Anna Campbell - What a Duke Dares

Comprehension lit his expression. “So you’re trying to become the ideal duchess.” She flinched at the sarcastic edge he placed on “ideal duchess.” “By calling me ‘Your Grace’ and trying to fade into the wallpaper.”

“I don’t want to do any more damage.” She swallowed. “I can’t do anything about being a Thorne or about the stories or about not being the woman you wanted to marry, but I can try to be a credit to you.”

His lips flattened in vexation. “You are a credit to me.”

Her glance was disbelieving. “Obviously.”

He caught her shoulders. “Pen, you are the woman I wanted to marry.”

This was too much for even her besotted mind to accept. A hollow laugh escaped. “Cam, you’re such a gentleman, but there’s no point lying.”

“You’re the only woman I’ve proposed to. And I did it twice. What further commitment can a man demonstrate?” His grip tightened and she wondered if he meant to shake her. He looked like he wanted to. “How can such a clever woman be so stupid?”

She glared at him. “How can such a clever man expect a woman of the slightest intelligence to accept this flannel? We both know that your heart was set on Marianne Seaton.”

His jaw squared in rejection of her accusation. “Hardly my heart.”

He warned Pen to tread carefully and not bring messy emotions into their dealings. But he’d forced her into this awkward, revealing conversation. He could damn well take the consequences. “She was your choice.”

He shrugged as if it hardly mattered. “She was a suitable bride.”

“And I’m not.”

“Actually I find myself surpassingly grateful that you married me.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

Impatiently he ran his hand through his hair. “A gentleman shouldn’t say this, but much as I admire Lady Marianne, life with her might have lacked… excitement.”

Gloomily Pen surveyed him. “Excitement can be uncomfortable.”

“And it can make a man glad to be alive. It can make him look forward to waking up every morning. And going to bed every night.”

She flushed. “Sexual attraction will fade.”

He frowned. “I want you more every day.”

Be careful, Pen. If you pay too much heed, he’ll break your heart again. “It’s early days yet,” she said sourly. “You’ll become jaded with my charms.”

“You’re looking at me.”

She frowned, not understanding the change of subject. “So?”

“I promised that when you did, I’d tell you what I admired most.”

“So I assume that’s what you like most, your desire for me.” She tried to sound displeased. Whereas the pathetic truth was that she basked in his attentions like a cat in a patch of sunlight on a cold day.

“Well, it’s no drawback. You seem compelled to concentrate on the disadvantages of our union. After three weeks, I’d say the benefits far outweigh the inconveniences. Even with you moping like a schoolboy stuck inside on a wet holiday.”

“I haven’t been that bad,” she said, stung.

“Yes, you have. But I’ll set you right tonight.”

How could she love him and want to punch him at the same time? “I await your wisdom.”

He brushed his lips across hers. It was an affectionate kiss, different from the deep, passionate, hungry kisses he gave her in bed. She was on the verge of sinking against him when he raised his head.

“What I admire about you, dear Penelope, what I’ve always admired, ever since you rode that half-broken pony at the age of three, is your courage.”

Her heart dipped like a swallow in flight, leaving her dizzy. Oh, dear, she was in so much trouble. When he said things like this, when he made her feel that he and only he peered into her soul, she wanted to melt. Worse, she wanted to confess how desperately she loved him.

“It was a courageous act to marry you,” she said with that same edge, hoping he wouldn’t hear how she struggled to sound unaffected.

Her response didn’t stir his temper. She wondered where his anger in the coach had gone. “It was indeed.”

His intense stare made her shift uncomfortably. It was all very well for him to peer into her soul, but she had secrets. Old ones like her love, and more recent ones like her promise to Harry.

“Now I want you to find the courage to be yourself. I want you to find the courage to build something from this marriage, something strong and safe.”

“London won’t approve of me,” she snapped back. She didn’t trust this turnaround. All her life, she’d known Cam wanted a biddable duchess. He must know that if Pen was true to herself, biddable was the last description to apply.

“I will. Remember, a proper duchess pleases her duke.”

“You won’t say that when everybody’s pitying you for marrying an outspoken hoyden.”

One black eyebrow arched. “If you stop dressing like a damned grandmother, London will be so dazzled, nobody will care what you say.”

She scowled, even as she wondered if perhaps he was right about her meekness being impossible to maintain. “Tonight’s dress cost you a fortune.”

He laughed softly. “A damned rich grandmother.”

She drew herself up and spoke the unpalatable truth. “Cam, you don’t want a scandalous Thorne as your duchess. You want Marianne Seaton.”

Growling low in his throat, he sat on the bed and removed his shoes. A strange thrill shivered through her. This intimacy was new. He always undressed in his own rooms. “Pen, I’ll say this once more, then the subject’s forever closed.”

“If I’m to be myself, you know that I’ll object to orders.”

“One last order.”

Still wary but unable to resist, she drifted across to lean against one of the bedposts. “I’d be naïve to believe that.”

He tugged his neckcloth loose. The gold signet ring glinted as if it was alive. He addressed the air above her head. “To think I asked this woman to speak her mind.”

“To think,” she retorted.

He stared directly at her and to her surprise, his eyes were serious. “Since you became my wife, I haven’t regretted losing Lady Marianne once. You’re the woman I want. I didn’t travel to Italy intending to marry you.” He raised a hand to forestall her protest. “But I’m not sorry that I did. I hope that you’ll allow me to prove myself as a husband so that you’re not sorry either.”

“Cam—”

“At least you’re not calling me ‘Your Grace’ anymore,” he said wryly and went on before she could speak. “You keep talking about what I gave up to marry you. Yet you gave up as much or more. I know that you’re unhappy. I’d do anything to change that. But first I want you to acknowledge that you’re not some unsatisfactory substitute for the woman I should have married. If you imagine I come to your bed every night cursing the fact that it’s you in my arms and not Marianne Seaton, you’re completely unhinged. The demons plaguing you are chimeras. I hope that in time you’ll trust me.”

“I do trust you,” she mumbled without meeting his eyes.

“Obviously. So much that you jump a mile when I touch you in public.”

“I’m not used to—”

Compassion softened his eyes until they glowed soft emerald. “I know. This marriage business is new to us both, but with goodwill, we can create something glorious.”

He said all the right things. She should be glad. But she couldn’t help noticing the one glaring omission in all his talk about their bright future. She commended his honesty, but still her idiot, yearning heart craved to hear the word “love.”

But “love” was a word that Cam would never use. He respected her too much. The irony of that statement left her wanting to break something.

Still, she recognized how he’d humbled himself. “I’ll do my best.”

His lips curved in the sweet smile that made her melt just the way his sweet kisses did. She was so susceptible. It was downright terrifying. “Your best will be magnificent.”

“Thank you,” she said with such uncertainty that he smiled.

“Pen, come here and make me happy. That’s your only duty tonight.”

She stared at him, dissent sparking. She wanted to make him happy. But more, she needed to seize some control. Starting tonight in the big, elegant bed where her big, elegant husband lounged, eyeing her like a sugared almond that he wanted to snap between his straight white teeth.

She’d been so eager to prove herself worthy that she’d abdicated all power. Including over what they did in bed.

He told her that he wanted her. That was a significant admission from someone as reluctant to surrender the advantage as Cam.

He’d never love her. She needed to accept that finally and forever. Once, she had. Nineteen-year-old Penelope had been wise beyond her years. Twenty-eight-year-old Penelope was a sentimental fool.

As she read Cam’s stirring desire, she realized that in this if in nothing else, they were equals. He’d told her she was brave. She’d need to be brave to gain what she set out to achieve.

Their nights would become a kingdom where she reigned supreme.

As Cam rose to shrug off his coat, he caught the excitement in Pen’s face. And something else that he didn’t understand.

These glimpses of a stranger in her eyes always disoriented him. It was like seeing a ghost standing behind an old friend. Slightly eerie. Fascinating. Irresistibly tempting.

But then, everything about Pen was irresistibly tempting.

This raging hunger was unsettling. He was grimly reminded of the straits his parents and uncle had found themselves in when private feelings overflowed into the public arena.

He tugged his shirt over his head and as he emerged from the folds of white linen, Pen leveled an assessing stare upon him. The way her gaze fed upon his body made his gut knot with anticipation. And more unease. She was definitely up to something.