Four Nights With the Duke(27)

       
           



       

Mia gave a tight little nod.

Satisfied, he recognized that they had reached the point in a  negotiation at which his opponent understood that there was no logical  reason to continue arguing: Vander was going to win.

On all points.

She would capitulate now, and agree to live with him as his wife.

But she surprised him, raising that firm little chin in the air. "To be  perfectly honest, even though you are forcing me to remain your wife, I  do not intend to beg you for those four nights. Ever."

That was a facer, not merely because his body was pulsing with desire to  possess his bride, but because he did need an heir at some point. He  let some of that desire show in his eyes. "What if I begged you?"

Her expression did not change an iota. "I will say no. This afternoon I  came to understand that I cannot fight the fact you are using Charles  Wallace to ensure that I acquiesce to our marriage. I made myself  vulnerable through my own actions. But you placed yourself at my mercy  when you wrote that contract specifying that we would be together only  on the nights I implored you to join me."

A reluctant grin touched Vander's lips. He had just come face to face  with a negotiator who had adroitly circled around behind his defenses.

And bested him.

If he was honest with himself, in some twisted way he had been looking forward to the four nights with Mia.

Of course, that was when he had believed she adored him. When he  believed that he would be doing her a favor. He had felt an errant pride  that a woman-any woman-had loved him to the point at which she would go  against her own moral code in order to bed him.

He hadn't been dreading the marriage bed. No, he had pictured himself  looming over Mia, her curls spread across the pillow, eyes soft with  desire and love, rounded body his and only his. She would be ecstatic  because she was finally his.

Wrong.

This woman's mouth was set in a firm line and her eyes were fierce.

Very wrong.

"All I ask is that we revisit the issue in a year or so," he said. "At  some point I must produce an heir. There is no particular urgency."

Mia frowned. "I suppose we could consider it once we are better  acquainted. But Your Grace, I beg you to rethink your decision about  this marriage."

Why the hell was she so reluctant? It must be the fiancé. Maybe he was  one of those pretty men. Vander knew perfectly well that there was a  brutal shape to his chin, and an energy about him that women either  loved or loathed.

"You are my wife," he stated, "and you shall remain my wife. We should  have a conversation about Sir Richard's litigious intentions, as well as  about management of the Carrington estate." He saw exhaustion in her  face, so he added, "but that can wait until tomorrow."

Her eyelashes flickered. "Will I be part of management of the estate?"

"Of course. Unless you'd rather not."

"My father did not believe that a woman could have a head for business."

"Given what I've paid for Chuffy's novels, I would venture a guess that your career is quite profitable."

A smile lit her eyes. "My father told me that I could keep my pennies."

"I always thought he was an ass."

"I would not say that. But we often did not agree about business matters."

"Are you really one of the most popular novelists in England?"

Pink came up in her cheeks. "Yes."

"Brava," he said sincerely. Suddenly his body was more aflame than he  could remember being; something about Mia's combination of sensuality  and intelligence was wildly arousing. Bedding her would be the key to  turning their marriage into the comfortable arrangement he had  envisioned. Only it would be even better than he had thought, because he  now respected her reasons for forcing him to marry.

After spending the afternoon with Charlie, he knew already that he'd blackmail the king himself to ensure his new ward's safety.

Once he managed to seduce Mia, he would dispense with the four days proviso and give her access to his bed whenever she wanted.

Hell, maybe he would even let her sleep with him. He had never slept  with a woman, but he was warming to the idea of reaching for Mia in the  middle of the night.

Rolling over and sliding his hands between-

"If you'll excuse me, I will retire and have a light supper in my  chamber," Mia said. "The brandy went to my head and besides, I have a  letter to write."

"Of course," Vander said, thinking that perhaps they could eat together  in his bedchamber. It would be a prelude to eating in bed.

Before he could put the idea into words, Mia withdrew, nipping out of  the room. He almost started after her, but thought of the blue shadows  under her eyes and stopped himself.                       
       
           



       

His wife would be his wife for years.

He thought he might like her to kiss him goodbye when she was leaving a room. Her lips were . . . delectable.

They could work on that later.





Chapter Fourteen




NOTES ON JILTING SCENE





Flora has to confront Frederic or seem a jelly-boned coward.



She should toss her prayer book to the side and tell the jilting  faithless count exactly what she thinks of him, that sniveling,  dribbling, dithering, palsied, pulse-less man.



Flora waited at the altar, her graceful hands clutching the prayer book that her dying moth-



Count Frederic walked into the church, and Flora knew instinctively,  with just one look at his devilish black eyes, that he intended to  humiliate her in the worst possible way, in front of the whole of the  beau monde. She hurled her prayer book like a discus, knocking him to  the ground.



Then she walked over his prone body on her way out the door.



This isn't working.



Mia awoke the next morning feeling much better.

Few women would complain about being married to a wildly handsome duke.  Though they might grumble about Vander's ready agreement to forego  consummation of their marriage.

She would have put it down to dislike of her figure, but although Vander  thought she was dumpy, he had kissed her that one time. Well, two  times.

Men were like that, by all accounts. Merely being in the vicinity of a  woman made a man eager to bed her. It was interesting to discover that  her governess had been correct in that respect.

She rang the bell for Susan and walked into the bathing chamber, only  then making an important discovery. A door on the opposite wall from the  bathtub almost certainly opened into Vander's room. And Mia couldn't  see a hook that would prevent him from walking straight into the chamber  while she was bathing.

Naked and surrounded by all those mirrors.

That would absolutely not do. Hooks must be installed immediately. In  the meantime, she made Susan stand guard before that door while she  bathed.

Sometime later she made her way down to the breakfast room, finding it empty but for Nottle.

"Good morning, Your Grace," the butler said. "May I offer my felicitations on your wedding?"

The words dripped with insincerity, but Mia chose to ignore his tone.  "Thank you, Nottle. On another note, I should like someone to install  locks on the inside of the doors in my bathing chamber. Both the doors  leading to my bedchamber and to the duke's."

"To be quite certain that I understand Your Grace," Nottle said in a  wooden voice. "You wish to have locks nailed onto both sides of the  bathing room doors? Those doors were imported from Venice, where they  graced a three-hundred-year-old palazzo."

"Precisely. Those doors," Mia confirmed.

When he didn't immediately agree, she asked, "Perhaps you would be  happier if His Grace confirmed my request?" It appeared that Nottle felt  that her rank was trumped by her sex.

"Of course not," he said, as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Mia  wasn't sure what that meant, but she disliked melted butter.

And Nottle.

She moved toward a chair to sit down, but the butler said, "If you will  forgive me, Your Grace, I have an urgent domestic conundrum on which I  would request your guidance."

"Oh," Mia said, turning back. "Of course, Nottle. What is it?"

"The late duchess' animals."

"All those glass ornaments," she said, understanding his problem. "They must be very tiresome to dust."

"I was referring not to the collection, but to her canines," he said, with a pained expression.

"Winky and Dobbie!" Mia exclaimed. "Of course I remember her dogs.  Dobbie must be getting on in years. What became of them in the last  year?"

"Generally speaking, they have been confined to the gardener's shed. And, on occasion, the potato cellar," he added.

Mia frowned. "Why on earth are they in a shed? They're used to having the run of the house."

"I would ask you to bend your eye to the carpet in this room."