Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Alice knew she shouldn’t be dancing with her husband, but she couldn’t stop herself.
As he swung her into his arms, she felt as though the world had shuddered to a stop and it was just the two of them.
Just his arms around her, one clasping her hand and the other at her waist, holding her to him.
Indecently close, she supposed, but he had the added excuse of her leg.
She couldn’t do the steps, but he didn’t seem to require it from her, just gently gliding to the sway of the music.
Her body tingled every place they touched. Her temptation was to move away, but instead, she moved closer. He tilted his chin at her.
“Well? Do you think William Kingsley is the right man for Helena?”
“I…” What did she think? He had taken her ability for clear-headed thought from her. “I think he adores her,” she said finally. “And I think he would do anything to provide for her.”
“He is young,” Frederick mused, “but he seems to have passion and drive.”
“I think he will do well.”
“Yes, I suspect he will, too.” He grimaced at her. “Though it pains me to admit it.”
She laughed, for once giddy. “That means you’ll speak to Lord Denshire?”
“I will speak to him, but I cannot promise he will come around.” He hesitated, as though thinking. “Though it’s not long until she becomes of age and no longer requires his permission to marry. Then she may do as she pleases.”
“But Mr. Kingsley won’t be here by then,” Alice reminded.
“Well, not immediately, perhaps, but he could get some days' leave to come back to London. Many things are possible if you merely put your mind to it. I’ll remind Denshire of that. Helena has grown up a lot over the past few years. She is not the girl she once was.”
Alice peered up at him, an awful suspicion occurring to her. “You are not in love with her, are you?”
“Of course not!” He met her stare, affronted. “I’ve known her since she was a child in petticoats. I think of her as my sister, nothing more.”
Alice’s shoulders relaxed, though she refused to think about why that might be. Frederick could like whomever he pleased. It was certainly none of her concern; they were married in name only.
He leaned in closer, his lips just brushing her cheek. “Jealous, my love?”
“No! As though I would be jealous of whichever girl holds your affections. I certainly do not deserve them.”
He chuckled, his breath brushing her ear. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I were to take a lover. A mistress or two?”
“That is the usual practice of husbands, I believe,” she muttered stiffly.
“Ah, but I had not intended for it to be the usual practice of this husband.”
She glanced at him sharply. “Whyever not?”
“Well, because I made my vows to my wife, and I intend to keep them.”
He is a romantic, Helena had told her. She, evidently, knew the man better than Alice ever did.
“What about you?” he asked, still in that hypnotic, low voice that made something liquid erupt in her stomach. “Would you be amenable to taking a lover? Does that contradict your principles as a wife?”
She had not allowed herself to think too deeply about her principles as a wife—largely because she didn’t quite know what they were.
She had never really allowed herself to consider the reality that she was married.
By law, before God, in the eyes of the world.
Whether she had meant them or not, she had sworn vows.
Had she meant them?
“I will do as I please,” she breathed, evading the question. Would she take a lover? The answer was certainly no, but she did not want to examine the reason behind that assumption.
“Of course you will. You would hardly be the Alice I know if you did not.” He didn’t seem put out by her question, holding her a little tighter as he swayed backward and forward with her. “How is your leg?”
“All right. Not too painful.”
“Good.” His hand splayed across the small of her back, and she shivered at the contact. “I’ll make sure I look after you when we get home.”
By ‘look after you’, she was sure he meant massaging, but the term made her think of other things. Soft mouths, hot tongues, and that endless wanting that assailed her whenever he was nearby.
She closed her eyes. The battle against this was a losing one, and she knew it.
Part of her wanted to give up. Let whatever was burning between them scorch them both, let her taste this intimacy so she knew what it was like—and then she could go back to loathing him.
Did she loathe him?
Her eyes flew to his face, and she examined those features she knew so well.
Piercing blue eyes, which were frowning into hers.
A long nose offset by full lips that she had felt press against hers.
A dimple on his chin she wanted to reach out and trace.
He always dressed soberly, the starched white of his cravat a stark contrast.
He searched her face as though he was memorizing her features just the same.
“Lord Denshire,” she gasped, feeling as though he had ducked her underwater and was withholding her breath.
His eyes warmed in a smile. “Lord Denshire,” he agreed. “Did you have a point to make about him?”
He knew what he did to her. Damn him.
“We should discuss—” She had nothing about his friend to discuss. Nothing in her mind except what it would feel like when he massaged her leg again. What she had given to him in exchange for his help. “Is that the right thing?” she asked suddenly.
“You mean… helping Helena?” He sucked in his cheeks as he thought, leaning away from Alice, and she ought to be relieved, but she felt the coolness of his absence keenly. “Or approaching Mr. Kingsley?”
“Both.”
“Denshire takes his duty by his sister very seriously, and it might be that he would not be immediately eager to embrace the match. But Helena knows her own mind when she has fixed on something, and while she won’t outright disobey him, she will dig her heels in.
As for Mr. Kingsley—if there is a chance for them to be married sooner than later, he ought to know so he can make provisions for it.
So yes, I think that was the right decision. ”
“Oh.” Alice wilted against him a little. Given she had already decided that it was, she didn’t know why his approbation meant so much to her now. “That’s… good.”
“Is there anything else you would like to ask?” Frederick’s eyes gleamed wickedly as he looked down at her. “Or should I make our excuses and take you home now?”
“Now?”
“I find myself eager to claim my prize.”
She tilted her chin. “A favor to me is not a prize.”
“On the contrary. I am very much looking forward to it.” At her scowl, he grinned. “I have been wishing to be the person you would allow to help you all this time,” he whispered lowly. “At least now, I am getting that chance. It may mean very little to you, but it means a great deal to me.”
She sucked in a breath, once more feeling as though he had punched the air from her lungs. “It… does?”
“Of course. So, will you allow me to whisk you away?”
She considered, but in all honesty, her leg wasn’t hurting her that much, and she was rather enjoying this social occasion. Yes, people still stared, but she felt as though she had overcome some mental hurdle, and now she truly felt as though she was the Duchess of Langford.
Let them mock her behind her back. She was the Duchess and wielded significant social power; all she had to do was use it.
“I would rather stay,” she finally said.
Frederick dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Then we will stay.”
Frederick felt his patience wear thin as Alice insisted on making her rounds around the room.
All the other dances were more boisterous ones that she couldn’t entertain, so she spoke with a collection of dowagers in a way that made Frederick feel as though she was quietly holding them accountable for their gossiping.
If he hadn’t been so eager to get her back into the carriage and back home, he would have been in awe at how much more confident she looked striding across the room. Of course, she still had her stick, but she relied on it far less. He wondered if she noticed.
Even dancing, she had felt almost sure against him, confident and capable.
As the evening wore on, he found himself returning to her side again and again, acknowledging her private little smile whenever he did so, but practically ready to dismantle the room and everyone inside it so long as she would return with him.
Finally, she raised her gaze to him and held out her hand. “I believe it is time to return home, dear husband.”
He could have picked her up and carried her there himself.
All for a massage.
He knew he was being ridiculous, and yet he couldn’t stop himself.
After what happened the last time, he knew there was a chance she would let him go further, touch more of her body, make her feel good.
... More than anything, he wanted to be the reason pleasure flushed in her cheeks.
Perhaps this wasn’t what he had initially expected when he had contemplated marriage, but now his world revolved around her and the ways he might make her life better.
This was a very easy way, and one that—selfishly—would bring him pleasure, too.
He ushered her back to the carriage, saying the necessary goodbyes as they went, and sat opposite her in a pit of nervous anticipation.
Part of him felt as though he ought to be ashamed, but he knew she felt the same way.
They both hovered at the precipice of something new, and he desperately wanted them to tip over.
The moment they arrived at his residence, he climbed out of the carriage and offered her his hand. As she descended the steps, he scooped her into his arms and strode toward the door.
“Frederick! What in heavens are you doing?” she gasped.
He made no mention of the fact that she said his name often now, without even seeming to notice the change. No matter what she had intended, her feelings were softening toward him, and he felt a dizzying wave of relief and gratitude at the thought.
“Is it not obvious?” he smirked. “I am carrying my wife inside the house.”
“Why?”
“Whyever not?”
“Because it’s undignified!” She slapped ineffectively at his shoulder. “Put me down! I agreed that you could provide me with medical relief, not this.”
“Your leg is tired from the evening,” he chuckled, unperturbed by her half-hearted attempts to disentangle herself.
Despite her words to the contrary, he saw the flush on her cheeks, the brightness of her eyes.
She might tell herself, for the sake of her pride and her past, that she didn’t want this, but they both knew differently.
Besides, he meant it. She had been limping more and more as the evening progressed. She was tired, and it was his duty and obligation—his honor—to see to it for her.
“Won’t you let me help you?” he pouted as he ascended the stairs to her bedchamber.
There, she would feel most comfortable, he judged.
“I know it goes against your every instinct, but there is nothing I want more in this world than to make you as comfortable as possible at all times.” And more, if she would let him. “Won’t you allow me that, at least?”
Those luminous eyes turned to him. “To soothe your feelings or mine?”
“Both,” he uttered gravely, the truth both a poison and a balm.
He could not deny her. “Every time I see you, I am reminded of my folly and my mistakes. Helping you helps me feel as though the days of my life are not wasted. But it also improves your quality of life. It makes things easier for you. And I would do that, even if you never offered me your forgiveness. I do not need the promise of a reward to do what is right by you.”
A frown turned her mouth down as she brought her fingertips to his face. “But you want my forgiveness?”
“For both our sakes. Holding onto a grudge brings nothing but pain, Alice. You know it as well as I do, I think.”
Her fingers reached the corner of his mouth, and she ran one finger across the seam of his lips.
He parted them, and her breath shuddered as she slid a finger into the wet heat of his mouth.
He closed his lips around that single digit, his eyes finding hers as he sucked.
Her pupils flared, eyes darkening, and he knew lust well enough to recognize it on her face.
“I want you,” he told her, speaking past her fingers, his lips moving against hers. “Forgiveness or no. You don’t have to like me to want what I can do to you.”
He reached her bedchamber and shifted her in his arms to open the door. Then he carried her to her bed and laid her down. She stared up at him, the flush high in her cheeks, desire in her eyes.
“I promise I will be gentle. I promise I will do everything in my power to make everything good for you.” He leaned over the bed, watching her carefully as he brushed his mouth over hers. One small part of a kiss. The tiniest hint of what was to come. “What do you say, sweetheart? Will you let me?”
She drew in a breath so deep, it felt as though her entire frame would come apart at the seams. And for a terrible moment, he thought she would say no and deny him everything he wanted after all. Not because she didn’t want it, but because he did.
He had hurt her enough that he couldn’t begrudge her anything, but he wanted more than anything—more than anything in the entire world—to make her feel good. This much, he could do for her.
Then she released all the air in her lungs, and her body softened under his. She reached up a hand and curled it around the nape of his neck.
“Yes,” she whispered, and then she kissed him.