CHAPTER 12
M arriage!
Other men had proposed to Esmeralda, but she had never taken such offers seriously. They ranked among other sweet confessions, made by men who lost command of their wits. She was accustomed to such entreaties and knew they were best forgotten as soon as they were uttered. They had no weight and carried no intention. They were as petals falling in a stream, inevitably to be swept away.
And yet the duke’s appeal thrilled her in a way that none others had. She forcibly reminded herself that he did not mean them any more than most men did.
He could not.
Was it a quest for command of her? Did mere possession not suffice? Was it a scheme to compel her to linger longer at Haynesdale Manor? She had not even reached the halfway point of her visit and already she knew it would be nigh impossible to leave. His kiss dismissed all reason just as she had come to anticipate, his touch summoned a passion from deep within her that she had not realized she possessed.
And on this night, even when he was owed his reward, he surrendered to her fully. It was potent to command him and Esmeralda took her time. She knew the knot well, after all, but she appreciated that quick movement could be troubling. Instead, she wove a spell, beguiling both of them with her caresses and her kisses, ensuring that he could not touch her of his own volition, then teasing him as he watched. Because he was restrained, she chose to be bolder, to be wilder and more audacious, the gleam of his eyes telling her that she had chosen rightly.
She took hours to conjure his pleasure, tormenting him by halting before his release, then beginning to build the tumult again. He never protested, though he moaned once or twice, his commitment to their course complete. She rode him to his release, stretching her hands to the sky, granting him a view of her nudity as she rocked atop him, rubbing herself against his strength. She felt her own pulse race but she drove him ever onward, watching his eyes glitter as he strained against his bonds. She grazed his body with her teeth and her nails, watching him arch his back and bare his teeth. He reached his release with a roar of satisfaction, the power of it sending tremors through them both.
Then he twisted and reached for the rope, seizing the end that could be tugged for a quick release with his teeth. His hands were upon her then, pulling her closer, and he rolled her beneath him with resolve. He drove deep, claiming her mouth with a possessive kiss, and cast her over the lip of the abyss with such determination that she could not hold back. She cried out herself and he swallowed the sound, kissing her roughly as his hands roved over her.
“Temptress,” he murmured against her throat in a growl. “Seductress.”
Esmeralda seized a fistful of his hair and kissed him hungrily, wanting all he had to give and unashamed for him to see as much. He settled atop her when they broke their kiss and smiled down at her, pushing a hand through her hair with possessive ease.
“And so I become convinced of the merit of frolic,” he murmured with a smile. “Esmeralda, am I always to be proven wrong in your company?”
She laughed at him, but had no chance to comment before he claimed her mouth again, his desire rising again with a vigor that she welcomed. She knew she revealed more of herself to him than she had ever shown another and though she told herself that it was merely the honesty he had requested, Esmeralda knew it was more.
She had fallen in love with the duke, against every expectation and every bit of advice she might have granted her own self.
He must never know of it.
For he must wed Sylvie.
She had a week and a half to convince him that he was wrong in objecting to that scheme, as well.
Damien had to leave the house the next morning, for otherwise, he might have argued that he was ill so he could spend the day in his chamber.
Or more likely, so he could spend it in Esmeralda’s. He was utterly enthralled with her and he did not care. It was impossible to be sated: no matter how many times he made love to her, within moments of gaining satisfaction, he desired her again. His ardor was undiminished. Indeed, it seemed to multiply as he learned more about her.
For he was making love.
He was in love with her, and he knew that would never change.
He adored the glimpses of her true pleasure, the growing sense that he knew how best to move beyond whatever she offered to other men. He knew her capitulation to him was as genuine as were the incoherent sounds of pleasure that she made in the most intimate of moments. He was fascinated also with the contours of her body, with locating those places that were ticklish or particularly sensitive, with his increasing ability to coax her smile or make her laugh. He felt more triumph in those moments than at any other time in his life.
He admired the quickness of her wit, the clarity of her thinking, the audacity of her humor. He particularly enjoyed when they conferred together over some issue, when they each brought their experience and knowledge to bear to find a solution. They could be partners of a rare power.
And Damien wanted more. More and more and more. The day of her planned departure was ten days away, but already he did not want her to leave. Ever. The notion of marriage gained in appeal moment by moment, though he still knew Esmeralda would not be readily convinced of its merit.
Even this morning, she had refused to linger in his bed. She would not risk being discovered there. He could appreciate the good sense of the notion, but he wanted her in his bed every night. He wanted to awaken with her in his arms every morning.
He wanted to dismiss her disguise and have all see her majestic beauty.
But that conquest would not be readily won. No, Damien had to find a way to earn Esmeralda’s trust. He had to prove that he would not just admit his error when he was wrong, not just that he would defend her with his very life, but that he would take her causes as his own.
He had to find a way to see the book published, and that was a conundrum indeed.
No wonder he went riding with Emerson that morning. He did not expect his old friend to offer a solution, but simply believed that the fresh air would clear his thoughts.
And the ride could only be good for his leg.
He returned late in the afternoon, content even though he as yet had no plan, and halted in the corridor at the sound of voices. They floated to his ears from the drawing room, and they were feminine voices.
There was little more grating than anyone cackling over gossip. The first hint of it always made him yearn for silence. He had no use for those who shared tales of others, particularly when the stories themselves might be groundless, if not vicious, but the giggling and chirping made the sound all the worse. There was a gleefulness in it that irked him.
His mother, fortunately, was disinclined to such chatter. Lady Dalhousie, however, clucked as if she had been born to one henhouse and raised in another. Her voice rose in the distinctive whisper of delight that the lady saved for the most infamous tales, and Damien gritted his teeth as he endeavored to tread silently. He had to pass the drawing room to retreat to his library, which was the best refuge during a visit from Lady Dalhousie: the door could be secured and no one – even his mother – dared to trouble him there.
He should have ridden further with Emerson this afternoon. They had checked the property together, visiting that old ruin. Addersley had reported that there were men living there without permission and Damien had wanted to be certain they were dispatched. On this day, there had been no fresh signs of occupation there. It had been tempting to ride further, but he had not been in the saddle much this year and did not wish to push too much.
Perhaps Esmeralda had declined to join the party and lingered in her room, working on her book. That prospect was sufficient to tempt him to retreat to his chamber instead of the library. She might have need of a restorative break if she had worked all day.
She might wish for his assistance in checking a passage or two.
That prospect quickened his step.
He was passing the drawing room when he heard a third voice join the conversation, and recognized the hoarse tone that Esmeralda used in her guise as Mrs. Oliver. Disappointment flooded through him, followed quickly by curiosity.
He halted to listen and soon regretted the choice.
“He is not so old as that yet. He still might father a son in his dotage,” Mrs. Oliver declared, then laughed heartily.
Damien realized that there was one possibility worse than the idle gossip of women – they could be talking about him.
“Dotage? Goodness, Mrs. Oliver, you are severe in reference to my son. He has many years yet to father an heir, and I would see him happy with his match.”
“An heir and a spare, and a young wife in his bed should make him happy,” Lady Dalhousie said primly.
“And why not Mademoiselle LaFleur?” Mrs. Oliver said. Damien nigh rolled his eyes that she would not abandon that scheme, no matter what he said. “The girl is a pretty little chit and she seems to dote upon him.”
“I had thought my niece Helena would be a better match for him,” Lady Dalhousie said. “For she is a lively young lady, and it seems to me that the duke needs bringing out of himself.”
“Or bringing out of his library,” Mrs. Oliver agreed. “Does he always barricade himself in there?”
“Often,” his own mother said with some asperity. “Damien has always been a most avid reader.”
Mrs. Oliver guffawed. “I would give a pretty penny to see what manner of books he reads alone in there, day after day.”
Lady Dalhousie tittered. Damien’s mother harrumphed and he found himself straightening. It was tempting to barge in there and correct any aspersions cast upon his character – but then, Esmeralda probably had heard his return and was speaking for his benefit.
She drew such amusement from provoking him that he should respond in kind. He might bring several books to their liaison this night, simply because of her comment. Had she ever seen the like of them? Perhaps but perhaps not. He had discovered several volumes among his father’s collections that had made his own eyes widen.
“My son’s affairs are his own, ladies,” his mother said then and Damien nodded approval. “I am so glad that he returned hale from the war that I will never criticize his choices.”
“But a pretty young lady, right in your household, is the perfect opportunity for a betrothal,” Mrs. Oliver said. “She is already beneath the duke’s protection, and I am certain that many have concluded that marriage is his intention.”
“Indeed,” Lady Dalhousie agreed. “Why else should he have brought a girl of no relation to this house?” She paused. “Unless, of course, the girl is a relation, as yet undeclared.”
Damien could imagine the two of them peering expectantly at his mother.
“She is not,” that lady said with resolve. “But she is a sweet girl and I would not object if that did prove to be his plan.”
“She is young,” Lady Dalhousie mused.
“That will not last,” Mrs. Oliver said. “And I wager that if His Grace does not declare himself soon, he may lose the opportunity to do as much. Some other young buck will sweep her off her feet!”
“Just as the viscount did with my Helena!” Lady Dalhousie agreed. “His Grace did surrender opportunity there.”
Damien had surrendered nothing at all! He had no desire to take Emerson’s troublesome sister to wife and never had.
“Indeed,” Mrs. Oliver agreed, then dropped her voice. “There could not be an injury that he sustained in the war, could there?”
Damien snorted and shook his head, not caring if they heard his response. He marched down the corridor, not troubling to disguise the sound of his presence. If anyone knew that he sustained no such personal injury, it was Esmeralda!
And why did she talk so much of him wedding Mlle. LaFleur? Enough! He would set the matter to rights this very night with Esmeralda, and no one would talk more of such nonsense.
“Why would you not wed her?” Esmeralda asked her disgruntled companion later that evening. Although Damien could be less than charming, he was not usually ill-tempered when they met at night. This night was clearly different.
He glowered at her from across his chamber, then tossed himself into a chair before the fire. “Because I do not wish to.”
“There is the argument of a petulant child,” she said, earning herself a fierce glance.
“And yet it is true.”
“But why not? She is young, and thus likely to bear you multiple sons. She is pretty. She would do whatsoever you asked her to do. She dances well. She tends her lessons. Your mother could guide her in matters of household management and she would listen.”
“She is too young!”
“That will not endure. You could offer for her now and see the arrangement made.” She moved to perch on the edge of his chair. “You could even wed her now and consummate the match later.”
He eyed her, not troubling to hide his suspicion. “You are ambitious for your sister.”
“I am protective of my sister. I have complete confidence of her safety as your wife.”
He scoffed.
“And her happiness, of course. You would not be so churlish with her as you might be with another.”
“There is a compliment reluctantly given.”
“You are kind to her. I think perhaps you like her.”
“That is no foundation for a match.”
“Many are founded on less.”
“How old is she? Twelve? Thirteen? There is time aplenty, Esmeralda, for you to see her settled and there is nothing to say it must be with me.”
“You forget that she is my sister.”
“I do not.”
“Then you forget the significance of that.” She watched him shake his head slightly and knew he had not discerned the sorry truth. “As soon as it is known that she is my sister, Sylvie will have no prospects with honorable men. The unsavory men will appear from nothing, as will the opportunists and those who would take advantage of her. Her sole chance to make a good match and one that will see her defended is to pledge it now, before the truth is realized.”
The duke stared into the fire and she knew from the resolute line of his mouth that he would refuse her. She straightened and folded her arms across her chest. If they were to fight about one matter, it would be this one.
“I will not,” he said softly but with conviction.
“Why not?” she demanded.
His gaze swiveled to hers, his eyes dark. “Because my heart is not in it. She is lovely but she does not and will not ever hold my heart captive.”
“You cannot know that.”
“I can, for I have surrendered its burden already.”
Esmeralda stared at him in shock. She felt a little bit ill that she had so merrily met him abed while he was in love with another. It felt…wrong, despite the fact that she had been no more than a convenient indulgence for so many other men. “You never told me this. Who is the lady who holds your heart?”
He watched her. “Can you not guess?”
“No, I cannot.”
It was Esmeralda’s turn to stare into the fire. She reviewed every time she had seen him in town in the past year, every gathering he had attended, every time he appeared in his box at the theater, and she could not envision a single woman by his side. He accompanied his mother, friends and their wives, his sister, but no eligible woman that she had noticed. There was not even an ineligible lady, one married to another perhaps, in her recollections. There was only Sylvie. She met his gaze again, not comprehending, and he smiled sadly.
“I am so unlikely to win your heart as that then,” he mused, continuing before she could interpret his words. Then he stared deeply into her eyes as if he would compel her to believe him, and this troubled her as little else might have done. “You, Esmeralda. You are the woman I love and thus the only woman I would take to wife.”
“That cannot be,” she whispered, even as her heart yearned to believe.
It was impossible, after all. Unconventional and inconvenient and completely absurd.
But still he looked at her, his manner so solemn that she found herself believing him.
He spoke quietly. “When a man loves a woman, there can be no other partner for him, no other lady whose touch will satisfy, no other companion whose conversation he would seek each day and night. She is ageless and his love for her both abiding and eternal. There can be no other haven for such a man than in that very lady’s embrace, and thus, by her side is the only place he desires to be.”
“I do not believe men love like this,” she protested.
“I know they do,” he said with resolve. “For I love you, Esmeralda Ballantyne, I love you and the imperative to be with you, every moment of every day for the rest of my life, is exactly thus.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, then she spun on her feet, knowing she had to turn away from him. She could be no good for him. He should know as much. “It does not matter how wealthy you are, or how highly born, you cannot marry me! You should not want to wed me, of all women.”
“Whyever not?”
“Why would you bring my reputation into your family? Why would you so court scandal and even ostracization? There will those who would ban you from their doors, as well as those who would never speak to you again. Such a match would cost you dearly!”
“And yet I find I cannot care much about the good opinions of people who would so readily turn against me, forgetting all I have done for them and even what they know of my character.” He stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankle, as he watched her, so at ease with his perspective that she believed him. “It seems I might be well rid of such shallow companions.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“I most assuredly am, though it is clear that it will take some effort to win your agreement.”
“What agreement?”
“To marry me and become my duchess, of course.” He smiled crookedly at her, even as she flushed to her very toes.
“You will never win my agreement. I will never wed anyone, as a matter of principle. I have told you as much. And I would never bring disgrace upon you by accepting such a proposal, not after the kindness you have shown me and Sylvie.”
“Not even for the sake of love?”
Esmeralda caught her breath, knowing what she had to say to deter him and knowing she had to say it with complete conviction. “But I do not love you, sir, nor am I ever likely to.”
Esmeralda knew she uttered a lie. For she did admire Damien, more than any man she had ever known. She liked that she could rely upon him, that his word was his bond, that he was completely honorable. She liked the look of him and the feel of his body against hers. She liked that he spoke his mind and that he welcomed the honest expression of her own views – he even reconsidered his position after their discussions showed him a different side of the matter. She liked him very much. She would miss him painfully when this obligation was paid.
But because her heart was lost, she could never tell him of it. He would act upon such a confession, act upon it in a noble and honorable way, a romantic way that would thrill her beyond every expectation – and such a deed would be ruinous for him.
That she loved him meant that she could not destroy him.
Damien DeVries was not the sole person who was protective of those he held in esteem.
He studied her now, his expression inscrutable, and for a moment, she feared that he had read her secret thoughts, that her barriers had been as nothing to him. Then he shook his head and turned to the fire, frowning at the dancing flames. “Well,” he said. “I salute you, Esmeralda. I am quite certain that I have never been so soundly declined.”
“And I am certain that you will never be so again,” she said softly.
“Perhaps not.” He seemed pensive then and she could not guess his mood. He did not look inclined to move.
“Would you have me stay?”
He glanced toward her, the corner of his mouth lifting in a reluctant smile. “Always, Esmeralda. I would not sacrifice a single moment of your company so readily as that.”
Esmeralda lied.
Damien knew it. He had seen the glimmer in her eyes after his confession. He had seen her hope. He had seen her desire to believe.
And he had seen her close all of that away, sacrificing it for what she believed was the only possible choice. Even their lovemaking was different that night, more pensive and restrained. She offered him a performance again, and he ached that she had been taught to expect so little for herself. He knew she strove to protect him and his reputation, his social connections and every other element of his life.
That she would deny her own heart to defend him meant his love was returned.
It also meant he would not halt until she placed her hand in his own.
No matter the cost.