Grace.” Perfectly composed, her hands laced in front of her.

  Staring closer at her, she appeared paler, with dark circles under her eyes. So she also paid the toll, did she now.

  “Your actions are completely unreasonable.”

  “Unreasonable?” Her brows pleated, her hands flew to her slim waist. Not so composed are we.

  “Yes, that’s what I said.” He provoked. Oh, damn, but he wanted to do more than provoke. The sofa lay so close!

  “You insulted me in that despicable way and here you call me irrational!”

  “A marriage proposal is supposed to honour, not to insult!” His patience slipping away, the badly slept nights, the frustration, everything coming to the surface.

  "Of course I'm insulted!” She paced closer to his desk. “You've mistreated me, taken me for a low born gold and title digger.” Her cheeks flushed. “Then you touch my maidenhead and propose!” What kind of gentleman are you, anyway?” Her green eyes flashed anger. “If I had been just the average widow, what then?” Her chin lifted defiant. Oh, blast, but she aroused him! “I'
d be good enough for a tryst?” Her face became very serious. “I'm not marrying you. Not for the reasons I think you have. You show no respect for me!”

  “I understand your point of view after your reasoning.” He tried to remain calm and cold. Impossible looking at her. She had a point he had to admit. His attitudes towards her didn’t recommend him in the least. “What should I have thought of you, then?” He insisted. “A young woman,” beautiful and tempting like no other. “Married to a man trice her age.” He never asked her why, but the reason seemed clear enough.

  “Haven’t you come to know me better, perhaps?” She asked with so much dignity, it impressed him.

  Know her? Oh, yes, in the biblical sense, no doubt. But…yes, he’d got to interact more with her and he could say she didn’t seem the materialistic type, she didn’t go shopping as often as other women; hid in the blasted library every time she had the opportunity. She’d learned a lot there, he remembered that afternoon in the manor, before they came back to London. No! Do not go there! His body reacted to the memory so furiously he had to remain seated.

  “I have.” He conceded. “My marriage proposal meant no insult.” His eyes perused her greedy. “It stands.”

  Selene stood at the very end of her strong willed intention to remain away from him. These last days were sheer misery! During the day, daydreams and memory interfered in all she did. In the night, cravings and heated dreams haunted her. Her decision faltered; living in the same house made his allure definitely unbearable. She had no idea as to how she’d cope. She must, though. Her pride and dignity didn’t allow her to lower herself giving in to someone who had such a bad opinion of her.

  “Thank you. The answer is still the same.” She said resolutely.

  Moreover, she thought, he fast became a threat to her peace of mind and the integrity of her emotions. As their bodies entwined in the night, so did her emotions. She had to put distance between them for fear of losing her depth. So many things happened underneath when their bodies talked their own language. Tenderness, empathy, consuming yearning, a connection beyond anything rational and explainable. On her part. She knew that for him it would be no more than good and convenient pastime. He’d turn his attentions elsewhere in due time. Married to him, she’d have no way out. Bitterness would be her destiny. One she must avoid at all costs.