His Grace, The Duke: Second Sons Book Two

The carriage swayed gently as a team of four horses pulled it steadily onward. It was dangerous to travel at night, but light from the full moon and a sea of stars guided the way. Dawn was soon approaching. The colors were already shifting; the indigo was not quite so depthless. Soon a spray of pinks and purples would break over the horizon.

James hoped to be in London well before sunrise. He wanted to beat the morning traffic…and avoid any early-rising busy bodies who might recognize his coach arriving at Corbin House. Tucked under his arm, Rosalie shifted in her sleep. He stifled a smile.

When they first started their journey north, it hadn’t escaped his notice how she kept herself as far from him as possible. Wedged in the corner of the coach, she did her utmost to not even look his direction. Who was it that she didn’t trust? James…or herself? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that if he clenched his jaw any tighter, he might break his teeth.

But if Rosalie resolutely had nothing to say, then neither did he. The only indulgence he allowed himself was to glance over every so often and trace the feminine arc of her neck with his eyes, illuminated by that bright moon.

She finally fell asleep, and he breathed a sigh of relief. At least when she was asleep, he could look at her without restraint. She still wore his evening coat over her ball gown, his mother’s necklace around her throat. His mind flashed with images of their stolen moment in the library. It made him almost feral when he brushed his fingers over that damn necklace, feeling how her soft skin warmed the pearls. He imagined her wearing other Corbin family jewels…and nothing else…stretched out naked on his bed, reaching for him, wanting him—

Christ.

She was right not to trust him. He couldn’t get her out of his head.

But in sleep, our true desires surface. A jolt in the road had her jerking away from the window. That’s when she leaned towards James, her head falling on his shoulder. She let out a contented sigh as she curled into him, her left arm drifting until her gloved hand settled on his thigh. She hadn’t noticed when he shifted slightly, wrapping his arm around her.

That was two hours ago. Two hours of holding her in his arms. It was all he could do not to move. Her hair was falling out of its elegant style. One curl fluttered in her face, swaying with the movement of the carriage. He wanted to tuck it behind her ear, but he was afraid to wake her and watch her recoil. Part of her must trust him. Part of her felt safe in his arms. She could admit it in sleep. Could she ever admit it when she was awake?

“Whoa…whoa,” the coachman called.

The clatter of the horses’ shod hooves told James they were now on cobblestones. One more change over and they would be in Town.

Rosalie pressed into him as she sat up, blinking as she looked around. Bright, golden torchlight flickered outside the windows to either side as they entered a carriage yard. The coachman was already calling orders to a pair of grooms to change out the tired team. Realizing where she was, she shifted away. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I fell asleep.” She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, suppressing a shiver.

James frowned. She’d be warm again if she would just stay in his arms. To anyone else, he would have said as much, but she was too stubborn. If James said anything, he was sure she’d opt to ride atop the carriage like a piece of luggage.

She peered out the window, blinking in the harsh torchlight. “Have we arrived?”

“Not quite. This will be the last change over. We’ll be in Town in another hour.”

“Did you sleep at all?”

“No.”

She stifled a yawn, pressing herself back into the corner, arms crossed tight inside his evening coat. That would have to be his first stop this morning. James had an entire wardrobe waiting for him at Corbin House, but Rosalie had only the clothes on her back. Hardly appropriate attire. In fact, it was downright scandalous…but it was also their easiest problem to fix.

James was a bloody fool. He never acted impetuously, and this was why. He would be arriving in Town with the sunrise, his family’s unwed ward on his arm, both of them still dressed for the ball from which they fled like thieves in the night.

“We need a plan,” he said, breaking their strained silence.

Rosalie glanced over at him. “A plan?”

“Yes. We need an excuse to have just taken off like we did.”

She was quiet for a moment. “What did you have in mind?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been mulling it almost since we left…but I can’t think of any good reason why we’d leave like we did that doesn’t link us romantically…What if we say your aunt was taken ill? Would she play along?”

Rosalie worried her lip. “And I just happened to receive news of it late at night while dancing at a ball? And you rushed to bring me to her side?”

She didn’t need to say what they both knew. It was a hopelessly weak excuse.

“I thought perhaps an engagement party,” she said, peering out the window again.

James frowned. “What?”

“Our excuse,” she replied, watching the footmen scurry in the yard. “We rushed to London to throw together a surprise engagement party for His Grace and Piety. The sooner we set the date, the easier our quick exit can be forgiven.” She turned back to face him, golden light from the torches illuminating her beautiful face. “It’s not exactly foolproof, but—”

“No…it’s brilliant,” he muttered. It was a lie that worked on so many levels too. “I’ll write a note to George as soon as we get to Corbin House and have him bring everyone to Town. Next Friday, we’ll throw a party to celebrate the engagement. Naturally, I needed your assistance in the planning. You clearly have a good eye for it.”

She smiled faintly. “Your mother is the planner. I just did as she bade me.”

Both their smiles fell at mention of his mother, for was she not the reason they both felt the need to flee so recklessly in the night? His mother who was threatening to steal their happiness by shackling Burke in marriage to Oliva Rutledge, a woman who hated the very idea of him. James would lose his best friend and watch him suffer in a marriage doomed to fail. Rosalie would lose her…what were they now? Friends? Lovers? Burke admitted to sharing carnal relations with her in the music room. James had been trying very hard not to picture it. Did Rosalie know he knew?

His own memories of last night sat like a stone in his chest. God, he’d said such hateful things. The moment the words were spoken, he regretted them. It was a reflex, born out of misplaced anger. The look of pain on her face still haunted him. He had to say something. He had to apologize…or at the very least explain.

“Rosalie…”

She turned to face him. “Yes?”

He sighed. “About last night…in the library…”

She went utterly still.

“I was angry and upset,” he explained. “I said things I didn’t mean. I’d appreciate it if we could…can we put it behind us? Can we forget it ever happened?”

Something flickered in her eyes. It came and went so fast, he couldn’t read it. “What part exactly didn’t you mean, my lord? The part where you called me low-born and loose…Or the part where you claimed all my air with your tongue in my mouth?”

Shit.

He shifted awkwardly on the bench seat. “I suppose…both.”

She turned away to face the window. “Fine. Consider it forgotten.”

Those four words launched like arrows shot from a bow. He rubbed at his chest, sure he might feel one of the shafts.

“We’re ready out here, m’lord,” the coachman called.

James tore his eyes away from Rosalie. “Drive on,” he called back. In moments, the carriage was rattling off as the new team pulled them ever closer to their destination.

After a few minutes of silence, James felt Rosalie’s eyes on him. He turned slowly to face her. She looked so tired, so vulnerable. He wanted to wrap her in his arms again.

“Don’t for one moment think that I can’t see through this ruse,” she said, her voice simmering with frustration.

He opened his mouth to apologize again, but no words came out.

She scoffed. “James Corbin, Viscount Finchley…you forget that we stood in that library as equals. I got inside those thick walls of yours at last. I know you’re doing the noble thing here, pushing me away. I know you and admire you…and I kissed you back.”

James had suddenly forgotten how to breathe.

She leaned a little closer and her intoxicating spiced floral scent enveloped him. He’d been caught in her perfumed snare for hours. “I know duty means everything to you. So, we’ll not mention it again, but only if you tell me the truth here and now…will you dream of it?”

“Christ, Rosalie. Don’t ask me for what I cannot give.”

Her gaze softened. “You can’t give me the truth?”

“Not this truth,” he muttered. “Not when it will do neither of us any good to hear it.”

“The truth is all we have, you and I,” she replied. “From the moment we met, you’ve given me your truths, no matter how cruel. Without truth between us, there is nothing.”

She sounded so forlorn. He just wanted to make her happy again. He wanted to see her smile. He wanted to be the reason she was smiling.

“Here is my truth,” she went on. “You’ve filled my dreams since the first night I met you. Even when you showed me nothing but open animosity, I dreamed of you. I dream of a gentler touch from your hands, gentler words from those lips that kiss me so well.”

Her eye trailed down his face, settling on his parted lips. He knew she possessed more than one sketch of them drawn with her own hand.

Bloody fucking hell.

This woman was going to be the death of him. It took everything he had to turn away, looking resolutely out the window, rather than take her in his arms again. He wasn’t the sort for intimate reveals. No woman had ever held his interest long enough to be worthy of his heartfelt vulnerability. But she was right, she’d gotten inside his walls last night.

He sighed, letting himself break just enough to slide his hand across the velvet of the bench seat, seeking out her gloved hand. She was waiting for him, her fingers lacing with his. He pressed his forehead to the cool glass of the window and closed his eyes.

“James,” she whispered. “Do you ever dream of me?”

This carriage was to be his confessional. He would say the words aloud, her touch would absolve him, and then they would begin the essential business of forgetting. They would both forget, for nothing had changed.

Duty over love.

Family.

Title.

“James…”

The words were on his lips. She deserved to know. He wanted her to know…but that would be cruel to them both. He gave her hand a squeeze and dropped it back to the seat. “To dream implies sleep,” he muttered, his eyes locked on the outline of the looming city, framed in softest lavender by the rising sun. “And that is a luxury I cannot afford.”