Page 11 of The Duke’s Defiant Angel (Dukes Gone Dirty #1)

11

R aff’s bride would not so much as look at him.

Even now as they waited beside the carriage, her gaze slid away from his. Fetching, as always, in a soft green gown and bonnet, she looked just as innocent and sweet as she was.

And he, in his black jacket and scowl, felt like the very devil.

“Are you certain you wish to join me?” he asked. Again.

Truly, he hadn’t expected her to wish to join him on his day-long excursion to see the new Earl of Foster. He’d offered for her to accompany him out of courtesy, but he’d been itching for some relief.

Besides, he couldn’t let Benedict wallow alone in that miserable house for too long with only his grieving mother for company.

He offered Evangeline his hand to help her into the carriage, and she blushed prettily as she took it, stepping gracefully up into the vehicle.

His vow to keep from bedding her until she came to him had been a moment of sheer stupidity. This was clear to him now. It had been his pride talking, but after tasting her sweet sex the other night, after knowing full well how she sounded when she found release…

He looked away from her with a grunt of displeasure.

He might have been the devil, but he’d cast himself into hell.

Once the carriage was underway, his lovely bride seemed entranced by the view passing by. Nothing exciting to speak of—just trees and meadows, broken up occasionally by the odd winding creek. But Evangeline wore a soft smile as she took it all in.

And Raff, God help him, took her in.

He couldn’t seem to look away, even though staring at her had become an act of torture.

His sweet bride was a stubborn little thing. Mysterious, too. In the days that had passed since their night in the kitchen, he’d grown more and more mystified by her.

One moment she’d be smiling and laughing, the next blushing and stammering. One moment he’d be convinced she was avoiding him, the next, she was seeking him out.

He could not understand her.

He hated how much he wanted to.

She chose that moment to glance over, and another pretty blush stole into her cheeks.

Was that because of what he’d done to her? Had he pushed her too far, too fast by tasting her like he had?

The thought made him scowl.

“Have you and Lord Foster been friends for long?” she asked suddenly.

He blinked in surprise and then stared some more when her blush deepened. How curious. What was going on in that mind of hers that asking such a mundane question made her blush?

“Since our school days,” he said. A smile tugged at his lips as his mind wandered back to those early days when he and Benedict, along with Hayden and Malcolm, had first become friends. After so many years alone with only tutors and the occasional visit from his mother or father, it had felt like a new world opening when he’d discovered other children his age.

“That must be nice,” she said. “To have such close friends.”

He studied her anew, not missing the faraway look in her eyes. “Were there not many children your age around you?”

She shook her head. “I’m sure there were some in the nearest town, but out in the country, there were few neighbors, and until Baron Foley took over the neighboring estate, there were none near my age. “

Her gaze dipped, and her cheeks reddened.

Something about this blush had his gut twisting ominously. Her expression wasn’t one of shyness but guilt.

“It must have been nice to have school friends,” she added quickly.

“Yes,” he agreed. “It made it difficult to come back to the country estate during breaks.”

She blinked up at him in surprise. “So, the county estate...that was where you were raised? That was your home?”

His smile felt cold. “I suppose you could say that.”

Home to him conjured images of a life he’d never known. A family he’d never had. He glanced out the window to avoid her curious gaze.

“Were you lonely?” Her words were so soft, so full of sympathy.

A tight knot formed in his throat. His silence stretched too long, and so he forced himself to smile over at her. “I had friends.”

His words only made that sympathy in her eyes deepen.

Bloody hell. He didn’t need this girl’s pity.

“I was lonely, too,” she whispered.

His rising irritation died a sudden and swift death. His heart fell with a splat in his chest. The sincerity in her voice wasn’t just laden with sympathy—it was understanding.

For one moment, their eyes connected, and he was sure he could feel it. A tie between them that had nothing to do with the physical pull he always experienced when she was near and everything to do with that look in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She arched her brows. “That’s the second time you’ve apologized to me, Your Grace. I’m not certain what to make of that.”

His lips hitched up in a rueful grin. Her use of his title had been teasing. Almost like a friend poking fun. “I wouldn’t get used to it,” he muttered.

She laughed. The sound was lighter than wind chimes and more soothing than a lullaby. “You never did explain what you were apologizing for that last time.”

He stilled. The gleam in her eyes held more than just curiosity. There was something close to hope there. Like his answer was important. He drew in a deep breath. He’d told her he didn’t regret claiming her as his bride—and this was the truth.

Even knowing she wasn’t the simple woman he’d thought she would be, he wasn’t sorry he’d claimed her.

He leaned back. No, that wasn’t right either. He was grateful for what he’d done precisely because she wasn’t biddable and simple.

The thought left him temporarily speechless.

It wasn’t until he saw her expectant smile falter that he realized he’d been silent too long.

“I told you I didn’t regret marrying you, and that’s the truth,” he said, his voice firmer than intended. “And I don’t regret keeping you from your would-be suitor either.”

The last of her smile faded at the mention of her lover.

“If he hadn’t the courage to claim you for himself, then he didn’t deserve you,” he said.

Her lips were pressed together in a thin line now, but she didn’t look away. Did she agree?

That was likely too much to hope. But maybe one day, she’d see that any man who truly loved her would never have let her go.

He would certainly never let her go.

The mere thought had a roiling rage ripping through his insides, and his fists gripped the seat’s edge beneath him until he came back to his senses. When he did, he found Evangeline blinking rapidly—whatever she’d seen in his expression shocking her thoroughly.

He cleared his throat as he tried to recall his point. Ah, yes. His apology. “I am sorry, however, if I caused a rift between you and your parents. You were close, I gather, and?—”

“We weren’t,” she interrupted abruptly.

“Pardon?”

Her cheeks pinkened again, and she gave a helpless shrug. “Do not misunderstand me. I love my parents, but I would not say we were close.”

He stared. He couldn’t help it. The way she was speaking to him—he’d never heard this voice from her. It was raw and honest and?—

Oh hell. He wanted to pull her into his arms when her eyes softened with emotion.

“I wish we were. I’d like to be. But I’ve always had this sense that I’m…” She paused to swallow. “A disappointment.”

Rage unlike anything he’d ever known had him stiffening, his jaw clenching. “Surely not,” he managed.

He wanted to kill her father. If that bloody viscount were here right now, Raff might. No one should ever make their daughter feel that way, especially not Evangeline.

Her smile was rueful. “I’m afraid so. The only way I did not fail them was…” She gestured to herself with a fluttering hand.

“Your beauty,” he said for her.

She blushed anew.

Lord, but he could not get enough of her blushes. He itched to tug down the maddeningly demure neckline of her gown to see just how far that blush spread. Did it reach all the way to her perfect rosy buds?

He nearly groaned as his mind filled with the image of her bared breasts. What he wouldn’t give to have her in his arms now, her perfect tits in his mouth as his hands stroked the soft flesh between her thighs.

“I’m afraid my demeanor has always been a disappointment, however,” she was saying.

He came back to the moment with a start. “How could that possibly be true?” he said. “You are honest and forthright. Shy, perhaps, but that only speaks to your modesty and your kind heart.”

She stared at him like he was a ghost. “Do you...do you honestly think so?” Her hands fidgeted in her lap. “You don’t think my lack of social decorum to be a hindrance as your...as your duchess?”

His heart melted right then and there. “Angel, you will make the perfect duchess. I told you already I don’t care about social niceties. All I care about is?—”

You. He stopped short before it could slip out. It wasn’t true, obviously. He didn’t care about this girl.

He stared at her, and she stared back.

Oh, bloody hell. When had he begun to care?

She arched her brows slightly as his silence grew too long.

“All I care about is siring an heir,” he finished.

The words tasted like ash, and her sad smile made his chest ache.

“Of course,” she murmured.

The moment he’d spoken, he wished he could call back the words.

But it was too late.

The rest of the journey passed in silence.

* * *

Hours later, Raff leaned back in his chair as he and Benedict watched the dowager countess lead Evangeline away for a tour of the newly rebuilt wing of the house.

Benedict wasted no time before turning to him to say, “You do know you’re mad for the girl, don’t you?”

Raff winced, but he couldn’t bring himself to deny it.

He’d been coming to the same conclusion, and his friend had always been more attuned to such things. He supposed that was what came from growing up amidst a family.

He looked around the dark room with its shuttered windows and thick layer of dust.

Which was worse, to have a family and lose them or to never know that comfort in the first place?

A glance at Benedict’s scarred face and dark eyes told Raff he was the lucky one here. His gaze drifted toward the door where his wife had just departed.

Perhaps he was the fortunate one, but right about now, he felt like a man condemned.

“She doesn’t feel the same,” he finally admitted.

“Are you certain about that?”

Raff nodded. “There’s another.”

“She’s young,” Benedict said. “She’ll get over it. At some point, she’ll likely thank you for saving her from a fate worse than death with that Foley fellow.”

Raff froze. Foley. He’d heard the name before. With a jolt, he made the connection. That was the neighboring family Evangeline had mentioned. But how…

He glared at his friend. “How do you know about him?”

Benedict laughed, and the sound was harsh and grated due to his injured throat.

“You might not have cared to know anything about your fiancée in your mad dash to wed,” Benedict said as he leaned back in his chair. “But Malcolm, Hayden, and I were not so lackadaisical about the matter. We weren’t about to let you wed some callous harlot or some amoral chit who was bound to break your heart with her infidelities.”

Raff scoffed on instinct. “Break my heart,” he muttered under his breath. As if the thought was inconceivable.

As if it wasn’t inevitable.

His chest tightened painfully as he avoided Benedict’s all-seeing stare.

“You might be able to fool all of society, Raff, but we’ve known you too long,” he said. “You want a family. You want a home.”

Raff didn’t deny it, but he didn’t agree either. Was that what he wanted? Possibly. But only in the way that young girls like Evangeline wanted romance. It was a youthful ideal gone horribly awry. A childish notion that didn’t exist in the real world.

He knew that.

Didn’t he?

A silence fell as Raff went to war with himself over what he’d honestly expected from a marriage. Had he been hoping for family?

Bloody hell.

And Evangeline…

Why had he not gotten to know her? Why had he been so intent on keeping her pegged as some mindless, simple woman?

He’d wanted her to be simple. Had needed it to be so. Why was that?

He was glad she wasn’t, it turned out. But her personality had come as a surprise—all of it.

He now knew that his wife was stubborn. She was timid, yes, but also brave in her own way—there were few men who’d dared to defy him the way she had. But most of all, she was kind.

He dropped his head into his hands. If his heart hadn’t been melting with each new encounter with his wife, he would have lost the organ entirely after seeing her with Benedict today.

She’d been the very image of saintly kindness. A true angel. She hadn’t so much as blinked in the face of his scars. She’d been nothing but gentle tenderness, even toward his unbearable mother, her sympathy in the face of the woman’s grief a palpable thing.

Watching her today, he knew it. She was all that was good in the world.

And she was his.

But her heart…

Her heart belonged to some nitwit named Foley.

“Who is he? What sort of understanding did they share?” It killed him to ask.

He wanted to believe his wife, but it was only now dawning on him how little he knew of her.

He was starting to know her—her person. Her heart. But her past? Her wishes? Her plans? A growl slipped out that made Benedict laugh.

Twice in one day, it seemed his bitter, angry friend just needed a fool to laugh at. Here they’d been trying to ply him with whores and liquor, but in the end, he’d just needed Raff to suffer to find amusement.

“You truly knew nothing of the man?” Benedict asked.

Raff sniffed. “Not until our wedding night.”

Benedict tipped his head back with a loud laugh that startled a maid bustling about in the corner.

“What’s he like?” Raff demanded. “What did he have to offer?”

“Nothing,” Benedict said, sobering quickly. “Not a goddamn thing. I thought that was why you were so quick to steal her away. Hayden actually suggested you have some sort of chivalrous knight complex beneath that cold exterior.”

Raff sneered. “Of course, I don’t.”

Benedict chuckled. “That’s what I said.”

Raff had more questions than he could manage, so he reached for his brandy. “So?” he demanded. “He’s poor?”

“Not just that,” Benedict said, his lips curving up in a sneer of disdain. “Poverty might be overlooked. But his family is…” Benedict shook his head. “There’s nothing good there. The father is said to be cruel. The eldest brother married for money and by ungentlemanly means.” He arched a brow meaningfully.

“He ruined a lady?”

Benedict grunted.

“The younger son, a Mr. Albert Foley…” Benedict’s gaze followed in Evangeline’s wake meaningfully. “He’s said to be even more unscrupulous than his brother.”

Raff stared into the fire as his heart thudded painfully in fury on his wife’s behalf. What had been Foley’s plan when it came to her?

Did he not know that her father was penniless? He couldn’t have.

“Will you tell her?” Benedict said.

Raff gave a quick shake of his head. Poor thing had been through enough these past weeks thanks to him and his high-handed, selfish ways.

She’d been right that he hadn’t given her wishes a single thought. Granted, he’d truly believed her father had been manipulating the situation, even lying to eke out more money from him. But all the same, he should have gone to her directly.

He should have courted her.

She deserved a man who tried, at the very least.

Self-disgust had him sinking into his seat as Benedict watched him closely. “What will you do?”

Raff shook his head. “No idea.”

His challenge to her had been a stupid idea. He should have just taken her and then spent these past weeks wooing her in bed, showing her just how much he adored her by worshiping her body.

But no. He’d gone and thrown down a gauntlet, and now she had no reason to let him near.

And yet…

He shifted as a flicker of hope sparked in his chest.

And yet, she had let him close. Even today in the carriage, he suspected she was trying.

She was trying where he was not.

“See, Benedict?” he said when he realized he’d been too quiet. “This is why Hayden and I need you back in London. Malcolm might be fine and good with his betrothed, but Hayden and I need your help. You can’t keep hiding away here.”

Benedict’s brows arched. “Haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?”

His friend’s scarred features hardened. “Malcolm’s betrothed ran away.”

Raff straightened in his seat. “What?”

“Malcolm’s beside himself, as you can imagine. Of course, this is just between us.” He glanced pointedly toward the door where his mother and Evangeline had disappeared.

“Of course.” Raff frowned. “But why? How?”

Benedict shrugged. “He’s off trying to find her now, and when he finds her hopefully, he will get his answers.” His brows drew down. “If it’s not too late.”

A somber silence fell. Raff had never met Malcolm’s fiancée, but from what he’d heard, she was a quiet, obedient sort. The dutiful only daughter of a well-respected viscount. To think she might have run off with another or been ruined in some way...

This was disconcerting. There were few things in life that one could rely on, and Malcolm’s marriage to Miss Lillian Grant was one of them.

“Did she run from him or?—”

“He doesn’t know,” Benedict said.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Benedict shook his head. “For now, he’s asked that we make his excuses. He does not wish for this to become common knowledge.”

“Of course,” he muttered.

“Besides,” Benedict added with a knowing smirk. “It seems to me you have your own bride to worry about.”

Raff gave a grunt of rueful amusement. “I do rather have my hands full at the moment.”

“Do you want my advice?” Benedict said.

“Of course.” He looked to his friend whose scars went so much deeper than those cuts that ran along his cheek and jaw.

“Tell her how you feel,” Benedict said.

Raff scoffed. “I can’t do that. She’s already one foot out the door. I’d only scare her off.”

“I think she’s stronger than you know,” his friend said, his low voice grave as sin. “But if you can’t tell her, then show her.”

Show her? Raff’s mind went back to all the ways he would worship her body. If she let him. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes with a groan. If she begged him.

He could be waiting an eternity for that day to come.

“I don’t know how to show her,” he finally admitted.

“What does she like?” Benedict asked. “What does she want? Give her that.”

He made it sound so simple. What did she want? Romance, he suspected. To be seen and valued and appreciated in the way her parents and society never had.

The fact that he knew that with such certainty was alarming.

The fact that he suspected she knew him just as well was even more terrifying.

“Figure that out and then give it to her,” Benedict said.

Raff nodded slowly. “That...that I might be able to do.”

He looked toward the door where she’d left with Benedict’s mother. What was taking them so long? She’d been gone too long.

Funny, he’d been alone all his life, it seemed, but a few weeks with this woman, and he couldn’t bear to have her out of his sight. “I’d best go find her. We ought to leave if we want to be back before sundown.”

“One last thing,” Benedict said when he went to leave.

Raff turned back expectantly.

Benedict smirked. “Don’t mess this up.”