Page 31 of Daring with a Duke (The Jennings Family #2)

31

Felicity

F elicity sat on a thick blanket and stared out across the rocky beach into the dark blue-black ocean. A cool, salty wind whipped around her, and she wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Despite the warmth and the cloudless sky, the breeze off the water carried a light chill. The man swimming in the English Channel before her—the reason for her trip to the beach—must be freezing.

Yesterday had been one bad occurrence after another. First, the whole debacle with Pandora announcing for everyone in Christendom to hear that Felicity and Ash had been intimate. Because screaming nightmares . Lord, help her.

It had just piled on, one pitchfork of manure after another. A tearful Pandora had relayed that she’d tried to convince her father he should marry Felicity. But he had been adamant he most definitely did not want to marry Felicity. Even though Pandora thought Felicity would make the perfect mama. Felicity rubbed her chest. The organ in there was struggling.

Then Colborn had abruptly left. In the middle of Pandora’s birthday picnic, he announced he was leaving a day early for Brackenridge Hollow and departed soon after, barely managing a farewell to his father and sister.

And finally, there was Ash.

Ash had done a spectacular job of avoiding her. And that was what he was doing; she knew it for a fact now. He had reverted back to his silent, reserved self at dinner last night. No matter how hard Felicity had tried, she hadn’t been able to coax him into conversation. And after dinner, he had been unsurprisingly absent.

Strong, tanned arms arced through the channel, stirring up otherwise calm waters. She needed to talk to him. The unknown was gnawing away at her.

When she had inquired about Ash’s whereabouts, his valet had informed her Ash had gone for a swim. And a swim in May? That must be painfully cold. Like torture. So, as Felicity watched the man in the water slow in his swimming and turn back to the shore, she knew with certainty he was out there punishing himself for being with her.

An overwhelming tightness took over her, and she had to force her lungs to work past her closing-in ribcage. He regretted her. Was ashamed. Creating a black mark that now tainted what they had shared two nights ago. And sent all semblance of hope—that just maybe he would want a future with her, too—scattering across the beach in the wind.

But here she was. Trying anyway. Fighting anyway.

She was always fighting for herself, it seemed. She lifted her chin to the channel and dug her fingers into the blanket, the pebbled beach tough and unbreakable beneath her hands. Just as she was. Always.

Ash emerged from the channel, water surging away from him. Her determination dimmed, tension fading into longing, as the irresistible distraction of Ash’s physique presented itself. Rivulets of water cascaded down his hewn form, disappearing into the deep ridges of his muscles.

He was perfectly made, all strong shoulders and defined chest, a chiseled torso whose muscles rippled with each step. And she knew the intimate feel of that physique. What it felt to be held by it, weighed down by it, surrounded by it. A defeated dreamy sigh escaped her. Such glorious muscles that led down to a narrow waist. A narrow waist that led down to—

Felicity’s eyes flew wide, the salty breeze assaulting her and stinging her eyes. But she couldn’t get her lids to go back to normal, to blink. Because apparently Ash swam naked.

Urghh . Focus, Fliss.

Did she listen? No, of course not. She tilted her head and studied him instead, as any respectable lady ought to do. Odd, his cock seemed much larger the other night. Though she knew it grew, maybe it grew quite substantially? And now she’d been staring at his manly bits for quite some time.

Her gaze flew to Ash’s and his was already on hers, lips twitching, apparently not embarrassed in the least to be caught without a stitch of clothing on. He hastily dried himself while she shamelessly ogled his arse. He was bloody edible.

Pull. Your. Self. Together.

He slipped a blanket around his shoulders, and just before he covered himself, she spotted a large black mark just below his right shoulder. He made his way over to her, and she tried to calm her chaotic heart, her chaotic thoughts.

“Hullo, Duke,” she said calmly, gazing up at him from where she sat on her blanket.

“I see you discovered my whereabouts.”

“Mr. Thorne.”

He cursed meddling friends beneath his breath and let out a sigh.

“You are avoiding me, then?” Her stare fell to the pebbled beach, and that fact doused all chaos. The tightness, the trapped feeling from earlier, rushed back with a vengeance.

“After yesterday, I needed some time with my thoughts. Some time to…” he drifted off, and when she peeked at him, he was staring out at the ocean.

“To punish yourself,” she murmured.

He looked back at her, his blue eyes sad, his lips pursed. That look was confirmation.

“For being with me.” She couldn’t hide the dejection in her tone.

“No!” The word burst from him, and relief flooded her. “I mean, yes. Perhaps?” And the brief relief was quickly drawn back, much like the waves retreating from the shore. A strangled sound came from him. “May I sit?”

She nodded, and he sat next to her on her left. “I am sorry I have been distant, Lissy,” he whispered.

And the use of his pet name for her had hope simmering—a gentle simmer easily extinguished. She held on to that with a desperately tight grip.

“I have been lost inside my head. It is not a pretty place to be,” he admitted.

He brought his blanket up and rubbed it over his still-dripping hair before shaking his head like a dog, a few cool drops landing on her cheeks. The black mark peeped out again from under his blanket, and her eyes homed in on it. A black animal?

She reached over and placed her fingers on the mark. She sucked in a breath at the chill to his skin, and he froze. Their gazes clashed.

“What is this?” she asked, leaning back to gain a better view.

“A tattoo.”

She furrowed her brows, tracing over the design—a dog of some sort. “I’ve heard of such things but have never seen one.”

Her fingers dusted over the thick black mane, over to where the beast’s ears flattened back. A linked chain wrapped around its muzzle, around its head, around its neck. His fangs were bared in a snarl, his mouth clamped on…a wrist, a delicate hand limply hanging from the beast’s jaw, as if he had swallowed a woman whole.

She looked back at Ash, and his deep blue eyes swirled but gave none of his emotions away. “What does it mean?”

“It is Fenrir, a monstrous wolf in Norse mythology.” He glanced away, looking out at the water. “He symbolizes untamed chaos, destruction. No matter how the gods tried to chain him down, his devastation could not be stopped.”

She traced over the woman’s fingers, and his skin quivered beneath her touch. “Why do I get the feeling that this Fenrir has a deeper meaning when it comes to you?”

He swallowed, his throat rippling, and her eyes caught on the movement. And then he turned to face her, and when his eyes met hers again, this time the emotion was clear: tortured.

“He is a reminder. Of who I am, of my sins.” A muscle ticked in his jaw, and his lips pressed in a firm line.

His sins… “And the woman’s hand?”

“It is my late wife’s.” His eyes dulled, flattened, just as his tone did.

Her brows tightened, and the words Colborn hurled at Ash in the library flitted through her mind.

Oh, like you never forced mother to sleep with you… Like you never harmed her.

“Why your late wife’s…?” She waited with bated breath, seconds slowing to a glacial pace.

The tension radiating from his frame had her heart thrumming in her ears. Something about the moment gave way to an unbearable anticipation, one leading to a discovery she, for some reason, didn’t want to know.

And when he answered, it was the last thing she could have ever expected to hear.

“Because I killed her.”

She reeled backward—in complete and utter shock at how utterly preposterous the notion was. He flinched at her retreat, and pain contorted his features.

She was back in front of him in an instant, on her knees before him, turning his face to hers.

“Explain. I do not believe for a minute you killed your wife, Ash.” She had never been more certain of anything in her life. There wasn’t much in this life she was sure of anymore, but this…killing his wife? Absolutely not. She knew in her soul it wasn’t true.

His mouth worked, and she shivered at the eerie sound of bone against bone as he ground his teeth. This man seemed set on living a life filled with self-flagellation. And for sins she was sure were as made up as the mythical monster tattooed on his back.

She squeezed his jaw and gave it a light shake. “Ashley James Stuart, out with it. Now.”

His eyes flared wide, and his jaw slackened in her hand at her unyielding tone, at her use of his full Christian name. His full name that had flowed much too easily off her tongue, in a way that felt like she had done it endless times before. Like she a reprimanding wife and he a chastised husband.

He remained silent. She arched a brow and narrowed her eyes, attempting to glare it out of him. If he thought he would win this battle, he was sorely mistaken. A part of her, deep inside, whispered that she wasn’t just referring to this conversation.

A sigh exploded from him, and he looked off in the distance, breaking away from her hold. He delved a hand into his hair and tugged.

“I confessed to you that my late wife and I did not possess any love for each other. It was not just limited to matters of the heart. There was very little intimacy at all. She made it very clear that she did not desire my attentions, that she endured them simply for the purposes of producing children.”

She studied his tense profile, his sharp jaw.

“I did my best not to bother her with my attentions, and once she desired no more children, my visits ceased altogether.”

She glanced down at where his hand rested close to hers on the forest green blanket. She inched her fingers across the wool until they rested over his. His chin dipped in her periphery, and she knew he was staring at their nearly entwined hands. It amazed her how different this man was to who she had expected him to be, how different he was from his son.

“I fell head-over-heels in love the moment I held Pandora in my arms,” he said softly. “For the first time, I was connected—bonded—to someone. I wanted more of that feeling. I wanted another daughter. Winifred had reservations, but eventually, she came around to the idea. But I think I was projecting my own yearning for another child onto her, seeing a mutual want where there wasn’t one.”

“Because when I visited her bed—” His voice broke, and her gaze shot to his face, still directed at their hands. The muscles in his face contorted in waves, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts.

He glanced at her, his blue eyes broken, shattered. “Do you know what it is like to know your touch repulses another? How it gnaws away at you, erodes you from the inside out. Because you are so bloody desperate for any sort of connection, intimate or otherwise.” His fingers dug into the blanket, hand curling beneath hers.

“She…she agreed for no other reason than that was what a wife ought, with grim acceptance. Because I selfishly wanted more children, even though we already had an heir and spare and a daughter. I swore if she didn’t get with child after that visit, I would be happy with having just one daughter. There was no way I could put either of us through that again.”

“Turns out, I didn’t need to,” he choked out, his voice as jagged as broken glass. When he finally continued, his voice shook. “She ended up pregnant, and nine months later, both she and our second daughter died in childbirth.”

Felicity’s lungs stalled.

He turned to her, and pain blackened his deep-blue eyes, bled from them in the form of tears. “I will never forgive myself.”

Oh, Ash. No. Her heart fractured for him. And now she understood. Not what he struggled with, not how he felt, but the reasons behind the essence of who he was.

“Ash, your wife’s death was not your fault. It was a horrible, horrible, tragic accident. One you had absolutely no control over.”

He turned away from her, his throat muscles clenching. “I did, though,” he said thickly. “Because if I hadn’t demanded one more child, she would still be here. My children would still have their mother. Winnifred would still have her life. ”

“It is not a crime to want a family,” she said softly. “If your wife and daughter had survived, do you not think she would have been happy to have another daughter?”

His lips rolled in. “I suppose,” he finally said with a defeated shrug. “She loved nothing in her life more than her children. But pregnancy, the labor, the healing afterwards—it was incredibly grueling on her.”

“So, if it wasn’t for that, she would have wanted more children?” Felicity prodded.

His forehead lined. “I want to say yes, but she would still have had to bed me.”

Yes, what a chore that was. “I will admit, I have trouble understanding why that would be…as I have first-hand experience with just how extraordinary it is to be with you in that way.” She tried to infuse reassurance in her squeeze of his hand, in the surety of her tone. “The problem wasn’t you, Ash. I am sure of it. It was the situation you two were forced into.”

Unfortunately, that evoked absolutely no reaction.

“Perhaps she had preferred women. Or perhaps she had been raised to be ashamed of the sexual act. It is constantly drilled into women how sinful sex is unless it’s for procreation. That desire is a sin.” Her eyes followed a tear slowly trailing down the sharp line of his jaw. “Or perhaps it was scars from being forced into marriage,” she whispered. “Into breeding at the age of sixteen, something that I can only imagine was immensely traumatizing. But it wasn’t you. ”

She gently took his face in her hands and smoothed away the tear tracks on his cheeks. “I ache for you both. For what you were put through. For the unfairness life dealt you. But her death was not your fault. That was another unfairness life handed you. Childbirth comes with risks, whether both parties desired the child or not. And based on what you told me of your wife, I think if the fates had been kinder, when she held your daughter in her arms, she would have thought it was all worth it.”

Another tear leaked free, and she leaned forward and brushed it away with a kiss. A shudder wracked his frame, and he blew out a long, slow sigh.

“I cannot say I forgive myself, but thank you, Felicity.” He pulled back and captured her with his stare. He swallowed, slow and labored. “Your words help,” he croaked out hoarsely.

And for now, hearing that felt like she had just been handed the moon. She couldn’t imagine enduring the trials life had put him through.

“I think I may have something that might cheer you up. I have a gift for you.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You do?”

She smiled and waggled her brows, trying to infuse some lightness into the heavy moment. She dug inside the basket at her side and pulled out what she had been searching for before she hurt her ankle in the wood of Willow Grove. After Ash had left her—completely breathless and dizzy from his kiss—she had gone back in search of the perfect rock to add to his collection.

She rubbed her thumb over the smooth stone and held it out to him. It was oblong and flat, almost flat enough to be a skipping stone. But it was ebony black with white and gray striations running through it.

He took it and stared at it, much smaller in his palm than hers. The silence grew between them, and a light heat prickled over her face.

“I had thought it might be a nice addition to your rock collection,” she said hesitantly. Perhaps this hadn’t been a good idea. How did one decide on a new pet-rock? Was it odd to just choose a random one? Was there supposed to be some significance behind the choice?

A sad smile curved his lips, and he turned the rock over in his hand, brushing his fingers over the smooth surface. He glanced at her. “It is perfect,” he whispered. He leaned over and dusted his knuckles over her cheekbone. “As are you.”

He was very close now. Inches. His towering frame blocked out the sun’s rays, but she felt anything but cold.

His nose brushed against hers. “You are painfully perfect.”

His breath coasted over her lips, warm and inviting. And real. The man, the feelings, the moment. Real.

She leaned forward, their lips pressing softly together—

Hooves pounded into the earth, growing quickly louder. Ash abruptly pulled away.

Mr. Thorne galloped toward them, face grim. Ash was already up and moving toward his valet, his face marred with a frown. Mr. Thorne pulled up next to Ash, his horse’s hindquarters dancing, both horse and rider seeming to have a sense of urgency about them.

“What is it, Sam?” Ash demanded.

She loved his low, authoritative tone, when he turned all commanding Duke. Small ripples of awareness skated down her spine.

Which was immediately snuffed out by Mr. Thorne’s next words.

“Lord Bentley’s coach was spotted not a far distance from the castle.”

Shite. Bugger. Fuck.

Her brother was here.