Page 2 of Two Nights with the Duke (Cherish and the Duke #3)

B lessed saints!

The lass was beautiful, to be sure. However, Malcolm had no intention of kissing her…not tonight, anyway. For all he knew, her every word could have been a lie. What if she wasn’t Granby’s daughter? What if she did not know Ballantry?

Well, her description of his dallying with every woman he could get his hands on was accurate. She had gotten that much right. Besides, his gut instinct told him that she was telling the truth.

“Goodnight, Jocelyn. Sweet dreams,” he said, interrupting her while she was in the midst of berating him for his unspeakable gall in believing she might ever want a kiss from him.

Having vented her spleen, she huffed in indignation and then sighed. “Goodnight, Camborne. Just remember to keep to your side of the bed.”

“Need I remind you that it is all my bed,” he said, sitting up a moment to remove his shirt and then stretching his large frame atop the mattress once more. His trousers chafed, for he preferred to sleep wearing nothing at all. However, he had promised to keep them on for Jocelyn’s sake, and he always kept to his word. “I think it is quite generous of me to give ye half of it even though my shoulders are twice as broad as yours.”

She huffed again, but ended with another sigh. “I do appreciate your sacrifice. Thank you for letting me stay.”

“Ye’re welcome, lass.” All he could see of Jocelyn was the back of a head of silky hair that was almost as black as a raven’s feathers. It fell across her shoulders in captivatingly soft waves, in stark contrast to their white coverlet.

Malcolm decided he would not mind running his fingers through her lush tresses. Nor would he mind kissing her impertinent mouth when the time was right.

Perhaps it was foolish of him to allow her to remain with him, but would a thief have been polite enough to mutter a thank you? Well, he was a light sleeper and had slipped his dirk under his pillow to keep it at hand in the event he needed to defend himself.

But as the sun rose and his sleep had not been disturbed at all, he rose quietly, drew aside the curtains to fully allow the morning light to shine into his quarters, and set about readying himself for the day.

Jocelyn was asleep, no doubt exhausted from all those days on the run. That she slept so soundly was a sign she trusted him.

He liked that she trusted him. And she looked quite pretty in sleep, he noted upon taking another moment to study her features.

A soft knock at the door distracted his attention.

He had just finished washing and shaving, and had yet to don his shirt, but he strode to the door, expecting the innkeeper or one of his boys. It was one of the inn’s young maids instead. Her eyes widened and she smiled at him seductively.

“Ah, my wife’s clothes?” He took the neatly pressed bundle from her hands.

The lass batted her eyelashes at him. “Aye, sir. Will she be needing my assistance?”

“No, I’ll attend to her.”

“And you, sir?” She cast him another inviting smile as her gaze raked over his bare chest. “Will you be requiring my services? I’d be happy to oblige ye. Ye need only ask for Molly—that’s m’name.”

“No, lass. No obliging necessary. My wife is quite enough for me.”

“Och, ’tis a pity,” she said, glancing at the figure of Jocelyn fast asleep in his bed before sauntering off.

“Remarkable,” he muttered, shutting the door and shaking his head. But he was not commenting on the maid’s propositioning him, for that happened often enough and came as no surprise. What he considered remarkable was how easily those two never-before-mentioned words had tripped off his tongue.

My wife.

The mere thought of being bound in marriage ought to have put his stomach in a churn, but he felt not a single, unsettling roil at the moment.

Was this not odd for a man who had spent his life avoiding matrimonial commitment?

Not only did he feel perfectly fine, but a gentle warmth spread through his body now that he’d referred to Jocelyn as his wife.

He shrugged it off. Perhaps he was still a little drunk.

But he knew that he wasn’t.

Well, she had told the inn’s staff that she was his wife, and he was not going to give her away as a liar. Aye, it was a dangerous thing to do, because they were in Scotland and he would be trapped if Jocelyn refused to declare this marriage falsehood merely a jest.

Oddly, he trusted the lass.

After donning fresh clothes and slipping into his boots, he debated whether to head down to the common room for breakfast or wake Jocelyn and assist her in dressing. He wasn’t quite certain she would allow his assistance, since she was wearing nothing under his shirt, a circumstance that had left him tossing and turning a bit before he finally drifted off to sleep.

Nor was she going to remove his shirt and prance naked in front of him, another circumstance that seemed unlikely because Jocelyn was, despite last night’s bluster and feigned bravado, a modest young woman.

He decided to head downstairs and send a maid up to attend her. But he did not want to disappear without advising Jocelyn of his whereabouts.

He knelt beside her and shook her lightly. “Jocelyn, lass,” he said in a whisper. “I’ll be having my breakfast downstairs. Will ye join me when ye’re ready?”

She pursed her full, lovely rose-petal lips. “ Mmm . Go away.”

“Jocelyn, I’m going for breakfast,” he repeated, silently resolving to kiss her beautiful lips before they parted ways. “I’ll bring ye up a few scones if ye’re no’ down there by the time I finish.”

“I like scones,” she mumbled. “And tea.”

“All right, lass. I’ll return with a pot of tea, too.”

Suddenly, she sat up. “ You. ”

The word sounded like an accusation. “Aye, me. This is my chamber, if ye will recall.”

She groaned as she brushed back her hair and blinked several times to wipe the sleep from her eyes. “I recall,” she said, yawning as she stared up at him. She regarded him with the most incredible crystal-blue eyes framed by the longest black lashes. “Oh, you’re already washed and dressed. You move about with the stealth of a cat. I did not hear a thing.”

“I wasn’t that quiet. You were exhausted.” He reached out to tuck back a wayward curl that had remained upon her cheek, all the while staring at her eyes because they were as beautiful as her lips and impossible to ignore. “How do ye feel after a solid night’s sleep?”

“Hungry,” she said with a surprisingly genial smile.

“Well, the maid brought back yer clothes a few minutes ago. Care to ready yerself and join me in the common room? I’ll buy ye a proper breakfast.”

A light blush stained her cheeks. “That is generous of you, Camborne.”

“It is nothing, lass.” He brushed another stray wisp off her lovely face, liking that her skin was soft and warm. “See ye downstairs. I’ll send up a maid to assist ye. Dinna be long.”

He strode out, not daring to look back at her for fear of losing his resolve and falling back into bed with her, for she looked remarkably pretty in the morning light.

Perhaps there was something to the notion of waking up with a woman in his bed. But he did not think he would be feeling quite as pleased if it were someone other than Jocelyn curled beside him under the coverlet.

First of all, the women with whom he consorted were not soft or sweet. Quite the opposite, they were mercenary and predatory, which suited him just fine, since he sought them out for one thing only, and that was to fulfill his manly needs.

It was mutual satisfaction, of course. Once his needs and those of the lady in question were satisfied, he would leave her bed because there was no purpose to staying. Most of his liaisons were with married women, for they were generally safest. He always chose the ones whose husbands no longer cared what they did or with whom they did it. Even though there was little chance of discovery in those situations, he never stayed the night. Why risk any awkwardness in being found in a married woman’s bed come morning?

Waking to find Jocelyn beside him felt nice, however. When had he ever simply slept with a woman? No sex. Just sleeping.

The answer was never .

Could it be this was what he had been doing wrong all his life? He’d never spent an entire night into morning with any of his conquests, not even any of his mistresses. He would entertain them for an evening, satisfy himself, and then leave.

Come to think of it, this was probably why his arrangements often turned sour. The ladies wanted more attention than he was willing to give them. The gifts he provided usually appeased them. After all, taking on a mistress was purely a business arrangement for him, and he had been quite clear about this when negotiating terms.

The nicer his gifts, the louder their purrs and panting breaths whenever they coupled. None of it was real, and he’d never really cared. Everyone lied to him. How could he ever know whether their mews of pleasure were real or fake?

But somehow, he and his fellow Silver Dukes had become known for their sexual prowess. It was mostly myth. He, Bromleigh, and Lynton often met at their club over drinks and laughed about the rumors of their skill. Yet, for the sake of their pride, they all hoped much of it was true.

But how could any of them ever know?

He could not speak for his friends, but he knew his own actions were to blame for his situation. Was it not mostly his fault that he had never found love when he purposely chose women who were mercenary and not going to get attached to him? Nor was he in any danger of getting attached to them.

But this was the very reason he had returned to Scotland, his need to get away from London and think deeply about what he had become. There was no better place on earth for a man to dig deep into his soul, to spend his hours fishing and contemplating the changes he needed to make in his life.

Those changes included the possibility of taking a wife.

But if he could not handle a mistress, how was he ever to be a proper husband to the woman he married? How did one choose wisely?

He strode into the common room and was immediately greeted by the innkeeper, Mr. Farrell. “Is all well, Yer Grace?” he asked in a furtive whisper, regarding Malcolm anxiously. “And yer wife , did she find the accommodations to her satisfaction?”

Malcolm chuckled. “Yes, she was most pleased. I’m grateful to ye for accommodating her in my absence.”

The innkeeper’s eyes widened and he released a breath. “Then she really is yer wife?”

“Yes,” Malcolm said without hesitation because he did not want to shame Jocelyn. “Very recently wed.”

“Good. Good,” Mr. Farrell said, releasing another breath. “I wanted to hit my son about the head when he told me this morning that he had given her access to yer quarters.”

“No harm done,” Malcolm assured the man. “It is my fault that I did not leave word of the possibility of her arrival. In truth, I did not expect her to join me until tomorrow at the earliest, if at all.”

“Blessed saints, that’s a relief.” The innkeeper mopped his brow as he led Malcolm to a quiet table off to the side of the common room that would soon be bustling.

“No, I’ll have this one,” Malcolm said, preferring a table that gave him an unobstructed view of the doorway. He did not trust Jocelyn to join him, and feared she might sneak off once she was washed and dressed.

Then again, she had to be hungry.

But she also had to be worried someone would recognize her and report her whereabouts to Ballantry and her family.

Even so, that someone would have to be aware she had run off on her wedding day, and then be willing to go out of their way to tattle on her. The chances there would be a problem were slim.

He had just finished his eggs and kippers, and was nursing a cup of coffee, when Jocelyn entered the common room looking as fresh and lovely as the breath of spring. It did not escape his notice that every man was gawking at her. Discreetly, of course. No one would dare openly ogle her because she was thought to be with Malcolm, and no one was going to dare tangle with him. He was rough looking, not at all elegant, as one might believe a duke to be. Not that anyone besides the innkeeper knew of his true identity.

But Jocelyn carried herself like a proper duchess.

Her hair was drawn back in an artfully braided bun, no doubt styled by one of the inn’s maids, who obviously had a good sense of fashion. Perhaps Jocelyn had instructed her on what she wanted.

No matter—the effect was extraordinary.

She wore her only gown, the one she was meant to be married in. It was a pearl silk confection that was far too light for the raw Scottish weather and far too elegant for ordinary morning activities.

He wondered how she had not yet taken ill, for it could not have been easy for her once the sun went down and the night’s chill spread through the Highland glens and dales.

Her eyes sparkled as she spotted him. He rose as she approached and cast him a beaming smile.

A horrifying notion struck him in that moment. He did not want to lose this lass.

Not yet, anyway.

He offered her the seat beside him. “Ye clean up nice, Jocelyn.”

She laughed as she settled in her chair. “How did you ever gain your Silver Duke reputation, Camborne? I ‘clean up nice’? Is this how you flirt with all the ladies?”

He grinned while settling back in his chair. “I’m no’ completely sober yet. But just say the word and I’ll be happy to seduce ye and conquer yer heart.”

He was surprised when she actually gave the jest consideration. “Perhaps the seduction part,” she said quietly. “At my age, when am I ever to have the chance again?”

His heart shot into his throat.

Was she serious?

She was beautiful and would likely remain so into her dotage. Some women just had that look about them, an inner glow, something soft and appealing that simply would not fade.

“However, I do not wish my heart to be conquered. Is my situation not bad enough? My family hates my independence, and they grow more desperate every year to see me married off.”

“Even to a wretch like Ballantry?”

“That was my mistake more than theirs. I chose him.”

“Och, lass! How could ye? He’s a knave.”

“I know, but I am well into my spinsterhood, Camborne. I could not bear to listen to my parents—my aunts, uncles, and even my insufferable cousins—bemoan my fate. Well, my cousins were probably mocking me rather than pitying me. I know it is not right to speak ill of my own blood kin, but they are truly lacking in warmth or kindness.” She emitted a ragged breath. “I finally resolved to accept the next man who came along. Utterly stupid on my part, I will own.”

“And Ballantry was that next man?”

She nodded. “I held my nose and accepted him. As it turns out, he would not care if I died three minutes after we exchanged vows. In fact, I know he would prefer it.”

“I’m glad ye ran, lass.”

“So am I. But my already waspish reputation is certainly in complete tatters now that I have jilted my bridegroom on our wedding day. No one decent is going to come near me after the gossips get through annihilating me.”

Malcolm placed a hand over hers. “Lass, ye’re with me now, and I will no’ allow anyone to harm ye.”

She cast him a surprisingly vulnerable smile. “You are a better man than I deserve, Camborne. But do not let the compliment go to your head. I am not likely to give you another.”

“Because ye are a wicked harpy?” He laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Having just assured Jocelyn that he would protect her, Malcolm resolved to take her to the local shops and buy her some sturdier gowns. Shawls and stockings, too.

She inhaled deeply and emitted a soft sigh of pleasure that would have had his heart beating faster if she were making that delicious sound over him and not the aroma emanating from his coffee. “That smells heavenly,” she said.

“Aye, it is very good. I’m on my second cup. Care for one?”

“It does stir one’s senses, but tea is my morning drink.” She inhaled again. “Did you just have eggs and kippers? I prefer my eggs with sausages. But I like kippers, too.”

He grinned as he summoned one of the serving maids. “Order whatever ye like, lass. The innkeeper knows to charge all to my account, as ye so helpfully instructed his staff last night. There’s no reason to change that standing order. I’ll have him bring out every last morsel in his kitchen, if ye like.”

She blushed, obviously aware she had no funds of her own, which meant he had to pay for everything anyway. “I’m sorry, Camborne. Make note of what I owe you. I will pay you back in full.”

“I dinna want repayment, Jocelyn. It is my pleasure to have ye with me.”

Her blush deepened. “Now I feel worse about abusing your generosity.”

“Dinna feel bad. Ye know it is mere pocket change for me. In truth, I’m glad ye’re safely under this roof and have food and warmth available to ye. Those first few nights on the run must have been very difficult for ye.”

She nodded. “They were. I do not frighten easily, but there were moments when I questioned the wisdom of what I was doing. I hid in churches those first two nights. The wooden pews weren’t the most comfortable, and there were no warming fires nearby, but I thought I would be safest in a house of the Lord. Thank goodness it is August, the hottest month of the year.”

He nodded, knowing she probably would have frozen to death that first night had she run off a month or two later.

“I had a few coins in my shoe, a silly wedding tradition that ultimately proved useful. I found my way to a coaching inn and used those coins to take a mail coach as far away from Lord Ballantry as I could. This is how I came to be in Arbroth yesterday. The fare was enough to buy my passage as far as here.”

“And then ye overheard those maids talking about my unoccupied bedchamber at this inn?”

She nodded. “I was cold and starving. I needed a place to warm myself and think about what I was to do next. The bankers in Aberdeen know me, and I must get to them before Ballantry and my family do. Several accounts are mine outright, so I am able to do exactly as I wish with them. But I am an unmarried woman. The bank managers might not allow me to access my own funds if my father ordered it so.”

Malcolm frowned. “Do ye think yer parents and Ballantry are there already? Waiting for ye?”

“I hope not, but it is a possibility. It is a risk I’ll have to take.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Lass, ye’re still a two- or three-day ride by carriage to Aberdeen. Ye haven’t the fare for another mail coach. Walking there will take ye two weeks, if not longer. This assumes yer legs dinna give out along the way or ye dinna die of starvation since ye haven’t the wherewithal to pay for a meal. Not to mention ye haven’t the clothes to keep yerself warm, either.”

“Which is why I need your assistance, Camborne.” She cleared her throat. “I was hoping you might see your way to escorting me to Aberdeen. Were you on your way there by any chance?”

“No, lass. I wasn’t.”

“Oh.” She glanced down at her clenched hands. “Would you consider taking me there? The bankers might not dare block my accounts if you are there to growl at them. And I can pay you back on the spot. I’ll gladly pay you double whatever it is I owe you.”

“Ye dinna owe me anything, Jocelyn,” he said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “I dinna want yer blunt.” How could she think he would demand repayment from her?

She let out a breath. “Then you’ll take me there out of the goodness of your heart?”

He was spared the need to respond when the innkeeper scurried toward them to take Jocelyn’s order. “My wife will have eggs and sausages, and toss on some kippers,” he said, intentionally speaking for her since he did not want her to skimp for his sake. “Lots of bread, too.”

“And a pot of tea,” Jocelyn added.

The innkeeper hurried off.

Jocelyn smiled at him. “You did that on purpose.”

He arched an eyebrow. “What did I do?”

“Made certain I would have plenty to eat. Thank you. By the time we part ways, you’ll have me fat as a Christmas goose.”

He shook his head and chuckled. “I told ye that I would look after ye. I keep my word. Eat to yer heart’s content, and afterward I’ll take ye shopping.”

“But I—”

“Ye can settle up with me once we reach Aberdeen, if ye’re insisting on it,” he said, although this was merely to appease her. He had no intention of accepting any reimbursement whatsoever from her. Not for food. Not for clothing. Not for shelter.

Her eyes widened. “Then you’ll take me there?”

“Aye. But ye need more sensible clothes before we head off or ye’ll freeze to death. My carriage cracked a wheel just as I reached Arbroth, which is why I had to stop here for the night.” He eyed her with a hawkish gaze. “Perhaps it was fate, and I was meant to provide a room for ye. Well, anyway…my carriage won’t be ready until tomorrow morning. We’ll leave once it is brought to the inn.”

She nodded. “All right. Thank you, sincerely.”

“My pleasure, lass. We’ll now have the entire day to get ye some proper clothes.”

“But nothing extravagant. Don’t forget, my accounts might be blocked and I may not have the means to pay you back immediately.”

He waited for her food to be set before her, and they were once again left to themselves before he resumed their discussion. He did not want to make an issue of his paying for her things, but neither did he want her stinting on her purchases. Perhaps it was best just to be honest about his intentions and clear the air. “Jocelyn, I will no’ accept repayment for whatever I spend on ye today—or any other day, for that matter.”

She had just taken her fork in hand but now set it aside. “No repayment at all?”

“None.”

“Are you suggesting I can purchase anything I need and you will not put a limit on my spending?”

“That’s right.”

“What if I buy expensive trinkets?”

He shrugged. “I can afford it. Nor am I worried about yer spending too much, because ye are obviously a thrifty lass. Ye’re only thinking of yer minimal needs, not even giving a thought to what ye might want beyond these urgent items. And ye’ve not stopped calculating down to the last farthing whatever it is ye think ye owe me. Once again, let me make myself clear. Ye owe me nothing .”

“So, you do not want my money.” Her hand trembled as she set it on the table.

“Lass, I have so much of my own that it is coming out of my ears. Why would I need yers when I could no’ spend mine in a lifetime of trying?”

“That is beside the point.”

“I think it is entirely the point,” he countered.

“No, it isn’t.”

Botheration, what had he said to overset her? He thought he was being kindly and generous. Obviously, the lass did not think so.

She nibbled her lip and regarded him fretfully. “Camborne, if you do not want my coins, then what is it you want from me?”