Page 82 of Yours Truly, the Duke
There was no doubt that what he felt when he held Fredericka was different from what he had felt with any other woman who had ever been in his arms. He kept thinking it was much too soon to be experiencing all the emotions she worked up in him. They crowded into his mind and body when he looked at her and touched her that he had to wonder, was it too soon to want to be with his wife?
He’d always believed he was just like his father. Wyatt had patterned his life after him. If he wanted to be like him so badly, if that was the way his life was supposed to be, why was he still desiring to be with his wife so desperately? It didn’t matter that she irritated him sometimes. Their arguments didn’t matter when he thought about the way he felt about her. So, why was he waiting to take her to bed and make her his wife in every sense of the word? His father had said he couldn’t do anythingto make his wife happy, but Wyatt had given Fredericka the best night of her life. That meant something to him.
Wyatt stopped pacing. His heart pounded so loud he heard it vibrating in his chest. He wasn’t sure, but maybe he loved Fredericka?
“No, no, no,” he whispered, and helped himself to another shot of brandy and downed it quickly. He never expected to even consider the idea of loving his wife. His father never had loved Wyatt’s mother.
But if Wyatt loved Fredericka, that was a terrifying thought. And how could that be? There had been women in his life. Probably far too many. None of them had ever touched him or made him feel the way she had.
Was love the reason he couldn’t stop thinking about her, couldn’t stop wanting her, couldn’t stop wanting her to want him no matter the mistakes he’d made along the way, or the promise he hadn’t yet kept? If so, could they weather the problems without him ending up feeling the way his father had about his mother?
There was nothing he could do about the past. Not his. Not hers. Not theirs. The only thing he could do was go forward. And, if she was willing, that started tonight.
He plunked the empty brandy glass on his desk and headed toward the stairs. He didn’t know what she would do when she found him in her room, but he was about to find out.
CHAPTER 23
THE REMONSTRANCE OF THE TRANSPLANTED FLOWERS
—EMMA C. EMBURY
Together we drank the morning dew,
And basked in the glances the sunbeams threw,
And together our sweets we were wont to fling
When zephyr swept by on his radiant wing.
A few verses of a lullaby, the brush of a soft hand to reassure, and covers tucked under her chin for security could do wonders to comfort a troubled child. Bella fell back to sleep almost as soon as her head settled onto the pillow. Still, Fredericka lingered at the bedside, staring at the child’s serene little face and sleep-tousled curls. Of the three children, Fredericka had always considered Bella the strongest. In most things she was fearless and outspoken for one so young.
Obviously, remembrance of a shadow in a boneyard was too much for her to handle in the dark of night.
Wyatt should have known that, Fredericka thought. Common sense should have taken over and helped him see reason, but it hadn’t. She smiled a little. She appreciated that he thought Bella was strong enough not to be bothered by the scary story. More men should believegirls and women are capable of much more than they allow them to do.
However, Fredericka would wait until morning to contend with the duke. She had come in from the ball feeling exuberant and more wonderful than she could have ever dreamed. It had been a magical night for her with Wyatt by her side the entire evening. She had never felt so wanted and she drank it in. The duke had probably already gone to his chambers anyway. It was best they not talk tonight. She needed time to figure out a few things and to know why she always reacted so defensively to Wyatt and then responded to his kisses with such fervent abandon.
She needed to make a list and study it. That process had always helped her in the past and she would do it tomorrow. Her best decisions came from putting quill to paper. Lists, poetry, thoughts about life and all manner of emotions. When she saw things in the written form and categorized, it helped her focus and think better. She’d begin by looking at the lists she’d already started on the duke and add where necessary. After that was accomplished, maybe she could figure out what about him kept her on edge, kept her wanting to see him, and to be in his arms.
It was maddening. She couldn’t look at him without feeling the desire to cuddle against his warm chest and bask in the strength of his arms tightly around her. Every time she thought about the way his kisses made her feel, she was filled to overflowing with delicious, expectant sensations of pleasure deep in her most womanly part.
Most of all, maybe she could figure out if what she was feeling for him was that elusive thing called love. And worse, what would she do if it was? That worried her most. If it was love, how on earth had she managedto fall in love with a man she felt was constantly doing something wrong? A man who planned to send her back to Paddleton to live until he had need of her to give him a son. A man who, at times, made her feel she was in his way and a bother to him so that he couldn’t continue his lifestyle, and at other times made her feel he was happy she was a part of his life.
Fredericka rose from Bella’s bed. If she kept thinking like that she’d never get to sleep. Clearly there would be no answer forthcoming about her feelings or his now. The children would be up in a couple of hours and looking for her.
After kissing Bella’s forehead, she checked on Charles, sleeping soundly in the other bed, before easing quietly into the corridor and down to her room.
The first thing she noticed upon entering was a lamp that had been left burning on her dressing table. Movement on the far side caught her attention. Wyatt was kneeling in front of the fireplace tending a small fire. Seeing him in her room felt so right. But how could that be? He did almost everything wrong. Being in her room without invitation was proof.
He rose slowly and cautiously, which, as she was feeling as she did, was prudent of him. She should ask him to leave but their gazes met across the room and the thought fled. Nature took over and she felt the same way she had the first time she saw him. Every time she saw him. Desirous. Her heartbeat pounded, her breaths quickened, and her disgruntled attitude about him telling Bella a ghost story started to dissolve.
He looked divine, dressed the way he’d been the first morning she was in London and they’d talked in his book room. So disrespectfully casual and inviting. In such a state, he appealed to all her senses and appearedso strong and masculine, clothed only in his trousers and collarless shirt.
She denied herself the yearning to indulge in studying him longer and shook the tempting thought away. Settling a hard glare on him, she whispered, “You have some nerve coming in here,” as she closed the door softly behind her.
“I know.” His answer was quiet and true.
“I’ve never been able to predict what you are going to do, or say, or how you will behave.”
