Page 11 of My Demanding Duke (Forbidden Love #2)

CHAPTER TEN

THE MORNING LIGHT filtering through the gauzy curtains awakened Anna slowly, the unfamiliar warmth beside her drawing her from her dreams.

She turned her head cautiously upon the pillow. Her husband lay beside her, his breathing deep and even. His dark hair fell across his forehead, softening the aristocratic angles of his face. In sleep, he looked almost boyish, without the sardonic smile that so often curved his lips.

She squirmed as the events of the previous night rushed back to her in a flood of sensation. Her lips felt bruised, her nipples sensitive, and her most intimate area ached once again with longing. What had this man done to her? His touch, his mouth, the unexpected pleasure that had coursed through her body like lightning—he had cast a spell upon her.

Anna drew the bed sheet higher beneath her chin, feeling a flush spread across her cheeks. A lady did not indulge so eagerly in such wanton behavior, as she had last night. And she had not merely indulged but reveled in it, her body betraying her with its primal response to his attentions.

The memory of her straddling Falconbridge in the carriage, her breasts bare against the cool air, brought a rush of shame—and worse, arousal. If the carriage ride had been any longer, Anna was certain that her maidenhead would not still be intact.

And yet it was.

Anna scrutinised her sleeping husband, wondering why—for a second night—he had not claimed his marital rights. He’d had every opportunity, given that she had offered her naked body to him on a proverbial plate. Yet he had not taken her; instead, he had lavished attention onto her body, onto her desire—with startling results.

She flushed as she recalled the pleasurable torture his tongue had created, building until she had lost complete control of herself. She hadn’t known that her body was capable of such sensations and, to her distress, she wanted more.

He has cast a spell on me, she thought wildly, wriggling from beneath the sheets to escape him.

Completely naked, she hopped from the bed, her eyes scanning the room for something to cover herself with.

“That’s a view a man could become accustomed to waking up to.”

Anna jumped, turning to find Falconbridge awake, propped up on one shoulder, openly admiring her body. She made to cover her breasts with her hands, to shield them from his impudent eyes.

“It’s a little late for modesty, my dear,” Falconbridge advised, his tone kind but his expression mischievous. “I have already seen them and committed them to memory. On my death bed, they shall be the image I conjure as I slip away to meet St Peter.”

“I do not think it is he you shall be meeting upon your death,” Anna answered with a sniff, as she finally sighted her old nightrail folded on the chest of drawers.

She snatched it, throwing it quickly over her head.

“My old friend,” the duke commented, eyeing the garb with amusement.

He slid from beneath the covers, to reveal himself shirtless but—mercifully—wearing his trousers from the night before. Conscious that she had scolded his earlier ogling of her, Anna made a concerted effort not to stare at his broad shoulders, strong chest, and lightly muscled stomach. Unfortunately, upon said muscled stomach, a line of dark hair ran tantalisingly from his naval to beneath his breaches, and Anna felt a desperate desire to see where it led.

Dash it, but he was devilishly handsome, she thought with despair.

“Last night was wonderful,” he continued, crossing the room to take her hand. “There is no shame in desire, Anna. What we did was a perfectly natural act between husband and wife.”

“Y-y-you did not take your pleasure,” she stuttered, her tone a little accusing. It was easy to say not to feel ashamed when he had not lost himself completely in front of her. He had not even taken off his trousers.

“I told you,” Falconbridge shrugged, as he lifted her hand to his lips, “I will take it, only when you ask me to. Now, I shall give you some privacy. I am needed in The House of Lords this morning to vote on a Member’s Bill. We will dine together this evening.”

“I am being relieved of my breakfast duties?” Anna could not help ask, quirking her brow.

“You did say that you don’t take breakfast,” he shrugged, “I am not a complete autocrat.”

“Just a partial one,” she replied, before she could help herself. She was not usually so smart-mouthed, but something about his calm composure—especially when he made her so flustered—urged her to it.

Falconbridge raised a brow of amusement, his eyes impudently traversing her body from top to toe.

“I have changed my mind about your nightrail,” he finally declared, his eyes dancing, “In this light it is completely see-through. I can’t recall if I said this last night, but your nipples are utterly beguiling.”

“You rogue,” Anna squeaked, bringing her hands up to cover her breasts from his gaze—whilst hoping that he had not noticed how hard her nipples had become at his words.

“Indeed,” he grinned, “You’ll find I’m a partial autocrat but a complete rogue—I’ll make a for a very demanding but satisfying lover, once you allow it. Until this evening, my sweet.”

With a short bow, Falconbridge took his leave to his own chambers. Anna waited for the door to shut behind him before she allowed her hands to stop their attempts to hide her modesty.

“Until this evening, my sweet,” she mimicked him irritably. His words and his shameless gaze had awakened that same sweet, agonising need within her, and a part of her wished that he had stayed to show her again that world-shattering pleasure.

Just once more, then she would return to being aloof with him…

Exasperated with herself for failing so spectacularly at her mission to keep her husband at arm’s length, Anna stalked to the mirror to view her reflection. Her nightrrail remained, she saw with annoyance, just as modest as it had always been—he had been teasing her!

“That man,” Anna muttered again, making for the washstand. Upon this stood a jug of water and a basin, which Anna used to wash herself. She dressed quickly, donning one of her “old” dresses, made of cambric so worn that the colour had faded somewhat.

“Lawks! What are you wearing that for?” Josie cried a few minutes later as she entered, carrying a breakfast tray.

“What’s wrong with it?” Anna questioned, feeling defensive.

Josie had seen her in the same dress countless times and had never once raised a complaint.

“The staff will think you want to muck in with the cleaning,” Josie fretted, throwing a terrified glance over her shoulder at the closed door, as though afraid one of Falconbridge’s servants was eavesdropping. “Why don’t you put on one of your new ones?”

“Because I don’t want to,” Anna answered, her tone firm.

She craved familiarity and comfort—and that would not be found in a new gown she felt too afraid to move in. Nor would it be found in this house, which still felt so strange to her.

“We will go for a walk, Josie,” she declared, her heart suddenly set on the idea.

She would not find anything as comforting in London as the windswept cliffs of Whitby, nor would she see heather and stone walls stretching to the horizon—but at least she would have a chance to burn off the restless energy coursing through her.

"Where shall we go, your Grace?" Josie asked, the title still sounding a tad silly to Anna’s ear.

"Green Park, I think," Anna replied, knowing it wasn’t fashionable like Hyde Park where the ton paraded. "It's quieter there.”

“Apart from the cattle,” Josie grumbled, “I was going to encourage you to wear your new boots, but I shan’t now. It’s I who’d have to clean ‘em if you trod in a pile of dung, your Grace.”

Anna hid a smile at her mulish tone—she far preferred Josie cynical than reverent.

She hastily gulped the tea Josie had brought while the lady’s maid went to tell the footmen to ready a carriage. Within a quarter of an hour, they were seated inside a splendid barouche , its top down so that they could appreciate the warm Spring morning.

“I could get used to this,” Josie confided as the vehicle turned from Pall Mall onto Malborough Street. “Much less bumpy than the gig up home.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Anna replied, compelled for some reason to defend the creaky old thing.

“You’re not so homesick that you’ve forgotten having to pick splinters from your derrière, are you?” Josie laughed.

“I suppose this is more luxurious,” Anna conceded, with a nod to the leather seats, the gleaming wood, and the liveried footman and driver seated at the front.

“Change can be difficult, even when it’s change for the better,” Josie advised, awkwardly patting Anna’s hand. “And, I suppose, you’re feeling out of sorts with your father still not home.”

Anna stilled; in all the time since she had said “I do” to the duke, she had not given her father a second thought. A wave of guilt swept over her which she could not fight despite the anger she still felt toward him. What kind of daughter was she, to have not even enquired of his whereabouts?

“He’ll turn up, he always does,” Josie assured her, reading her thoughts.

Anna longed to question her further, but she was conscious of the driver and the footman seated nearby. Gossip was like currency amongst servants and Anna did not wish to provide them with any tales to carry home.

A few minutes later, the carriage pulled to a halt, just inside The Wren Gate entrance to the park. Anna immediately felt a sense of relief at the sight of the open green fields before her. Finally, a part of London that felt a little like home.

To their right lay The Queen’s Walk, a tree-lined path which ran the eastern edge of the park. The perfect place for a private chat, she thought with satisfaction.

"We shall walk from here," Anna announced, causing the footman to stare back at her with barely concealed horror.

"If I may say, your Grace, I don't believe that His Grace would approve of you walking unescorted—"

"I am not unescorted," Anna cut him off, gesturing to Josie. "I have Josie."

“Your Grace," the driver interjected now, his tone pleading. "I do not believe that His Grace would consider a lady's maid to be proper protection. Perhaps we might drive you through the park instead?"

Anna felt a flare of irritation at her absent husband’s seemingly endless ability to dictate her life choices. Even while tucked away in The House of Lords, he had the power to control her.

"I wish to walk,” she sniffed, reminding herself that she was now a duchess. “We will return within the hour."

Before either man could protest further, Anna had descended from the carriage, Josie scrambling after her.

"His Grace will be most displeased," the footman muttered, just loud enough for Anna to hear.

"Then His Grace may express his displeasure to me directly," she replied, lifting her chin. "Come, Josie."

As they walked away from the carriage and onto the graveled path known as the Queen's Walk, Josie cast nervous glances over her shoulder. "Are you certain this is wise, Your Grace? They’ll inform His Grace of this, I don’t think he’ll be best pleased."

"I am not a prisoner," Anna replied with a shrug, “He cannot send me to Newgate for taking a walk, Josie. Now, tell me everything you know about Papa.”

“I’ve told you the most of it,” it was Josie’s turn to shrug, “I done asked the underbutler Mr Reeves why James and Sarah had not yet arrived, and he said that it was because Lord Mosley hadn’t yet returned to the house on Berkley Square. That was the deal, remember? They were to stay there to help your father pack up.”

They walked in silence for a few moments, as Anna fretted, before turning onto a smaller path that led toward the center of the park.

“Is the duke aware that he was still missing?” Anna questioned, wondering why Falconbridge had not mentioned this to her—he’d had plenty of opportunities.

“Lawks if you think that I know what the duke knows,” Josie chuckled. “I know my place, your Grace, and it’s not as a confidant of the duke’s.”

Anna gave a reluctant smile; she had expected a tad too much of Josie’s talent for gathering gossip.

They continued along a path that wound through a copse of elm trees. The park was laid out in a naturalistic style—less fashionable than its showier neighbour Hyde Park—but far preferable to Anna’s eye.

"I'm worried about him, Josie," Anna admitted after a moment. "For all his faults, he's never disappeared for so long without word. What if something dreadful has happened to him?"

"Like what?" Josie asked, looking around nervously as the path grew narrower and more secluded. They had lost sight of The Queen’s Walk now, and were completely alone.

"I don't know. Perhaps he owed more than he admitted to Falconbridge. Perhaps—"

Anna's words were cut short as two rough-looking men stepped from behind a large oak tree, to block their path. From their rough features and mean eyes, Anna quickly deduced that they did not wish to engage them in polite chat about the weather.

"Well, well," the taller of the two sneered, his eyes roving over Anna's simple dress with a frown of disappointment. "Not much to take from you two, but I reckon that necklace will fetch a decent price."

Josie gave a small squeak of terror and Anna instinctively stepped in front of her to shield her. This was all her fault—if only she hadn’t insisted on walking alone!

"Step aside," she commanded, attempting to emulate her husband’s authoritative tone.

It did not work, for the men merely laughed seeing straight through her bravado.

"Hear that, Tom? Her Ladyship wants us to step aside,” one of the men guffawed.

"We have nothing of value," Anna said, attempting to change tack.

"Let's see that necklace first, love,” the shorter of the two grunted, waving his meaty paw at Anna’s neck.

She balked, taking a step back from him. The necklace had belonged to her mother, and while it held little financial value, to her it was priceless.

“Unhand her, or you’ll feel my whip.”

The quartet all turned in unison at the sound of the deep, cultured, and very male voice.

A tall, elegantly dressed young man emerged from a connecting path, his riding crop tapping ominously against his palm.

"This don't concern you, friend," the taller ruffian growled, though he took a half step back his eyes on the whip in the man’s hand.

"Any lady in distress concerns me," the gentleman replied, his tone dangerously soft. "Now, I suggest you both find another path to walk. Immediately."

Something in his manner—the absolute certainty that he would be obeyed—caused the men to exchange glances before backing away with muttered curses.

Anna breathed a sigh of relief, as the two men finally turned and fled from sight. Her mother’s necklace was saved! And she was saved from having to explain a black eye or cut lip to Falconbridge—she imagined that he’d never let her leave the house again.

"Are you hurt, madam?" the gentleman asked, turning to Anna with concern.

"I—we—are quite well, my lord, thanks to you," Anna replied, her heart still racing from the encounter.

“It is always a pleasure to help a beautiful woman,” the man replied, offering her a curt bow. “Lord Gravesend, at your service.”

From the corner of her eye, Anna could see Josie swooning at the young lord’s manners. Anna hid a smile; though she was grateful to her rescuer, she was not as easily impressed as Josie by his Byron-esque pale skin and ruffled hair.

The gentleman’s gaze lingered on her face, his expression momentarily troubled.

"May I have the honor of knowing whom I’ve had the pleasure of assisting?"

"I am—" Anna hesitated, unsure whether to reveal her new title to this stranger.

"This is Her Grace, the Duchess of Falconbridge," Josie blurted, so impressed by their rescuer that she wished to impress him in turn.

Recognition flickered in Gravesend’s pale eyes, before his expression settled into one of polite surprise.

"Falconbridge's bride? I had heard he had finally taken a duchess." Gravesend bowed again, more deeply this time. "I am doubly honored to make your acquaintance, Your Grace. And may I say, Falconbridge is a fortunate man indeed."

"You know my husband?" Anna asked, worried for a moment that the duke would hear about the incident after all.

"I know of him," Lord Gravesend replied carefully. "Though I confess, I'm surprised to find you walking these paths with only a maid for company, your Grace. The duke is not known for taking risks with his possessions."

The word “possessions” stung, though Anna couldn't deny its accuracy. Wasn't that precisely what she was? A possession acquired through her father's gambling debts?

"Yes, it was foolish of me and I believe he’d be very upset if he was to find out,” Anna answered, forcing a helpless tone in the hope that her rescuer might come to her aid once again.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Gravesend assured her, his instinctive chivalry warming her to him.

“You are too kind, my lord,” Anna smiled at him, feeling a tad guilty for her earlier thoughts about his Byron-like qualities. Who better than a Romantic to come to a lady’s aid not once, but twice, in mere minutes?

"May I escort you back to the main path, Your Grace?” Gravesend asked, offering her his arm. “I would hate for your morning to be further disrupted by unsavory characters."

Anna hesitated only briefly before accepting his offer. As they walked, Gravesend made polite conversation about the weather, the latest gossip about Prinny, and which gatherings he had attended and would attend. Trivial, everyday topics that made Anna feel at ease—it was almost a relief to converse normally with a gentleman, after the intensity of all her exchanges with Falconbridge.

“I will not delay you any longer, my lord,” Anna said, once they had reached the safety of The Queen’s Walk. “Thank you again for your bravery; I do hope our paths will cross again.”

“I will make sure of it,” Gravesend answered, nonplussed by her dismissal. “Your servant, your Grace.”

He offered Anna and Josie a flourishing bow before disappearing back down the path they had emerged from.

“What lovely manners that young man has,” Josie commented, stopping to watch Lord Gravesend’s disappearing form. Anna followed the line of her gaze—which was focused firmly on the lord’s bottom—and elbowed her with a giggle.

“Yes, I’m certain it’s his lovely manners you’re admiring,” she laughed, as she linked arms with her.

The two women skitted and laughed the whole way back to their waiting carriage. At the sight of them, the footman sprang from his perch to open the door of the barouche, his manner much more deferential than on their departure.

Anna smiled her thanks, refusing to hold a grudge for his earlier comment. She had just experienced for herself the worry of upsetting Falconbridge and could only imagine it magnified tenfold for a servant.

“Where to, your Grace?” the driver called, once they had settled in their seat.

“Home,” Anna answered, squaring her shoulders.

It was time to start trying to think of Falconbridge House as her home. She was a duchess, she would not cower and hide from her own servants. Nor would she cower from her husband or accept him keeping secrets from her. If the duke wanted her as his wife, then he would have to learn to include her in all his dealings—including the search for her father.