Page 6 of His Duchess to Remember

He might yet be cruel. I might be in terrible danger.

As if he could sense her fear, he slowly lowered himself to the floor, sinking to his knees right in front of her. His hand lifted… and she flinched, her eyes scrunching shut.

Shock rippled through her as she felt his thumb gently caress her cheek, her ears tingling as he whispered, “Relax, lass.”

It was a command, however soft, and her entire being obeyed. She could not explain why or how, but with those words and the light touch of his thumb and the strange comfort of him kneeling before her, her nerves began to recede, her shoulders sinking down, the tension leaving her body, each breath coming more easily.

“Aye, like that. Relax.” His whispered command came again.

She still could not open her eyes, but she was not afraid anymore. She had chosen to trust him, to rest her hopes for children upon him, and though he might have looked like a beast, there was tenderness in his hands.

Eyes still closed, she tried to imagine his expression. Was he staring at her with curiosity? Pity? Impatience? She could not feel anything cruel or cold radiating from him. All she could feel was that reassuring touch, soon joined by his other hand coming up to cradle the side of her neck, his other thumb gently caressing the sensitive spot right in front of her ear.

His palm was rough, his touch was not.

All of a sudden, she was aware of him leaning in, the pressure of the air between them changing.

What is he doing? What is he—Oh…

A gasp caught in her throat as his lips brushed hers in a slow graze, neither hurried nor forceful. Instead, there was a question in that first kiss: Would you like me to continue?

Despite their agreement, she got the immediate sense that he would leave if she asked him to. He was guiding the kiss, but whether the night proceeded as planned was up to her. At least, that was how it felt.

His mouth caught hers again, his kiss slow and soft and inquisitive, the stirring press of his full lips and the slight roughness of his stubble commanding any residual tension to relax. Before she knew it, she was kissing him back, hesitant at first, learning from the ebb and flow of his lips, with him as her patient teacher.

And as her confidence grew, she tentatively brought her hands up, feeling her way to the broad ledge of his shoulders, steadying herself as she sank deeper into her first kiss. Shared with a man she did not love, did not even know, but was precisely the husband she needed.

A man who, it seemed, truly intended to keep his promises.

CHAPTER THREE

Five Years Later…

Huntfield House looked as glorious as ever in the balmy summer sunshine, the golden sandstone gleaming, the well-kept grounds alive with the thrum of industrious bees and fluttering butterflies and darting dragonflies.

Rabbits poked their heads out of their burrows while the two lazy household dogs dozed in the shade of the grand oak tree that stood alone on the main lawn.

Parasol in hand, Octavia lolled beside the reflecting pool at the edge of the ornamental gardens, trailing her fingertips through the cool water.

“Careful!” Frances cried, a moment too late.

A cold splash of water sparkled upward, catching Octavia in the face.

“Robert!” Frances groaned. “Apologies, Octavia.”

Octavia just laughed and wiped the droplets from her face before turning a sly eye toward Robert Everhart. At five years old, the boy was the very picture of his father—and Octavia’s cousin—Dominic, though he had all of the mischief of his oldest sister, Harriet. Stepsister, really, but the distinction was always ignored.

“He will not stop. He is being very annoying today,” muttered his other sister, Charlotte.

At seven years old, she was becoming quite the little lady. Proper and prim… until it came to riding ponies. Then, she transformed into a wild and fearless thing who grinned at her mother’s worries and simply rode faster.

“I do not mind,” Octavia reassured. “In truth, I needed it; it is feverishly hot today.”

Lounging around the reflecting pool beneath canvas awnings and parasols were Octavia, Evelyn, Frances, and Joan, along with Charlotte, and Joan’s daughter, Jasmine. Harriet had wanted to be there to enjoy the ladies-only occasion, but she had been waylaid on her latest adventure in Ireland and would not be back for another week or two.

Meanwhile, there were four boys playing in the reflecting pool: Robert, then Joan and Laurence’s twin sons, Edward and Kelvin, and Octavia’s beloved Simon.

At four years old, he was the sunshine of her life, and the purest joy of her existence. Her raison d’être.