Chapter 11
“ T his is for me?” Cordelia gushed. For the first time, she felt as if she truly had something to look forward to. “Truly? It is just for me?”
Matilde stood beside her, smiling softly as Cordelia explored the new space. It was a small row of three raised planting gardens of a sufficient size. There was a wheeled cart between the two of them, overladen with tulip bulbs and various seed satchels. She could not wait to explore what had been gifted to her. It was such a thoughtful gesture that she was almost at a loss for words. There was abundant natural light available as well. For the first time in weeks, she felt as if there was something that she could have here that she could call her own, rather than wandering these halls feeling like an intruder at every turn.
“Is the duke in his study?” Cordelia asked without thinking. “I should like to find him and express my gratitude.”
“His Grace is out for the afternoon, but he should be back at the estate for dinner, I believe.”
The disappointment was disproportionately crippling. She knew that she should not feel so sad over the fact that he, once again, was busy.
“Are Mary and Georgie in the parlor?” Cordelia asked, hoping to have somebody to share her good news with at least.
“I believe that Lady Mary is watching young Master George’s riding lesson this afternoon, Your Grace,” Matilde answered softly.
“Oh, but of course she would be. I do not know how I forgot,” Cordelia answered with equal softness as her hands tightened into fists in the fabric of her skirts.
It was the loneliness that was getting her. For years, she had thought that the only thing that she wanted was to be alone. Since her father died, her primary company was her mother, and she was constantly exhausted. But now she had more leisure time than she knew what to do with, and she was so painfully lonely. She could not begrudge Mary for having her own life, and Georgie was but a child.
Dorian, however, she had thought, would have at least attempted to spend time with her. If for no reason other than to put her at ease, considering his particular reputation. But he, too, seemed happy to let her believe the worst about him. Why was that? He had not even followed through on the one thing that he had promised her thus far.
Which she was happy about.
She was.
It was not as if she had come around to the idea of laying with him… or began to wonder what it might be like to be in his arms once more.
Perhaps if he had, she would have been able to sleep better. The nightmares had not returned since the night of the storm, but none of the little sleep she was able to achieve in that large room was anything near restful. It was not fear that kept her away any longer, but it was instead the feeling that Dorian must not like her very much. Which directly contradicted the way she felt when it was just the two of them.
“There is one more thing, Your Grace,” Matilde said.
Cordelia nodded that she should continue while she walked over to the rolling cart to examine some of the bulbs sitting there for her.
“Please forgive me if I am overstepping, but I thought… you might want to read this.” Matilde extended in her direction three gossip pamphlets.
Cordelia was almost reluctant to take them from her, knowing that it was only going to further confirm her fears. She should have stayed home. Or, she should have insisted that her mother be brought here with her… or something of the sort. She flipped through the first one, her eyes lingering only momentarily on the contents.
‘It has come to our attention that Lady Salisbury was caught in a heated exchange in the gardens of Lady Ashworth’s soirée, where she was seen in a rather cozy position with the charming Mr. Thompson. Sources say that a nearby bush provided an unwelcome audience to their rendezvous, prompting speculation about Lady Salisbury’s virtue.’
Without being there to keep her in line, Lavinia was running amuck. Spectacle after another, she was continuing to ruin their already tarnished reputation. It was not as if there was much of a boost when Cordelia married a duke. Becoming a murderer’s duchess did not gain her many points. But she had hoped that it might at least appease her mother enough to not wish to further sully her new rank. It was not just them who were being dragged through the mud any longer, but Dorian and his family as well.
She flipped to the second sheet, afraid of what she was going to find there as well.
‘This season, Lady Salisbury has adopted a rather daring fashion sense that has left the ton buzzing. She was seen wearing a gown that, while exquisitely tailored, featured a scandalously low neckline that many deemed entirely inappropriate for a woman of her station and age. Fashion-forward or simply too risqué? Opinions vary widely!’
There was only one way that she could think of to put an end to all of this, and her husband was just going to have to deal with it.
“It is only for a fortnight,” Cordelia explained, her voice soft as she spoke only to Dorian, who had grumpily occupied the head of the table. Though, from the barely veiled anger that he wore, he was only a few moments away from storming out of the dining room entirely.
Her mother had only arrived that afternoon while Dorian had been away.
However, he had not needed to be home long to have known that there was a disruption in his usual peace. Lady Salisbury was not the sort of woman who remembered the definition of quiet any longer. First, there had been an argument over the fact that the trunk she had brought with her had only been filled with wine and not a single stitch of clothing for her to change into or even a nightgown. Then, she instantly started snooping through all of the rooms, crying loudly if she came across a locked door until she had found what Cordelia presumed was the duke’s private stash of liquor. Cordelia had managed to coax her from the cabinets and locked them while her mother had only pilfered two bottles. No doubt he would be doubly angry when he realized that they were missing. Lord only knew how long it was going to be until they were discovered.
Even now, the rest of them were sitting at dinner, and Mary had pulled Georgie tightly into her side after Lavinia had requested a third bottle be opened on her behalf. She had not stopped muttering about how she wished to see how the other half lived, even though she had lived her entire life as a member of the ton.
“It should not be any days at all,” Dorian said in a low, carefully measured voice.
“Did you not read any of the scandal sheets? Have you not seen what she has been up to?” Cordelia answered, attempting to match his calm voice.
Lavinia, however, had no such compunction. “Oh, if only they were able to report half of it! I keep trying to make the front page, but–” she snapped her fingers as if disappointed and then started to laugh so hard that she nearly fell out of her chair.
Cordelia glared at her mother and then turned to Dorian as if to say ‘see?’
“You cannot just invite people into my home and–”
“ Our home,” Cordelia corrected. “We are married now, Your Grace. That means that there are two people to make choices here.”
“Do you not know how inappropriate it is to have your mother here during our honeymoon period?”
“Why? Is there something untoward you are worried about her seeing?” Cordelia said it and then instantly regretted it. Her face flamed, her cheeks likely a bright red. She did not want him to know that she was in any way thinking about the promise he had not made good on. She quickly spoke again to correct her faux pas. “My mother was running about and making a fool of herself. You promised that she would be cared for. It is why we are in this arrangement, is it not?”
“She was to have full support. I have provided that.”
“And yet she has no handler when she so obviously needs one,” Cordelia continued, exasperated.
“I would not need a handler if my husband were still here,” Lavinia interjected dramatically. “He cared for me better than anyone else was capable of. You… you could not have asked for a kinder, sweeter, more generous, handsome–”
She was going to work herself up, Cordelia could see it coming.
“And then he left me,” Lavinia continued, the tears streaming down her cheeks right on cue. She drank the rest of her wine in a single gulp before wildly waving her arm for a refill in the direction of the closest servant. The footman looked to Dorian for permission to pour the refill, and he subtly shook his head no. “He abandoned me! Just like that! He was there one moment, doting, and then I am bereft! How could any woman ever hope to recover after such a loss!”
“Mama, settle down.” Cordelia attempted, glancing at Georgie who was starting to look scared.
“He is a pig!” Lavinia continued, no signs of slowing. When her glass was not refilled, she threw it across the room, where it shattered against the floor. Georgie yelped and hid into Mary’s side. Cordelia was nearly brought to tears herself from the display. “A wretched, horrid… horrible… man… excuse for a…”
Lavinia put her head into her arms, sobbing heavily into her arms.
Cordelia did not know what to do. She was at a loss as to how to settle her down. “Mama, calm down, please. Oh, I know! His Grace knew Papa, did you not?”
With pleading eyes, she was begging Dorian to help her, to at least diffuse the situation even slightly.
Lavinia’s head perked up instantly, suddenly dry of tears. “You did, Your Grace? I was not aware.”
Dorian looked highly uncomfortable for the focus of their conversation to be back on him again. “Briefly.”
Why did he look so pained? Did he truly have such an issue with her family? Or, was he just that reluctant to share even the smallest bit of information about his affairs with her? The room was so quiet that one could have heard a pin drop.
When it became apparent that he was not going to share anything else, not even the smallest anecdote to keep Lavinia calm, Cordelia attempted to pick up the slack. “Papa was always there for my mother. He was incredibly doting, almost over the top most of the time. You can understand why the loss of such a great love would be so detrimental to her.”
Lavinia bowed her head toward the table, pushing the untouched food around her plate mutely.
“It was so unexpected. No matter what he might have been facing, he was never one to allow the troubles of the world get to him in such a way that–” The knot in Cordelia’s chest tightened. She had been dealing with her mother’s grief for so long that sometimes she forgot that she had her own, as well. “It was a shock when he took his own life. It still is.”
Dorian shifted in his seat uncomfortably. No doubt the weight of the topic was uncomfortable for him. She could not explain why it was so important that he understand her mother, or why things were the way that they were. He certainly had not given any indication that her feelings or history was important to him, or even that she was important to him beyond the fact that he had married her.
“If you have any insight, or perhaps if there was something that happened in your time knowing my father that would help us understand why he did what he did and…”
Dorian shook his head. She knew that he was attempting to dismiss her. He was attempting to tell her to change the subject or that he did not wish to discuss it. But the topic was open and she was not ready to move on so quickly.
“If something happened that was hidden from us, or if there was a warning sign that was missed or—or anything that could help my mother find some semblance of closure, I know that she would–”
“Stop. Please.” Dorian interjected.
The words were not angry, they were tired and strained. It was the rare softness in his words that brought her up silent. And yet, she could not let the subject drop.
“But, Your Grace, you told me that you were acquainted with–”
“Enough!”
Dorian pushed away from the table. Dinner was not yet half finished and something hurt about the way he was just choosing to leave the conversation without further explanation. He could have this conversation with her. He could at least explain why it was because of her father that he had married her. That he had brought her to this huge empty house to languish and rot all alone. If he could not stand the sight of her, if he did not desire her, then what was the point? She needed a reason. She needed something.
“I was not friends with your father. I do not aim to disappoint you, but that is simply the fact. Now, I am tired. I am going to bed,” Dorian said firmly like everybody in the room was just going to have to accept it.
Like hell she was.
Dorian walked out of the room, his strides even and with purpose.
It took Cordelia only half a heartbeat to rise and follow him. His temper could be damned. She was owed an explanation. Frustration threatened to boil over inside of her as she followed him down one hallway and then the next.
“Your Grace! Stop! I am not finished with this conversation!” Cordelia called to his retreating back.
“I am. Return to dinner; I have no desire to speak with you any further.”
Dorian turned into the library and attempted to close the door before she could follow him, but her hands lifted to stop the door from shutting so firmly that it rebounded and nearly hit him.
She felt foolish for crying but she could not help herself, she was so overwhelmed and confused.
“What did you mean? Why would you say that you were not friends with my papa? Are you so cross with my mama’s presence that you felt compelled to lie? Were you just trying to hurt me?”
Dorian’s eyes widened in surprise. “I have no desire to harm you.”
“Then why lie? You promised! That was our accord that there would be no lies between us. You must have had a close relationship with him. What other reason could you have possibly had to force yourself to marry me? Most of all when it is so abundantly obvious that you cannot stand to be near me!” Cordelia yelled; she could not stop her voice from rising. She could not stop the outpouring of all of the emotions that she had kept pent up since their wedding day.
“As typical, you misunderstand.” Dorian’s chin lifted. “Boredom born of lack of friendship or adequate companionship, nothing more.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Cordelia continued, closing in on his space. She could not live the rest of her life like this. She could not stay here, alone, hoping that her mother was all right. She could not and would not haunt these halls avoiding this man because he did not wish to speak to her.
“It means that I took pity on you,” Dorian answered.
“You promised not to lie.” Even though the lie felt like a slap in the face, the anger that he would dare to say such a thing to her in the first place overpowered that sensation. “How can you stand here, say these things to my face when I know, I know that–”
She was silenced when Dorian took her face in his hands. He pulled her toward him, her body practically slamming against his as he pressed his lips against hers. Whatever protests or angry words that might have left her were silenced when he groaned. The sound was like he had finally allowed himself the object of his desire that he had been denying. It was such a far cry from the chaste kiss they had shared on their wedding day.
No, this? This was something alive. This was a living flame that coursed through her and coiled in her core. Dorian’s hand slid around her face to cup the back of her neck while the other dropped to the small of her back, pulling her into his chest until every exhale met his inhale. She was not even wholly aware that they were moving until her back collided with the library wall. Her mind felt fogged over in the very best possible way. It took her a moment to realize that she, too, could move her hands. Softly, they trailed over the outsides of his arms, up over the caps of his strong shoulders, and indulgently trailed over the muscles there.
Some small, distant part of her brain urged her to push him away, to slap him, to tell him that this would not solve anything. It should likely alarm her just how easily that part of her brain was wholly and completely silenced.
Instead, she kissed him back. She learned the movements of his tongue and lips against his and mirrored them back into his own. The tingling sensation bubbling up in her gut was overwhelming, even as he pushed her up the wall, his hands dropping to her rear and thigh to coax her legs up and around his waist.
Cordelia broke the kiss the moment he settled between her legs, the friction of him against her core, unlike anything that she had ever felt before. It was wonderful and heady, and she wanted more. Her arm banded around his shoulders, keeping herself close as he kissed her again. She was acutely aware of the fact that he was pushing her skirts up over her legs, exposing them to the warm library air.
Every inch of stocking-covered skin that Dorian’s hand traced tightened and tingled. She had no idea what was coming next, but every time he touched her, she was putty in his hands. She was easily moved and shifted. Dorian’s lips dragged over the corner of her mouth, teeth closing so softly over the corner of her jaw, and then traveled lower. Her head fell back, offering him access—anything he wanted, anything so long as he kept touching her. For the first time in weeks, she felt alive. She felt like she was at home in her skin.
“I love how you taste,” he groaned against her skin, the heat of his breath sending shivers down her spine. “You are intoxicating… utterly irresistible.”
Then she was a being of a whole other plane of existence when his fingers brushed over her sex, smoothing the wetness over his fingers and her folds as he groaned again. Such a raw sound, proof that she had been right—it was not lack of desire that kept him away. It was something else. She knew not what it was, but it was something else. It did not matter, not yet. His teeth and lips closed over the skin of her neck as his fingers parted her, tracing the lines of her core and circling over the swollen bundle of nerves that had her hips bucking forward into his hand. Each movement was hungry, bordering on frantic, the sounds of their breathing and her soft moans practically swallowed by the abundant books around them.
More.
She got what she wished. Her back arching off the wall, her body had a mind of her own as she arched into every point of contact and Dorian slipped his fingers inside of her. A whole sensation in and of itself. What had she denied him this for? She could not remember. It felt like a punishment that she had been denied this at all. Her hands fisted into the fabric of his jacket, clinging to him because the rest of her felt boneless.
“That’s it,” Dorian growled, lips brushing her ear. “Let me hear you. I want to hear every sound you make.”
Her breath came in short, sharp bursts as his lips lavished attention over her neck and collarbone while his fingers thrust up into her, over and over again—but it was his thumb, pushing against that part of her that nearly made stars burst on the back of her eyelids. Words threatened to tumble from her lips, but she did not dare break the bubble that they were in.
Dorian’s teeth closed softly over the top of her shoulder, the slight burst of pain combined with the pleasure in her core and she was pushed over the edge. Her body spasmed and tightened, her lungs froze as pleasure crested over her in waves.
“You are perfect,” he breathed, his lips tracing her jaw. “So responsive… so beautiful when you fall apart for me.”
He did not stop his fingers until the tension melted from her core and she could breathe freely on her own once more. Dorian set her back to rights ever so slowly, though her legs still felt weary and shaky. She braced her palm on the small table beside where she stood, not trusting herself to attempt to move even as her eyes locked onto his.
What she would not give to know what he was thinking.
Dorian brought his fingers up, letting his tongue lick off what was left of her from his skin, another low groan the only sound of parting that he gave before he left her there in the library.