Allegra was silent. She had absolutely no idea what she should say in such a situation as this. She had, after all, never stood stark naked before a man.

The duke swallowed hard, at last able to find his voice. "No one should be as beautiful as you are," he told her. "And you have no idea, you wickedly audacious little virgin, of the power you will wield over me one day." He shook his dark head in wonderment, then taking her hand led her to her bed. "Get in," he ordered her.

She complied, and finding her own voice said softly, "I like it when you touch me, Quinton. Do it again."

"No," he said. "This was not a sage idea, Allegra. I had no idea how lovely you were without your clothing. So often a pretty face disappoints. You, my dear, do not. Indeed the whole surpasses the sum of your parts. I am a weak man, and if I remain, you will, I promise you, be well fucked by morning's light. Your virtue is the most precious gift you bring me, Allegra. We will accept it on our wedding night, and not a moment before. And afterward I shall teach you the delights and the joys of lust. Tempt me no further, my dear. Now, go to sleep. You have, to my embarrassment, discovered that like all mortal men, I have an appetite for sweet flesh. The tiny taste you have given me has revealed my fault." He took her hand up, and kissed it. Then he left her alone in the moonlit darkness.

Safe within the precincts of his own bedchamber Quinton Hunter groaned. His member was rock hard, and it ached, unsatisfied. He cursed softly under his breath. What the hell was the matter with him that he had considered such a sortie even if she had asked him? She was spoiled and impetuous. And far too curious. Curiosity wasn't a good trait for a duchess, especially for a Duchess of Sedgwick to have in abundance. And once he opened her to the delights of carnality, could he keep her satisfied, or would her curiosity lead her to take lovers like so many women of their class did once they had provided their husbands with heirs? He groaned again. He would kill any man who looked with interested jaded eyes, or disrespect, upon Allegra. She was his! His, damnit!

And then Quinton Hunter knew in a burst of clarity that he had fallen victim to his family's curse. He was in love. In love with a willful and uninhibited wench who was going to wrap him about her finger even if she didn't know it yet. But know it she would if he showed her the slightest bit of weakness. She was rich and she was stunningly beautiful, but she didn't love him. It was unlikely she ever would. Allegra did not understand love. He knew instinctively that she was afraid of it. She could not know how he felt about her lest she flee him, and he could not bear it if he lost her. He laughed softly to himself. He was in love, but at least unlike his romantic antecedents he had fallen in love with an heiress. Even so, he seemed to have no predilection for gambling as of yet. He laughed again. Perhaps he did, for he was taking the greatest gamble of his life by marrying Allegra Morgan.

Chapter 8

“You should have asked the duchess to be your bridesmaid," Squire Franklyn's wife scolded her daughter on her wedding day. "She is going to be your sister-in-law."

"She isn't the duchess yet," Melinda pertly answered her mother. "And besides, we have only met two or three times. It would have been most presumptuous of me, Mama, to solicit such a favor."

"She might have asked you to serve her in such a capacity," Mistress Franklyn replied.

"No, her cousin, Viscountess Pickford is to be her matron of honor," Melinda said. Thank heavens George had come up to scratch, not that she had ever doubted he would. She could hardly wait to be in her own house tonight, to be quit of her mother. Melinda Franklyn was her parents' youngest child, and at almost nineteen had been in danger of being left on the shelf had not George Hunter's good fortune saved her. She didn't quite know how he had come into possession of his farm, but she really didn't care. They were to be wed this morning, and that was all she wanted to know. By noon she would be Lady Hunter.

The squire's wife had now hurried away to make certain her servants were not slacking off in the wedding breakfast preparations. Tables had been set up outside the house, for the dining room was not large enough. Melinda, foolish girl, had wanted a small intimate family wedding, but Squire Franklyn and his wife would not hear of it. Their youngest girl was marrying very well, and they wanted everyone in the county to know about it. And with the duke and his betrothed to sit at the bridal table, no one had cried off. Squire Franklyn's wife smiled smugly. It would be a triumph, she was quite certain.


***

At the church George Hunter peeped from the sacristy, and gulped nervously. "They have invited the whole damned world," he complained to his older brother.

The duke laughed. "You cannot blame them, George. You are, after all, a prize catch for pretty Melinda."

"Laugh while you may, my brother, it will be your turn soon enough," George Hunter threatened.

"Ahh, but as Allegra and I have decided not to be married in London, we shall have the wedding we want. The family, and our friends, Georgie, in the Great Hall of the house, and afterward…" He smiled.

"What has happened to you, Quinton?" his brother asked. "These past few days you have seemed different."

"Nothing has happened," the duke quickly replied.

"Quinton, we are brothers. Don't try to outfox me, sir," George Hunter said. "I know you too well. What is it?"

"You are letting your imagination run away with you, youngling. It must be your nerves playing tricks on you as your doom approaches," the duke teased.

"No," George persisted, and then his face grew a look of surprise. "My God! You're in love with Allegra!"

The duke hit his brother a blow that took the wind from him. "If you dare to spout such nonsense, George, Melinda will be a widow before she is a bride. Do you understand me?" He glowered at his younger.

"Uuumph!" George Hunter doubled over briefly, but then he straightened up again. "What the hell is the matter with love?" he wanted to know. "Love is wonderful, Quint."

"Allegra and I have made a sensible and practical marriage of convenience, George, as befits our station. Love has nothing to do with it. If you must know, the mere thought of love is repellent to Allegra, and to me as well, given the examples we have had of it."

"All your friends are in love with their wives, and I absolutely adore Melinda," George Hunter admitted.

"But I am not in love, nor is Allegra, and we are quite content with our situation as it is. Now, stop spouting nonsense. If it were not for Allegra's kindness, love would have gained you nothing. Your beefy father-in-law-to-be was not about to give you his youngest child just because you are Lord George Hunter and in love. He wisely saw his daughter provided with a husband, a home, and a modest income."

" ‘Tis time, my lords," the vicar of St. Cuthbert's said as he hurried into the little room. "If you will follow me, please."

George Hunter had never before thought of Squire Franklyn as beefy, but as her father led Melinda down the aisle of the church, the young Lord Hunter hid a smile, concentrating instead upon his Melinda-a pleasingly plump young lady with chestnut brown curls, and dancing brown eyes. She smiled tremulously at him as he took her hand.

And afterward at the wedding breakfast he could scarcely take his eyes off his new wife. If Quinton wasn't in love he had no idea what he was missing, George decided as he stole another kiss from his bride. And Quinton was a fool not to love Allegra. By day's end his sister-in-law-to-be had the entire district wrapped about her little finger. She was charming and gay, dancing the country dances with verve, refusing no partner. At one point he saw his older brother watching his fiancee. A sly smile touched Lord George Hunter's lips. Whatever he might say, Quint was in love with his betrothed. How the mighty have fallen, he thought, amused. Love was indeed a great leveler. Then he felt sorry for his brother, for it was obvious that Allegra was not in love with Quinton.

"When can we leave?" Melinda whispered to him finally.

"Are you anxious to depart our celebration, Lady Hunter?" He smiled wickedly at her, and she blushed, but shook her head in the affirmative. He took her hand. "I will call for the carriage, sweeting."

After they had gone with much tah-rah, the howls of Mistress Franklyn still echoing as she bid her baby good-bye, the duke turned to Allegra suggesting that they, too, depart, to which she readily agreed.


***

On the carriage ride home they spoke of how pleasant George and Melinda's wedding had been, although Mistress Franklyn had invited far more people than would be coming to their own wedding.

"She considered my brother quite the catch," the duke remarked.

"Not until he had his own farm and house," Allegra said pithily.

"Are you a cynic then, my dear?" he teased gently.

"No, Quinton, I am a realist," she replied seriously.

"George and Melinda love each other," he said.

"How fortunate for them, but it would have made no difference, indeed it did make no difference to Melinda's parents until George had his own holding. Love has nothing to do with the success of a marriage."