Page 30 of Courting Scandal With The Duke

She picked up her needlework from the workbox beside her chair. She stared at it, as if she had never seen it before.

She glanced warily over at Barbara. ‘You know, marrying the Duke would solve all of these problems. Yours, since you would be well taken care of. Your Father’s, because he would have all the influence he has ever desired as father-in-law to a duke.’

As her aunt spoke, Barbara felt the blood drain from her head. At first, she felt numb, then a cold chill coursed through her veins.

She clenched her hands in her lap. ‘I see. Everyone’s well-being depends on me doing the right thing.’ What about the right thing for her? Didn’t anyone care?

‘Even I would benefit,’ Aunt Lenore continued dreamily, clearly not hearing Barbara’s pain. ‘No one would dare look down on me, were you a duchess. Not to mention, I would have been instrumental in making the match of the decade.’

It was like being caught in some sort of web, or a net, slowly closing around her. Logical words pressing in on her.

‘It is a pipe dream, Aunt,’ she said loudly enough to shake the elderly woman awake. ‘The Duke is not about to marry a twice-widowed woman whose reputation hangs on a thread. He is seeking a woman who will be a proper wife and a proper duchess.’

Just saying it hurt. But it was true. She would be a terrible match for Xavier and he must know it.

Her aunt twisted her finger in one of the ringlets falling over her ears, then let it spring back into place.

‘Perhaps you can somehow convince him you will change. It is clear that he likes you.’

She had absolutely no intention of doing anything of the sort.

Never again would she put her trust in a man. And that was what a wife must do, since once she was married she was no longer a person in her own right.

And as she had learned to her cost, she could not trust any man, even if she was drowning and he had a rope close to hand.

Oh, something inside her, the little girl who had sat staring out of the dormitory window for the sight of her father, kept hoping Xavier might be different, but in her heart of hearts she knew it wasn’t possible.

Father had never arrived to collect her in her hour of need.

Nor had Helmut for that matter. So why would Xavier be any different?

She would keep their assignation on Wednesday and bid him a fond farewell. And rather than drag his good name through the mire, seek a different way to bring about her ruin. That was the best she could do for him.

She ignored the twist of pain close to her heart.

Xavier mopped his face with the towel the trainer handed him.

‘Are you mad?’

Xavier tossed the towel to one side and gave Julian a look of scorn. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I saw you just now. That wasn’t sparring, that was fighting. You are going to have a couple of lovely bruises tomorrow.’

New bruises to join the old ones.

‘So will he.’ He nodded towards his opponent. The man grinned.

He’d given as good as he’d got, and received a goodly sum for the privilege.

Julian shook his head. ‘I haven’t seen you in this sort of mood since your father died. What has happened?’

‘I do not know what you mean.’

‘Fighting like you wanted someone to hurt you. ’

‘It is exercise. Nothing more.’ Trying to get the itch he had for the Countess out from under his skin, more like. He had come very close to making the worst mistake of his life.

Thank God her father had been present when he called or he would right now be receiving congratulations on his impending marriage.

Fortunately the time he’d had to reflect on the full import of his decision had stopped him from doing something so foolish.

Later today, when they met privately, he would tell her their affair was over.

Even if he had to beat himself to a pulp in the boxing ring to make himself do it.

She was not the sort of woman he wanted to wed. He should never have started an affair with her. He deserved a few bruises for being so stupid.

It had always worked when he was a lad at school. He rarely needed a real fight these days. A few rounds of sparring usually took the pepper out of his temper. Helped him regain control.

He took a deep breath. And put on his shirt. It seemed he definitely needed control when it came to dealing with the Countess.

And besides, she had made it very clear she had no interest in marrying him.

He had, he realised later, been fortunate indeed to catch the tail end of her words.

He could understand why she might not want to marry for a third time, even if he was a duke.

He certainly did not wish her to be forced into it.

‘Want to come to White’s for luncheon?’ Julian asked.

‘I need to go home for a bath,’ Xavier said. ‘I have an appointment this afternoon.’

Julian looked disappointed but gave a shrug. ‘Tomorrow, then.’

‘Yes. Tomorrow.’ By tomorrow, he and the Countess would have parted.

He just hoped she would not be too upset.

He did not like dealing with emotional women.

They reminded him too much of vague memories of his stepmother when her plans were thwarted.

Later that afternoon, walking down the path to the front door of Rose Tree Cottage, he was immediately aware that Barbara had arrived first.

He forced himself not to hurry. He had no wish to give any hint that he was anxious to see her again. To give her the wrong impression. To raise expectations.

He was merely looking forward to getting their farewell over and done.

He found her on the terrace looking out at the river.

She looked beautiful in a delicate muslin gown of pale blue. Calm. Stately. A wide-brimmed straw hat framed her lovely face, and a knowing smile curved her lips and lit her cat-like eyes as she turned to face him.

His heart seemed to jolt and then pick up speed. Hot blood coursed through his veins.

‘Good afternoon,’ he said, taking her hand, trying to ignore the rush of desire .

Yes, he would be well rid of this sort of emotional upheaval.

He kissed the back of her hand and turned it over, tracing the delicate blue line on her wrist with his gaze, feeling the pulse beat of her heart beneath his thumb.

He kissed her palm, inhaling the scent of her, wild, yet delicate and heady to his senses.

Her soft gasp made his body tighten.

‘I wasn’t sure you would come today,’ she said in a soft murmur.

He gazed into her face. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and full of passion. Long lashes swept down and up, hiding her thoughts.

‘Why would you think I would not?’ he asked.

She reached up to cup his cheek in the palm he had kissed. ‘After your encounter with my father, I thought you might be inclined to cut and run.’

He stiffened. ‘I have never cut and run from anything in my life.’ Inwardly, he shook his head at his words.

Was not that what he intended? Was not severing their relationship cutting and running?

But he wouldn’t be doing so without letting her know.

Not like some cowardly thief sneaking away in the dead of night.

She wound her arms around his neck and offered her lips to his.

He kissed her, hard, deeply, and let his body feel the pleasure of her softness melding against him.

She arched into him, sighing and moaning as their tongues tangled and nothing existing but the two of them.

When he broke the kiss, they were both breathing hard. She stared into his face, long and hard. Her thumbs ran along his cheekbones, and the faint twinge from an old bruise made him blink.

All his recent bruises were on his body.

‘It is goodbye then?’ she said softly.

What? How did she know? He had wanted to shield her from the pain of parting, somehow, and yet he could not. He must be honest.

‘After today,’ he agreed, trying to keep his voice gentle. He wanted to explain, but she touched his lips as if she did not want him to speak.

‘Then today we will make memories.’ Her eyes gleamed with wicked amusement.

He breathed an inward sigh of relief. She was not going to be upset, or angry, or throw things.

‘Yes.’ Memories. But memories were often painful things.

‘I want to show you something,’ she said. She took his hand and to his surprise lead him not into the house but into the garden.

Along the flagstones towards the river.

Her hand was so small, so delicate, so soft in his. And no gloves to spoil the sensation. He liked the way her fingers curled around his palm. He raised her hand and kissed the back of it. She looked up at him and laughter danced in her eyes.

But she did not stop.

Halfway down the garden she turned to pass through a trellised arch with a bud covered rose bush clinging to it for support.

Beyond the arch was a hidden arbour surrounded by more roses twined around artfully placed trellises, and in the centre a seat, a statue and a small patch of sunlit grass on which someone had laid out a blanket and cushions.

‘I forgot about this arbour,’ he said.

‘I had no idea it existed. Someone pruned the roses since last we were at the cottage, otherwise I would not have noticed it.’

‘I have a gardener who looks after several of my properties.’ He looked at the blankets. ‘Are we having a picnic?’

She gave him a naughty sideways glance. ‘I suppose you could call it that?’

His breath caught in his throat. She could not mean what he thought she meant.

Could she?

The high hedges meant they could not be seen by the occupants either side of the cottage, although perhaps they were overlooked from the windows high in the eaves. He glanced back and up.

Here amid the roses, they were completely hidden from view.

‘You naughty minx!’

She sank onto the blanket cross-legged and leaned back on her hands, still laughing up at him.

He dropped to his knees facing her and, holding her face in his hands, kissed her lips briefly.

The brim of her bonnet got in his way. He untied the strings and cast it aside.

‘That’s better,’ he said, leaning forward to devour her lovely, delicious mouth.

Slowly, she sank back on the cushions taking him down with her until they lay prone and entangled, her arms around him, his thigh between hers, her breast soft beneath his palm, with only the finest lawn between them.

No stays, he realised with a start, drawing back.

She pulled at his cravat, freeing the ends. ‘Methinks you are wearing far too many clothes,’ she murmured softly.

God help him. He was.