Disciplining the Duchess

But she wouldn’t dwell on such thoughts, not walking out in public with him. He nodded to a pair of acquaintances and made a deeper bow to a friend’s wife. How could he feel so at ease and behave with such cool politeness in every situation? She felt she might suffocate in the tumult of chattering, milling people. She tightened her hand on his arm and he looked down at her in sympathy.

“It’s a crush, isn’t it?”

She nodded as another couple brushed by them with murmured greetings.

“This is the place one goes to see and be seen,” His Grace said. “It’s not nearly as crowded now as in summertime.”

“How do you remember them all, and recall their titles and connections?”

He shrugged. “It is necessary to remember. You will learn them too, in time. It is not hard if you apply yourself.”

He made it sound so simple. He also made it sound obligatory. “I shall never get used to such a large social circle,” she said. “Nor such great crowds.”

“Did your brother never walk with you in the park? Or the young men who courted you during your seasons?”

“No one courted me.”

“No one? Surely you exaggerate.”

What worried her most about His Grace was that he seemed to have no grasp of what a social failure she was. “Did you court many ladies here?” she asked to change the subject.

“A few.”

“I imagine you were a dashing suitor.”

He pursed his lips. “My dear, I only courted one woman with any seriousness and she denied me in the end.”

Denied him? The Duke of Courtland? “I can hardly believe it,” Harmony said. “She must have been mad to do such a thing.”

“This from the woman who has repeatedly tried to extricate herself from our betrothal.”

A flush stole across her cheeks. “We are in a different situation. If you courted this lady honestly, how could she resist your attentions?”

“You are kind to flatter me, but she fell in love with another. We did…not suit.”

She and His Grace did not suit either, at least by society’s standards. Harmony felt somber, almost mournful. The duke was bold and wealthy enough to have lived a life full of adventures and romantic relationships—including one that made his voice sound oddly tight.

“Did you love her terribly?”

“Harmony,” he murmured.

“If she was the only one you courted—”

“In the end, we did not suit,” he said firmly, the edge in his voice warning against further questions. “I am utterly content in my choice of wife.” He squeezed her hand where it rested on his great coat. She believed he was content, the foolish man. He was so certain all would be well, based mainly on his intention that it be so.

As for her, she was coming to adore him far more than she should. She wanted him in a selfish, breathless way, at least when she listened to the cravings of her heart. But when her mind considered day-to-day life with him…to include marital matters… Well. Husbands and wives shared intimacies she knew very little about, except that they were very intimate. She would be expected to do intimate things with him. She still remembered his commanding kiss in Lady Darlington’s parlor. How shocked she’d been, and yet how intrigued…

She peeked up at him as he guided her through a particularly dense group of gentlemen and ladies. It was difficult to look at him now, so proper and controlled, and imagine he was the same man who’d taken her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers, and grasped her close and held her right against him as he’d kissed her…

A throng of young dandies stepped out of their way and they nearly collided with another couple as groups pressed in from both sides. She felt His Grace stiffen. A young woman with large, beautiful eyes and dark hair stared at the duke while the mild looking fellow beside her blushed behind his tawny beard.

“Your Grace,” said the woman with a slight curtsy. “How wonderful to see you. You look well.”

“As do you.” His voice sounded as taut as his stance. “Lord Wembley,” he said to acknowledge her husband. “Good to see you both in town.”

“We hear felicitations are in order,” said the man, his gaze settling on Harmony. Court drew her forward and made the introductions. Lord and Lady Wembley were apparently Hertfordshire neighbors, and the lady a childhood friend. Harmony felt a wave of jealousy. His Grace was affected by this woman. Around them, people stared in that delighted way they had when something awkward was going on. She realized with a shock that this must be the woman who’d rejected his attentions.

Harmony felt in a panic to get away, but the duke stood and made polite, inane conversation another minute or two, until the crowd made it necessary to bid the couple farewell.

“Come,” he said, gathering Harmony close. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let us extricate ourselves from this press and find some fresh air.”

He led her through milling groups and lines of curricles and carriages to a less populated area of the park. He found a bench on a slight rise and beckoned her to seat herself. She drew her pearl-trimmed slippers beneath her skirts and pulled her cloak closer around her in the chill air of the fall day.

“Now,” he said with a sigh. “Perhaps we can collect our wits.”

“Those of us with wits.” She laughed far too loudly at her own joke. Hush, Harmony. Be ladylike. Don’t cackle out silly jests.

But he was smiling, not frowning. The problem was, his smile looked wistful. She didn’t want to ask but she had to know. “That was her, wasn’t it? The lady you courted. With the dark hair and violet eyes.”

“Yes, Lady Wembley. Growing up, I knew her as Gwen.” He scratched twice at the side of his neck and his nostrils flared the slightest bit. “You will hear the tale sooner or later, so you might as well hear it from me.”

“There is a tale?”

“Only that we were always meant for marriage, but in the end she chose not to accept me. Or rather, she accepted another before I could officially offer my hand. In any case, it was a very public and humiliating jilt.”

“She is beautiful, but not at all above you. I cannot imagine why she rejected you.”

He looked over at her, lounging back on one arm. “You are supposed to be jealous, dear. You are supposed to tell me how plain and feckless she is.”

“I am the one who is plain and feckless. Well…what does feckless mean?”

He smiled again, but it looked more real this time. “It means unthinking and lacking in vitality. In other words, the exact opposite of you.” His words sparked a pleased, proud joy inside her, even if young ladies weren’t supposed to be too thoughtful and vital. His eyes were warm, laughing almost. How stern he could look, the maddening man, while his eyes laughed the whole while. She wished he would lean closer and kiss her. They were in a secluded area of the park, but she’d lay odds they were being watched by more than a few pairs of eyes. He fussed with the trim at his cuff and looked back at her. “At any rate, handsomeness and beauty is skin deep. A strong marriage isn’t

built on appearances. There must be a foundation of practical matters.”

“Like similar circumstances and temperament?”

“Exactly.” He cursed under his breath. “I mean, no. Now you’ve made me use inappropriate language.”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

He tilted her chin up until their gazes met and locked. “You are not sorry in the least, and we both know it. Once we are wed, these impertinent challenges of yours will have consequences. Do you understand?”

She leaned into the heat of his palm, staring into those eyes that promised as much wickedness as propriety. Perhaps he whispered her name or perhaps she only imagined it, but then his lips pressed to hers in a sweet, chaste kiss. She sighed as he pulled away, and with a small groan he kissed her again, then again. She felt alarm—anyone might see them—but she didn’t want him to stop. What was this terrifying pull between them? When he got too close, when he touched or kissed her, it was as if she lost all sense of reason. He drew away and muttered “Blast,” then scowled at her. “See, you’ve done it again.”

She touched her lips and grinned. “Is ‘blast’ a curse?”

“You are a curse. I always behaved impeccably in public until you came along. Let my mother hear that I was pawing you in the park. She will take me apart at the seams.”

“Your mother seems an overbearing sort,” said Harmony. “I cannot imagine your life as a boy.”

His jaw tightened. “I understood what was expected of me at a very young age. My mother only bore one child, you see. I was the only chance at continuing the Courtland line.”

“So they raised you strictly, without allowing any wildness or joy?”

“No, there was joy. Surely there was. But more of lessons, discipline and expectations. Even on Christmas mornings I did lessons.” He shook his head with a soft laugh. “Funny that I remember that…and whippings in my father’s study. I got my fair share. To this day I can’t step into that room without suffering a chill.”

“Ah,” said Harmony.

He frowned with one raised brow. “Ah? What do you believe you’ve discovered about me?”