His Duchess (His and Hers 1)

Every rigid, uncompromising inch of him.

Taviston abruptly stood up and said in that proper voice he hadn’t used with her in some time, “I find this analysis of my character tiresome. We should return.”

She hadn’t moved a muscle in minutes and suddenly realized she was shivering. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.

His hand settled lightly on her back as they started down the path leading back toward the terrace. About halfway along, they became aware of other voices.

Taviston suddenly stopped and, wrapping his arm around her waist, pulled her off to the side of the path and turned his back to it. As she opened her mouth to question him, he sealed his lips to hers.

The kiss, infused with a mysterious emotion, shocked her. His emotion, not hers. This kiss wasn’t about passion, or even desire. His lips feasted hungrily on hers as his hands cupped her face. She sensed that he searched for an answer. That he wished to steal some response from her very breath. But to what question she did not know.

Her own emotions were too exposed, too fragile at the moment for her to even think about responding in kind. Who knew what she might reveal to him if she opened up and shared herself?

As soon as someone passed them on the path, Taviston released her, confusion and disappointment shining in his eyes.

He stiffened and cleared his throat. “I apologize. I was attempting to continue our charade from earlier.”

Now he offered an apology for a kiss?

Arm and arm they walked back to the house, but for all the tension present they might have been separated by ten feet. For someone who could lie to others rather well, Taviston was horrible at lying to her.

TAVISTON STRODE THROUGH his front door after the rout and said, without looking at Halston, “I wish to be alone. See that I am not disturbed.”

Bloody hell. How he needed to be alone. He rightfully should have been angry with Victoria for her fanciful playacting at the rout. But when they had reached the garden, she had looked so pleased with herself, he hadn’t had it in him to feed the fires of his ire. So they had laughed, leaving him feeling much better about the whole scandalous incident. He had even been briefly gratified to learn that she had invented their “love story” in order to redirect attention from the gossip, just for him.

Despite that, the evening had changed completely when she had correctly figured out how his mind worked. That left him chilled to the bone. Neither Peyton nor Northfield, the two people who knew him best, had ever been able to understand his actions so well. It was singularly unnerving to have someone point out the motivation for one’s actions when one had never even thought about the reason for doing something. But Victoria had been spot on. Taviston knew it as soon as she said it. He feared scandal because he despised making mistakes and could not bear losing control of any given situation.

As he made his way towards his study, he stripped off his coat and then unbuttoned his waistcoat. Victoria’s perception had spawned numerous unknown emotions and he had had trouble sorting them out. Thinking the answer to his confusion might lie within her, he had kissed her. Her blue eyes had been unreadable, however, and her kiss devoid of feeling altogether, which had left him even more unsettled than he had been earlier. If nothing else, he had thought they would always have passion.

Throwing open the door to his study, he tossed his coat across the chair in front of his desk while he undid the uncomplicated knot in his cravat and removed that as well.

“Do you always feel the need to strip off your clothes in this room?”

Taviston started at the sound of his brother’s voice. He turned around to see Peyton sitting before the fire with a glass of brandy in his hand and the customary twinkle in his eye.

&nb

sp; “Peyton,” he greeted his brother while giving up his hope for solitude. Maybe he didn’t need to be alone right now; perhaps talking to Peyton could help him clear his mind.

He ignored the comment about his clothing and finished taking off his waistcoat, then walked to the corner of the room where a high table held a decanter of brandy and glasses. He poured himself a good measure.

“So, how was your first social event as a betrothed couple?” Peyton asked.

“Disastrous.”

Peyton’s eyebrows lifted but he didn’t speak. Taviston sank into the chair across from him. As he gazed into the fire he elaborated, “Not long after we arrived, the gossip spread that we were forced to wed because we had been caught in a compromising position.”

“God above, Taviston. Tell me you didn’t display that dejected look to your bride. Tell me you didn’t let her know you only agreed to marry her in order to stem the gossip.”

It was an odd feeling to have his younger brother be disappointed in him, but there was no mistaking Peyton’s tone.

“It is the truth, is it not? I am doing what I must. Victoria Forster is not my ideal. She’s entirely unsuitable for the position of my wife.”

Peyton swiped his hands over his face and through his hair. “Have you no sensibility? You have stated your opinion about Miss Forster’s suitability often. Pray tell, explain to me why she is so unworthy of marrying the great Duke of Taviston. The man who, by the way, debauched her.”

Taviston tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. Did Peyton understand anything? “She was raised in the country, without a mother or father. She doesn’t know anyone in Society. I highly doubt she knows how to run a household of this size and I can say with conviction that she surely wouldn’t know where to begin to host a ball, a soiree, or even a simple dinner party. She’s not at all the kind of woman I was hoping to marry, Peyton.”

His brother snorted. “I had no idea you were only looking for a wife to perform such services for you. I can only assume since you left out providing you with an heir, you believe Miss Forster capable of performing that duty.”