Page 10 of Courting the Duchess (Spy Society #1)

S terling tried several times over the ensuing days to make progress in the “wooing” of his wife, but he found the process much more frustrating and exhausting than he remembered.

That, or his wife was now just more difficult.

Each of his overtures was met with one complaint or another, threatening to drive his sanity into the ground. He strongly suspected Alaina was doing so intentionally, and that bolstered his resolve regardless of his apparent lack of progress.

Alaina didn’t care for rubies—she claimed they “washed her out,” whatever that meant. He’d simply seen a lovely piece of jewelry crafted by a very exclusive jeweler and he had purchased it for her.

When he gifted her with an obscenely expensive perfume, she behaved as if the gesture insinuated he did not care for her scent. Quite the contrary, actually. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the delicate hint of floral aroma he’d caught when he’d stood close to her following what he would forever remember as The Rose Incident. He couldn’t place the exact fragrance, but he’d tried, only to have it turn out horribly.

He had hired the most exclusive modiste in London to come to their home and fit her for some new gowns in anticipation of the invitations that would undoubtedly come now that he was showing his face around town. That had gone about as well as the perfume had. Alaina testily reminded him that it was technically inappropriate to gift clothing to a woman whom one was courting.

Sterling was at an utter and complete loss. His wife seemed determined to resist him and any efforts he might put into reconciliation; however, rather than defeat him, he became all the more steadfast in his aim.

Trying to woo his wife became an obsession. He’d lie awake at night, alone in his cold bed, frustrated, trying to concoct ways to make the infuriating woman sleeping just on the other side of the wall happy.

Thus far, it seemed like the only thing that worked was his leaving her alone.

That, however, was most certainly not an option.

She drove him mad with everything she did, and it only spurred him on.

He’d never failed at anything before in his life, and he wasn’t about to allow that to happen now. Not when the stakes were so high. He knew he had to find just one chink in her armor, one crack in her facade, and he’d win.

He was sure of it.

One night, unable to sleep and too restless with nerves, he decided to do some research into his wife. Perhaps he might locate some clues into her mind—something that might help him finally make a slight bit of headway toward his goal.

Sterling slipped silently from the ducal chamber and made his way down the hall on practiced silent feet. No sound came from Alaina’s bedchamber as he passed by and turned, instead, for the adjoining room. The duchess’s private sitting room abutted her bedchamber and was connected by her dressing room. It was designed to allow the lady of the house to move with ease between her private rooms without having to fully dress if she did not wish to.

Pushing the dangerous thought of his half-naked wife aside, Sterling tried the polished brass knob to Alaina’s sitting room, but it was locked. No matter. He’d anticipated as much from the woman who wished to shut him out of her life.

He slipped a small leather case from his pocket and selected the proper silver tools before he crouched and went to work. It would have been far easier to use the key, but the only two copies remained in possession of Alaina and the housekeeper. It took him less than one minute to gain access to the room and slip inside. The skill he’d learned nearly a decade prior had come in handy on numerous occasions, but he’d never thought to employ his lockpicking skills in his own home.

He held still as a cat and allowed his eyes to adjust to the silver moonlight. He could make out the shapes of several tables and chairs, the bulbous, irregular forms of several vases filled with flowers—none of them roses, judging by the scent. The far corner held what he desired.

The delicate escritoire contained neat stacks of clean parchment, bottles of ink in several colors, a candle, and the implements necessary for her to seal her correspondence. He examined her neat, confident handwriting on what appeared to be a draft menu for when she would next host her Reading Society. A list of odd items filled another page: yards of fabric in plain colors, ink, chalk, parchment, and a variety of books ranging from didactic literature to fairytales. He saw no immediate value in the list, so he set it aside.

Another piece of parchment held a few lines of text to her mother, but it was riddled with lines and corrections before it was ultimately abandoned. He knew Alaina and the countess had never been close—had never shared the warm, comfortable relationship one might hope for between mother and child—and it appeared that hadn’t changed much in his absence. His heart lurched at the realization. A part of him had maintained hope that her family would rally around her after he left for the Continent, but this only confirmed his suspicions that that had not been the case. Likely, Brendt and his wife had been more concerned about saving face than comforting their daughter in her time of need. He cursed both them and himself for the selfish actions which had impacted Alaina so.

Setting the page aside, Sterling moved on to quietly opening and closing each of the dainty drawers in turn. Most of it was unremarkable and unhelpful…until he came to the largest drawer in the middle. The lock was engaged, but he made short work of it to discover it held a significant stack of envelopes. Careful to remain as silent as possible, he began flipping through them, peering inside at their contents whenever he was particularly intrigued. Titles, names, and dates flashed before his eyes.

And his jaw clenched so tightly it was a miracle he didn’t crack a tooth.

Each morning, Alaina woke with dread, wondering what surprise Sterling had in store for her that day. Up to that point, he’d been horribly off the mark, but he’d somehow managed to remain determinedly charming in his disappointment.

And, each day, Alaina was afraid that he might finally get something right and she’d be forced to admit as much. She could admit to herself that it was a ridiculous thing to be concerned about—having one’s husband make too sweet or thoughtful a gesture—but this was how things stood.

There was always such a hopeful gleam in his arresting eyes the moment before she crushed him, but he was persistent. She had to concede that point.

Each time she felt the slightest wavering of her resolve when faced with his handsome features and charm, she had to remind herself that this was still the same man who’d abandoned her and lived the extravagant life of an attractive, wealthy, titled bachelor on the Continent while she languished in loneliness in London. And then she’d set her jaw and pick up her manuscript to read through her parts to prepare for the next Reading Society gathering.

That morning, Alaina crept from her chambers, hoping to avoid an ambush of thoughtfulness while still bracing herself to find yet another surprise awaiting her. Instead, she found only Sterling seated at the table in the morning room, apparently waiting for her. He stood as soon as he heard her enter, but his determined joviality seemed to have dissipated. Where he’d developed a habit of greeting her with a heart-melting smile each morning, his face remained a cool, unreadable mask. The fact that he sat beside her in silence while her tea was poured and she settled in to break her fast was more than a little unnerving, even to a woman used to dining quietly.

She eyed him over the rim of her teacup, attempting to read his stony features to discern what had changed. Unfortunately, she was no longer as familiar with his expressions and moods as she’d once been, and the man he’d become was far more difficult to read than the newspaper he held before him.

She nearly jumped when those intense eyes of his found her watching him over the corner of his paper. Her heart raced unexpectedly, and she quickly snapped her gaze back to her plate. The last thing she wanted was for him to know how drawn she was to him.

Sterling folded and flicked the newspaper to the table. “What are your plans for today, wife?” he asked in a suspiciously even tone.

Feeling oddly cornered, Alaina was careful to present the same emotionless voice in her response. “Perhaps some shopping; I require a new pair of gloves. And the ladies of the Reading Society are coming over tomorrow afternoon for our gathering, so I will be meeting with Cook to plan some refreshments. We shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours in the front sitting room beginning at half-three.”

Sterling eyed her carefully, causing Alaina’s breath to catch in her throat. She had the distinct feeling she was being hunted, and she’d never felt more helpless.

“Perhaps,” he began in a low, dangerous tone; “you may wish to carve some time out today to handle your correspondence.”

She sat back in her chair. Now that was one of the least likely things she thought she would hear from his well-formed lips. “Whatever do you—”

Alaina’s mouth snapped shut when he pulled a large stack of bound envelopes in various shades of cream and white from between the pages of his newspaper and dropped them with a resounding thud on the table between them. She tried not to flinch.

Blast.

Schooling her features and her voice to remain as calm as possible, she asked, “Why would you riffle through my desk?”

“Why would you ignore or decline all of these invitations, Alaina?” he demanded, mocking her inquiry. “Every single one of these possesses a date since my return to London. Why would you hide these from me?” Was it her imagination, or was there a flicker of hurt in the mossy depths of his eyes? Could he possibly have been injured by her omission of these invitations? “If we are going to coexist in this marriage, then I need to know about these things.” The rough tone of his voice told him she hadn’t imagined it.

Her mind raced, but Alaina knew there was no way to lie herself out of this situation—no way to spin it to mask the embarrassing truth of it.

“What would you like me to say?” she snapped in an effort to disguise her own pain, her heart thrashing like a caged wild bird. “That I did not wish to face all the questions and leers?” While her husband’s eyes remained steadfastly locked on hers, there was a methodical flex of a muscle in his chiseled jaw that told her he was listening and not liking what he heard. “Some of those invitations may be genuine—old friends desiring to welcome you home—but I know these people well enough to say with confidence that many are simply morbidly curious about your return…about the state of our marriage.” Her fists clenched around the cloth napkin in her lap, twisting it over and over again as she was transformed back into the abandoned girl, so lost and hopelessly alone. “‘Why did Morton return now ? Did the duchess finally grow enough of a backbone to yank his leash and drag him home?’” she mocked in a nasty approximation of only a small fraction of the gossip she’d endured over the years. Her cheeks warmed painfully, and the backs of her eyes began to sting. She cursed inwardly; she’d believed herself to be past allowing such thoughts and words to harm her, but it was clear their venom still festered deep inside her soul.

Sterling suddenly stood and moved to her side. Taken aback by the gesture, she forgot to fight when he removed the wrinkled napkin from between her fingers and pulled her to her feet, gently tugging her into his arms. There was only a heartbeat between when Alaina froze in shock, and when she was overcome by how Sterling overwhelmed nearly every one of her senses.

He smelled just like she remembered—clean, leather and sandalwood. His arms were so sturdy around her, making her feel so small and protected. The hard length of his body was firm against every inch of her, and yet, it was comfortable and comforting in the most unexpected way. She fit there…just there with her head tucked beneath his chin and her cheek pressed against the thrumming heart beneath his breast. It was foreign to her to be cradled in his strong arms, held against the solid wall of his chest, cocooned in his masculine scent, but it was more shocking to her to realize that it wasn’t as unwelcome as she’d believed it might be.

All the frustration Sterling had displayed seemed to have dissipated and, in its place, was this unexpected tenderness.

Though Alaina had initially stiffened against the unfamiliar contact, she gradually melted into the embrace. Hesitantly (and against her better judgment), her arms wound ’round Sterling’s narrow waist; this only prompted him to hold her closer, tighter, and rest his chin atop her hair. Her eyes slid closed and, though her conscience railed against it, she allowed herself to be carried away by it all.

How long had it been since she’d been held like this?

For that matter, had she ever been held quite like this?

The gesture spoke to a secret part of her soul she’d kept locked away for fear that its release would break her…a part that desired this closeness with another person…had always craved this tenderness and understanding from him, above all others.

She counted the steady thrum of his heart.

One…two…three…four…five…

And then Sterling loosened his hold on her just enough to allow her to take half a step back while keeping her within his arms. Alaina looked up to find his hazel eyes staring down at her intently.

“It is unfair,” he began gently, his voice reverberating in the space between them, entering her chest like tendrils of intoxicating smoke; “that you must concern yourself with such things. And I don’t believe I will ever successfully express how sorry I am for it.” His thumb began to stroke her back from side to side, and it was difficult for her to concentrate. “But wouldn’t it be wonderful to accept some of these invitations and present a united front? We are, after all, a duke and a duchess…we cannot hide from social obligations forever.”

Alaina’s lips parted when she saw his eyes dart to her mouth. Her lungs released a shaky sigh of their own volition.

His arms tensed around her.

The dark pools of his pupils dilated.

“A—Are you going to kiss me?” she asked in a voice more breathless than she would have liked.

“Do you wish for me to kiss you, Alaina?”

It was Alaina’s turn to lower her gaze to his lips. He’d kissed her before and, though it was many years ago now, this felt entirely different.

This was more powerful.

More dangerous.

His mouth held her mesmerized; even more so when it tilted into a smile.

Sterling’s voice lowered further when he said, “It’s more than alright if you do. It is your right as a wife to demand kisses, a right I will always wholly support and even encourage.”

Alaina swallowed involuntarily. The tip of her tongue darted out and wet her lower lip.

Unable to resist, Sterling lowered his head in slow increments. He afforded Alaina every chance to pull free while mentally preparing himself for a stinging slap to his cheek, but some unseen force kept her captive in his arms, in his eyes.

His lips stopped a breath away from hers.

Waiting.

Alaina’s eyes slid closed and, though he knew it likely grated against her better judgment, she tilted her head a fraction of an inch to touch her lips to his.

Sterling emitted an involuntary groan at the tender contact. She was sweeter and gentler than his wildest imaginings. It was a tragedy above all else that he’d forgotten how petal-soft her lips were…how very sweet she tasted.

Through no small feat of strength, held himself in check, kissing her back with similar tentative gentleness as they learned one another again.

Chills danced across every one of his nerves when she ran her hands along his side to splay against his chest and the pounding heart it barely contained.

His body hardened with painful swiftness at her hesitant touch, the blood fleeing his brain so quickly that it nearly made him blackout. Instead, he clutched his wife more tightly, using her as his anchor in a world that had suddenly been thrown on its side. Every part of him screamed out to have her hands on his bare flesh. He was desperate for her to touch him, to touch her in return.

It had been far, far too long…

Sterling couldn’t resist a gentle pass of his tongue against the seam of her velvet lips. She responded with a sigh, parting them for his exploration. He drank of her deeply—like a man gasping for air after being submerged in stormy waters for far too long—and held the full length of her body tightly to his own. Silently, he marveled at the way they fit when he pressed himself more closely to feel every one of her curves. What he wouldn’t give to have the barrier of their clothing removed so he could finally show her just how much he had thought about her all this time… His body yearned to demonstrate all the ways he’d longed for her, to prove to her, as his words could not, how deeply he had always desired her.

Abruptly, Alaina levered all her weight against Sterling’s chest and shoved him away. He released her without resistance and she stumbled a few dazed steps backward, leaving him standing there bereft and painfully aroused, his chest heaving.

*

It was a study in futility for Alaina to attempt to slow her pounding heart.

Sterling had kissed her a few times in the past, but those had always been very chaste affairs. What had just transpired had been different.

Very different.

Very exciting…

This particular kiss had involved touching with other parts of their anatomy, teeth, and tongues. This sort of kiss had always seemed decidedly messy and unappetizing in theory; in practice, however, Alaina was shocked to discover how weak her knees had become and how hot her body had grown. It was as if Sterling had fanned banked coals beneath her skin and she was helpless against the rising sparks as they raced through her veins.

Alaina felt as if she was being lured out onto a dangerous precipice and the sensation caused her breath to stall in an approximation of terror. She’d very nearly drowned in Sterling’s heady scent and taste, his overwhelming assault upon her senses…but she’d been saved when her last shred of sanity reminded her that this was the man whose intimate exploits were the juices of the ton ’s gossip and had been for many years now. His lush behavior and association with some of the most beautiful women the Continent had to offer had consistently poured salt in her wounds, leaving her an oxymoronic virgin wife while he sought solace everywhere but in her arms.

Sterling’s sudden, slow smile only caused Alaina’s ire to rise further. “I doubt,” she practically panted as she snapped, “we will ever be able to present a convincing performance of unity; not when I and the rest of Society know how you’ve spent the last eight years. It was made clear many times over with whom you chose to spend your time, and it certainly was not me.”

“What are you—” her husband began and then his mouth snapped shut when he recognized what she was insinuating. He ran a rough, frustrated hand over his face and back through his burnished chestnut hair. “Surely you cannot be serious?”

Alaina’s jaw clenched as tightly as her fists. It was clear Sterling would not be accepting accountability for anything, and she refused to allow herself to fall victim to his disarmingly handsome face, unjustly kind words, and distracting kisses. She moved to brush past him and storm from the room, but his hand shot out and grabbed her upper arm. His grip was strong but not bruising; he exerted just enough pressure to keep her from leaving.

“It is not what you believe.”

“Then what is it?” she demanded brokenly, certain that he could read the pain in her eyes. “Was the number just an exaggeration? Are a dozen lovers a more realistic figure? What should I believe when so many sources reported nothing but your immoral behavior and your infidelity as you made a mockery of me and of our farce of a marriage?”

Sterling pleaded with his eyes, doing his best to silently convey his sincerity. His inability to disclose the details of his absence to Alaina was torture. Scouted in his youth for his charm, intelligence, and eventual dukedom, he’d been deemed an asset beneficial to England’s aims on the Continent. He’d proven too useful, and what should only have been twelve months turned into two years, then three, then eight. He ached to tell her so much of what she’d heard had been a lie—carefully planted stories and clever acting to make him seem no more a threat than a dandified womanizer. Somehow, he needed her to understand this without betraying his mission or placing her in unnecessary danger by giving her classified information. Though it had caused him no small amount of guilt, he’d worked endlessly to separate himself from his wife and make her seem less important to him than she was—all to keep her safe. If he’d been discovered, it was not outside the realm of possibility that Alaina might have become a target if it was discovered just how much she mattered to him. He wouldn’t undo all of that now.

It pained him beyond reason that she believed in the rumors of his extensive promiscuity—that she felt he might have wanted those women more than her—but it wouldn’t do much to argue with her other than stoke the flames of her anger. He’d learned as much about his wife in the weeks since his return.

He was more than frustrated by the situation, disgusted with his helplessness to undo the damage his choices and his behavior had caused. He took a deep breath, but it did almost nothing to calm his roiling emotions. The lust he’d experienced with her body pressed against his was quickly being smothered by annoyance at himself—at the situation they were in and the state of their marriage—because of an obligation he’d taken on many years prior, and regret over having caused Alaina such pain.

“It is not what you think because it didn’t happen.” His voice was a low rumble.

Alaina scoffed in reply, but he refused to release her when she tried to leave once more. He held her arm and her gaze for one, two, three heartbeats and then stepped back, freeing her.

“Fine,” Sterling bit off. “If you would rather believe the drivel in The Prattler over your husband, then so be it. Why trust me over the hundreds of wagging tongues who’ve nothing better to do than prey upon and exploit the weaknesses of others.” He had a feeling he’d come to regret his next statement, but all rationality had fled him at that point, drained from him by the gaping wound in his heart: “No wonder you don’t wish to accept any of these invitations when you care more for what others believe than my word.”

Alaina said nothing.

Instead, she spun and fled the room.