Chapter 25

 

“Once a person has succumbed to the passions, there is no cure, and no redemption, except through death.”—Lady Ratchett

 

These interesting events, and their aftermath, took up no little time. Mr. Slyte had to be wrestled away from the enamored ram, and bundled into the carriage, and helped into his home in Queen’s Square, under the disapproving eye of Lady Ysabella, who rose from her sickbed to demand to know why her nephew was drunk as a lord at this abominable hour and moreover stank of dung. She also demanded to be told why St. Clair was in a similarly odiferous condition, and who had bloodied his nose. Upon hearing the explanation—from Justin; Nigel was in no condition to do other than hiccough and giggle—she informed the duke that he was cockle-brained, and bade him go on home.

The sun was well up in the sky when Justin arrived finally in the Royal Crescent. Chislett opened the door, and moaned, “Your Grace! Oh, your poor nose. Sir Charles is in the library. He wants to speak with you. If I may be so bold as to make a suggestion, mayhap you might care to change clothes first.”

“Smell bad, do I? Good!” Justin mounted the stairs.

Sir Charles was not alone in the library. With him were Lady Augusta and Magda, Birdie and Minou. Sir Charles was seated behind the writing desk, Birdie perched on his shoulder. Gus sat primly on an upholstered chair. Magda leaned on one corner of the desk, playing with Minou.

She straightened as Justin entered the room. “Hello, Saint. I am pleased to see your brains were not blown out. You are in time to bid me adieu. My business here is done, and I find myself eager to be off, tu comprends.”

St. Clair comprehended that Madame de Chavannes was dressed for traveling, in an extravagant wine-colored carriage dress, with a fanciful bonnet on her head. “What business might that have been? Determining how you might interfere with me?”

Magda dimpled. “Strange as it is in me, I have a certain fondness for you, Saint. Pour faire simple, I needed a reason to be in Bath. When I heard about your nuptials, I decided I must meet your bride.”

Sir Charles winced as Birdie nibbled on his ear. “If it’s you who has been encouraging Elizabeth to Take a Notion, Madame de Chavannes, you are in the wrong.”

Magda laughed. “Mais non. That will have been Saint. You must scold him for it. Come, Gus, we will say our good-byes privately, and leave the gentlemen to talk.”

Was Magda an enemy agent, or not? Gus still could not decide. She paused in the doorway. “I wanted to accompany Elizabeth this morning. Magda refused. I am glad that no one shot you, Justin.” The ladies left the room.

The duke walked toward the fireplace. “There was never any chance of anyone shooting anyone. Save for Elizabeth. You don’t wish to scold me, Sir Charles.”

Sir Charles picked up the quill and set about tantalizing Minou. “I don’t even wish to scold Elizabeth. Was it you as tore her dress?”

“No. She did that herself. In an attempt to make a point.” Justin plucked grass bits off his breeches. “It was highly effective.”

Sir Charles tsk’d. “Her mama would not approve.”

The duke detached himself from the mantle. “I believe that I do not approve of her mama. If anyone is to give Elizabeth a rare trimming, it will be myself. Where is she, Sir Charles?”

“She said she was going home. I locked her in her room.” Sir Charles tossed St. Clair the key.

Justin was frowning as he made his way to his bedchamber. By ‘home’ he had assumed Elizabeth meant this home, here. Instead, she had meant to return to her wretched mama. His duchess must be very unhappy indeed.

He unlocked the door, entered the room. Elizabeth, who had been sitting in a chair drawn up near the fire, stood up and watched him warily. She had changed into a simple muslin dress. She had also put back on her corset. Her hair was drawn back severely. Her face was pale.

Justin put the key down on the writing table. “You may leave if you still want to, after we have talked.”

He fell silent, staring at the key. Elizabeth sat twisting her wedding ring. The silence dragged on interminably until at last she cleared her throat. “I suppose it will accomplish nothing to tell you that I am sorry, St. Clair. I perfectly understand why you have taken me in disgust. I should have not done a great many of the things I did, especially as concerns Mr. Melchers, but he seemed to like me, and you were being so unreasonable. I might have acted differently had anyone told me about that old business. I don’t know why Magda did not.”

Justin moved closer. “Because she was meddling. I suppose I should be grateful to her for it, in a way.”

Grateful to Magda, after all this bother? Elizabeth hoped the duke might be tolerant of her also, when she was a former wife. “You may send me home now. Had not Sir Charles locked me in, I would already have had Daphne pack.”

“You will go nowhere.” Justin grasped her wrists and pulled her to her feet. “I am not accustomed to apologizing, Elizabeth. Kindly give me a chance.”

Did her ears deceive her? Apologize? St. Clair? Elizabeth studied his dirty chin. “You don’t want Sir Charles to take me back?”

“Sir Charles shall take you nowhere,” Justin said irritably. “You are mine, and I mean to keep you. Unless, that is, you truly wish to go. No, let me finish! I know they say of me that I’m starched-up, and I daresay it’s true, but I know no other way to be. And it’s also true that one of the things I liked in you was that you were so well-brought-up that you would never lead me the sort of maddening dance that Magda did. But I did not mean that you should try to be something that you’re not, because I like what you are exceedingly.”

Elizabeth regarded him skeptically. “You do?”

“I do now that I know you.” Justin gazed down on her. “And for that I must be grateful to Magda, because with me so starched up, and you being alternately awesomely proper and provokingly prickly—I might never have seen you, had not Magda persuaded Conor to take a hand. She meant me to be jealous, and I was. It must have amused her immensely.”

This grew more and more amazing. Elizabeth moistened her dry lips. “You said you didn’t want me to associate with Mr. Melchers because he is a rakehell.”

Justin’s rare smile flashed. “Ah, but you have assured me that he was ever the gentleman where you are concerned. Which is not something I can understand in him, because I have been anxious to behave most improperly toward you for quite some time.”

St. Clair was clasping her hands so tightly that her knuckles had begun to ache. Elizabeth didn’t mind a bit. “You said you had made a mistake.”

“I have made any number of mistakes,” the duke said dryly. “I believe that particular folly had to do with my delay in, ah, asserting my husbandly rights. I wanted you dreadfully, my dear. But I did not want to frighten you, or for you to take me in dislike.”

As if she could dislike him. How uncertain he seemed, this usually proud man. Elizabeth remembered Mr. Melcher’s suggestion that she should show her husband some affection, and took in a deep breath. “Kiss me, please, St. Clair.”

Ever the gentleman, the duke obliged his lady, who promptly wrapped her arms around his dirty shoulders and pressed close to him. This kiss was all Elizabeth had ever dreamed of, and more. Her heart hammered, her butterflies turned quadruple somersaults, and she felt fizzy tingles all the way from her scalp to the tips of her toes. By the time he was done kissing her, she was disheveled, and breathless, and her hair had come unpinned.

His wife was wonderfully responsive. Justin was tempted to take her right there on the rug before the hearth. With great self-discipline, he moved his hands to her shoulders and set her away from him. She first looked startled, then bewildered. “I smell like a sheep,” he said.

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “I thought perhaps Minou had an accident.”

Justin touched a finger to her soft lips. “May we start all over again? I will rid my house of all interlopers. Magda has already gone. We will send Sir Charles back to your mama, though he won’t want to go.”

Elizabeth couldn’t blame him. She hadn’t wanted to go herself. “And Lady Augusta?”

“We will give Gus to Lady Syb. That will keep them both occupied, as well as Nigel. We will be alone together. Perhaps I will even dismiss the staff. ‘Elizabeth’ is so formal. Do you have another name?”

“My middle name is Ermyntrude. I wouldn’t care to be called that.”

“Ermyntrude.” Justin savored the word.

Elizabeth swatted him. “Nigel calls me Duchess.”

“The whole world calls you Duchess. I was had something more intimate in mind. I believe I shall call you darling, if that’s all right with you.” Silence descended while the duke kissed his wife again. “And now before I do my husbandly duty, I must have a bath. Yes, I know I used the word ‘duty.’ You need not frown. It is my duty to give you pleasure, as it is your duty to do whatever you please to me.” He tugged the bellpull.

Footmen arrived with copper tub and pails of water. Elizabeth watched the bath being prepared. The footmen left the room. She started to follow. Justin said, “Stay.”

Stay in the room while her husband bathed? He would have to take off his clothes. St. Clair wanted her to stay in the room while he took off his clothes?

Elizabeth’s knees felt weak. She dropped into a chair. As Justin disrobed, he watched her, less in anticipation of her reaction than in fear she’d bolt for the door.

Elizabeth didn’t bolt. She wasn’t capable of bolting, even had she wished to, which she did not. The duke had a nice, smooth, muscular chest. She had seen his bare chest before, as well as Mr. Melchers’, which was also nice. However, she had an opportunity to study that chest at leisure now, as she had not in the field. Along with the rest of him. St. Clair pulled off his boots. His hands moved to the fastening of his breeches. Oh, my.

Elizabeth swallowed. She must say something. That, or faint dead away. “Your poor nose. Mr. Melchers was trying to help us. He said you wouldn’t like it if you knew.”

Justin paused, half in and half out of his breeches. “Help us how?”

Elizabeth wasn’t so naive as to inform her husband that a rakehell had kissed her, especially now she understood it hadn’t been a proper kiss at all. “He said that you would like it if I showed you some affection. And that I should let you know that I admired you a little bit.”

Justin shucked off his smallclothes. “Do you admire me a little bit?”

Gracious! How could a woman not admire a man who looked like a Greek god? A very naked Greek god? It wouldn’t be good for the duke if she told him how much she admired him. “Sir Charles told me I should take off my clothes,” Elizabeth said.

Justin was reminded of a certain lecture. Black ants and camel grease. “Satisfy my curiosity. What did you tell Sir Charles?”

“That you said you couldn’t do it.” Elizabeth blushed. “But clearly you can.”

Clearly he could. But his duchess didn’t deserve to be introduced to matters marital by a man smelling like a sheep. Justin entered the tub so quickly that water splashed everywhere. He didn’t appreciate Conor Melchers giving Elizabeth advice, but he was grateful to the scoundrel all the same. He might even permit Elizabeth to speak with Conor, after all.

Whom was Justin kidding? His wife would speak to whomever she liked. He was grateful that, after all his prosing and posturing, she was speaking to him. If he tried hard, he might hear what she was saying, rather than contemplating her perfect bosom, and wondering how he could persuade her to throw away her stays.

She was not only speaking, she had risen from the chair and was walking toward the door. Surely, after all his efforts, she was not going to leave? Astonishing, how one’s heart could sink down to one’s toes.

Justin would not allow her to leave him. If necessary, he would chase after her dripping wet and naked through the house. “Elizabeth! Come back here!” he said.

She turned, key in hand, and inserted it in the lock, to the great relief of Thornaby, who was hovering in the dressing room, prepared if necessary to knock both the duke and duchess unconscious and lock the door himself. After the door was locked, she tossed the key onto the writing table. “You were saying, Your Grace?”

Justin grimaced. “Did I sound like a pompous ass? It will be a hard habit to break. Nonetheless, I shall try. In the meantime, you will put up with me. Won’t you? I won’t let you leave me, Elizabeth.”

The duchess cocked her head to one side. “I believe, Your Grace, that you have just said that I suit you to a cow’s thumb.”

The duke, who was making an attempt to wash his back, paused in mid-scrub. “A cow’s thumb at the least. Where did that come from?”

“Mrs. Papplewick.” Elizabeth circled the copper tub, staying out of St. Clair’s reach, her hands behind her back. “She was speaking of Magda, I believe. I also believe that I recall you saying you would not marry for love again.”

Justin craned his neck and twisted in the tub. Elizabeth was still moving, and shedding garments as she went. First the gown was tossed aside, and then the petticoat. Fascinated, he watched as she untied her stays. “I didn’t marry for love the first time, though I thought I had,” he said, huskily. “As for the other, I didn’t want to love you, or expect to love you, but there it is. I do love you, Elizabeth. More than words can express. More than I will ever love anyone again. I would never even consider loving anyone else, because I have seen a pistol in your hand and do not care to have another such fright. What are you doing now?”

Clad in her chemise, the duchess knelt beside the tub and took up the sponge. “You were saying something about how I might do whatever I wished with you, Your Grace. I believe I will first wash your back. Then I will shampoo your hair. And after that I will climb into the tub with you, and we will both be overcome by lust.”

Could one swoon from sheer pleasure? Hopefully not, because one might miss what happened next. Said Justin, “My darling, I am yours to command.”

And so the Duke and Duchess of Charnwood enjoyed their wedding night at last, even if it was in the middle of the day, during which they progressed from the copper tub to the writing desk and at last to the bridal bed. The matter involved a goodly amount of kisses and caresses and other stuff which the reader will not want to hear, but yet must be assured that the duchess did indeed close her eyes and clenched her teeth, and wished herself nowhere else in all the great wide world.