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“What?” Patricia cried appalled. “I always knew that I must try to secure a dowry for Margaret but why must I ask him to pay Papa’s debts as well?” Her eyes filled with tears. “He is such a good man and has been so very generous. More than most men in this situation. Must I truly attempt to milk him further?”
Her mother’s bottom lip trembled with indignation. “Do you wish to see me so basely reduced in society while you climb? It is not my fault your father racked up these debts, Patricia. Why must I also pay for his selfishness against our family?”
Patricia frowned. “But you shall still have status, as the mother of a duchess…”
Her mother put down the hairbrush. “Yes, I would. But how do I afford the gowns befitting the mother of a duchess? Think, Patricia. There is more to this than meets the eye.”
“I am tired,” said Patricia sharply, standing up. “I wish to go to bed. It has been a long day.”
“Of course, dearest,” said her mother, in a soothing voice. “Rest well. You have succeeded admirably.” She kissed her forehead. “Sweet dreams.”
She left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.
Patricia climbed into bed, pulling the blankets high over her head. She should be deliriously happy; she had achieved her aim. But all that she could think about as she drifted into sleep was how she was taking advantage of an honourable man who did not deserve to be treated like this at all.
The guilt was almost too much to bear. But bear it she must. She had little choice any longer. She felt as if she was being swept away on a fast moving current and could do nothing to arrest the flow.
* * *
Patricia tossed and turned in the bed, feeling the sheet beneath her slippery with sweat, as the dream swept over her, dragging her into its grip…
She was in his arms. They were closing around her, drawing her towards him, once again. She shivered with ecstasy, surrendering to the embrace, feeling it close around her as if she were being cloaked in black velvet.
His lips upon her own. Slowly, he teased her. Tantalising her, in a languorous way, his lips pulling at her own. His face, half shadowed, so she could not see his scar. His hair as dark as a raven’s wing.
She shuddered beneath his lips, feeling that strange, delicious torpor overtaking her. As if she was as heavy as an overripe fruit, about to split into pieces. A slow building of sensation burning outwards and upwards.
He pulled away, tracing the line of her lips with one thumb. She shuddered again, seeking it, pulling it into her mouth. She didn’t know why. Slowly, she suckled it. He groaned as if in agony. She closed her eyes, letting the ecstasy overtake her.
She knew that she wanted him. But she did not know what she wanted him to do. It was as if a deep fire had sprung to life in her body, a deep yearning, for something she simply could not name…
Patricia’s eyes flew open, and she sat up in the bed, ramrod straight. Her heart was hammering so hard in her chest it felt as if it would surely explode.
She blinked rapidly, trying to see in the darkness which enveloped her like a shroud. She had been dreaming a most shocking dream about the Duke. He had been kissing her, like he had in the drawing room. He had roused those same shocking sensations within her body. But within the dream they had grown even stronger, almost to a fever pitch.
Slowly, she placed a hand on her lips. What was wrong with her?
Three days. In three days, I shall be his wife and lie with him, as married couples do.
The fire was still burning in the pit of her belly. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to touch her. The longing was so strong she could barely stand it.
She might have calculatingly forced him to propose to her. But Patricia admitted to herself that she could not wait for her wedding day to arrive for entirely different reasons from the mercenary ones that were ruling her life.
