Chapter 10
The next two days passed with no trouble and much lovemaking, and as the sun rose on the last day of their journey, Gregory knew he had lost his heart to the gorgeous woman still fast asleep in their bed.
The realization was as thrilling as it was terrifying.
Falling in love with Olivia had been gradual, sedate. Dignified.
With Justina, it was different. It was swift and passionate. All-consuming. A firestorm. And he had no idea how it had happened or what he should do now or, most important of all, how Justina felt about him.
She desired him, he knew. She liked him. But did she feel anything for him? Did she love him?
And if she didn’t love him now, could she someday, or would she forever love her dead husband?
His heart twisted as he tugged on a boot, careful to keep quiet so as not to wake her.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d only known Justina for a few days, yet he couldn’t imagine his life without her in it. She was everything he’d ever wanted in a duchess: strong, beautiful, clever, fierce. The sort of woman he’d been dreaming of his entire life.
Gregory frowned. Was he being foolish? Was he letting the newness of physical pleasure cloud with his reason?
Perhaps he was. Perhaps what he felt for Justina wasn’t love at all, but simply an addiction to her and the way she made his body feel.
Perhaps…
But, no. He knew it wasn’t true. There was nothing simple about what he felt for Justina. She owned him wholly, his body and his heart, and he wanted to be hers for the rest of his life.
“Where are you going?”
Justina’s throaty voice interrupted his reverie and Gregory tugged on his other boot before rising from the chair and meeting her sleepy sea-green eyes.
“I thought I would go for a walk,” he said. “I’m sorry if I woke you. Go back to sleep.”
“A walk? So early?” She rose up on her elbow. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Nothing.”
“Liar. You’re not thinking about your mother again, are you?”
Gregory smiled. “No.”
“Then what is it? And don’t say it is nothing. I saw the way you were frowning a moment ago.”
He drew in a breath, his chest heavy with the weight of unspoken confession.
I’m in love with you and I’m afraid you don’t feel the same. I’m afraid you never will.
But he didn’t say that. He gave her a different truth instead. “We should arrive at your sister’s house by dinner time.”
He stepped closer to the bed, his gaze roving over her face, searching for even the barest hint of sadness or regret, but her expression was frustratingly impassive, revealing nothing.
“I’m not ready to say goodbye to you,” he said softly, testing the waters. Baring just a bit of his heart.
A gentle smile curled her lips. “I know. Neither am I.”
Hope unfurled in his chest, making his heart race as he sat on the bed beside her.
“Then let’s not,” he said, the words rushed, hoarse with his eagerness.
She blinked at him, her smile faltering. “What?”
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips then another to her cheek. “Marry me, Justina,” he whispered against her ear. “I love you.” He drew back to gaze into her eyes as he repeated the words in his heart. “I love you.”
“Gregory, I...” Something like panic flashed in her eyes and then she smiled again, but this one was forced. Brittle. “You are being silly. You don’t love me. You love being naked with me.”
He took her hand in his and smiled. “I do love you naked, but I love you clothed, too. And I want to spend my life with you.”
Her smile, false though it was, withered on her lips. “Gregory,” she whispered, slipping her hand from his. “I can’t.”
He closed his eyes, shutting out the regret shimmering in her eyes. “Why?”
“I just...can’t,” she repeated. “Please try to understand.”
“How can I understand when you’ve given no explanation?”
“I...I’m sorry...” She trailed off and Gregory stared at her for a long moment, waiting for her to continue, to offer him some solace, some hope.
But she turned away from him then, shutting him out, and his chest ached as if his heart had splintered into pieces.
“Justina—”
“Weren’t you going to take a walk, Your Grace?”
He stared at her rigid back for several moments, wanting to say more, to beg her to explain, to reconsider, to love him back, damn it all.
But pride held his tongue and without another word, he rose from the bed and slipped out of the room.
He barely registered the walk up the corridor and down the stairs, his mind fixated on the memory of Justina’s words, the look in her eyes as she rejected his love.
Why would she not have him? Why could she not let him in? Had these last few days meant nothing to her?
He pushed through the front door and out into the drizzly day, suddenly desperate to get outside where he could breathe and think and hurt.
Bloody hell, he’d bared his heart to her and she’d refused him. She was everything he’d ever wanted. He knew in his soul that they were a perfect match, but she’d turned him away without explanation. After all they’d shared, didn’t he deserve to know why?
“Gregory!“
His head snapped up and his jaw went slack. Stepping down from a black-lacquered carriage was his mother.
“At last I’ve found you,” the duchess said as she hurried towards him in a flurry of burgundy velvet. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? What in heaven’s name have you—” She broke off, her dark gaze flitting over his face. “What is wrong? Are you unwell?”
“Mother, what are you doing here?” Gregory demanded, ignoring her questions in lieu of his own. “How did you find me?”
“I am a duchess,” she said airily, as if that explained everything. “And I’m here to bring you home, of course. I’ve been worried about you and this unknown woman who lured you away from London so suddenly.”
Gregory barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. God, he was not in the mood for this. “She didn’t lure me anywhere, Mother. She was in need of an escort and I volunteered. I explained all of this in my note.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Your note explained nothing. Who is this woman, and what is she to you? Where are you going and why are you escorting her there?”
Gregory smothered a sigh. He wanted nothing more than to be alone with his thoughts, but he knew it was an impossible hope now that his mother had found him. She would not leave him be until she had answers.
Taking her by the elbow, he steered her towards the door. “Come, let’s go inside and I’ll answer your questions there.”
Once they were safely ensconced in a private parlor, seated across from each other at a small table, the dowager duchess leveled her son with an imperious stare. “Speak, Gregory,” she said after she’d removed her hat and set it aside. “I demand answers. Who is this woman and what is she to you?”
“Her name is Lady Justina Dunne. I came upon her being accosted on the street and I intervened.”
The memory of Lovelace’s hands on Justina still affected him, but he was careful to keep his emotions from showing.
“Lady Justina Dunne...” His mother pursed her lips. “She is the Baron Dunne’s widow, no?”
His heart clenched. “She is.”
The duchess gave a disapproving hum. “I do not think you should be associating with widows, Gregory, even if your reasons are perfectly innocent. One might be tempted to draw the wrong conclusion.”
“And what conclusion might that be?” he asked irritably. He knew very well what she meant, and he didn’t like it.
“Oh, you know, that you are…involved with her.” She wrinkled her nose. “Intimately.”
His involvement with Justina could not have been more intimate, but he had no bloody intention of sharing that with his mother. Or anyone else, for that matter. “Who I am involved with is nobody’s business but my own.”
“Nonsense,” she shot back with a wave of one gloved hand. “You are a duke. People look to you to set an example.”
Gregory leaned his elbows on the table, his jaw working. “I never asked for that.”
“No, you didn’t. But that is the way of things, Gregory.”
“Perhaps I’ve decided I no longer care about the way of things.”
“Nonsense,” she said again. “You must care. You have our family name to think of, not to mention the future of the title. A duke does not have the luxury of not caring.”
Gregory worked his jaw again, frustration pulling his muscles taut, even as he knew what she said was true, no matter how much he might wish it wasn’t, or say he didn’t care.
He was the Duke of Paxton, and his life was not entirely his own, and never would be. But that didn’t mean he had no say in it. He could do his duty and still be happy, surely. He had to believe that was true. And if he wanted to be happy, he had to fight for it. Starting now.
“Mother, I am not going to marry Jane Withers.”
She sighed. “Gregory—”
He held up a hand. “Please. Let me speak. I know my duty. I know I must marry and sire an heir, and I am prepared to do that. But it will be with a woman of my choosing, not yours.”
“But—”
“No.” He interrupted her again, his voice firm. “This is not up for discussion. I love you, but I can’t live my life to please you. You need to let me make my own choices. If you can’t do that, I will have to limit my time with you. Do you understand?”
His heart was thudding and he had a knot in his stomach, but he held firm and waited for her reply as the tense silence stretched.
“All I want is for you to be happy, Gregory,” she said stiffly. “That is all I’ve ever wanted.”
“I know, Mother.”
He reached across the table and squeezed her hand, and although it was brief and reluctant, she finally gave his hand a squeeze back. She wasn’t pleased, but she had agreed to his terms, and he would have to be satisfied with that.
“Well, then…” She cleared her throat. “If you will not have Jane, I suppose we must begin the search for a new lady to be your bride. There are some very lovely girls making their come-out. Lady Harrigan’s daughter, for one—”
“Mother…”
“What? I have agreed to let you choose your bride, but there is no reason I cannot help the process along, is there?”
Gregory sighed. “I am not going to marry Lady Harrigan’s daughter, either,” he said.
“Why not? What’s wrong with Lady Harrigan’s daughter?”
“Nothing is wrong with her,” he said. “Except…” He leaned back in his chair and raked a hand through his hair. “Except she isn’t the woman I want. She isn’t Justina.”
The dowager duchess stared at him, her mouth twisting in a telltale sign of displeasure. “You cannot be serious, dear. You’ve only just met her, and she is hardly an appropriate choice. I think—”
He sent her a quelling look, and she broke off with a grimace, as if it physically pained her to suppress an opinion. “I think,” she began again, “that your Lady Dunne is a lucky woman to have earned your admiration.”
Your Lady Dunne. The words pulled at his heart, making his chest ache, and he scrubbed a hand down his face as a helpless feeling settled over him.
“I wish she was mine,” he said. “I asked her to marry me today, but she declined.”
“Declined?” His mother was outraged. “Is the girl daft? You’re a duke, for pity’s sake.”
Gregory gave her a faint smile. “I think she’s still in love with her husband.”
She hadn’t given a reason for refusing him, but he suspected her feelings for her husband had something to do with it. And that was what made this all so frustrating. How could he compete with a dead man’s memory?
His mother hummed thoughtfully as she studied his face. “And you’re in love with her, I suppose?”
His heart clenched as if answering for him. “I am.”
“Well, then, I have only one thing to say...” She reached across the table to cover his hands with hers. “Do not give up on her. Not just yet.”
Gregory blinked at his mother, stunned by her words. He would not have been more surprised if she had hopped on her chair and danced a jig.
“I...what?”
She chuckled at his shock. “Come, Gregory, I am not entirely without feeling.”
“I know that, but...” He shook his head. “I was in love once before, if you remember. I wanted to marry Lady Olivia, and you knew that, but you were hardly supportive.”
The duchess sat back in her chair with a heavy sigh. “That is because I never felt she was the right woman for you. And I was correct, wasn’t I?”
It was his turn to sigh. “You were.”
“Of course I was. Now, I haven’t met your Lady Dunne yet, and I am not entirely certain I approve of your interest in a widow”—she held up her hand when he made to argue—“but if you love her, Gregory, I will not stand in your way.”
“I appreciate that, Mother, I truly do, but she turned me down.”
“She loved her husband and he died. Perhaps she is scared it will happen again.” She reached across the table to pat his hand. “Do not give up so easily. If you truly love the girl, give her time to change her mind.”
Gregory pressed his lips together as he considered her words. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps not all was lost.
Justina had turned him down, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t change her mind. If she loved him.
If she didn’t, well, that was a different story. He couldn’t make her love him. But if her refusal stemmed from some other reason, perhaps he could convince her to reconsider. Perhaps there was still hope.
“I should return to her soon,” Gregory said, glancing at the clock on the mantel and noting the time was nearly noon. “We still have a day’s journey ahead of us.”
He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet.
“I would like to meet your young lady,” his mother said. “Will you bring her to me before you leave?”
“Of course. If you promise to be on your best behavior.”
She sniffed. “My behavior is always unimpeachable.”
“Of course it is,” he said, battling a smile. “My apologies for suggesting otherwise.”
With his assurances that he would return with Justina as quickly as possible, Gregory hurried from the room and up the corridor toward the bedchambers. He felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, at least in part, after this conversation with his mother.
He could only hope his next conversation with Justina would go so well.
He reached their bedchamber and hesitated at the door. Their last parting had not been pleasant, and letting himself into the room felt wrong. He knocked softly on the door and as he listened for Justina’s reply, he thought he heard movement inside.
“Justina?” he called through the door. “May I come in?”
There was another shuffling sound then a muffled voice, though he couldn’t make out the words. He frowned, the nape of his neck prickling.
“Justina?”
He eased open the door…and froze.
Standing in the center of the room was Justina, wide-eyed and unnaturally still, her cheeks wet with tears.
Behind her stood Nigel Lovelace, pressing a knife to her throat.