Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Amonth or so after the wedding, Lady Marwich paid Jessamine and Andrew a call. As one of the leading London matriarchs, she evidently believed it was her responsibility to keep everything in the ton as it should be.
Jessamine didn’t mind, and she pulled the other woman into an embrace. “I am so glad to see you,” she exclaimed.
Lady Marwich patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t disgrace yourself, dear. It’s unseemly to be seen having too many emotions.”
Jessamine drew back, fighting a smile. “Of course.”
“Where is William?”
“Upstairs sleeping. Would you like me to bring him down?”
“No, no.” Lady Marwich waved a hand. “But summon your husband, if you would. This involves the two of you.”
Jessamine rang the bell for Andrew, and he arrived shortly after, looking devastatingly handsome in his navy coat.
He dressed with reserve, but always well, and always in a manner that drew attention to his broad shoulders and trim waist. Some men employed padding to achieve this effect; Andrew achieved it effortlessly.
He nodded at her, offering what was, for him, a smile. Things had changed over the past week or so, ever since he had carried her down for dinner. He was not soft, precisely, but he felt as though he had softened toward her.
Or perhaps the change had occurred earlier. Perhaps even when they had first kissed, although she had not discerned in him a desire to kiss her again.
That was probably for the best. She dismissed the thought.
“Andrew, Lady Marwich wishes to speak to us both.”
“Lady Marwich. A pleasure.” He nodded, and folded his large body into an armchair, lacing his hands together as he waited. “What is this about?”
“It’s about young William.” Lady Marwich fixed Andrew with a stern look. “You expressed an intention to adopt him and name him as your heir.”
“I have already had the lawyers adjust my will,” he said.
“That is all very well and good, but what of the world at large? You must adopt him so the ton knows you have an heir. And the boy must be christened. Give him your name in a public way.”
Jessamine glanced at Andrew, whose face had turned inscrutable. “Very well,” he said. “We will christen him and present him to the world, although I think we may fall short of bringing him to any balls or other social events.”
Jessamine turned her snort into a cough. “Yes, indeed, I think we may have a little time before that is necessary.”
Lady Marwich glowered at them both. “You may think this is a laughing matter, but the world is talking about you, you know. Those who have seen you recently can confirm you were not with child, Jessamine dear, but with talk of the duke and his heir, there is a lot of assumption around, you know.”
“I have claimed that William is my cousin’s child,” Andrew said.
“But everyone has yet to see him,” Lady Marwich said. “Some doubt even the boy exists.”
“Well, we shall prove them wrong, shall we not?” He rose, looking directly at Lady Marwich. “Did you have anything else to say, my lady?”
Lady Marwich was not one to be intimidated; she merely smiled at Andrew as she placed one hand on her cane. One day, Jessamine swore, she would be just like Lady Marwich, unaffected by anything she did not choose to give her attention to.
“Not in the slightest,” she said cheerfully. “I have said my piece, and all I may do now is hope you take my advice. It was kindly meant, Your Grace.” She placed a motherly hand on Andrew’s arm, and to Jessamine’s surprise, his face softened slightly.
Foxwell emerged as though summoned to escort the dowager from the house, and Jessamine looked at Andrew.
“It’s a good idea,” she said. “William must be christened, and the sooner we do it, the sooner we can counter any talk of his not being legitimate, or worse, being mine.”
“No one with any sense will think the boy yours,” he said with a touch of impatience. “But yes, you’re right. We ought to find godparents for him. An additional layer of legitimacy and security.”
Jessamine laced her fingers together. Though some time had passed, thinking of Rebecca still made her chest tighten uncomfortably. “Before she died,” she said quietly, “Rebecca asked me to be William’s godmother.”
At the sound of his cousin’s name, Andrew flinched, striding across the room to the window.
Jessamine stared after him, wishing she could find a way of healing the wound that still very clearly lingered in his heart.
When they’d first met, she’d blamed him for Rebecca’s predicament, but that was unfair.
What could he have done from the army? He was younger than Rebecca by two years; he had not yet reached majority when she married, and had no independence of his own.
Then there was the way he adored William; it was more than she’d believed a man could love a child he had not sired. It was genuine love.
“I see,” he said, after the silence had stretched too far and too thin.
“Do you disapprove?”
“No. If that is Rebecca’s wish, then it ought to be upheld.” He cleared his throat and turned back to face her. “My cousin chose well.”
Jessamine pressed a hand to her throat. “Thank you. That means… thank you.”
“Lord Mirthby can be the godfather,” Andrew said. “Rebecca knew him a little, but more to the point, I know he will advocate for William where it is required.”
Jessamine took a step closer, though she hadn’t entirely meant to. Something about the pain in such a large man made her ache to be closer. He pulled her into his orbit.
“All right,” she said, and took his hand, pressing it between hers. “That sounds like a very good plan.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, but she saw no amusement in his gaze. “I’m glad you’ll approve. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to a modiste so you can purchase a new gown for the event.”
“I already have dresses, Andrew,” she said, laughing.
“Very few formal gowns,” he said, not laughing. But the corners of his eyes softened. “I would have you dressed well for this, Jessamine.”
“I am offended on behalf of all the other dresses in my wardrobe.”
“Why not think of it rather as a gift for William?” He had stepped closer still, his heat searing into her.
Why did he no longer think of kissing her? She remembered how his eyes had looked before he kissed her, wintry blue around pupils gone wide and dark. Now, they were merely… controlled.
When he was this close to her, it became all she could think about. What his jaw might feel like under her fingers… it was always so hard and firm. Would it be like granite, or hold the softness she found on her face?
And his mouth. She often wondered how a mouth could be at once so stern and so soft. His lips had coaxed pleasure from hers once, and she longed to feel them again.
“A gift for William,” she repeated, feeling as though he had cut her strings and left her to float loose into the sky. “I hardly think he will notice my appearance, Andrew.”
“He might not. Even so, my duchess deserves a new dress. You deserve a beautiful thing, Jessamine. Because you are bea—” he caught himself and cleared his throat. “I mean, because you’ve done nothing but care for William. You deserve a gift.”
He held her gaze, and Jessamine wondered if she was a fool, because at the thought of Andrew seeing her in a new gown, of appreciating her dress with that same intensity in his eyes as she saw now, made her stomach tighten.
“Very well,” she said as lightly as she dared. “Tomorrow it is. I will allow your tastes to guide me, Your Grace.”
The corner of his mouth curled, and he leaned toward her before stopping and moving away again. “I look forward to it.”
This was nothing but a mistake.
Andrew sat on one of the chairs placed for guests as he admired Jessamine, seamstresses pinning the gown into place on her voluptuous figure.
When he’d imagined purchasing a dress for her, he’d assumed he would be bored, women’s fashion being of no interest to him.
But that was before he had arrived here with Jessamine.
Madam Roux, the proprietor of this particular establishment, had bustled forward to take his wife under her wing, promising premium treatment. And so far, she had delivered. And despite the prickly demeanor she showed Andrew, Jessamine seemed to bloom under the attention.
Andrew could not take his gaze from Jessamine. The high empire waistline just skimmed the underside of her breasts, which the low neckline only served to highlight. Soft swells, just the beginning of cleavage, which tantalized him to no end.
Then there were the skirts.
He knew, logically, that she wore more than one layer underneath.
At least a chemise. Stays. And yet it felt as though the curves of her body pressed against the silk.
The long line of a leg here, a rounded hip there.
And when she turned, he caught a glimpse of her derriere, which might become his undoing.
She was all dimples and cream, perfect roundness that he longed to press and squeeze and make his.
He shifted in his chair, his arousal having reached unmanageable levels. If someone were to look at him now, they would glimpse the unsightly bulge in his breeches. And while these ladies had no doubt seen such things before, he didn’t want Jessamine to know how much she affected him.
After he had lost his mind over her all those days ago, he had done his best to keep his attraction to her at a low simmer.
Every time he looked at her, he felt a burn anew.
An ache. The taste of the forbidden was appealing indeed, and although he did his best to convince himself he didn’t want her, just as he had attempted to deny every other desire or inclination in his life, he couldn’t quite manage it.
She turned back to him, a bright smile on her face. “Well?” she prompted. “What do you think?”
“I think peach becomes you,” he said, leaning forward to better disguise his erection. “But the better question is whether you like it?”
She ran a hand down her stomach, as though attempting to see whether the gown adequately disguised its soft curve, and Andrew had to bite his lip against saying anything.
If it were up to him, he could make her his right there, in front of the mirror.
How he’d enjoy making her watch as he claimed her…
He throbbed with need and silently cursed himself.
“Do you have any others in this style, Madam Roux?” he asked. “I will take them all.”
“Andrew.” Jessamine turned, her hand over her mouth. “You cannot.”
“Why? By what measure? I most certainly can.”
“It’s too much.”
“Will you wear them?”
She flushed, eyes sparkling. “Well, yes, of course, when the occasion arises, but—”
“Then there is nothing more to say. As your husband, it is my prerogative to provide for you in the manner I see fit, and this is the manner I currently see fit.” He nodded at the assistants, who scuttled to prepare the cloth. “I will have my wife clothed in the manner that befits a duchess.”
A divot appeared between her brows, and she turned back to the mirror, running a hand down herself once again. He cursed himself for looking, for wanting her, for caring, and turned instead to look out of the window as Madam Roux led Jessamine back behind a screen to change.
Thank heaven.
Because if she still stood before him, he did not think he would be able to stop himself from making a terrible mistake. One did not simply ravish one’s wife in public. Particularly in the manner he wanted to claim her.
Some time and space would give him the chance for some reflection.
If he ever had the chance to get that far.