Page 7 of My Demanding Duke (Forbidden Love #2)

CHAPTER SIX

ANNA SETTLED INTO the plushly appointed interior of the carriage, arranging her skirts with trembling fingers. Falconbridge's hands on her waist had set off a strange warmth, deep inside her, that left her feeling entirely discombobulated.

Dash that man , she thought darkly; her resolve to remain aloof with her new husband had faltered at the first hurdle. One touch and she was a quivering mess. She could not allow his handsome face to distract her from the hurt he had caused her. The wound of her father's absence still throbbed fresh; what kind of man bet his daughter’s hand in marriage, then didn’t even have the decency to see her wed?

Anna did not have time to nurse her hurt, for the duke slid into the compartment beside her, his imposing frame making the carriage feel suddenly smaller. Another mark against him, she thought irrationally; he was inconsiderately large.

"Comfortable?" Falconbridge enquired with what sounded like genuine concern.

"Quite," Anna replied, primly.

She would not let him see how unsettled she felt. The expensively outfitted carriage was comfortable, but also a reminder of how drastically her circumstances had changed in a matter of hours. She was now the Duchess of Falconbridge. She had married a man she barely knew…

The carriage lurched forward, and Anna instinctively gripped the seat. Through the window, she watched as Berkeley Square receded from view. Though she held no attachment to the house, it felt strangely like watching her old life disappear before her very eyes.

"It's not far to St. James' Square," the duke offered. "A quarter hour at most."

Anna nodded, uncertain how to respond. How was she supposed to pass fifteen minutes alone in this small space with a stranger?

"The staff will have prepared your room," Falconbridge continued, filling the silence. "You'll have your own chambers, of course, adjoining mine."

The implication of his words hung in the air between them. Anna felt heat rise to her cheeks despite her determination to remain composed.

"How kind," she managed, fixing her gaze on the passing scenery rather than meeting his eyes.

"Anna." Her name on his lips compelled her to look at him. His expression was gentle, but there was a steely determination in his blue eyes. "I know this is not the marriage you would have chosen for yourself."

An understatement if ever there was one.

"How astute you are, your Grace," she replied, her voice cooler than she intended. "Few women dream of weddings where their father is..."

She paused, unable to say the words. Missing presumed drunk? Gambling away what was left of his estate? Perhaps lying dead in the gutters of St. Giles?

"Hugh," he corrected for the second time that day, his voice tight. "I am sorry, Anna, your father wasn’t there, but I did what I thought best. Lord Mosley’s complete disregard for your safety necessitated a hasty wedding. And it was you who broke our agreement. If you recall, I had allowed for a long engagement but you reneged on our deal."

"How magnanimous you sound, allowing us a lengthy engagement," she replied, turning to face him fully, “Though you conveniently left out the part where you made our getting married a unilateral decision."

Falconbridge’s jaw tightened. “You are safer in my care than in your father’s.”

There it was again, Anna thought with irritation, that high-handed belief that he knew what was best for her. Rather than argue with him—for she sensed the duke was not a man to back down easily—Anna folded her arms across her chest and directed her gaze outside.

“Anna,” Falconbridge called her name, refusing to be ignored. She turned to look at him, hoping that he might see the contempt in her eyes.

“Our union may be unorthodox,” he continued, unabashed by her glare. “But I see no reason why it cannot evolve into something more... mutually satisfying.”

The way his gaze dipped to her body left no doubt as to his meaning. Anna felt a strange flutter in her stomach that had nothing to do with the carriage’s movement.

“You presume much about my willingness to be satisfied,” she replied, surprising herself with her boldness.

A slow smile spread across the duke's face, transforming his aristocratic mien into something almost boyish.

"On the contrary," he murmured, leaning in so she was cornered by him, "I presume nothing. But I look forward to discovering what might bring you satisfaction, should you allow me."

Anna turned away, flustered by the heat that unfurled within her at his words. She would never manage to keep the duke at arm’s length, when his every word stirred desire.

Dash him to hell , she thought again.

“And what else is expected of me?" she queried sharply. “Do you require heirs, your Grace? Will one spare suffice, or do you wish for two? I’m afraid that you may later regret your choice of a bride; my father’s side has an unfortunate habit of breeding daughters.”

“If an heir had been my only concern when picking a bride, I would have gotten married years ago,” Falconbridge replied, his tone mild but his eyes dangerous.

"To someone more biddable, perhaps?” Anna suggested, arching a brow.

"I am surrounded by people who wish to do my bidding," he countered, leaning slightly closer. His scent of sandalwood and leather enveloped her. "I find your spirit refreshing, Anna."

Her breath caught as his knee brushed against hers. She shifted away, pretending to adjust her skirts.

"I can assure you that will soon fade, your Grace," Anna retorted, dryly.

The carriage turned onto St James' Square, ending their sparring match. Anna stilled as she peered out of the window at the line of imposing homes which housed the upper echelons of London society.

Which now included her, she realised with a shock. Anna's breath caught as the carriage slowed before an imposing Georgian town house. Three stories of white Portland stone gleamed in the late morning sun, its facade punctuated by tall windows and crowned with an iron balustrade.

"This is it?" she asked faintly.

"Your new home," Falconbridge confirmed, taking her gloved hand in his much larger one. "At least when we're in London, but now is not the time to discuss our other estates."

The carriage drew to a halt, and a footman immediately opened the door. The duke descended first, turning to assist her down.

As her feet touched the ground, Anna lifted her gaze to take in the full grandeur of Falconbridge House. This was her home now. This imposing stranger was her husband. For the second time in her life, a strange dizziness overcame Anna, and she realised she might faint.

Before her knees had a chance to buckle, the duke swept her up into his arms and carried her up the steps and over the threshold of her new home.

Anna gasped, her hands instinctively flying to his shoulders for stability. The solid warmth of his body against hers sent her pulse racing traitorously.

"Put me down at once!" she whispered, mortified by the impropriety of being carried like some conquest. Her protest fell on deaf ears as the duke strode through the entrance of Falconbridge House with her securely in his embrace.

"Forgive me," he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "But you looked as though you might swoon. I couldn't have my new bride sprawled across the floor on her first day. It would lend credence to the rumour that I obtained you in a less than proper manner."

"I have never swooned in my life," Anna retorted before adding. "And you did come obtain me by dubious means, or have you forgotten already?"

Her words fell on deaf ears. The duke did not release her from his grasp until they were well inside the entrance hall, where a line of servants stood waiting. Anna fought to regain her composure as he gently set her on her feet, distracted by his hand which lingered at the small of her back.

"Your Grace," an elderly man in impeccable livery stepped forward. "We are honoured to welcome Her Grace to Falconbridge House and wish you both the heartiest of congratulations on your marriage."

"Thank you, Wilkins," the duke replied, before gesturing to Anna, "May I present my wife, Anna, Duchess of Falconbridge."

Anna felt a dozen sets of eyes upon her. Though the servants maintained perfect decorum, she could sense their curiosity at this unexpected, hastily acquired duchess who had arrived with nothing but the clothes on her back.

"A pleasure to meet you all," she said, lifting her chin a fraction higher. She might not have chosen this role, but she would not be cowed by it.

"Her Grace will require tea in the blue drawing-room," the duke continued. "And perhaps some food. It has been a rather eventful morning."

"Actually, dear ," Anna interjected, applying a false sweetness to her tone, "I will take tea in my room. As you said, it has been an eventful morning, and I wish to rest."

The servants stilled as they waited for the duke's reaction. They had never, Anna realised with amusement, seen anyone contradict his wishes before.

"I prefer my tea strong," Anna continued before Falconbridge had a chance to upend her escape. "Can anyone show me to my room?"

"Yes, your Grace," a young maid squeaked, as she stepped forward. "I can show you."

"Thank you," Anna inclined her head graciously.

With a nod to her husband, who looked rather stupefied by the turn of events, Anna followed the maid up the sweeping staircase to her room and away from the stranger who was now her husband.

Anna was not hiding, per se , she was simply exercising her right to remain in her room until she awoke from the strange fever dream she had found herself in.

A maid had knocked earlier to say that dinner was served and had almost managed to remain impassive when Anna had replied that she would not be attending. Since then, Anna had paced the Axminster carpet before the fireplace, regretting both the events that had led her here and her impulsive decision to refuse to dine with Falconbridge.

Her stomach rumbled in protest, reminding her that she had eaten very little at the wedding breakfast and nothing since. Pride prevented her from ringing for a tray, though she suspected the duke would send one up regardless. He seemed determined to fatten her up, as though she were some half-starved waif he'd rescued from the streets.

A soft knock interrupted her brooding thoughts.

"Come in," she called, expecting a servant with the aforementioned tray.

Instead, Josie appeared, pink-cheeked and bright-eyed from her journey, carrying Anna’s portmanteau —which looked even more battered in its new opulent surroundings.

"Josie!" Anna exclaimed, happy to see a familiar face. "I did not know you had arrived."

"Just this moment, miss. I mean, your Grace," Josie said, the new title sounding strange to Anna’s ear. "Lud! I can’t believe this is your new home. You’re likely to get lost on the way to breakfast, it’s that big.”

Anna felt her anxiety lift, as Josie continued speaking in her familiar, cheerful patter. The lady’s maid exclaimed over the furniture, the drapes, and even the carpet, as she busied herself unpacking Anna’s bag. It was comforting to have such a familiar figure, in such unfamiliar surroundings.

“Now,” Josie sighed, as she came to the end of her task, “Lady Limehouse insisted on sending a few additional items, suitable for a new bride. Her words, not mine!"

"What has she sent?" Anna asked, curiously.

Josie's cheeks turned pink as she fished in the bag to extract Lady Limehouse’s gift. From its depths, she extracted a silk nightgown, which she laid out on the bed. Anna gasped at the garment; it was crafted of almost transparent silk, with delicate lace panels strategically placed to preserve its wearer’s modesty—barely.

"Lady Limehouse said it was from Paris," Josie explained apologetically. "She insisted every new bride should have something... special."

"Special?" Anna echoed faintly. "Is that what the French call it?”

Shall I put it away, Your Grace?" Josie asked anxiously, eyeing the nightgown warily as though it might bite.

Before Anna could answer, another knock sounded at the door. At her acknowledgment, the maid who had shown her to her room earlier, entered carrying a tray.

"His Grace sent this up, Your Grace," she explained, setting the tray on a small table near the fireplace. "Since you declined to join him for dinner."

"Thank you," Anna replied, uncomfortable that her cowardice had been revealed to Josie.

The maid moved to stoke the fire—a rather futile act, for it was already blazing—before bobbing a curtsey and departing.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Josie turned to Anna, her gaze anxious.

“I know His Grace is rather fearsome,” Josie began, her expression one of worry, “But you cannot hide away in your room for the entirety of your marriage.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” Anna answered, archly.

Josie’s face fell and Anna felt a rush of guilt; it was unfair of her to be so short with her only friend in the world.

“Forgive me,” Anna relented, “I did not mean to be so flippant. I am not hiding from His Grace. I was simply overcome with tiredness. It has been a very long day.”

“Indeed’in it has, miss,” Josie agreed, as she stifled a yawn, “My trotters are aching from it all.”

“Then you must go to bed,” Anna said firmly, waving a hand to silence Josie’s protest. “No, you cannot argue with me, Josie. I’m a duchess now, after all.”

Josie made a few feeble attempts at protesting further, but she quickly relented to Anna’s wishes.

“I’ll be back in the morning to help you dress,” she assured Anna, before departing for her new lodgings with a loud yawn.

Once Josie had gone, Anna settled herself by the fire and fell upon the plate of food the duke had sent. Falconbridge might be overbearing and high-handed, but Anna could not fault the duke’s concern for her stomach.

When her plate was empty, Anna rang for the maid to remove it and bring hot water for her toilette.

As the maid bustled about, filling the copper hip bath with steaming water and laying out scented soaps, Anna cast furtive glances at the scandalous nightgown still spread across the bed. Would the duke expect to exercise his marital rights tonight? The question had lurked at the edges of her mind all day, growing more insistent as night approached.

"Will there be anything else, Your Grace?" the maid asked when finished.

Anna shook her head, forcing a smile. "No, thank you. I can manage from here."

The bath, at least, provided temporary comfort from her worrying mind. Anna sank into the warm water, allowing the heat to seep into her tense muscles. As she washed away the remnants of the day, her thoughts returned to the duke. Despite her determination to remain aloof, she couldn't deny the strange fluttering in her stomach whenever he was near. Unbidden memories of the kiss they had shared stirred her belly. What would it be like, she wondered, to allow him to kiss her again? To allow him to take full liberties with her body?

Despite the still-warm water, Anna decided she’d had enough of her bath. The luxuriously scented bath oils were clearly having a poor effect on her modesty if she was daydreaming of willingly handing her body over to Falconbridge.

Once clean and dried, Anna stood before the bed, contemplating her nightwear options. Her own modest night-rail, well-worn but comfortingly familiar, lay beside Lady Limehouse's scandalous creation.

Opting for familiarity, Anna slipped the old nightdress over her head. Her reflection, when she caught sight of it in the mirror, was reassuringly nun-like.

Let him get aroused by that, she sniffed, as she searched for her hairbrush.

She was brushing her hair when she heard it—a soft knock at the door connecting her chambers to the duke's. Anna's heart leapt into her throat, her fingers freezing mid-stroke.

"Come in," she called, proud that her voice did not betray her nerves.

The door opened to reveal Falconbridge, still fully dressed save for his coat and cravat. His white shirt was open at the throat and rolled at the sleeves, revealing a tantalising glimpse of tanned skin and muscular forearms. He leaned against the doorframe, his gaze sweeping over her. He did not speak immediately, but the way his eyes darkened as they took in her simple nightdress made Anna’s breath catch.

“You missed dinner,” he said at last, his voice even but edged with something sharper.

“I wasn’t hungry,” she replied, hoping that he had not asked the maid if she had finished the tray he’d sent up.

His jaw tightened, and he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with deliberate softness.

“I have few rules, Anna,” he began, his voice low, “But you will dine with me when we are home together. Is that clear?”

“I am not a child,” Anna snapped in response to his high-handed dictum.

“Then stop acting like one,” he countered, taking another step forward, his presence filling the room.

Anna could not look away from him; he radiated masculinity, power, and promise—another blow to her shaky resolve.

The duke’s gaze flickered from her face, taking in her nightdress properly for the first time.

“Get thee to a nunnery,” he quoted, with a quirk of his dark brow.

Anna stiffened. “If you’re disappointed that I’m not dressed as a harlot, then I’m afraid you picked the wrong bride.”

Falconbridge gave a wicked grin, stepping so close that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“Disappointed? No, my dear. I find your modesty enchanting.”

His fingers brushed the high collar of her nightdress, just the ghost of a touch, but it sent a shiver through her.

Anna knew that she should step away from him. That she should slap his hand aside and remind him that he had bought her hand, not her body. But she didn’t.

Instead, she held her ground, heart pounding as he traced the delicate line of lace at her throat.

“How sweet you look,” he murmured, “But there’s a fire beneath your angelic surface that says you desire this as much as I.”

Anna’s breath hitched, galled that her yearning for him was so obvious.

“You are insufferable.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

Anna stilled as the duke’s fingers ascended the sensitive slope of her neck, lingering at her pulse, which quickened beneath his touch. He cupped her chin in one big hand and brushed his thumb across her lips, his eyes watching for her reaction.

Driven by a strange fire, Anna's gaze locked with his and she parted her lips to take his thumb between them. She felt the warmth of his skin against her tongue, tasting him as her lips closed around the digit.

The duke froze, curious as to her next move, and she took great delight in nipping down sharply on his flesh.

Falconbridge drew a sharp breath, but instead of pulling away, a slow smile spread across his features, his eyes dark with evident pleasure at her boldness.

"So there is a wildcat beneath that nun’s garb ," he whispered, his voice thick with admiration as he stroked her lips with his now-wet thumb. "I suspected as much."

In one swift move, he reached out to pull her against his body. His other hand moved from her mouth to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair, so that she was caught entirely.

His lips came crashing down upon hers, claiming her in a kiss that was unrelenting in its demands. His hands roved her body, climbing from her hips, to her waist, right up to her breasts, which—Anna realised with shock—were screaming for his touch.

He gave a growl of approval as he found her nipples erect beneath the cotton of her nightdress. Anna in turn whimpered with longing, as his fingers rolled and teased the sensitive peaks through the thin fabric. Between her legs began to ache with need as he teased her nipples, and Anna arched against his body seeking release.

He pulled her against him sharply so that she could feel his male hardness pressing against her and then, to her despair, he released her.

“You’re not the only one who can tease,” he said with a rakish smile, as he lifted her hand to his lips.

She blinked in confusion as her husband placed a chaste kiss upon the back of her hand and bid her goodnight.

“Sleep well, Anna,” Falconbridge said, before turning and departing for his chambers.

She waited a few moments to be sure he was gone before throwing herself onto her bed. Her body screamed for satisfaction; she felt bereft, deprived of a release she had not known she’d needed until she’d felt his touch.

Dash that man , she thought darkly, as she settled herself under the covers. The Duke of Falconbridge was not going to allow her an easy marriage.