Chapter Fourteen

With a heavy slam and a heavy sigh as accompaniment, William closed the door on the final guest.

Finally.

"Was that the last of them, Your Grace?" asked Nicholls behind him.

Just for an instant, William permitted himself a moment of exhaustion.

The last of them. Yes, the last of the well-wishers, friends, family, gawkers, interlopers, friends masquerading as family, enemies masquerading as friends. In short, the remainder of the ton who demanded a wedding invitation had finally departed his home to leave him in peace.

He had always considered his London townhouse to be magnificent. Not that he shouted about it. William would rather have closed it up completely and vacated it than do something as uncouth as boast.

But it was not insignificant. Two drawings rooms, a breakfast room, a morning room, a smoking room, a library. Not a small area for hosting.

And it had been bursting at the seams all evening, heat growing, laughter pouring into every inch of space. Even opening the large French doors into the garden hadn't taken the pressure off his heart. And the worst of it was...

William's jaw tightened. The worst of it was that entertaining such a mob—a crowd, that was—had separated him, all night, from the one person he actually wanted to spend such an evening with.

"Your Grace? I believe your wife is waiting for you in the blue drawing room. Shall I bring you both a light supper?"

His butler's voice interrupted William's thoughts and he straightened, pulling at his jacket to remove any imaginary creases.

"Supper?" William repeatedly blankly.

Oh God, the hall was empty. Empty of people! The crush of them, the noise, the chatter, the smoke from the gentlemen's pipes and the painfully mingled scents of the ladies. It was now nothing but emptiness and calm and quiet.

And Nicholls, peering with all the curiosity of a small boy meeting a crocodile at the Royal Menagerie for the first time.

William pulled himself together. He was still the Duke of Cothrom, even if today he'd had his hand shaken to within an inch of his life.

"No," he said directly, speaking on Alice's behalf and receiving a thrill of power up his spine at the act. "No, we do not wish to have supper."

His butler nodded. "In that case, I will instruct the footmen to—"

"No," said William again, just as directly.

He wasn't entirely sure what had got into him, but something had—and the idea had left little trickles of excitement tingling over his fingertips.

Well, it wasn't a bad idea . . .

"I—I beg your pardon?" said the butler, wide eyed. "You do not even know what I was going to—"

"Ah, there you are, Your Grace, I—oh, my apologies, Mr. Nicholls, I did not see you there," said Mrs. Ransome with a nod of her head.

William forced down a grin. Was it common for every gentleman fortunate enough to have both housekeeper and butler on his staff to see them disagree and fight and get one up over each other at every opportunity?

He watched the man bristle. "Mrs. Ransome. I believe it was quite obvious I was speaking to His—"

"Yes, I wished to speak to you, Your Grace," said Mrs. Ransome, elegantly speaking over her male counterpart with a gleam in her eye. "I was just about to tell the maids to—"

"No," said William sharply.

The thought which had first been only a shadow of an idea was starting to deepen, to grow in attraction. Well, why not? It was hardly the most scandalous thing. In fact, many people may expect it. If he'd had half a mind on planning the proceedings after the wedding vows, he might even have organized it all beforehand.

As it was . . .

"Nicholls, Mrs. Ransome," William said wearily, and winced to see his housekeeper throw a satisfied smile at his butler. Damn. He should probably have called him Mr. Nicholls, to keep them equal. Ah well, nothing for it now. "Please inform the staff that they are to take the evening off. In fact, tell them—tell them that they will all be treated to an evening at the Royal Hotel."

Clearly he had gone too far. Or... or not far enough?

A flicker of uncertainty curled around William's torso. He wasn't accustomed to this sort of thing—and apparently, neither were his servants.

Mrs. Ransome's mouth was opening and closing rapidly, but no sound was coming from it.

Nicholls was staring, eyes narrowed, as though attempting to decipher the mysterious message their master had given them.

William sighed and rubbed at his left temple. All he wanted was to be left alone in his own home with his wife. Was that so difficult to organize?

"Tell them the Duke of Cothrom will pay the bill—take my signet ring from the study, Mr. Nicholls," William said, emphasizing the Mr. and hoping that was sufficient to make amends for the earlier slight. "And do not return until at least... ten o'clock tomorrow morning. Do you understand?"

"But . . . but . . . your breakfast, Your Grace," began Mrs. Ransome.

"Hang breakfast," said William without thinking.

It was perhaps one of the most uncivilized things he had ever said, and he regretted it immediately.

Well, not exactly immediately. It was rather thrilling, doing something he had never done before, saying something he had never said before. No wonder people gained such merriment from coarse language.

Still, both of his senior servants were staring as though he had gone mad.

Perhaps he had.

As William's attention meandered away from them, it fell on the gap of the ajar door of the blue drawing room. Through it, just faintly, he could make out a woman with white-blonde hair wearing a russet gown. White-blonde hair that needed to be entangled in his fingers.

"I wish to be alone with... with my wife," William said quietly, not taking his eyes from the slither of firelight coming through the gap into the hall.

When he turned back to his housekeeper and butler, he saw immediately he had said too much.

"Ah, yes, right, right, I see," said the butler, cheeks flushed. "Yes, we understand—"

"Yes, completely understood, yes, right," said Mrs. Ransome, evidently unsure where to look. "We'll be gone in less than five minutes, yes, absolutely, nothing easier than—"

"Thank you," said William awkwardly.

His housekeeper left immediately, muttering away to herself about things she should have expected, but his butler lingered. His expression was clear—he wanted a word.

"Yes?"

"I hope you do not think me too bold, Your Grace, if I say that I thought your brothers..." Nicholls cleared his throat. "Well, I thought they would never leave."

"Neither did I," said William ruefully. Lindow in particular did not seem to wish to depart, which was most strange. "Well, if that is all, I—"

"In fact, they seemed so reticent to leave that I accidentally mentioned a gaming hell, newly opened nearby," said his butler carefully.

William groaned.

Well, his butler wasn't to know, was he? It was his steward who countersigned many of the checks William had to make to cover the debts of his incorrigible brothers.

Still, he would have hoped for more discretion than that. After all, Nicholls had been with the Chance family for nigh on twenty years. He knew what Aylesbury and Lindow were like!

There was going to be a significant amount of damage control in the morning.

William pulled a hand through his hair as he considered what would need to be done. Paying off their debts, but that didn't even start to account for debts of honor. Pay off the newspapers. Attempt to smooth over every insult and misdeed.

"You didn't," William said heavily.

And for some reason, as maids and footmen hurried into the hall with their coats, pelisses, and small cases full of overnight things, glancing red faced at their master, his butler smirked.

"No, I didn't," the man said quietly. "I think I may actually have mistaken it for a temperance hall. I do apologize, Your Grace, it was a complete lapse and I assure you it won't happen again. Still... they'll have just as much fun there, I am sure."

There was a sparkle in the man's eye William had never seen before. He grinned as he clapped the man on the arm, something he had never done before.

"Go, be off with you," he said with a dry laugh. "And remember, I don't want to see you until—"

"Ten o'clock," said Mrs. Ransome resolutely on her own way through the hall, though she added in an undertone, "though what you'll do for breakfast, I don't know..."

This time, the closing of the front door behind people was even more satisfying. William stood in the hallway and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, he and Alice were alone.

Alone.

Just the two of them, all night long.

William swallowed as his manhood stirred. They had been good—well, better than he had wanted to be. Despite the great provocation, he had not taken the pleasure he so desperately wished for.

The pleasure he would be taking in just a few minutes.

Taking care to walk, not run, William opened the door to the blue drawing room and stepped inside.

And saw a picture of exquisite beauty.

There she was. Alice. Her pale hair looked golden in the candlelight, and some had already been unpinned, curls falling around her neck as though silk strands carefully covered her bare shoulders.

She was seated on the sofa, staring at her hand.

Her left hand.

William's breath caught as the rings glittered in the candlelight as Alice shifted them, her attention focused on them.

Those rings had made her his. His wife. His future.

His hopes soared, tingling anticipation mingled now with true elation. He'd done it. After years of saying that he would get around to it, William had finally married—married a woman who was kind and good. Had not her impeccable conduct toward her ward proved that?

And what's more, she was beautiful, and elegant.

And even more than that, there appeared to be a fire in her, a desire William could never have conceived of in a woman.

Alice Fox-Edwards—no, Alice Chance was the perfect woman for him. She was perfection and would now support him in making the Chance family perfect.

Perhaps the manner of their courtship, such as it was, was unusual. But there was something about her. Alice had drawn him in, inexplicably, and William had not the heart to fight it.

How could you fight something as intrinsic as... as love?

He stepped forward and must have made more noise than he thought, for Alice looked up and glanced over her shoulder.

The smile that slowly curved her lips made William's stomach lurch.

Fine. Something farther down.

Thinking about the Chance family had started him thinking of the family they would one day build together. Perhaps sooner rather than later.

"There you are," said Alice, her words vibrant. "I was starting to worry."

"Worry?" repeated William as he stepped around the sofa and sat beside her. "About me?"

There was a knowing look in her eyes. "You are my husband now, William Chance, Duke of Cothrom. I think you will find it is my duty to worry about you."

"I suppose it is," he said, a flutter of delight soaring through him. "Goodness. I hadn't thought of that."

"It may be unusual to admit, but I worried about you before today, actually," Alice said, her voice low as though she were admitting to some terrible secret. "I hope... I hope that was not wrong?"

And William was filled with such a surge of love, he was surprised he did not declare it, announce it to the world, pour kisses onto her face as he tried to show her, not tell her, just how loved she was.

Because this woman—this woman! She understood his concern for decorum, for always presenting the right face to the world. She was a worthy partner for him—a worthy woman who he would never have to concern himself with.

Not like Lindow, or Aylesbury. Or God forbid, Pernrith.

"Did I hear Mr. Nicholls talking about your brothers in the hall?" Alice said, utterly ignorant of the thoughts whirling through his mind.

William blinked. "Brothers?"

He had brothers?

"Yes, something about a gaming hell, I think," Alice said, turning in her seat so that she could face him more directly. "I do hope they aren't going to prove a problem for you."

And that was another reason why he was so pleased, wasn't he? William could never have expected to find a woman who could so easily understand the interesting dynamic he had with his brothers—that of father, really. The fact she was willing to share in his struggles to keep the family respectable—it was more than he could have wished for.

"William?"

William cleared his throat. Enough of that nonsensical thinking. "I think my brothers will always be a handful, to tell the truth, but I would expect nothing less from such ruffians."

"They are a marquess, an earl, and a viscount."

He snorted. "You think that a title confers respectability? It only confers nobility, which I can tell you is quite a different thing indeed."

It had not been his intention to be amusing, but William was strangely gratified to see Alice laugh.

"I suppose you are right, though I have not much experience with such things," Alice said, taking a deep breath. "I suppose there will be lots of things, now that we are married, that I have not much experience in that I will swiftly have to learn."

William's throat went dry. It was because your mind is thinking of only one thing, he chastised himself silently. She didn't mean—

"Being a duchess... it is more than I ever thought could happen to someone like me."

"Someone like you?" William said in wonder. "You mean someone kind, gentle, honorable?"

For some reason, his words had a marked effect on his new wife. Color splattered across her cheeks and Alice looked at her hands, wound together in her lap, as though she could no longer meet his gaze.

William's heart stirred. And she was humble, unexpecting of praise and shy when she received it.

Dear God. How had he ever deserved her?

"Don't call me that," Alice said quietly.

"Why not? It's all true," William said firmly, his pulse pattering painfully. All he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and rain kisses—but it was too soon. He needed to woo this woman, this wife of his.

He couldn't just barrel in and demand—

"I do worry about you, you know," Alice said helplessly. "I mean, I know it is expected for a wife to care for her husband, but you—you do so much, for so many people. And you bear such burdens upon yourself. You take them up for others just because you can, and that is—oh, William, I admire you so, and I worry you take on too much—"

"Alice," William exhaled.

Without saying another word, he reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips, brushing kisses onto the ends of her fingertips.

The sudden gasp, low yet most definitely there, told William just how much gratification he was giving his wife by the simple gesture. It was... intimate. Something he had never shared with another and was glad to now.

It was only the beginning of what this night could offer.

When William looked up, Alice's smile had not faded. "I... I suppose worrying about you is not the only thing I can now do without shame, now... now we are married."

He swallowed, trying to calm the raging need pressing against his breeches.

Alice Fox-Edwards had been an innocent, and now Alice Chance was about to discover what it was when two people cared about each other enough to share the most intimate, the most delightful—

But he would not rush her. No, that would be—

"Like being alone together," Alice continued, a knowing look in her eye. "That was what I meant, William."

He blinked. "Of—of course it was. That was what I was thinking—" His voice faded away as her laughter grew. "You are teasing me."

William had not intended to speak in such a petulant voice, and hoped beyond hope Alice did not consider it so.

A candle flickered and went out in the candelabra on the mantlepiece. It was late. And he had been patient.

"I am only teasing you a little," Alice said quietly, entangling her fingers with his own.

Heat flared along his hands and William did his best to keep them still. If this was a sign of how the night was going to be, it was going to be a great challenge indeed.

After all, what man did not begin his wedding night with hopes of... well, everything?

But this was not one of the women that William had, on infrequent occasions, found to satisfy the lusts of the flesh. Alice had not done this before. She may not even know, precisely, what it was that they were about to do.

Just for a moment, William cursed the idiotic way that Society treated its ladies. Why, if they only knew what bliss awaited them in the marriage bed...

Then again, perhaps that was why they were sheltered. He certainly had been unable to resist temptation the moment he had realized just what delights could be found in any bed.

Alice cleared her throat and William's attention was immediately pulled to her. "And... and of course, there are other things that we can do now that we are married. Alone, I mean."

William swallowed. He wasn't about to permit himself to be teased again if he could help it. "You mean... discuss the hiring of staff, and what color to repaint this room?"

"You wish to repaint this room?" Alice glanced about the place and William cursed himself for the distraction.

He did not wish to consider the merits and demerits of blue wallpaper. He wanted to make love to his wife!

Perhaps something of his thoughts was transparent on his face. At any rate, Alice glanced over and tightened her grip on his hands. "Or, I suppose, we could do the other thing you immediately thought of," she said quietly.

William's manhood stiffened. Strange, he hadn't thought it possible to be any more taut. "I... I don't know what you—"

"I think you do," Alice said gently, cutting across him with the utmost elegance. "Is this the time to go upstairs and... and truly become husband and wife?"