Chapter 3

" The letter has not changed?" asked Gabrielle D'Orsay on the opposite seat of the coach as the carriage pulled up the drive to Huntingdon Manor.

Madeline had been reading the short note from the Duke of Huntingdon for at least the tenth time on her journey from London.

There are matters here that are best settled in your presence…

Was the Duke talking about the house party? If so, did he want her to continue helping him or to desist entirely, having her here under his eye to ensure she obeyed him? Or, had some genuine crisis arisen with which he required a wife's support for some reason?

She pictured Charles Wraith speaking these words aloud to her. While this made her remember the firmness of his mouth and the determination of his green eyes, it gave her no more sense of what his intention was in sending it.

Was there something else? Something she had not considered? At Gabrielle's question, Madeline looked at the little blonde maid quizzically and then saw the humor in the Frenchwoman's eyes.

"It has not changed since you last read it, Duchess Madeline?" she rephrased her question in case it had not been understood.

Madeline smiled and shook her head before folding away the letter again, nervous despite her natural confidence.

"No, it has not changed at all. It is only that it is rather a short and uninformative message. I can't help wondering what the Duke means by it."

"Perhaps he meant only that you should come, and you have. Your husband is a man of few words. Do not read more into his letter than what is written in ink. It is only natural that he should wish to see his wife, is it not?"

"He is a man of few words." Madeline agreed with that much as the carriage came to a stop at the bottom of the imposing main steps. "Well, I shall find out what the Duke meant soon enough, I suppose."

She smiled a greeting at the senior footman who opened the carriage door and helped her down. Lonsley was waiting beside the front door as usual.

"Your Grace," he bowed. "How good to see you again. We had not expected you for some weeks, but your rooms are always kept ready."

"Thank you, Lonsley," Madeline said, seeking but finding no clues in his face or words as to what might have precipitated her husband's unexpected summons.

"Should we prepare luncheon for you, Your Grace?" Lonsley asked as they entered the hallway, and Madeline saw from the clock that it was noon. "His Grace is out at the lake with the head gamekeeper this afternoon. We do not expect him before dinner."

"Oh," said Madeline, surprised by this news. "Do you think the Duke expects me to join him out there?"

It was odd for Charles to have summoned her so abruptly by express message yesterday evening and then absent himself for the day.

"He mentioned no such expectation to me, Your Grace. I am sure you will see His Grace this evening."

"Then, I will take luncheon and speak to the Duke at dinner. Thank you, Lonsley."

Walking upstairs, Madeline felt the heavy nervousness growing in her stomach. Something felt very wrong, but she had no idea what it might be or whether it had anything to do with her.

After her solitary luncheon and a long ride around the estate, Madeline took a bath. The house and grounds appeared to be in good order and the reason for her husband's message still a mystery. Could it really be, as Gabrielle suggested, that he simply wanted to see her?

If so, did she want to see him? She could not say, but the thought recalled the old surge of interest Madeline used to feel when catching sight of the Duke riding in the park, long before they met and married.

Still, the idea of either of them wishing to see the other was puzzling given the way they had parted after their wedding and how little he had communicated with her since then. They were virtually strangers still.

When Madeline emerged from the bathroom in her towel, Gabrielle was moving about the dressing room with her familiar light step.

"Your underwear is here, Duchess Madeline. Your dress is on the bed, and I've laid out some jewelry on the dressing table."

"Jewelry?" Madeline questioned, not usually giving any thought to jewels unless she were attending a ball or other event.

"Yes, Your Grace," Gabrielle laughed. "You will want to look your best tonight. I chose the small blue sapphire pendant and earrings. They are small but elegant, and the blue makes the brown of your eyes and hair even richer."

"If you say so," said Madeline, smiling as she donned her underclothing.

"And here are your silk stockings, Your Grace," said Gabrielle, handing over a pair of very finely knit stockings from a bag, together with blue garters that were delicately embroidered with small white flowers.

"This all seems a little over the top for dinner," Madeline reflected as she fingered the silken fabric. "It's not as though anyone is going to see my legs."

"Are you so sure about that?" asked the maid with a rather arch smile.

Madeline started, her eyes opening wide at what her maid was implying. Surely not! The Duke of Huntingdon had been extremely clear on this point the last time they spoke. He could not possibly be thinking…could he?

But noblemen did need heirs, and he might have rethought his attitude during the past year. That would certainly explain his summons. Either way, she did not wish to reveal such intimate thoughts to Gabrielle or anyone else.

"I am… quite sure," she said, swallowing.

Walking through to the bedroom a few minutes later, Madeline was acutely conscious of the smooth slide of the silk at her thighs, a luxury she rarely indulged in. Dear God! What would she do if Charles proposed sharing a bed tonight? Should she remind him of his earlier resolution, or simply acquiesce like the dutiful wife she had vowed to be?

On the bed lay an elegant brown silk evening dress with a blue sash. Madeline had left all the packing to Gabrielle, trusting her maid to know better than she what would be needed for every event during the house party. Frankly, she had left buying clothes entirely to Gabrielle for the past year. She had no idea what she even owned.

"It's beautiful. But, again, is it not too much for a family dinner?"

"It is a dress fit for the Duchess of Huntingdon as mistress in her own home, is it not?" said Gabrielle, and as Madeline nodded slowly, she began to dress her in the gown, adjusting and arranging its folds and fastenings with her keen eye and fast-moving hands.

After the dress was fully fitted and fastened, Gabrielle turned her attention to Madeline's hair. Brushing out the shining chestnut waves, she regarded them critically before rolling and pinning the locks in three simple twists at the back with a few waves left loose at the front to frame Madeline's face.

The deep blue glow of the sapphire jewelry provided the final touch to the outfit, setting off the richness of Madeline's eyes and hair just as Gabrielle had described. The pendant accentuated the low cut of the dress and the luxuriant curve of Madeline's bosom above its neckline.

"You definitely chose the design for this gown rather than me, Gabrielle," she said lightly, blushing at her own reflection. "I don't think I've ever worn anything quite so…exposed."

Gabrielle gave a very French shrug and dabbed a subtle floral scent at Madeline's throat and wrists.

"As I say, it is a very suitable gown for a beautiful married woman of high rank. You must dress as you wish to be seen by others, Your Grace. Tonight, you are the finest duchess Huntingdon has ever had."

Buoyed with the confidence her maid had imbued, Madeline rose with a final glance at the glass. While not at all beautiful in her own eyes, she conceded that she did look handsome, thanks to Gabrielle's excellent taste and understanding of style. As an afterthought, she picked up the Duke's letter from where she had laid it beside the hairbrushes and tucked it into her skirt pocket.

"There is a little time before dinner for me to browse some of the fine rooms now that the dust sheets are off. Thank you for all your help this evening."

" Pas de tout," said Gabrielle, scooping up the remaining hairpins from the dressing table. "Let us hope your husband appreciates my efforts equally."

Covering her renewed blushes, Madeline swept out of the room.

Madeline detected voices coming from the library as she returned to the hallway after viewing the music room and a majestic gallery of art works.

Was that Charles Wraith's voice shouting so loudly that she could hear every word through the door? It had been so long that she could not be sure. Whomever it was, she was the Duchess of Huntingdon and had the right to go where she pleased in this house.

"Her maid said that she can do nothing more, Your Grace."

"Tell her maid to tell her that I require her company tonight. Tell her I'm going to move that damned painting she hates so much! I'll chop the whole damned thing up for firewood if she wants…"

Before she could change her mind, Madeline approached the library door and pushed it open.

As the door swung inward, the voices fell instantly silent, and two men turned to look at Madeline with surprise as she made her entrance. Her husband, Charles Wraith, Duke of Huntingdon, was standing by a heavy oak library desk, addressing Lonsley, presumably on the subject of Lady Cecilia.

"Good evening, Your Grace," Madeline said with a polite nod of her head. "Here I am."

"Leave us, Lonsley," the Duke said immediately, a rather forbidding expression settling on his dark brows as he took in her presence.

The butler obeyed, closing the doors again behind him. Once they were alone, Madeline approached her husband and stood face to face with him, matching his intense gaze and refusing to be cowed. Was he trying to intimidate her for some reason? Did he not know it was rude to stare? Or was he someone who tried to play up to the ton's silly nickname?

"Here you are indeed, Duchess Madeline," he said sternly. "But why? That is what I would like to know first."

"Why?!" she repeated incredulously. "Did you think I would ignore your word entirely?"

"I didn't think you would ; I think you have ," he countered, as though he were a lawyer in a courtroom. "Do you deny it?"

He was looking at her intently, taking in every detail from head to toe. Madeline noticed again how very green were his eyes, how well-shaped his jaw, and how broad his shoulders. Even Charles's height struck her. He was almost a full head taller than Madeline although she was average height for a woman.

Had she forgotten all these things or never noticed them so clearly and all at once as at this moment?

"You asked me to come, and here I am," said Madeline levelly, noting that her words made him frown again.

"What?" he said, shaking his head in apparent confusion but still without releasing his intense gaze.

With a huff of irritation and impatience at his peculiar attitude, Madeline took the letter from her pocket and handed it to him brusquely.

"As I said, you asked me to come, and I came."

Now, he finally looked down and away from her in order to inspect the letter, and Madeline took a deep breath, feeling all too conscious of her half-bared breasts as well as the silk rubbing against her legs every time she moved.

"Cecilia…" he sighed wearily after examining the writing and the seal. "This was sent by my sister, not me. It is obviously not my writing."

"Well, how was I to know?" Madeline said crossly although she felt a little foolish. "When I saw the Huntingdon seal, I naturally assumed it was from you despite the lack of signature. I've had too few letters from you to have any hope of recognizing your handwriting, Your Grace."

"I see," Charles said, this last point touching a nerve. "So, you've come here to berate me for my poor communication, have you? Using my delicate sister's half-deception as a convenient excuse."

"Pull yourself together, Your Grace. The world does not revolve around you," she broke in on his remonstration. "If I had another reason to be here, it would be to make a success of the Duke and Duchess of Huntingdon's first major show of hospitality or to increase my sister's happiness. Bringing you face to face with your personal faults would be an unsought bonus, I assure you."

"My personal faults? You're going to tell me all about them, I suppose?"

The Duke's face was now flushed with temper, and his goading tone was maddening to Madeline. What on earth was he implying? Did he really seek an argument with her? He seemed to somehow think she was his enemy, and she knew how easily her own temper could run out of her control.

"No, you're an intelligent man of good education, Your Grace. You must surely know your own faults. I have no interest in spoon-feeding adults lessons that they should consume for themselves in the proper manner. I trust you will reflect on your own behavior and adjust it accordingly."

"Trust? There is clearly little of that on your side, Duchess Madeline. You didn't trust me enough to organize the house party without your contribution, did you?"

"Of course, I didn't. Why would I? We barely know one another, and you barely know my sister, either. How foolish would I be to simply sit back and allow you to make mistakes? That is not my duty as a wife. My duty is to support my husband, and that is what I am doing."

Despite all her good intentions to be sweet-tempered and civil with both Charles and his sister tonight, Madeline knew that they were speaking in raised voices, if not actually shouting at one another. It was as though they were rushing along a downhill path together, knocking one another inadvertently, and at ever-increasing risk of tripping and tumbling headlong together to the bottom.

"So, as a dutiful wife, if I told you to go back to London tomorrow and not return until the party, would you do that?" he demanded.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said dismissively. "That would serve no purpose whatsoever. Your party would not be half as well-run or well-received without my help, and we both know it."

"As my dutiful wife, I don't think you should speak to me in such a way," he said now but with a hint of dark amusement on his face beneath the genuine anger. "Do you?"

Had he moved closer as they argued, or was Madeline simply more aware of his growing proximity? Her skin felt hot, her temper seemed frayed to its limits, and her heart was beating its own new rhythm.

"Do you even think of me as your wife, Charles?" she threw back at him. "Tell me that first. In fact, are we even really married at all if the union was not consummated?"

"Is that what you want, Madeline? Reassurance that you're really my wife? Is that what this is all about?"

"You can twist and play with words as much as you like, Charles. I have no idea why you're so determined to argue with me this evening. It doesn't change the facts, does it?"

Something in his face changed radically in response to her last statements, and Madeline had the sense that she was about to reap the whirlwind. Fighting to remain calm, she could not help her sharp sound of surprise as the Duke's hand suddenly reached out and caressed her face before tilting her chin up to look directly into those hypnotically deep, green eyes.

The pleasure of his touch was disproportionately intense as was the sensation of his slightly strained breath on her face. Was this the point where they would both lose their footing on the metaphorical path and fall together?

"Whether I've claimed you physically yet or not, Madeline, you belong to me. You gave yourself to me at that altar a year ago. You are a fool if you've forgotten that — and so am I, perhaps, for thinking either of us could ignore it forever."

"But you said you didn't want me," Madeline protested while making no attempt to break away. "You said…"

"I said that I didn't plan to take you. I never said that I didn't want to, and plans can change…"

Despite the evidence of her senses, this conversation felt impossible, almost like a strange dream. Madeline could not believe what she was hearing.

Good God! Was the Duke about to actually kiss her? He was definitely closer now, his hands on her shoulders and his lips only inches from hers. Her pulse was racing out of control, and for the first time in her life, Madeline thought she might faint.

"What are you doing?" she whispered in fascinated bewilderment.

"You are my wife, Madeline, and when this house party is done, I intend to leave you in no doubt of that fact."

"Charles…" she gasped, both thrilled and panicked by his words and expression.

"You need me to claim you, don't you? God! It seems that I need it, too. It has been so long, and you are so ready for me," Charles growled, his eyes raking over her heaving breasts and startled face. "I had forgotten quite how tempting a beautiful woman could be. I'm in half a mind take you here and now on the hearthrug."

Now, Madeline's voice seemed to have vanished entirely in the swirling emotions aroused by her husband's unexpected declaration of sexual intent.

She glanced fearfully at the hearth rug. Before he went any further, she needed to tell him that this was not at all what she had planned or expected. Raising her hands to push the Duke away, she was amazed to find her fingers instead clutching at his lapels to hold him close.

"I will be gentle but thorough," he whispered in her ear, evidently encouraged by her reaction. "Then I will be forceful but considerate. When I am done, you will know you belong to me, and in time, you will bear me an heir."

Impossible! Surely this encounter was impossible and could not be happening. Again, Madeline tried and failed to protest against the sudden irresistible onslaught of erotic declarations. But the only sound from her throat was a faint moan as one of Charles's hands caressed her cheek a second time. Her skin felt burning hot, and she knew he must feel it too.

"So, be ready for me to claim you when the time comes, Duchess Madeline. But it will not be tonight. There is too much to do, and we cannot allow ourselves to be distracted." He said this regretfully, as much for himself as for Madeline. "Not yet…"

With a clear effort, he pulled himself out of Madeline's grasp and stepped back with closed eyes, smoothing his jacket and calming his breath even as Madeline tried to catch hers.

"I shall see you at dinner, Your Grace," Charles Wraith said with a small bow and marched decidedly out of the room.

Madeline held tight to the edge of the desk after the Duke had gone. Her legs felt strangely weak, and her whole body tingled in the most unfamiliar way, echoing with the memory of Charles's words, his touch, and the look in his eyes.

Now, there was not only the house party to think on and worry about but also the anticipation of being taken to the Duke's bed when it was over. Had he really meant what he said tonight? With a spasm of mingled pleasure and apprehension, Madeline felt certain that he had although she felt uncertain over her own feelings on the matter.

There was almost relief in accepting the truth of his reminder that she had already given herself to him a year ago. There was no real decision for her to make now. If Charles chose to bed her, that was his right by law, and she must do her duty. It was her own undeniable excitement at this prospect that alarmed her the most.