Chapter Twenty-Two

W ith his face buried in his pillow, Lucien opened his eyes slowly against the bright morning sunlight falling into his bedroom. He let out a breath halfway between a sigh and a yawn, then smiled as he rolled over to bring Jess back into his arms. Morning was well underway by now, and they would have to start their day soon. But for now, he simply wanted more time alone with her. And perhaps make love to her again.

But her side of the bed was empty. His heart jumped into his throat, and the last fuzziness of sleep cleared instantly from his mind.

She was gone.

He sat up and glanced around the room. His clothes lay scattered across the floor where he’d discarded them last night, but hers were gone. There was no sign she’d been there at all except for the mussed sheets that smelled deliciously of her floral scent and a small drop of blood on the counterpane where he’d taken her innocence.

Biting back a curse, he threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. This is not how he wanted the night to end. True, he’d never been with a woman who had him wanting to linger in bed with her after dawn arrived. Hell, he’d never wanted to linger in bed with any woman before dawn either, feeling the need to leave as soon as their lusts had been satisfied. But with Jess, it wasn’t simple lust he’d felt, and what he desired from her was far from being satiated.

After all, he had told her…well, he’d told her what he’d never dared utter to any other woman before.

What shocked him most was that he meant it.

He was certain all kinds of confusion and uncertainties had been unleashed to churn inside her by that simple phrase, just as they had for him, but she’d silently curled up against his side, rested her head on his chest, and fallen asleep. Even when they had woken a few hours later and made love a second time—it truly was exactly that, slowly and tenderly, full of affection and heartfelt yearning to bring each other pleasure—they’d not spoken one word. Instead, they’d allowed silent touches to speak for them. Volumes, in fact.

But now she was gone, and her absence was as good as a punch in the gut for the realization that swept over him—

He didn’t want to be separated from her again.

He splashed cold water over his face and welcomed the trickle down his neck, chest, and back. A quick glance in the mirror showed a morning beard, but that couldn’t be helped. He didn’t keep any household servants here who could shave him, and he didn’t want to take the time to do it himself. Not when he needed to find Jess.

With a grimace at his appearance, he turned away to dress. He yanked on his riding clothes but left off his neckcloth, not caring if its absence made him appear rakish. After last night’s freedom, he wasn’t eager to put himself back into confining knots. Then he stomped his feet into his boots and left the room.

He paused outside the bedroom where Jess should have spent the night, rapped his knuckles lightly against the door, and waited. His heartbeat marked each passing second like a drum, only to punctuate it with a curse when she didn’t answer.

Then he heard soft voices coming from downstairs. Buttoning his waistcoat and not bothering to fetch his jacket, he hurried down in hopes of finding Jess before she did something to frustrate him further, like setting out for London before he had the chance to speak with her. They had a lot to discuss.

The voices drew him toward the drawing room, and he smiled to himself when he reached the doorway and stopped. Not wanting to interrupt the scene before him, he leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb and watched.

Jess and Phillip sat huddled together on the floor in the middle of the room, with large sheets of paper, colored pencils, and chalk pieces spread out around them on the rug. They were focused on their drawings, with Jess tapping her finger on Phillip’s paper as she gave him compliments and encouragement. His brother beamed proudly, then bent over his drawing and attacked it with new energy. Jess held up her blue pencil, and the two of them laughed over a private joke. Phillip held out his pencil to offer it to her, only to pull it away just as her fingers reached for it. New bursts of soft laughter followed, and Lucien’s chest tightened at the sight.

Then Phillip glanced up and caught Lucien watching them. He smiled, happy to see his brother, and tapped Jess on her arm to gain her attention.

When she followed his gaze and saw Lucien, she caught her breath, then dropped her gaze shyly back to her drawing.

“G’mornin’, Lucien,” Phillip called out to him.

“Good morning to you, too,” he replied. Then the devil inside him made him ask, “Did everyone sleep well last night?”

Jess’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t lift her gaze from the paper.

“I don’t think I slept a wink,” he murmured his continued teasing. “Did you?”

My! He hadn’t known it was possible for a woman’s face to turn that scarlet that quickly. But even embarrassed to the gills, she was beautiful.

He offered her a reprieve and changed topics. “What are you two doing?”

“We’re making pictures,” Phillip answered. “Jessamyn is teaching me how to draw!” Phillip grabbed his paper and held it up so Lucien could see it. “Flowers and trees, for now. But I’m going to draw our barn right here between the trees and then pictures of all the animals.”

“It’s going to be a grand drawing,” Lucien assured him. “Perhaps you can take art lessons along with your music lessons.”

Phillip didn’t hear. His attention had already returned to his paper as he laid it back on the floor and reached for another colored pencil.

But Lucien made a mental note to ask Mrs. Porter to inquire in the village if there were any artists living nearby who might be interested in giving lessons, just as he had for the pianoforte. Phillip would never be able to play more than simple tunes, just as he would never be able to draw anything more than basic pictures. But that wasn’t the point. What mattered was that Phillip enjoyed it.

“We’ve taken over the drawing room, it seems,” Jess mumbled as she looked around at all the art supplies and sheets of paper strewn across the rug. “We found these supplies in the old playroom in the attic, and the light in this room was too good to pass up. I hope you don’t mind.”

The sight of her with Phillip warmed his chest. Mind? “Not at all.”

Her eyes brightened as she looked at Phillip, lost in concentration, and commented to Lucien, “He really is quite good.”

“Just wait until he fills the house with pictures of all the chickens,” Lucien warned beneath his breath. “I’ll place the blame on you.”

She smiled, her cheeks still a very pretty pink. Having her here felt natural. The most improbable woman in the most impossible situation…yet he simply couldn’t help himself.

“Did you both have breakfast already?” He latched onto an idea for a few minutes alone with Jess before they had to leave for London, with her ensconced in a carriage and him on horseback following several yards behind. There would be no chance to talk then.

Phillip nodded. “Mrs. Porter made wheat cakes with jam and syrup.”

“That sounds delicious. Did you two leave any for me?” When Phillip didn’t answer, too absorbed in his drawing to pay attention to his brother, Lucien asked, “Phillip, would you please go into the kitchen and ask Mrs. Porter if she’d put together breakfast for me in the dining room? You can help her make it.” When he didn’t answer, Lucien tempted him with, “You can show her your drawing.”

That caught his attention, and he scrambled to his feet, rolled up his drawing, and rushed past Lucien and out of the room, calling for Mrs. Porter before he’d even reached the hallway.

Lucien met Jess’s gaze across the room. You have no idea how lovely you are. “You two seem to get along well.” Or how much I want nothing more at this moment than to sweep you into my arms and carry you right back to bed. “You’ve won him over.”

“He’s a wonderful man.” She sat back on her heels and began to pick up the pencils and chalk spilled across the rug. “Very friendly, curious, willing to try anything because he doesn’t worry about failing…” She collected the sheets of paper. “I hope you were serious about providing art lessons. I think he would thrive creatively if he had the opportunity to—”

“Marry me.”

She froze in mid-reach for a pencil. For a moment, she remained still as a statue. Then she pulled in a steadying breath and moved on to pick it up.

“Why would you want to marry me?” she asked, her voice trembling. She didn’t look up at him.

Of all the replies she could have given, he certainly hadn’t expected that. So he gave her the unvarnished truth. “Because you know the real me and don’t care how soiled my soul truly is. Or isn’t. Because you know all my secrets now.” As if on cue, Phillip’s laughter roared through the house from the kitchen and reached them in the morning quiet. “Because you love me and I love you, and I can’t think of a better reason to want to spend the rest of my life with someone.”

Not looking up at him, she deliberately put the pencil into a box with the others. “Are you only saying those things because of last night?” Her hands shook as she focused her attention on putting the colors in rainbow order. “You don’t need to feel obligated toward me. I take full responsibility for what happened, and I don’t expect you to offer marriage simply because I came to your room. I know the risks, and I fully accept them.” She paused, her hand stilling on the pencils and her voice becoming impossibly low, “Besides, I know you can’t marry me.”

Lucien blinked. Can’t marry her? Hell, she was the only woman he could. “Of course—”

“I’m barely hanging on to the edges of society by my fingernails, which is why I could call on a bachelor at home in the first place. I’m so far down the social ladder that no one cares what I do. I shouldn’t even be where I am, not the daughter of a drunken wastrel who has no prospects of any kind to look forward to except perhaps becoming some dowager’s companion. I’m no one important.” She added softly, “Certainly not important enough to become a duchess. I know you have to marry the daughter of a peer or a wealthy heiress. That’s what dukes do. And I’m neither.”

An icy realization slammed into him. That was why she’d always been so self-deprecating whenever he’d attempted to compliment her. Society—and her worthless bastard of a father—had beaten into her the misguided belief that she would never be good enough. In truth, she was better than the whole lot of them put together. Her dedication to her sister and her patience with Phillip proved it.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a normal duke.” He crossed his arms. “No one forces me to do anything, especially when it comes to choosing a wife. I don’t want a peer’s daughter. I want the woman who is right for me, no matter where she ranks in society.” He paused to drive home his words. “I want you , Jess, and I have no intention of living my life without you.”

She finally lifted her gaze to meet his, and the tears he saw in her eyes nearly undid him.

Ignoring the stab of anguish for her in his chest, he came forward and sat beside her on the rug. “As for that other nonsense, you are important, and certainly very important to me. Damn what society thinks.”

“You say that now, but—”

“I say that always.”

Her shoulders deflated like a balloon against his arguments, and her only response was a silent shake of her head.

He took a red pencil from the box and a small sheet of paper, then drew a heart shape. He handed it to her.

“My heart is yours now,” he murmured. “Please don’t tear it.”

Jess’s hands trembled as she stared down at it, and her breathing came ragged and slow. She hadn’t answered his proposal, yet a faint smile she refused to let fully blossom tugged at her lips. He could see her fighting the urge to surrender and say yes. The relief that he was winning her over caused his heart to somersault against his breastbone.

“Marry me, Jess.” He caressed her cheek. “Make an honest man of me.”

She turned her face away to hide her embarrassment over last night, and a new flush pinked her cheeks. “You truly want to marry me?” she whispered, a bit bewildered. “After everything I’ve done to you?”

Because of everything. “I’ve learned my lesson from all that. I need you to keep me on the straight and narrow, happily strolling down the path of secret goodness.”

An instant change in her caused his gut to tighten. A stiffening in her back, a slight sag of her shoulders, a hardening…

“ Secret goodness?” she repeated slowly, as if she couldn’t fathom the words. “That’s what you want—to keep pretending you’re a blackguard and a rakehell?”

“Not a rakehell, certainly, once we’re married,” he teased. “Just a gambler, scapegrace, and drunk.”

Her eyes turned cold. “That’s not funny.”

He straightened away, all ideas about teasing her further vanishing as instantly as her smile.

“No, I suppose not,” he mumbled. “But I have to keep everyone away, and it’s the best method I know. I can’t let anyone discover the truth about Phillip and the dukedom. It would destroy all our lives, including yours after we’re married.”

Sadness darkened her face as she whispered, so softly he could barely hear her, “Then I can’t marry you.”

Confusion made him narrow his eyes as he searched her face. “You’re refusing me because of a reputation that isn’t even true?”

“No.” She carefully folded the paper, hiding his heart within. “I’m refusing…because of me.”

“You’ll make a fine duchess, and we’ll be true partners in our marriage in every way.”

“But I wouldn’t be a duchess, would I? I’d only be pretending, just as you are.” She blinked hard, but her eyes became more watery with every passing moment. “Please understand—I don’t care about being a duchess. In fact, that life seems filled with more trouble than it’s worth.” Her voice came soft but determined. “It’s the lies I can’t live with, Lucien, and all those secrets… Marriage will be difficult enough as it is. It shouldn’t also be saddled with being built upon a foundation of lies and pretenses.”

She held out the folded paper to give it back to him.

He stared at it. If she’d reached inside his chest and ripped out his real heart, she couldn’t have wounded him more.

He refused to accept it. “Last night you said you loved me.”

“I do. More than you realize—more than I ever thought possible.” She placed her hand against his cheek, and he shivered beneath the tenderness of her touch. “I want nothing more than to create a future with you. I truly want that.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “But I can’t live a life in which I will worry constantly about being found out, a life in which I will doubt all aspects of my marriage. I won’t live that life.”

A single tear slipped down her cheek. He was the reason she was in pain, and the sight of it broke him.

He pulled her into his arms and rocked her against him as she cried. He had no words to comfort her. All he could do was murmur soft nonsense and hold her close, but her pain became his. Every soft sob pierced him like an arrow, made all the worse because she fought so hard to stop crying but couldn’t.

He was losing her, even as his skin still smelled of hers and the musky scent of making love, even with her wrapped in his arms. For the first time in his life, he felt panicked. Not even charging into battle had felt this uncertain. He couldn’t lose this fight.

Defeat would simply destroy him.

He rested his lips against her temple and tightened his arms around her. “What can I do to make you change your mind?”

She shook her head. Her anguish trembled through each word as she murmured against his shoulder, “You would have to do the impossible.”

Dread settled on his chest with the weight of a cannonball. “Which is?”

“You’d have to change your spots,” she answered enigmatically, so much sadness in her voice that he had to squeeze his eyes shut to bear it. “But not even the fiercest leopard in Africa is capable of doing that.” She choked back fresh tears. “You would have to let everyone know exactly how good you are at heart, all the good deeds you’ve done.” Her hold on him tightened. “And you would have to confess everything about the dukedom and your father.”

“I can’t do that,” he rasped out. “I have to protect Phillip.”

“I know, and I would never ask you to do anything that would place him into harm, including that,” she whispered barely loud enough for him to hear. “That’s why it’s an impossible situation for us.” A sob escaped her, so filled with desolate anguish, that she shook in his arms. “And that’s why I can never marry you.”