Chapter 7
7
Constantine knocked on the door that connected his room to that of Miss Fairchild and listened.
He needed to stop calling her Miss.
She was his wife now, for better or worse.
But she didn’t seem like the Duchess of Pryde…not yet. She’d been so shy and so timid at the wedding breakfast. The poor lilac gown hung on her slim frame, too short for her height and completely unflattering for her fair complexion. She needed to wear gowns that would bring out her remarkable forest-green eyes and that mesmerizing color of her hair—like burnished copper. Bright and fiery.
How could a woman so striking stand with her hands clasped before her and her shoulders tense and slouched, looking as though she wanted to make herself smaller, to hide?
He knocked again.
“Duchess?” he said. “May I come in?”
The silence beyond the door clawed at his nerves. He was supposed to bed her tonight—for the sake of this bloody marriage and to ensure she was pregnant as soon as possible. But he’d had only one lover before.
An experienced one.
What was he meant to do with a virgin? He’d have to hurt her, and that was last thing he wished.
“Yes,” came a quiet reply from behind the door.
He licked his lips, then clasped the door handle and entered. She was standing in the middle of the room, still in her wedding dress. Her stance was almost as stiff as the muslin fabric. He wished he had Lucien’s charm and the ability put others at ease with just one glance.
Would she, perhaps, loosen up if he brushed gently against her tight shoulders or kneaded her muscles?
He cleared his throat and walked towards her slowly, licking his lips again. The windows were dark, the light of candles in candelabras reflecting against the glass. A black coal grate emitted warmth and soft light from the large fireplace on the opposite wall. A grand four-poster bed dominated one wall, its elegant canopy draped in pale blue silk, and the blue counterpane adorned with golden patterns.
His new wife looked so domestic, so fragile, with her eyes round and her lips parted as she stared at him.
He cleared his throat. “I came to…”
Goodness, he was overcome with shyness. What ailed him? He had every right to bed her. He wanted to. Why was he feeling like an adolescent before having his first woman?
“I need an heir,” he said simply, and she blinked.
“You need an heir?”
“Yes. There are currently no other heirs to my title. No cousins, no uncles, or anyone else. Just myself…and Augustus, of course.”
She swallowed visibly and sucked in a breath. Her gaze darted towards the bed. “Oh.”
She blushed crimson.
He stepped closer to her. She retreated, maintaining the distance between them.
A whiff of her scent brushed against his senses. He’d caught it earlier, as well, in the carriage on the way from St. George’s to Pryde House, and during the breakfast when she’d stood by his side. Wildflowers. Clean skin. Her own aroma, which was fruity and feminine and elicited a memory he couldn’t quite grasp—an echo of joy, ease, and pleasure.
She had such lovely full lips and high cheekbones, and her expressive eyes were slanted slightly at the edges. Standing so close, he could see that tiny freckles dusted her cheeks, adding a youthful innocence that tugged at something deep inside him.
Would she taste as sweet as she smelled?
He wanted to kiss her. To run his tongue along her plush lower lip and feel her shudder in his arms, to hear her moan in surrender as her breath mixed with his own.
With his heart slamming hard against his ribs, he raised his hand towards her, slowly, as one would with a young fawn. He expected her to flinch and step away from him, and he wouldn’t blame her if she wanted to do so. But she didn’t. She stood unmoving, her lips still slightly parted, pale pink like delicate petals. He picked up a strand of her gorgeous hair and tucked it behind her ear, and an intoxicating current rushed through his every nerve ending.
Like touching stars…
Then he brushed her face with his knuckles. Good God, such soft skin. Now it felt as if he’d plunged his entire hand into a pool of stars. His skin tingled, suddenly alive in every spot where he’d touched her.
Their gazes were locked, and he saw her pupils dilate, making the green of her eyes darken to the color of forest moss. The blush that swept over on her cheeks made him wonder if her chest would look just as rosy when she squirmed with pleasure as he brought her to her release.
Oh, this duty of making an heir with her wouldn’t be a chore at all.
“Such silky, delicate skin,” he said as he stepped even closer, his fingers trailing along her jaw. “You’re beautiful, Miss Fairchild. Beautiful bride. Beautiful wife.”
She blinked at the words, as though not quite sure she’d heard him right. Before she could retreat again, he closed the distance between them. His lips brushed hers, gentle as a whisper, testing. The softness of her mouth, the small gasp that escaped her—it was heaven itself. She tasted of the wedding wine and honey and wildflowers.
For one glorious moment, she melted against him. Her hands came up to rest on his chest, and he felt her fingers curl into his waistcoat. He deepened the kiss, drawing her closer, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other settled at her waist. She made a small sound, half sigh, half moan, that sent fire racing through his blood.
Then, as though waking from a spell, she stiffened. Her hands pushed against his chest. She wrenched away from him, stumbling backwards until the bed stood between them like a fortress wall.
“No,” she said, her voice shaking. Her lips were a deeper pink from his kiss, and knowing he’d done that to her made him want to cross the room and claim them again. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I would like you to leave.”
He swayed a little, struggling to find his balance. He had a strange sense that he’d just come so, so close to tasting heaven…and now had been violently pulled away from it.
“Forgive me,” he said, though he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for—the kiss, his presumption, or everything that had led them to this moment.
As the draw of her body began subsiding, his head cleared. Her rejection stung. He had never been rejected by a woman. His lover in Elysium was always willing, and he didn’t pursue women outside of that arrangement. Young widows and unhappily married ladies tried to catch his attention at balls, but he never entertained them, unwilling to father natural children. He had avoided debutantes and their mamas like the plague, wanting to wait until he was ready to choose a bride himself.
And now that he had one, she didn’t want him.
It hurt like the slash of a red-hot saber across his gut.
“May I inquire as to why?” he asked, struggling a little to return his breathing to normal.
“You may not,” she said, her head high, her shoulders rigid.
He nodded. Naturally, a woman wouldn’t want to be bedded by a man she despised. “Is your objection to me?”
Her eyes blazed. “It is hard to accept a man who pretends at love while, in truth, believing I’m far beneath his status. Who imagines he is doing me a favor by wedding me. Who is more concerned with his reputation than the well-being of his child. A man who turned away a pregnant woman asking for help.”
Her words lashed him like a whip. “Quite a list,” he said.
He supposed he had behaved like a brute.
But how could she understand the pressure he was under? Every perfectly executed bow, every flawlessly delivered pleasantry, every impeccable item of clothing was another brick in the wall protecting his secret. One whisper of his true parentage, and everything would crumble. Maintaining his reputation wasn’t about vanity—it was about survival.
He couldn’t show her how much her words affected him.
She was unaware that he was but a counterfeit duke. But she seemed able to see past the facade he’d created, the stone-cold armor he wore every day. She saw the flaws he hid from the world.
Good heavens, what would she do if she ever discovered the truth?
“Very well,” he said, his voice poised as always. “I will not press my attentions where they’re not wanted. But do know you will lie with me. It is your duty as my wife whether you wish it or not. Still, I will not take you against your will, as that is not in my nature. I will leave you now. Tomorrow you will start learning how to be a true duchess.”