Fortune's Folly - The Confessions Of A Duchess Part 10

"Anyway," Laura said, and he could hear the defensive tone in her voice, "I rather enjoy doing things for myself. I have never been permitted to do so before."

Dexter looked at her, startled. "How so? Surely the position of d.u.c.h.ess gives enormous privileges?"

"You would think so, would you not?" Laura said. She fidgeted with the material of her cloak, avoiding his eyes. "And in some ways you are quite right, Mr. Anstruther. But in others, I would say that being a d.u.c.h.ess in the most frustrating business." She paused, sighed. "When I was a child it was an understood thing that I would be a d.u.c.h.ess and so my mother trained me from the earliest age. I never went anywhere without at least one servant on each side in case I needed something. It was monstrous inconvenient always to have someone hanging around me."

Dexter was shocked. Even though Miles had said that Lord and Lady Burlington had wanted to banish Laura's wild spirit he had not really imagined what that would entail. "You were trained to be a d.u.c.h.ess? Schooled for it?"

"Of course. Charles and I were promised from the cradle." A hint of reserve came into Laura's voice. "Then, of course, I was a d.u.c.h.ess and so I had to behave in a suitable manner."

Dexter realized that he was appalled. His childhood had been a mad helter-skelter affair with parents who could not have cared less what their offspring were doing. He had thought this lack of concern deplorable, but on the other hand Laura's upbringing sounded absolutely dire, with all a child's natural ebullience stifled by protocol and instruction.

"Your mother must have been pleased that everything worked out according to her plans," he said. "Imagine how disappointed she would have been had the arrangement fallen through."

"I believe she was delighted," Laura agreed. There was a slight edge to her voice. "I, on the other hand, was not consulted about what I wanted for my future. So you may understand why I live a slightly less conventional life than that of the average dowager d.u.c.h.ess now that I can choose for myself."

"Becoming a highwaywoman is certainly less than conventional behavior for a peeress of the realm," Dexter said.

"I was not referring to that," Laura said. "Will you kindly stop reminding me, Mr. Anstruther? Please do try to move on from this. If Lord Liverpool can pardon me I feel you should be able to, as well."

"Very well," Dexter said, sighing. "What we should focus upon is that neither of us will be missed by anyone tonight. What do you suggest that we do?"

"We wait until the morning," Laura said, "and then we shout for help. Someone will pa.s.s by once daylight comes and even though the walls here are thick, they may hear us."

"You sound remarkably calm under the circ.u.mstances, your grace," Dexter said, stiffening as Laura inadvertently moved a little closer so that the velvet cloak brushed his arm and a curl of her hair tickled his cheek.

"Did you expect me to have the vapors?" she asked. "I cannot see that much would be achieved by that."

"Perhaps not," Dexter conceded.

"But I would be fulfilling your view of how a woman ought to behave, would I not, Mr. Anstruther?" Laura continued. "It is not considered feminine to be so independent. I realize that."

"I know that you think me conservative in my notions," Dexter said, a little stiffly, "but I have to agree that you do not conform to my ideal of female suitability at all."

"Oh dear," Laura said, smiling mockingly. "I am quite despondent to hear that, Mr. Anstruther. But I am obliged to ask-suitability for what?"

"For marriage, of course." Dexter struggled a little to achieve clarity in his thoughts. His mind felt blurred at the edges. The truth, he though hazily, was that Laura dazzled him. She held him spellbound but was completely unsuitable in every way. Not that he was contemplating marrying her. Even had she been an heiress there were a dozen reasons, a score of reasons, why such a course of action was downright foolish. She called to his wild side, the side that was perilously like his father, the part of him he had tried so hard to repress in the interests of being responsible and sensible and reliable. But she held a strange fascination for him which he could not deny. Dexter looked at the champagne bottle. His mind slipped and slithered as he tried to grasp the nature of Laura's difference. She was like a bright, wayward star, he thought. She tempted him from the path he thought he ought to follow. That sounded almost poetic. Odd, he thought, for he was not generally a poetic man.

He glanced again at the second bottle of elderflower champagne. It was almost empty. Never mind poetic...

He was drunk.

He blinked at the evidence of the empty bottle. He was not entirely sure how it had happened when he had been aiming at moderation. All he knew was that he felt dazed, slightly unsteady and somewhat cast away. It was a curiously attractive feeling.

Laura s.h.i.+fted again so that her arm was brus.h.i.+ng his and they sat side by side against the cold stone wall. The ribbons fastening her cloak had eased and it had fallen back to reveal the slender lines of her throat and the curves of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s above the neckline of the green gown. The smoothness and delicious richness of her skin in the lamplight made Dexter ache to touch her. The minute he allowed the thought into his head it crowded out all other thoughts. He was locked in a wine cellar with Laura Cole. He must not touch her. He must not think about kissing her.

He must not think about making love to her.

He was locked in with a woman who made him think about nothing but making love and he must not touch her.

His throat turned as dry as though he had swallowed a mouthful of sand.

"I think that you are foxed, Mr. Anstruther," Laura said.

"I think I am," Dexter agreed.

"I also think that you imagine you want a conformable wife," Laura continued, her voice soft, "and yet if you had one you would probably find it was not what you desired at all." She turned her head to look him in the eyes and suddenly her lips were very close to his. He wondered if in that instant she had any concept of what he really desired and how dangerously close he was to taking it. The restraint he had placed on himself strained close to breaking.

"Believe me," Laura continued, "I was a perfect wife for years, at least on the surface, and neither I nor my husband was happy with it."

"I am not like your husband," Dexter said, feeling an instinctive need to protest against any comparison with the odious Charles Cole. He saw her smile and a tiny dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth and it was almost his undoing.

"No," she said. "That is very true."

Dexter had an unnerving feeling that with every word the conversation was slipping into ever more dangerous territory.

"For a start I would not have ignored you," he said, with what he hoped was appropriate dignity. "I would never have allowed you to gallop around the county righting wrongs and setting fire to things."

Laura's smile lingered. She toyed with the champagne bottle, taking another sip.

"I am glad to hear that you would not have ignored me," she said.

Ignore her? His difficulty would have been keeping his hands off her. Dexter s.h.i.+fted again. His body felt coiled and tight and explosively aroused.

Laura's smile faded. "I was so unhappy with Charles," she said softly. "It drove me close to madness at times. And sometimes I did foolish things or even bad things." She raised her gaze and met his eyes very directly. He felt his heart clench at the honesty in hers. "The night I spent with you..." she whispered. Her lashes flickered down. "It was wrong in so many ways," she said, "but I wanted it."

Dexter's breath caught in his throat. He raised a hand to ease the constriction in his neck cloth but somehow he ended up touching Laura's cheek instead and she turned it against his fingers in a gentle caress. His stomach contracted with l.u.s.t and longing. Laura's eyes held the dark, unfocused look of someone who had had far more to drink than was prudent. Her eyelids fluttered shut and her lips parted. Dexter teetered on the edge.

He was drunk.He was taking advantage.He was no gentleman, but then, she was surely no lady....

The need, the hunger and the frustration that tormented him each time he met Laura fused in one irresistible surge of desire. He closed the tiny s.p.a.ce between the two of them and brought his mouth down on hers, gently at first then searchingly, wildly, seeking the response he so desperately needed to find in her. In that moment he knew exactly what he wanted. He did not want respectable. He did not want conformable. He did not even want to be in control.

He wanted Laura Cole like a fever in the blood and in that same moment he knew that no matter how he tried the fever could never, ever be cured.

CHAPTER NINE.

LAURA KNEW that her mother would say that no lady, still less a dowager d.u.c.h.ess, should drink champagne and then find immodest and deeply satisfying pleasure in a man's arms, but by now she was too blissfully adrift to care. It had taken her years to comprehend that there were plenty of things her mother had got wrong, and this was one of them. Once before had she abandoned herself to such heady delights and she had sworn never to do so again but now, with Dexter's body hard against hers, her hands buried in his hair and his lips demanding a response from hers, she had no such doubts. She remembered vaguely that there were reasons why this was a bad idea. She knew there were secrets to be kept. If she let Dexter closer she would run the risk of exposing Hattie's parentage. But she needed him so much. He drove out her loneliness. It felt so right to be in his arms.

She burrowed closer to the heat of his body.

He kissed her again. The impact on her senses was devastating. His mouth was warm and firm against hers, and she could taste the champagne on his tongue and it was absolutely delicious. His hands were equally warm as they slid beneath the velvet cloak to clasp her waist. She could feel the heat in him searing through the silk of her gown. His tongue curled intimately against hers, sweeping her mouth with lazy strokes. There was no hesitation in him and no inexperience. It was Laura who felt like the innocent one, trembling with a mixture of nervousness and desperation as barely remembered feelings and emotions raced through her. She was transfixed by the strength and the command of Dexter's body against hers. As he crushed her against him with relentless demand, she felt her nipples harden and peak against the muscular wall of his chest. There were tremors of delight tingling low in her belly and she stifled a moan against his lips, leaning back against the wall of the cellar for support. Dexter followed her back, trapping her against the stone, deepening the kiss within the softness of her mouth, his tongue caressing hers until her body threatened to melt under the onslaught of such white-hot desire. She thought she had never, ever known such intense pleasure. After four years in the desert it was sweet and life-giving. She thought she would die of it. And then she felt Dexter's hand slide up to free one of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s from the confinement of the bodice of her gown. His fingers brushed her bare skin in the lightest but most deliberate of caresses and her body curved like a bow drawn to his touch.

He kissed her again, slow and deep this time, sending her senses spiraling beyond recall, sinking down into pure ecstasy. His palm was warm against the curve of her breast and then suddenly, purposefully, his fingers pulled strongly on her hardened nipple, and then again and again, and Laura arched again as a sweet, molten sensation dissolved through her whole body. The wall was firm behind her, supporting her whilst Dexter dispensed with the cloak and his hands moved to free her other breast. The gown slid to Laura's waist with a soft hiss of silk.

Dexter dipped his head to taken one swollen nipple in his mouth, licking it gently, and Laura writhed against the wall, shocked and fascinated at the instinct within her that made her want to press her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his lips and teeth. She was driven by the need to demand from him the absolute satisfaction that she craved, and yet at the same time she was afraid her body would fracture under the sheer pleasure of the feeling.

"Dexter, please." She struggled for words. "I can't...I need...I can't bear this. You have to stop."

She heard him laugh. "I don't think I will."

It sounded like Dexter and yet it was so unlike him, so unlike the careful, conscientious man he was on the surface, that she felt another stab of pure l.u.s.t pierce her.

"I cannot think...." she pleaded, but he only laughed again, lifting his mouth from her swollen skin a fraction so that she could feel his breath against its dampness.

"Fortunately there is no need for you to think at all," he said, dipping his tongue to stroke her breast again, to tease and curl and flick at the aching peak until her legs trembled uncontrollably and she was afraid she would slump to the ground and only his hold on her waist held her upright.

"This is not like you," she gasped. "Dexter-"

Her words broke off as his teeth nipped wickedly at her breast, making her groan again.

"It is me," he ground out. His voice was harsh. "I don't know myself when I am with you, Laura. I only know that this is what I want."

Laura surrendered. "Then don't stop," she gasped. "Whatever you do, do not stop."

He laughed again and took her nipple between his teeth hard and flicked the end of it with his tongue and Laura almost screamed.

"Ah! Don't stop. Please. Harder. Just a little bit harder..."

Was that really her voice begging him in such broken tones to ravish her senses with this blinding pleasure? She felt both his hands clasp her waist tighter as he tilted her back a little against the wall. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were utterly exposed to his questing mouth. The cold air of the cellar wrapped its chill about her naked skin but the heat in her blood pounded through her and it was that that made her s.h.i.+ver. Dexter was nipping at both her b.r.e.a.s.t.s now, pulling her nipples into his mouth, pleasuring them so skillfully with his lips and fingers that the tension gathered and coiled deep within her belly. Her body trembled so violently that she thought she could not stand it.

"Please. I truly cannot bear this-"

He laughed and covered her b.r.e.a.s.t.s with tiny little biting kisses that drove a sob from her. She was helpless in his arms, utterly powerless, at the mercy of his strength. She shuddered so much she felt as though she was coming apart. Her body waited in an agony of longing.

The dark, burning pleasure centered deep and low within her, then spun out, turned to ecstasy, and Laura felt her body clench unbearably. She cried out, clutching at Dexter's shoulders, and he kissed her again, his fingers continuing to tug gently on her nipple as a mixture of pleasure and pain racked her. The whole world flooded with light and she was shaken with violent shudders as she climaxed desperately, helplessly, in his arms.

"Dexter!"

It was such exquisite release that she lost herself for a moment, and when her senses finally began to revive she realized that Dexter had wrapped the velvet cloak around her. He held her in the crook of his arm as the little tremors racked her body and died away at last. Her head was against his shoulder and she could smell the scent of his skin, and she felt warm with bliss and turned her cheek against the curve of his protecting arm. She thought fleetingly that perhaps they should talk now but her mind was too fuzzy with drink and sated pleasure. Later, she thought hazily. Later would be soon enough to talk. She felt superbly satisfied and happy. Without further ado she slept.

THE HOUSE RENTED by the Duke of Cole for the duration of his family's stay in Fortune's Folly was, by necessity, one of the grandest in the village. Nothing else would suit his grace's consequence. Fortune Hall and The Old Palace were both already occupied of course, which was unfortunate, but he had still been able to acquire a short lease on Chevrons, a handsome town house built for a rich lawyer whose gout had now driven him south to Bath and a warmer climate.

Miss Lydia Cole, returning from the harp concert at the a.s.sembly rooms, tiptoed past the door of her mother's chamber and devoutly prayed that the d.u.c.h.ess would not wake. Her mother, who had the const.i.tution of an ox, had unexpectedly succ.u.mbed to a chill that afternoon and taken to her bed, consigning Lydia to the chaperonage of one of the other matrons. Lady Bexley was a great deal more lax than the d.u.c.h.ess and thus Lydia had been able to escape her after the concert and accept the escort home of a certain gentleman. They had walked back from the a.s.sembly rooms quite alone. And then he had kissed her when he had bidden her good-night. It had shocked Lydia-she knew it was quite appalling of a gentleman to behave so badly-but she had also been surprised to discover that she had thoroughly enjoyed it. Even now she was still tingling down to her toes.

"Lydia? Come here!" The d.u.c.h.ess's stentorian cry gave no indication of a sore throat and with a sigh Lydia eased open the door of her mother's room and went inside. It was stiflingly hot and smelled of the violet creams that her mother enjoyed eating and also of something else-a scent that Lydia did not know well but that she thought smelled rather like alcohol. Yes indeed, it smelled as though the d.u.c.h.ess had been drinking. But Lydia was sure that was impossible. It must be some concoction her maid had whisked up for the chill that smelled so like wine.

"How was the concert, my love?" the d.u.c.h.ess inquired, patting the coverlet to encourage her daughter to sit down. "Was Mr. Anstruther attentive to you?"

"Mr. Anstruther was not there, Mama," Lydia said. Her mind was full of thoughts of another man entirely-of his smile and the glint in his eyes and the wicked touch of his lips against hers. She saw Faye's face darken like a storm cloud and added hastily, "But Lord Vickery was there, and Sir Jasper and Lord Armitage-"

"Which is quite beside the point," Faye snapped. "We shall never get any of them to marry you!" She glared at Lydia as though it were her fault Dexter Anstruther had been absent. "How provoking! Go to your room now. I need to think."

Sighing, Lydia went out onto the landing and closed the door with elaborate care behind her. The house was quiet. She knew that her father was not at home. Even in a small place like Fortune's Folly the duke was adept at finding a willing maidservant to service his l.u.s.t.

Lydia went into her chamber, threw herself down on her bed and lay dreamily gazing into s.p.a.ce. It was fortuitous that Faye had dismissed her so abruptly because it meant she did not need to supply her mother with a moment-by-moment description of the evening. On the rare occasions that Faye did not accompany her she always required to know everything, from the jewels the other women were wearing to the precise nature of the compliments the gentlemen had paid her daughter. That part usually took very little time to relate. But tonight...Lydia smiled. Tonight she could relive the memory of that kiss. She could lie here and indulge her memory, with no one to disturb her or nag her or threaten her that if she did not wed she would be cast out of the family.

With a happy little murmur she closed her eyes and gave herself up to her dreams.

WHEN LAURA AWOKE the lantern had burned out and it was dark. Her head ached, her mouth felt dry and she was thirsty. She felt cold and stiff and she needed to go to the privy. She thought there might be more unromantic situations to be in but offhand she could not think of any of them.

She felt wretched.

Her traitorous body was awakened and the quickened desire stabbed through her as she remembered everything that had happened-the sensation of Dexter's hands and lips on her body, the touch and the taste of him. But in the same instant her mind shrank from remembering the liberties that she had allowed him to take. She had taken too much champagne. She had lost all her self-restraint. Once again she had responded brazenly to Dexter. He knew now just how easily he could command her senses and he would think her response to him proved she was shameless.

Laura felt the chill creep more deeply through her, distancing her from Dexter even as her body still hummed with the intimacy of their physical awareness. The blissful pleasure she had experienced was draining away now, along with her feelings of happiness. She could recall begging Dexter to make love to her. She had missed his touch for four long years and it had been heavenly to be in his arms again. It had banished all that cold loneliness that seemed to stalk her. But now she was sober she felt hot with mortification rather than pleasure. Tonight she had reached out to the Dexter Anstruther she thought she had once known, before so much had come between them. She had forgotten all the secrets she was holding and the lies that kept them apart. She had sought the complicated, pa.s.sionate man who had once cared for her and she had thought that she had found him again. But now she realized that it had been an illusion.

"I don't know myself when I am with you, Laura...."

She remembered now. This Dexter Anstruther was a man determined to be conventional, a fortune hunter wanting a rich bride, in denial of the wild and pa.s.sionate side of his nature. This was not the man Laura sought, nor the one she needed.

Dexter was asleep. Laura could not see him in the darkness but she could hear the steadiness of his breathing. He was still holding her in his arms but his grip had loosened now and his body no longer warmed her. Only a few hours before he had held her and made love to her with such tenderness and pa.s.sion as though he truly cared for her. It had felt then that that was the real Dexter Anstruther, a man who wanted her for the person she was-not the pattern card d.u.c.h.ess her mother had created, nor the dutiful chatelaine of Cole, nor even the wanton wh.o.r.e who had sent him packing after one night of pa.s.sion. She had thought that when they had made love it had been with honesty and no pretense. But drink had a way of making you think things like that when they simply were not true.

Feeling chilled and disoriented by the champagne, the darkness and her sudden misery, Laura freed herself gently from Dexter's clasp and edged her way along the wall toward the privy.

As soon as she came back into the wine cellar a blast of cold air struck her and set her s.h.i.+vering. The wind was whistling along the outer corridor. Laura was surprised that it had not woken her sooner. Wide-awake now, she groped her way into the corridor that led to the entrance.

The door at the end of the cellar was standing wide open and in the faint light she could see the darker shadows of the priory ruins against the sky and the stars bright and white above them.

For a moment she could not believe it. The cellar door was open. They had not been trapped at all.

"Laura?"

She had not heard Dexter's step behind her but now she swung around to find him standing at her shoulder.

"The door is open! We were not locked in at all!" Try as she might, Laura could not prevent the flat accusation in her voice. He had been the one to check if the door was shut. He must have made a mistake.

"That's impossible." She could not see Dexter's face but there was utter disbelief in his voice. "The door was firmly shut."

"And you can see that it is now wide open!" Laura felt a mixture of anger and indignation. If only she had checked. The events of the last few hours would never have happened. Dexter would not have made love to her in the intimate confines of the cellar. She would not have slept in his arms and felt happy for such a short time before she realized that this happiness was based on nothing but l.u.s.t and mistrust and could not be hers for so many reasons.

"I am going home," she said.

"Laura, wait!" Suddenly there was an insistent note in Dexter's voice. He put his hand on her arm to detain her, but she shook him off and hurried out the door. Dexter's voice checked her; she heard his urgent step behind her.

"Laura, no-" In the same instant she heard the sc.r.a.pe of stone against stone and the small tumble of pebbles that presaged a rock fall. The moon came out. Laura turned. Something was falling toward her hard and fast and in the last moment she understood and threw herself to one side. Dexter caught her and pulled her to the ground, the weight of his body knocking all the air from hers, and then something caught her shoulder and the pain shot through her like a red-hot knife and she hit her head and everything went dark.

CHAPTER TEN.