Page 64 of The Duke of a Thousand Desires

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Within daysthe return of the “newlyweds” to London was remarked on in the newspapers. One magazine described the event as thus: the Duke of R and his bride tumbled into Town late last Thursday night. Husband and wife appeared so overcome by amatory spirits that they succumbed to their voluptuous passions before reaching the front door.

“’Amatory spirits?’” Simon scoffed, sipping his breakfast coffee. “’Voluptuous passions?’ What twaddle is this? And what did I tell you? We are always being watched.”

“Unfortunately this twaddle is true,” Ravenna murmured.

“It isn’t. We succumbed to our passions on the carpet, and I made certain the shutters were closed.”

Ravenna swallowed her small bite of toast. “Isolde refused to let Timpkins carry her into the house. He insisted that you would have done so, and that for the sake of authenticity, she should agree. I didn’t have the heart to explain to her that we sneaked in through the stables on our wedding night. She was doing her best. She tussled with Timpkins on the front steps before relenting.”

Simon grew dour. “We shall be observed in public even more so now. People will hope to see us tussle.”

“Perhaps we should only go out in disguise.”

“Perhaps we should not go out at all,” he said, not displeased by the notion.

“Speaking of -- you do remember we’re attending the theater tonight with Rhys?”

“I was hoping you might have decided to stay home, instead.” He put down the paper with a deep sigh. “Don’t you wish to catch up on all the letters you’ve received? You must be knee-deep in invitations.”

“Isolde is here now to help me.”

He sighed again.

He took her to the play that evening, not to prove anything, but to please her. And yet he was unable to lower his guard to enjoy the night out. What defense did one prepare against an enemy too craven to show his face?

The scents of sawdust, cologne, and candle wax pervaded the theater, offending his senses. Simon was weary of what the world considered alluring, plays and players, acts of betrayal. He considered burying his face in the dark hair tidily coiled on his wife’s neck. She was the elixir that lifted his mood and cleansed his soul.

An enrapt silence had gripped the audience. Ravenna and Rhys leaned forward in the box. She glowed in a silver-threaded taffeta gown. Her brother looked dashing in black. Damnation. Simon loved the pair of bookends more deeply than he could bear. His best friends. His world, actually, and he included Aunt Glynnis in that realm, although he was relieved she wasn’t present tonight to observe his slightest move.

The lead actress had broken into a bawdy song. He glanced around the house, diverted by the glint of a brass-handled quizzing glass raised in an adjacent box. He glared at a gentleman staring at Ravenna. Other audience members had broken into whispers at her arrival. Why? To seek a haut ton acquaintance? To witness a scandal first-hand? Or for more nefarious reasons? Perhaps they stared simply because she was lovely to behold.

He might have deciphered what lurked beneath the differential greetings and courteous smiles; he might even be able to name the play in progress, had he not been as bespelled by his wife as everyone else.

Ravenna’s attentionwandered from the stage. How many times had she stood up high on the castle turret as a child, pretending she was a princess, her brothers the besieging raiders below? Somewhere in London’s sophisticated world a genuine enemy existed.

This was no game. One of the playgoers might be the man who wanted Simon dead. One of the elegant women in attendance tonight might nurture illicit hopes for an affair with her husband. Ravenna could not close her eyes to these dangers if she wished to protect both his life and their marriage.

Innocence no longer served her. She had married a desirable man who did not care whom he provoked, nor when he did so. Her blood heated as she felt his mouth graze her shoulder in a forbidden kiss. By force of will she did not outwardly react, savoring the act in secret. As a friend, Simon knew her foibles and shortcomings. As a lover, he understood how to unlock her sexual inclinations. It might be unfair that as her husband he held unlimited power over her.

Yet there were benefits to his expert tutelage. There were delights to be discovered in a marriage neither of them had sought. She had looked forward to her night at the theater. By the end of the performance, she keenly anticipated time alone with Simon.

On the ride home she avoided his inquisitive stare lest he sense she longed to return the kiss he had stolen.

Appraising her in silence, he lounged against the carriage squabs in urbane splendor. His lips lifted at the corners in a smile of sensual awareness that emboldened her. She dampened the edges of her mouth with her tongue. Then, with a deliberation that would have shocked her a month ago, she bumped her knee against his.

“Excuse me,” he said, his eyes half-closing.

She bumped his knee again.

His eyes opened, studying her keenly in the lantern glow. “I seem to be clumsy tonight,” he murmured. “Do pardon me. We need that larger carriage, don’t you think?”

Her breasts lifted as she drew a breath. “I am in a restless mood.”

He straightened his legs. He was a large man, heavy-boned, suited better to a horse than a town carriage. But he suited Ravenna to perfection. Everything from the symmetry of his form to the kindness he showed family and servants enthralled her.

“You kissed me in the theater,” she said.