Page 6 of The Duke’s Only Desire (The Dukes of Darkness #3)

Ravenscroft Manor

Five days later

S ophie felt a warm softness engulf her. A pleasant darkness that made opening her exhausted eyes impossible.

All of her was exhausted, with her limbs pleasantly numb and boneless as the weight of her body pressed down into the cloud beneath her. A bed of down, as if nestled against a giant mother goose. Fuzzy sensations swirled through her as she danced on the verge of sleepy unconsciousness. She had felt as if she had been lifted through the air to take flight to heaven, only to sink even deeper into the softness surrounding her and the darkness that soothed her tired body and mind. Someone had touched her hair, loosened her bodice and stays until she was free of the tightness, then covered her with layers of heavy warmth.

And then, she’d experienced that old dream she hadn’t had for years, the one of kissing Shay. But this time, it was different.

This time, she wasn’t standing within the circle of his arms; she was lying down, falling away into the night’s shadows, and stopped from sinking away completely by black clouds of utter softness rising up beneath her. She could feel the silkiness of his hair sifting through her fingers, could smell the heady scent of cigars, cognac, leather, and musky man that filled her senses, heard a low groan of surrender. But this time, when his lips touched hers, she tasted…pain.

She jolted fully awake.

Her eyes flew open, only to cringe beneath the bright sunlight that came in through the window despite the drawn draperies. For a moment, she didn’t move and simply let her blinking eyes drift around the unfamiliar yet grand room where she found herself.

Wherever she was, it certainly wasn’t a posting inn. Then she realized…Ravenscroft Manor.

The bedroom was large, two bays wide with tall windows dressed in thick drapes that matched the ones on the four-poster bed where she lay, but it was a woman’s room, clearly, with its soft creams and floral patterns. Even the wallpaper was feminine, undoubtedly hand painted to resemble a verdant garden at the height of its bloom, with pink roses twining among green ivy and white peonies. The bed’s drapes, fashioned of cream-colored velvet and tied back with braided gold cord, matched those on the windows, with brightly colored fringed pillows on the two chairs in front of the marble fireplace. She knew without having to put down a foot that the rug was just as luxurious as it looked.

Still, despite the flowery cheeriness of the décor, there was a dated quality to the room, an unlived-in feel that made it seem colder than it was…although the cool air that tickled at her bare arms once she slid out from beneath the thick blankets and coverlet was certainly cold enough on its own.

Bare arms. Sophie grimaced. Her dream of kissing Shay hadn’t been a dream at all.

He must have carried her up to her room from the carriage and once again undressed her, so carefully that he hadn’t even jostled her awake, then put her to bed. But this time, she knew, he had allowed himself to steal a kiss. She didn’t know whether to be furious or pleased.

She crossed to the window and tossed open the drapes. Cold air rushed over her, and so did the thrill of the view.

A thick blanket of snow stretched from the house to the smooth hills on the horizon, lying beneath a sky so clear and blue that it hurt her eyes. So did the bright sunlight reflecting off the whiteness that made the wintry day seem warmer than it actually was. The sun, high in the sky—confirmed by a quick glance over her shoulder at the mantel clock—told her the morning had long ago passed and the time was well after noon.

She’d slept away the day. But then, she had been exhausted. Last night, Shay had decided to take the risk of driving on through the night under the light of the full moon because Ravenscroft wasn’t far away and he was anxious to be home. She’d fallen into a deep sleep in the carriage, so very tired after five days of near nonstop travel and four sleepless nights of staring at the ceiling, waiting, and wondering if her husband would come to her bed. He never did.

The door opened, and she spun around in expectation. “Shay?”

A little housemaid froze in the doorway, like a doe caught by the hounds. Then she set down the pails she carried in each hand and dropped a quick curtsey. “Pardon me, miss—I mean, Your Grace.” Her face turned red. “His Grace tasked me with preparing a bath for you in your dressing room.” She nodded toward a door on the other side of the room. “Should I, ma’am?”

“Please.”

The maid scurried into the dressing room. Through the doorway, Sophie could see a large bathtub set up in the middle of the room into which the maid added the two buckets of steaming water, then dribbled in lavender oil and bath salts. A large fluffy towel sat folded on a stool, and the maid slung a robe across the end of the tub where a pair of slippers waited on the floor.

The maid came back into the bedroom and bobbed another curtsey. “His Grace asked me to serve as your lady’s maid until your own arrives in a few days with the rest of the luggage.”

“I would like that.” She smiled to put the girl at ease. She could only imagine the gossip swirling through the household staff to find their hermit bachelor’s estate set on its ear with the unexpected arrival of a new duchess, one they had absolutely no knowledge of how to please. One they hadn’t even known existed. “What is your name?”

“Darla,” she answered, having no idea that a lady’s maid was referred to by her last name. But then, there had been no need for a lady’s maid at Ravenscroft Manor for the last two decades because there had been no lady.

Darla started into another bobbing curtsey, only for Sophie to rush forward to take her arm and stop her. “Please—you don’t have to be so formal with me.” At the maid’s puzzled look, she added, “All that curtsying makes me nervous. A simple smile or nod in greeting will do.”

“Oh, yes, miss! I mean—Your Grace.” That nervous spillage was promptly followed by another dip into yet another curtsey.

Sophie bit back a grin. “So if my dressing room is there…” She gestured toward a second door leading off her bedroom. “What’s through that door?”

Confusion darkened Darla’s face. “Why, that’s His Grace’s bedroom, ma’am.”

A jolt shot through her. Of course it was. These rooms must have belonged to the duchess, and she was now duchess. Which meant Shay’s rooms would be next to hers. She knew that’s how grand country houses were arranged, but she hadn’t let herself consider the reality of exactly what that meant. Until now.

“Shall I help you, ma’am, or would you like to bathe on your own?”

Darla’s question pulled her out of her nervousness, and she smiled appreciatively. The thought of lingering in a tub of hot water was sweet temptation. “Why don’t you come back in half an hour? Then you can help me dress.” She prodded gently, “And perhaps tell me about Ravenscroft Manor.”

The maid nodded and excused herself.

Sophie removed her shift, quickly pinned up her hair, and stepped carefully into the large tub. The rush of hot water across her skin brought out a soft sigh from her lips, and she sank down to her neck, luxuriating in the lavender water. She leaned back her head, closed her eyes, and enjoyed the exquisite bath. Half an hour went by too soon, and she reluctantly left her bath, wrapped herself in the thick robe and slippers, and returned to her room.

Her travel trunk and bag had been unpacked, her clothes carefully placed into the armoire, and her toiletries spread across the dressing table. A small breakfast tray had been delivered while she had been soaking, filled with her favorites, too—toast with marmalade, a pot of chocolate, eggs, bacon…someone had even managed to find a handful of precious strawberries in the middle of winter.

She lifted one of the red berries and frowned at it. The cook could only have known what to prepare if Shay had told her, and for Shay to do something like that… why? Their marriage was one of convenience, that was all. Shay had been very clear about that. Yet this was a sign of affection from a man who was legally entitled to make love to her but couldn’t even bring himself to kiss her when she was awake. The contradiction was maddening.

Darla knocked softly before entering the bedroom, and in her hands, she carried one of Sophie’s dresses, freshly pressed. “I took the liberty of selecting this one for you, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” She popped the strawberry into her mouth and gave a soft sigh at its sweet goodness.

Darla draped the winter dress, whose velvet fabric was offset by delicate lace edging the modest neckline and long sleeves, across the bed, then hurried into the dressing room to select undergarments.

“His Grace has asked to see you as soon as you’re dressed,” Darla informed her over her shoulder.

Sophie froze, a second berry halfway to her lips. A small thrill sped through her, only for her to chastise herself at being such a goose. He certainly wasn’t planning on sweeping her away to his bed.

Darla dressed her with only minimal direction, then slid the dress over Sophie’s head and helped tug the skirts and long sleeves into place. When the buttons were all fastened, Sophie sat at the dressing table and allowed Darla to fix her hair.

“Tell me about Ravenscroft Manor,” Sophie cajoled, partly to ease the maid’s nervousness. The girl had clearly never fixed a lady’s hair before and was a bit overwhelmed with all the pearl-tipped pins and tortoiseshell combs. But Sophie didn’t care. She was more interested in learning about her new home and the people she would be sharing it with than with a perfect coiffure.

“What would you like to know?”

Everything. “Well, let’s start with you. How long have you been employed here?”

As Darla brushed and pinned up her hair into what proved to be a simple but fine chignon, she shared information about herself and then about her fellow servants on the estate. Sophie listened silently, taking it all in, grateful for the information about her new home.

“You should speak with Mr. Enfield, Your Grace. He’s the estate agent and can tell you all about its history, the village, its tenants… I’m certain they’re all looking forward to meeting you.” She paused as she placed the last pin. “Or Miss Danvies. She’s the local midwife. She knows everything that goes on in the village.” She stepped back with a pleased smile. “All done.”

Sophie checked her appearance in the mirror. She was pale at the thought of speaking with Shay, but the conversation could not be delayed. She was mistress of Ravenscroft Manor now, and she needed to know what was expected of her as the estate’s mistress, his duchess…and his wife.

As if reading her mind, Darla silently slid a small pot of rouge across the vanity to her.

“Darla,” Sophie confided as she applied just enough of the color to pink her cheeks, “you will make a wonderful lady’s maid.”

The maid flushed with embarrassment and set about straightening the room.

That was Sophie’s cue to leave. The time had come to confront her husband.

*

Shay felt Sophie’s presence in the open doorway of his study before he saw her. Before? Hell, he never even had to look up from the pile of papers on his desk to know she was standing there, watching him, biting her bottom lip in that contemplative way she had when she was attempting to work out a puzzle.

But she might as well give up. He’d long ago passed the point of being understood.

“Good morning,” he said, still looking at the paperwork, as if his attention was still riveted there. “Or should I say…good afternoon?”

He lifted his gaze to her just in time to see her release her bottom lip from between her teeth and straighten her spine. He fought back a soft laugh at her expense.

“Welcome to Ravenscroft Manor.” He set down the papers and leaned back casually in his chair, although the sensations filling him were anything but casual. “Welcome home.”

“That sounds odd to hear,” she admitted.

It felt even odder to say. But this place was her home. She had always been meant to live here. Just not with him.

“You should grow used to hearing it,” he told her, pushing back from the desk and rising to his feet. “After all, you’re mistress here now.”

With a preoccupied nod, she swept a gaze around the study, then out into the hall, as if she could take in the entire house with a single glance. “It hasn’t changed since I was here last. That winter’s night when Grandmama brought me here to meet your father—there was snow then, too. Do you remember?”

“Yes.” He had never forgotten it. Or her. Even then, while still in the schoolroom, she’d had an air about her that was striking. But he didn’t want to dredge up old memories. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very.” Faint embarrassment touched her lips. “I was so exhausted from traveling that I slept away the entire morning.”

“So I heard.” He circled the desk and leaned back against it, propping a hip against the top as he reached for his cup of coffee. “Darla was helpful, then?”

“She’ll make a fine lady’s maid.”

“And your rooms?”

“Lovely.”

“I know they’re a bit dated.” He lifted the cup to his lips. “You can redecorate and personalize them however you’d—”

“You kissed me.”

He choked on the bitter liquid.

When he stopped coughing and darted his gaze up at her, her brow was raised in challenge, and her hip rested sassily against the doorframe. She stared boldly back. At that moment, he knew she would be just fine here.

Him , on the other hand…

He cleared his throat and frowned into his coffee, as if he could blame it for his surprise. “It wasn’t what you—”

“Don’t tell me it was a dream. I remember it clearly.” She pushed away from the door and came forward, stopping in front of him, arms crossed. She repeated bluntly, “You kissed me.”

“Actually,” he corrected, pointing his cup at her, “ you kissed me.”

Her mouth fell open as she gaped at him.

Under the accusation of her stunned stare, he shrugged. “Who am I to stop a beautiful woman from kissing me?”

She asked in a low voice, “Was I undressed yet?”

He brought the cup to his lips and winked at her. “I’ll never tell.”

Her hand flew to her lips as soft laughter tumbled from her.

His chest tightened at the lilting sound. Dear God, she was lovely. She was as bright as the winter sun, her hair golden in the diffused light and her cheeks holding a captivating hint of pink. The room was a little cold; he’d allowed the fire to die down while he’d been working. But her presence radiated a warmth he hadn’t realized was missing until she appeared.

Tilting her head curiously, she walked forward until she stopped just in front of him. Her eyes sparkled as they swept over him, taking him in from head to toe. He had planned to spend the day working, both here in the study until she awoke and then outside on the estate, so he’d donned heavy work clothes and hadn’t bothered to shave. But he suspected it wasn’t his appearance she was considering.

“There were times during the past few days,” she told him, almost musing as she continued to search his face, “when being with you was like before, when I had been with the old Shay. Like now.” Her eyes met his. “It’s nice.”

It wasn’t nice. It was torture.

“I missed you,” she whispered.

And you have no idea how much I longed for you. But he would never admit that. Instead, he answered with a tight smile and looked down at the little breakfast tray still sitting on his desk. “Have you eaten? I asked Cook to send up a tray for you. I told her how much you love marmalade and chocolate.”

“Also the old Shay to remember something like that about me.”

I remember everything about you. “It’s only breakfast.”

The chastising gleam in her eyes proved she knew he was lying. But she didn’t challenge him. Instead, she asked a question he knew to be just as loaded—“How should I spend my day?”

Naked and drowsy in my bed, letting me make love to you over and over… But that wish could never be uttered aloud. He didn’t deserve her, and she certainly didn’t deserve a scarred monster for a lover. From the way she’d gasped when she first saw his face in London, she’d scream if she saw the other scars that marred his body. He set down his cold coffee. “However, you’d like.”

“I’d like to spend it with my husband.”

He froze, only for a moment, yet long enough for his heart to somersault. “I’ve been away a good while. I need to ride out to visit the tenants.” But if she asked him why, he wouldn’t have been able to say. All he knew was that fate was laughing at him, because the last thing he could do was spend time with his beautiful bride. She was simply too tempting. “But you should make yourself at home here. Explore the house, meet the servants, investigate the gardens—I want to give you time to adjust without smothering you.”

From the way her brow arched, she knew he was lying. Again . “I’d like to ride out with you.”

“I’d rather you stayed here.”

“I’m an expert horsewoman. My riding habit isn’t here yet, but I’m certain I could find something appropriate.”

So was he. That was the problem. She could don a burlap sack and still look stunning. “The snow’s too deep, the temperature too cold.” He shook his head. “You’d be miserable and bored stiff while I tended to business. It’s better if you remain here.”

He’d injected just enough finality into his voice to convince her—he hoped—without sounding too much like an arse. After all, he didn’t want to be a controlling husband. On the contrary, he wanted to remain as far away from her as possible.

As if purposefully antagonizing him, she took another step forward until she stood so close he could touch her by simply lifting a hand. Far too close for comfort.

“When will you return?”

He debated slipping off the desk and putting half the room between them, but he’d have to push her back to do that. Touching her was the last thing he could trust himself to do, even so innocuously. “Not until long after dark. You should plan on dining without me.”

She tortured him by taking another step forward, so close now he could smell the sweet scent of lavender surrounding her like a cloud and feel the warmth of her seeping into him. So close that all he had to do to embrace her was simply lift his arms.

“I would like to spend the first night in my new home with my husband,” she said softly.

He swallowed hard and repeated, “You should plan on dining without me.”

“And when dinner’s finished?” she whispered. “I think I might like to be kissed goodnight by you again, and this time be awake for it.”

His gut burned against the temptation she presented. “I told you. You kissed me.”

“All right, then. I can do that, too.” Sophie leaned in and brought her lips to his.

For a moment, he was too stunned to move as his swirling mind fell a step behind his body, which screamed for him to yank her against him and take possession of her kiss, her body, her bliss. He could do nothing but let her kiss him.

Then, when his mind caught up to the sudden throbbing at his crotch, he called on every ounce of restraint he possessed to remain still as a statue. Every entreating caress of her lips against his was sheer agony, her hand resting delicately on his shoulder a torment, and when she touched his cheek in tender encouragement to return her affection, she nearly conquered him.

Nearly. He refused to surrender to the hell of loving Sophie.

She tried again to tempt him to embrace her, this time adjusting her soft mouth to a different angle against his, one that inadvertently touched the tip of her tongue to his bottom lip and sparked a hot longing inside him. But his resolve remained firm, even as her kisses grew ever more cajoling, ever more seductive.

A whimper of aggravated confusion tore from her and vibrated against his lips.

The sound broke him. With a groan, he captured her mouth beneath his in a kiss so fierce, so unexpected she gasped in surprise, only for her sharp breath to turn into a low moan of delight when his hands cupped her face. He held her head still while he traced the outline of her lips with the tip of his tongue in a gesture that proved far more possessive than he intended. But he couldn’t help himself. Just as he couldn’t help teasing at the seam of her lips until she softened her mouth beneath his, parted her lips and let him glide inside.

Sweet Lucifer, she tasted heavenly. A delirious mix of sweetness, soft florals, and warmth that reminded him of a summer garden. Unschooled in kissing, she didn’t move to kiss him back as he explored the silky recesses of her mouth and stroked his tongue over hers in an erotic caress meant to both reassure and encourage. But then…he felt her lick tentatively back. Her arms rose around his neck, welcoming the embrace. No—inviting more.

Shay knew better. He should set her away and not let her get this close again, because a simple kiss had the power to lead to so much more. But he couldn’t bring himself to do that. Instead, he let her hand slide down his chest to fist his waistcoat, as if she needed an anchor in a storm. God knew he felt the same way and gave silent thanks for the desk propping him up from behind, especially when he stroked his hand along her spine and felt tremors stir in its wake. When he began to knead his fingers at the soft flesh of her nape, a trembling sigh left her lips and tickled over his, and she melted bonelessly against him. All the tension seeped from her body, and her mouth softened beneath his, receptive to whatever kisses he wanted to bestow.

Dear God, she was far too tempting, so he began to thrust his tongue between her lips in a steady, erotic rhythm that slowly built the desire inside her until it radiated from her. Each plunge and retreat into her sweet mouth mimicked what he longed to do to her body with his but never would. This was the most he could ever claim from her, simple kisses and near chaste embraces, fully clothed. He wasn’t entitled to more.

When she closed her lips around his tongue and instinctively sucked, he nearly burst out of his skin. A surge of heat pulled up through him from his groin, and soon the effect she had on him would be too obvious to hide. Too many questions would follow, too many answers he never wanted to give—

Desperate to end the kiss, he tore his mouth away from hers and gently pressed her head down against his shoulder, where she panted to reclaim the breath he’d stolen. He buried his mouth in her hair and forced his own breath to steady and his pulse to slow. But he couldn’t escape her warmth, the softness of her body against his, or her delicious scent that filled his senses. Everything about holding her in his arms was both sheer pleasure and absolute torture, and he shook from it, and from the battle of wills warring inside him.

She lifted her head from his shoulder and brought her lips to his ear. “See?” He felt her smile against his cheek. “Kissing is so much better when I’m awake.”

That soft teasing undid him, and he finally found the willpower to take her shoulders and gently set her away, just far enough that he could slip off the desk and move away from her. Every foot of space he put between them was a blessed anguish.

“You should plan on dining without me,” he repeated, and damn his voice for being far more hoarse than he wanted.

Sophie stared at him, confused, her hand lifting to touch her red lips. “Shay…”

Her pained expression pierced him. He had wounded her, and he hated himself for it. But it was better to hurt her now rather than to devastate her later.

“The old Shay is gone,” he told her as gently as possible yet with a firmness she would know not to challenge. “The sooner you accept that, the happier we’ll both be.”

Then he turned on his heel and left the study.