Page 13 of The Disgraceful Duchess

“I shall take that as a yes.” He took her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. To her surprise, it fit. And before she could manage to move, he put his hands gently on her shoulders, bent, and kissed her mouth.

A shock traveled through her. It went from her lips to the shivery spot between her shoulder blades, down her spine, and all the way to her toes. The sad weight in the pit of her stomach vanished. Every nerve in her body came alive. She found herself meeting his kiss with her own. Her arms twined around his neck. It was as though the last two years hadn’t happened at all. He smelled exactly the same, like bergamot and cedar and everything wholesome in the world. Her heart was unbreaking, and…

She wrenched herself away. “Do not.”

He looked confused. “Do not kiss you?”

Her heart was pounding. “Just… do not.”

His hair was mussed around his collar. Wait… had she run her fingers through it? Oh no. She had. Her face heated.

“Well then.” One corner of his mouth was turned up, and there was a gleam in his eyes. “Shall we say Monday? For the wedding?”

She sniffed. “It can make no difference.”

“Very good. I shall arrange the license. And shall I call again tomorrow?”

“You need not bother. No doubt I shall see quite enough of you after we are married.”

He bowed. She could have sworn that he was struggling not to smile. “Yes. No doubt.”

Chapter Five

West reminded himself that a duke ought to be dignified. He certainly ought not to take the stairs two at a time, or toss his top hat into the air in Portman Square.

So he didn’t do either of those things. Instead, he had the coachman of the hired carriage drive him directly to the City. There were several coffee houses where the captains of ships that were in port kept somewhat regular office hours. These were usually the best places to inquire about booking an overseas passage.

If Pomona wanted to go to Venice, he would take her to Venice. In fact, he would take her to Venice in style. He would make the arrangements himself, personally, so that he knew that everything had been done as it ought to be. Whatever tentative plans she and Lady Theodosia might have made, he could easily outdo.

If he closed his eyes, he could see Pomona's upturned nose, full lower lip and rounded chin. He could still be warmed by the heat of her kiss. The feel of her lips—hot and innocently demanding—seemed imprinted upon his own, and his heart beat faster as he thought of the way her body had curved into his…

He opened his eyes. There were, in fact, many arrangements to make—not just for the honeymoon travel, of course, but the legal underpinnings that would bind their lives together. Charles was now Viscount Alford and the head of the family. From their brief discussion, he’d learned that Lady Alford—Charles' and Pomona's mother—was now living in Bath.

That was excellent news. Lady Alford was haughty, snobbish, dull-witted, quick to take offense, temperamental and vindictive. For the sake of family harmony, he was prepared to pretend that she hadn’t done what they both knew she’d done. But if she tried anything like that ever again… well, she’d find it much more difficult to threaten a duke than it had been to threaten a junior undersecretary.

Keynsham had explained that Pomona’s marriage portion could not be a large one. After the fifth viscount’s death, he’d discovered that the estate was heavily mortgaged. Though it sounded as though he’d salvaged what he could of the situation, the family was no longer rich.

West had concealed his surprise. But he could only imagine what it had been like for Pomona. She’d been posted back and forth to Germany at the whims of her mother, with no thought for what she wanted. And now, it seemed, she was living on what many ladies would consider a very small allowance—though Keynsham had seemed to suggest that she had some other income, without explaining where it came from.

But now none of that mattered. West could marry whoever he chose. And he chose Pomona. He’d always chosen her. And from now on, she would have everything that she wanted. Jewels? Gowns? Furs? Theatre tickets? Whatever it was, it would be hers. He would order new carriages today. No overlooked detail, petty difficulty or malicious person would disturb her peace ever again.

The only obstacle to this plan was Pomona herself. It was plain that she blamed him for her predicament. But he was certain that as soon as she saw how well he would treat her—how he would cocoon her in comfort and luxury—she would get over her pique.

As he strode along Leadenhall Street, he glanced up into the snow-filled sky and grinned. Not even a day before, he’d watched the dustman’s cart roll away carrying Pomona’s gloves and felt sorry for himself. And now? Now they were to be married.

The pavement was slushy with trodden snow. Pedestrians hurried past holding papers and random objects above their heads to try to keep dry. He felt as though his heart was physically swelling with love. He paused to take a deep lungful of icy, coal smoke-tinged London air. A man behind him muttered an oath and dodged aside.

West was back. And from this moment forward, he vowed, he would see to it that Pomona's life was perfect.

“A duchess! You are to be a duchess! I always knew that you should make some great alliance. I had a premonition! I told you! And of course, he is one of the richest men in the kingdom. Castle March alone must sit on thirty thousand acres! Forty!”

Lady Alford had seen a gossip item about the engagement in a London newspaper and come straight from Bath. Pomona blinked. “You… do know that the duke is Gabriel West, do you not?”

Lady Alford was attired in a dark green carriage gown whose skirt was trimmed in rows and rows of tiny pleats and velvet ribbon of the same shade. Her hair was crimped into fashionable ringlets, and an expensive-looking diamond cross winked from the hollow of her collarbone. She waved a hand. “Of course I know. What of it?”

“You once forbade me to marry him.”

“I?” She laid a delicate, be-ringed hand on her breast. “Not I. That was your father. God rest his soul,” she added, piously.