This Duchess of Mine(72)

Jemma felt herself growing pink, remembering their agreement. “Blindfolded?”

His smile caused a fever in her blood. Without saying a word, he toppled her into his lap. But there was something different about his kiss, she thought dimly, something savage and despairing, something—

“Elijah,” she said, struggling against the strength of his arms. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

“I’m just writing a difficult note,” he said, kissing her eyebrow. “It has made me ill-tempered, and I apologize.”

“Oh.”

“So our chess game begins tonight, Duchess. At eleven o’clock. I will give you one hour to try to win, blindfolded or no.” His teeth showed very white when he smiled. “And then I shall win.”

Jemma sniffed and turned up her nose. “Pride goeth before a fall, Duke.”

“You will fall before me,” he said, his smile a blatant challenge. “Backwards.”

Her breath caught at the blatant masculinity of him. The two French lovers she’d taken, years ago now, had both been secretive and circumspect, thrilled by the fact that the woman called the most beautiful Englishwoman in Paris had chosen them. They lavished attention on her.

They didn’t command. They weren’t arrogant or possessive. They were grateful.

One could say they weren’t dukes, and leave it at that. But the title didn’t explain things, Jemma thought. The title didn’t explain Elijah, and the way he was looking at her.

“I just don’t understand,” she whispered, saying it again, even though he’d explained before. “You let me go so easily, years ago. What changed?”

“It wasn’t easy to allow you to go.” The muscles in his jaw stood out. “I followed you to Gravesend, did you know that?”

She shook her head. “You said goodbye the night before, if one could call it that. I remember exactly what you said. If it was my decision to go to France, then you would not stand in my way.”

“I couldn’t sleep. Finally, I got in a carriage for Gravesend, arrived at dawn, and questioned the captain to make sure his ship was tight and safe. Then I waited.”

“You didn’t!”

“I stood on the pier where you couldn’t see me. You—”

“I cried,” she said.

“You were crying as you walked onto the ship,” he said flatly. “I knew then that I had ruined everything, ruined our lives. But you had the right to go. It was your choice, and I had to give you that choice.”

“I wish you hadn’t,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“If I hadn’t, I’d be no better than my father.”

“I don’t see that. You could have told me you were sorry…I would have stayed.”

“That would be to treat you as my possession. It would have been unethical.”

She started to laugh, caught against his chest again, listening to his heart. “And now?”

“But now you’re mine,” he said, growling it. His arms tightened. “And Jemma…”

“Yes?”

“You needn’t wear clothing tonight.”

The smile in his eyes was pure arrogance. “I just don’t understand,” she said, staring up at him.

“Maybe I never will understand. What if I said that I wanted to play chess with Villiers tonight instead of you?”

There was an instant flare deep in his eyes. “Don’t think you will ever walk away from me again.” His voice was soft, low.



Jemma had supper in her room, followed by a bath. Two problems came to her mind, and both stemmed from her memories of the first weeks of their marriage. In retrospect their intimacies had been, well, dull. She might not have had many or lengthy affaires in Paris, but to her mind, one learned most about the bed from talking to other women, anyway. And she had learned a great deal.

But meanwhile Elijah had dismissed his mistress and stayed at home by himself. Would he abhor her for the knowledge she’d gained? What should she do, and when should she pretend ignorance?

What if he became enraged, disgusted, thinking her nothing more than a light-skirt? She’d heard many times of women kissing men intimately, for example, though she had certainly never felt the impulse herself. But it felt different when she thought of Elijah. Even thinking of him in the baths made her feel flushed all over.

She would—yes, she would like to—

She couldn’t. The hard-headed side of her brain, the side that had successfully negotiated the intrigues that characterized Versailles, knew it deep down. Unless she played this adroitly, Elijah would feel a prickle of discomfort, a prickle of unease.