The Ugly Duchess

Page 56

“I noticed that; it’s a remarkable achievement, given your family background,” she offered.
“For every good, there is a darker side.” He sighed. If she didn’t know better, she would think that he was being melodramatic. Yet James didn’t have a melodramatic bone in his body.
Her bottom had begun to ache from the stool’s hard little seat, and she stood up. Amélie often sat there sewing while waiting for Theo to finish her baths. The stool would be much more comfortable with a padded seat. She made a mental note.
“We’ll practically live like savages in the next few days,” she said, changing the subject, “but new experiences are always worthy of note.”
James gave a bark of laughter, and before she could stop him, he walked across the room, put a hand under her knees, and scooped her up against his chest again.
“You really must stop this!” she cried. But he was pushing open the door to her bedchamber with his foot. It was very peculiar, being in his arms. She hadn’t really noticed before, but his forearms were corded with muscles. Or perhaps she had noticed.
“Daisy,” he said, his voice managing to be severe and amused at once. “Do you truly think that we will live like savages, given the splendor of your bedchamber, not to mention the rest of this house?”
Of course the room was very luxuriously appointed. The Venetian silk drapery was a particularly elegant touch. “We have no servants,” she said, pointing out the obvious. “Life without servants is terribly uncomfortable. Will you please put me down, James?”
“Not yet,” he said. “I like holding you.” Then he did the oddest thing: he bent his head and dropped a kiss on her nose.
It was as soft as the touch of a butterfly and just as fleeting. And yet somehow it jolted down her entire body.
She saw two of him for a moment: the sleek, young husband of seven years ago, and the huge pirate of now.
Any moment he would probably get that hungry look in his eyes. She began to struggle in earnest. “Put me down!”
He did.
“Here’s what I’m trying to tell you,” he said very rapidly, before she could speak. “I’m not as young as I was, Daisy. I don’t have that same sort of uncontrollable desire anymore. Yes, I would like to make love to my wife. I want to have children. But do you want to know precisely how many women Jack Hawk made love to?”
She scowled at him. “No.”
“Three,” he said. “Three. And there were many months, as many as eight, between the days when I saw one of my mistresses. That’s what they were: not lovers, but mistresses. In the last year, I slept with no one. In fact,” he said thoughtfully, “it’s been about sixteen months. Griffin and I went to China, and then we were on our way to India when we were attacked. It took months to recover from the wound to my throat.”
Theo glanced at his scar and shuddered.
“Did you hear what I said, Daisy?”
“You are not the womanizer that the Bow Street Runner described,” she said obediently.
“Along with control of anger comes control of desire. You cannot do one without the other.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “All I can say is that I don’t have any particular wish for the sort of fervent encounters that we shared when first married. I certainly do not want to make love in the drawing room, or indeed, anywhere other than in complete privacy, under the covers of a comfortable bed.”
“I don’t care to make love at all,” she said, squinting at him in an effort to see whether he appeared truthful.
“As I said, I want to have children. And I want you by my side, Daisy. I am completely in control of my appetites, and in case you’re wondering, I will not be unfaithful to you ever again. I will never take a mistress.”
Despite herself, a little flare of hope lit in Theo’s heart. It would be so nice to have James back if she didn’t have to worry about those bedroom activities.
But she didn’t quite believe him. “I’m certain that I saw something in your face earlier.”
“When?” His voice sounded sleepy, tranquil, and he seemed utterly relaxed.
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe what he really meant was that he preferred the lush rounded bodies of those mistresses of his. He would have control around her because he was used to such beautiful women.
She bit her lip.
“I can prove it to you,” he said.
“You can?”
“Take your bath, and I will act as your maid.”
“No!”
“Why not? You know that I would never force you to do anything, Theo. You must know that.” His eyes caught hers. “I may have married you under false pretenses, but I never said anything to you that I didn’t mean. When we made love, I told you everything I was thinking.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“I sang to you.”
Theo broke into a crack of laughter. The horror in his voice was so James. If he truly didn’t want to rekindle all that erotic nonsense, then she would quite like to be married to him, tattoo and all.
“Will you grow your hair again?”
He frowned. “If you wish. But no singing. I can’t sing anymore.”
“I can hear that.” It made her sad, but he was grinning, so she was the only one who cared.
“I would like your children,” he repeated, and again she could see the honesty in his eyes. “Even though you’ve become as rigid as a picket fence, you’re still my closest friend and the person I admire most in the world. And who knows? Maybe you will learn to relax.”
“No, I won’t,” she said. “You’ll understand if you live with me for a while. I take the time to think out the best way to do things, because that way, I needn’t think about that specific problem ever again.”
He shrugged again. “I’ll take your word for it.” He pulled off his coat.
“What on earth are you doing?”
“Naked, you can tell whether I’m telling the truth or not,” he said, sounding reasonable, but insane.
“You can’t simply take your clothes off . . . oh my God. Is that another scar?” She took a step toward him. This one ran from his right shoulder over his stomach. It was white and taut against skin that was the color of dark honey.
“Bayonet,” James said cheerfully. He bent over to remove his boots, and suddenly she was presented with a swell of shoulder leading down to a powerful male back. He was beautiful. That is, he was still beautiful. His body was like a powerful machine. Muscles moved smoothly under his skin in a way that made her fingers itch to touch him.
“There’s another one!” she gasped, seeing a white slash halfway around his waist.
“Saber slash,” James said, tossing off his second boot, followed by his stockings. “The souvenir of a foolish Frenchman who fancied he was fighting a duel. I shot him.”
“How many times did you nearly die?” Theo asked, hearing the faintness in her own voice.
“Only the once,” he said cheerfully. He put his hands on his breeches.
“Wait!” she said, but somehow her voice came out breathy rather than decisive, and he pulled down his breeches and smalls without hesitation.