Page 42 of The Lady Who Said No to the Duke

T he sea-green silk of the nightgown slithered over her skin like a caress. Thea shivered.

‘Are you cold, my—I mean, Your Grace? Best wear this as well.’ Eames held up the matching peignoir. ‘I can put some more coals on the fire.’

‘No, the room is warm enough, thank you, Jennie. It was just that the silk was cool and my skin was rather warm.’

‘I watched some of the dancing from the little balcony high up. The minstrels’ gallery, they call it. It looked lovely.’

‘It was,’ Thea said, determinedly cheerful. She had been wracked with nerves, but it wouldn’t do to say so. ‘We must hold a Servants’ Ball very soon to celebrate all the hard work everyone has done.’

It had been lovely, she told herself. Everyone had been so happy for them, the castle had looked wonderful, the food and the music better than any London ball she had ever attended.

Hal had been attentive and clearly proud of her and he seemed pleased, if, sometimes, a little distracted. Perhaps he, too, had been thinking of what was to happen next.

In the dressing table mirror she could see the reflection of the room behind.

The Duchess’s bedchamber. And The Bed. This one, thankfully, was not draped in virginal white or covered in frills, but had elegant pale green and white side curtains and coverlet, heaps of pillows, a prettily inlaid headboard.

The entire suite, what she had taken in of it, seemed fresh and pretty and…comfortable. She had been dreading either an overly feminine boudoir or an imposing chamber with heavy furniture and massive paintings.

‘It’s a lovely room, isn’t it, Your Grace?’ Eames’s chatter began to cut through her thoughts again. ‘Mrs Abel told me that His Grace had it redecorated especially for you.’

‘Lovely,’ Thea echoed. How thoughtful. How like Hal.

‘There now.’ Eames stood back. ‘You look perfect, Your Grace. Is there anything else? I’ll just turn the bed down.’

‘Thank you. No, there is nothing else. Good night, Jennie.’

Now what was she supposed to do? Get into bed or sit by the fire? Bed, Thea decided. She slipped off the peignoir and climbed into the bed, which now seemed enormous.

Lie down? But that might look as though she had just gone to sleep. Sit up? Read?

With her eyes on the door that apparently led directly into the ducal bedchamber, Thea sat and listened. Absolutely no sound penetrated the heavy oak panels. Perhaps he was still downstairs with the guests? Perhaps he had gone to his own bed and was asleep…

The door opened and Hal stood there. ‘May I come in?’

‘Yes, please do.’ That sounded calm and pleasant.

Hal closed the door behind him and she saw his gaze flick to the peignoir, draped across the fireside chair, then back to her. ‘You look very lovely, but rather lonely in that big bed.’

‘There is certainly room for two.’

He was wearing a heavy robe in a dark green, and his hands went to the cord tying it as he approached.

‘Would you prefer it if I snuffed out all the candles?’ As he spoke, he pinched the flame of the one on the dressing table beside him.

That left the flickering firelight and three two-branch candelabra around the room.

‘No,’ Thea said. ‘No, I want to…to see you.’

It was hard to tell in the subdued light, but his eyes seemed to darken.

‘As you wish.’ The knot fell open and he shrugged out of the robe.

Thea kept her eyes fixed on Hal’s face. She hadn’t meant… all of him. Not just yet.

His mouth quirked, but it was as though he was laughing at himself, not her. ‘Is this better?’ he asked as he slid between the sheets.

‘Yes,’ she admitted and found she could smile too.

‘Are you tired? Are you certain you want me to stay?’

‘No. Yes. I wish… I wish you would kiss me, Hal.’

So he did, taking her in his arms, his body hard and hot through the thin silk of her nightgown. As it had when he had kissed her before, her body knew what was happening, even if she was overwhelmed by sensation and strangeness and new feelings that seemed to be taking over.

At some point she realised that her nightgown had gone and that she was naked against Hal’s bare flesh, realised that marble statues of naked Greeks and Romans bore very little resemblance to what appeared to happen to an English duke in bed with his wife, and then she was lost again.

Sometimes—when he took one nipple between his teeth and tugged gently, when his fingers brushed through intimate curls, explored deeper, when she realised with horror that she was wet there where he was creating whirlpools of pleasure—she felt shy, apprehensive, almost fearful, but then she thought about how much she loved Hal, how wonderful this all felt, and she let herself relax into the moment.

Her body seemed to know what to do too when his weight came over her and she drew him close.

There was a moment of panic when it all seemed too much, a second or so of pain, then they were one and she was being rocked up, up into velvet darkness broken by flashes of light, heard him say her name with an urgency that called for a response, if only she knew how to make it and then her world unravelled into a spiral of pleasure and darkness and joy.

* * *

How long was it before she came to herself? Thea had no idea. She blinked her eyes open and the candles were still alight, although the fire had burned lower.

She was lying on her back and there was a heavy weight across her midriff, which she identified after a moment as Hal’s arm. He was sprawled beside her, face down, deeply asleep, his breath slow and even.

Slowly she found herself able to think clearly, to remember some of what had happened.

Not all of it, because much was simply a blur of pleasure.

Hal, she realised, had been gentle and careful and had given , not just taken, as whispers she had heard had told her so many men did.

Mama, in her careful ‘little talk,’ had warned her that the marriage bed was at best a duty for the woman, something to be endured or tolerated, depending on how considerate one’s husband was.

Clearly, it could also be a joy, if one was married to a man one loved and he was kind and thoughtful.

Only she did not want someone who had to be kind to her.

She wanted to be loved as she loved him.

Why had she thought she could bear this?

Thea asked herself. It hurt . She felt the first hot tear trickle down her cheek and bit her lip.

She did not think she could stop the tears, but she must not wake Hal.

Not for a moment must he guess that she was hurting, that she loved him.

* * *

Hal woke to a room in darkness. Beside him he could hear Thea’s soft breathing and realised that his arm was lying heavy across her. To extricate himself without waking her, given that he was face down, was not easy, but it seemed that she was deeply unconscious.

When he was free, he stretched out his right hand and pressed the repeater button on the little carriage clock beside the bed.

Five faint tinkling notes told him the past hour.

Far too early to wake Thea and, besides, whatever his body was telling him it wanted, now was not the time to make love to her again so soon.

Make love. Yes, that was what it had felt like.

And she had responded to him with such instinctive passion, with such innocent trust, that he felt humbled.

He would tell her today that he loved her, he decided.

Have the courage to believe in that trust. Even if she did not feel quite the same, she would be kind.

He winced at that thought, then remembered how important trust was for her.

He would not deceive her about his feelings.

Cautiously he slid out of bed, then padded across the deep Chinese rug to the window. Just a little light. He wanted to sit and watch her wake up, however long it took.

When he came back to her side of the bed, the thin dawn light sending his shadow in front of him, he did not see it at first. But when he sat by the bed, leaned in closely to look at her sleeping face, he saw the tear tracks down her cheeks, the way a wisp of hair had stuck in them, the shadows under her eyes.

When he laid his hand on the pillow next to her, it was damp. His wife had lain there and cried herself silently to sleep.

She had trusted him, she had responded to him, she had given herself utterly—and in the aftermath, when he’d slept and she had felt safe, she had wept.

Why? He could hardly ask her, put another burden on her to find acceptable lies and half-truths. He’d thought she had found happiness in their lovemaking, but it seemed he’d been wrong.

Hal stood up and backed away from the bed.

His heel caught in his discarded robe and he stumbled, caught at a chest of drawers, and Thea murmured something, turned her head, then lay still again.

He picked up the robe, drew the curtains closed again and walked out, shutting the connecting door behind him with the faintest of clicks.

Or perhaps that was the sound of his heart cracking.

* * *

Thea woke to see light between a thin gap in the curtains. It was early still, she realised, listening. Although she was unfamiliar with the great house, it did not sound as if anyone was about yet, although doubtless, down in the kitchens, a sleepy scullery maid was labouring over the fires.

She was alone, she discovered, not surprised, and rather glad of it. It would be difficult to encounter Hal again after last night, wonderful though it had been. Wonderful and heartbreaking. She would face it better when she was dressed, she was sure.

When she sat up, she discovered that she was sore and embarrassingly sticky, and her face felt strange.

When she touched it she realised that it too was sticky, from her tears.

That at least must be remedied before anyone saw her.

She slid out of bed and went into the dressing room where a pitcher of water stood on the dressing table.