Drenched With a Duke

  She would recognise that crest anywhere.

  “I left it here for you to read,” came Caershire’s voice, and it sounded as though it was coming from a long way away. “Did you not find it?”

  Hardly daring to hope, but with no desire to be disappointed, Teresa stared at the paper. It was folded in two, nothing more. It was not large, and it could not possibly have a long message entrusted to its centre.

  Teresa swallowed, and dashed away the tear that slid down her cheek. She had to read it; she just had to. Whatever he had written, it could not be worse than the misery that she felt at this moment.

  Her trembling fingers opened it up to read:

  Dearest Teresa,

  I must go, and I did not want to wake you – we have our whole lives to spend mornings in each other’s arms, I hope. The money is for Helena and your father; send it as soon as you can. I cannot bear the thought of their hunger.

  I will return soon. And I think – blast it, I know that I am falling in love with you.

  Your Caershire.

  Teresa had forgotten to breathe. When she came to the end of that note, her lungs forced a deep breath, and she stared, almost dazed at the lines.

  He wanted to stay. The money was for Helena. And he was falling in love with her.

  A smile – a smile of relief, of joy, of deep happiness, of confusion – it was a muddle of emotions that could only be expressed in one way.

  Alexander, Duke of Caershire, was falling in love with her. With her, Teresa Metcalfe, courtesan. Despite everything that he knew about her, despite everything that she had told him, he was falling in love with her.

  And I think – blast it, I know that I am falling in love with you.

  Teresa’s heart was singing, and it was a song of love.

  “Caershire,” she whispered, her fingers caressing the note. “I am falling in love with you, too.”

  “You are the one that I love,” Alexander breathed. Teresa jumped; he had crept up behind her and was now only inches from her. She could feel the heat from his body, and though it stirred her body that was desperate for his touch, it also stirred something deeper. Something that had not been touched before; a part of her that desperately wanted affection, and devotion, and to not just receive, but give.

  “Y-You love me?” Teresa asked softly.

  Alexander knew but one way to respond to that question. Dipping his head down, he lowered his lips down to her own unprotesting ones, and poured out the passion that was singing through his body into her one.

  For a moment, he thought that she was going to pull away; her arms moved and her shoulders shifted, but he wrapped his arms around her and she did not struggle, lost in the kiss, her lips parting and allowing him entrance into her sweet mouth.

  Alexander could have kissed her forever, but it may have only been a few seconds, he could not tell.

  Teresa pulled away from him slowly. “You rascal, Caershire,” she said, eyes hazy with desire. “I wanted to say that I loved you first.”

  They laughed, shyly and gloriously happy, clinging to each other in the middle of the room.

  “You do know what this means, do you not?” Alexander whispered, and Teresa shook her head. “My lady, you are about to become the Duchess of Caershire.”

  He watched the shocked expression fill her eyes, and her jaw drop open.

  “Is that your way of proposing marriage to me, Caershire?” She grinned up at him, hands entwining themselves into his hair. “And to think, I was just getting ready to come and find you.”

  Joy surged up in Alexander’s heart. “You – you were coming to find me?”

  “Well, of course I was.” Teresa was smiling up at him as though it was the most natural thing in the world; that everyone who knew him could not help but like him, love him. It made him feel powerful beyond description. “Alexander, you are the most incredible man that I have ever met. To think that I could continue life without being at your side – nay, it is unthinkable. I was going to force you to love me.”

  “So . . .” Alexander almost did not want to voice the question aloud, just in case there was any chance that she could say no – but he had to hear it, he had to be sure. “So, you will marry me?”

  Teresa’s eyes sparkled just as brightly as her diamond earbobs as she replied: “I was drenched with a Duke, and now I will marry him.”

  He tightened his grip around her waist and poured down kisses onto her face.

  “Alexander!” She cried, giggling, trying to fend off his attack – but then he caught her lips with his own, and the kiss deepened, communicating all the longing and desire that he had been holding back since he had stepped into the room.

  “Alexander,” Teresa murmured, and her nimble fingers were already pushing back his greatcoat, fumbling with the buttons of his waistcoat, tugging at the cravat that was tied tight.

  His own fingers joined hers, and in a moment the cravat was gone, thrown to the floor. All thought of control, of calm, of slow and gentle lovemaking was over. Their desire for each other, the frustrations of the misunderstandings, the fear of being alone in this emotional whirlwind: all of that could be poured out onto each other’s bodies as they enjoyed the further intimacy of their engaged status.

  “I love you,” he murmured, wrenching off his shirt and struggling with the buttons of his breeches. “I – goodness, that was fast!”

  His eyes had alighted once again on the completely nude form of Teresa Metcalfe, who shrugged and smiled naughtily.

  “I have more practice than you getting in and out of clothes,” she said with an arched eyebrow, and as she reached out to touch him, she hesitated. “That…that does not bother you, does it?”

  Alexander stared at her, and drew her naked body into his own unclothed embrace. “Teresa, what you have done in your past is of no concern to me. All that matters to me is that I am your entire future.”

  She kissed him hungrily then, and Alexander felt the swelling of his heart matched by the swelling of his member as it felt the warmth of her skin against his own, the tremble of her body, the scratch of her nipple across his chest.

  He laid her down on the bed and pushing aside her legs to reveal that secret place, plunged himself into her and watched the shock and jolt of surprise mingled with pleasure wash across her face.

  “Take me,” she whispered, and Alexander needed no further encouragement. He leaned over her, thrusting slowly at first, one hand holding him steady and the other playing with the skin around her hip, that sensitive spot behind her ear, and marvelling in the way that her body responded so perfectly to every movement.

  It was all that he could do to keep himself steady, slowly building the rhythm, slowly drawing out every drop of delight that he could from her body. And then his questing fingers found a spot just above where he had entered her, and Teresa cried out his name as he kneaded it faster, faster than the movement of his hips though it was strenuous work not to just release himself into her as she climaxed and tightened around him.

  “My word, you are good at that,” she whispered lazily, eyelids fluttering. “Are you sure that no one ever taught you that?”

  Alexander laughed, and brought the silky wet fingers to her breast, and she arched once again as he twisted her nipple slowly with the wetness. “No, but I am sure there is a great deal that you could teach me.”

  Teresa was not given a chance to respond: he could no longer hold out for his own pleasure, and resting on his upper arms as he placed his hands on her breasts, he slowly released his control, allowing himself to thrust faster and faster, deeper and deeper into her. As his fingers clenched around her breasts, her own fingers clutched at his back, scratching at him as her second climax shot through her and he blew into her, pouring the desire and love that had been building into her warm and shuddering depths.

  They breathed deeply and shakily, and Alexander caught her eye with a smile.

  “If you say that you could do that every day,” she warned, “
I shall scream.”

  Alexander dipped his head down, and kissed that soft skin below her ear as she shivered. “Promise?”

  9

  “You have to promise,” Teresa said seriously, staring at her companion. “You have to promise that you will not leave me.”

  She hoped to stare him into seriousness, but she did not seem to be able to manage it.

  Alexander laughed. “Teresa, I am not going to abandon you with a lion, come now! It is hardly a promise that needs to be made, you will be absolutely fine.”

  But Teresa glared at him. They were standing in the huge hallway of Loxwich Park, the Caershire family seat, and it had been overwhelming the day before, when Teresa had arrived. Now, knowing the guest that was expected at any moment, it was terrifying.

  Teresa smoothed her fingers over her light green gown. It was her best, even after its dip in the Thames, and despite Alexander’s offer to purchase a new one, she knew that this was the perfect dress in which to meet her.

  If she ever turned up, of course.

  “Mother is always late,” Alexander said calmly, as though he could read her mind. “You cannot make an entrance if you are always on time, when people expect you.”

  Teresa raised an eyebrow, and then resumed her pacing.

  “Alexander, I have been thinking – thinking about my sister.”

  He nodded. “I thought that you would be. ‘Tis only natural, the day before your wedding, to consider your family. They will be arriving soon, do not fret.”

  Teresa bit her lip. “That is the thing. I do not – I cannot see how they will be. Father is so unwell, Helena may not wish to move him. She will not be able to, they have not the funds to move him in a comfortable manner.”

  Alexander shrugged. “Then we will send a carriage. It will not take long to reach them, and they will be here before the morning is out.”

  She stared at him. Was she ever to truly become accustomed to this much wealth? When there was a problem, it could always be fixed by throwing money, or servants, or influence at it. Nothing was too difficult for the house of Caershire.

  “And then,” she said delicately, aware of just how large her request was. “After the wedding, could Helena and my father . . . well, perhaps stay somewhere here? There must be an old cottage somewhere with no one living in it, and it could do with a little upkeep. It would give my sister the freedom not to work, you see, and – ”

  “Teresa,” Alexander said seriously, staring at her with a slow smile. “Do you really think that I would allow your sister to consider working herself?”

  The nerves of meeting his mother were intermingled with fretting over her sister, a long-formed habit, and she stared at him uncomprehending. “You would not?”

  Alexander shook his head. “My love, they are my family now, my own flesh and blood. Helena will never need to work in her life, if she does not choose to. Your sister and father will want for nothing.”

  Teresa resumed her pacing. “You do not know my sister like I do. Helena is proud, she may not want to accept our help.”

  She could not see him from where she paced, head down, but she heard his voice and it softened her heart and slowed its frantic pace.

  “Whatever we can do for them, we will always do. They are family.”

  Teresa smiled to herself. It was almost difficult for her to comprehend; just four weeks ago she did not know Alexander from Adam, and now here she was, about to be married the very next day. An unconscious smile rose, unbidden, across her face.

  And then their nightly lovemaking would be acceptable. Not that it had stopped them losing themselves to passion and pleasure almost every day either.

  Her eyes flickered over to Alexander, who was lounging sedately in a chair. His strong jaw and dark olive complexion seemed perfectly suited here, the seat of all the Dukes of Caershire before him. She could see him in every oil painting in every room: his eye there, the turn of his nose there, the way that he held himself in that grand portrait over the dining table.

  Teresa shivered. Here were generations of Caershires, all making respectable marriages, all with ladies of good family and fortune: and here was she. Teresa Metcalfe, fisherman’s daughter.

  “Are you quite sure,” she began.

  “Yes,” interrupted Alexander with a smile.

  Teresa scowled at him. “You do not even know what I am going to ask.”

  But she could barely hold the scowl for more than a few seconds, as his smile melted her heart. Honestly, would she ever be able to resist that look?

  “You are worried,” said Alexander quietly, rising from his seat and walking over to her, “that you do not have the – goodness, I suppose, the ‘breeding’, for want of a better word – to be here. And you would be right.”

  Teresa’s scowl returned. “Right?”

  Alexander wrapped his arms around her, and he grinned, twisting up Teresa’s insides until she could barely look at him without wanting to kiss him.

  “You are better than all of them,” he whispered. “All they had was breeding; nothing more. You have determination, and drive, and desire. You will do whatever it takes to protect your family, and now you will do whatever it takes to protect this family. I would say that is an asset worth having.”

  She could not help but soften. “But are you sure?”

  He smiled, and shook his head. Lowering his mouth to her ear, he whispered, “Do you think that I would have done what I did to you last night if I was not sure?”

  A flutter of memory whispered through Teresa’s mind, and she shivered in joyful remembrance – and hopeful anticipation.

  “I hope that we will do it again tonight,” she whispered, and brought her hands around his neck, leaning up for a kiss.

  Their lips were but inches away when the front door slammed open.

  “Ah,” said a haughty voice. “I see that you are practising for tomorrow night.”

  Teresa flung herself away from Alexander, heat rising in her face, to stare at the newly arrived voice.

  It belonged to a woman, but like no woman who she had ever met. She was tall, taller than most men, with her hair piled up by jewelled pins and a cascading pearl string glistened down to her waist. Her eyes were sharp, like a hawk’s, and she had affixed them on her son.

  “Ah, so this is the way that you address your mother now?” She raised an eyebrow as she stopped before them as they snapped apart. “In complete silence and awe? Well, I must say that I approve. It is nice to feel the power of one’s entrance into a room.”

  Teresa’s heart was beating fast, and her mouth was dry. This woman – nay, matriarch – was surely a power to be reckoned with. What would she say if she knew about her past? Would she stop the wedding? Would she prevent her from seeing Alexander ever again?

  But one glance at him calmed her fears, and slowed her heart. He was smiling.

  “Good morning, Mother,” he said, kissing her lightly on the cheek and taking her hand. “And you know quite well how marvellous it is to see you, so do not pretend that you cannot see the joy in my face.”

  The Dowager Duchess of Caershire stared at him for a moment, and sniffed. “Well, I cannot say that I do, but if you insist that it is there then who am I to contradict you?”

  Alexander laughed, and his other hand found Teresa’s. “My love, may I introduce Arabella Stewart, the Dowager Duchess of Caershire. Mother, I would like to introduce to you my bride, and the next Duchess of Caershire. Miss Teresa Metcalfe.”

  Her heart pounding once more, and her hand feeling uncomfortable sweaty with anxiety, Teresa dropped into the deepest curtsey she could muster without tipping over.

  The older woman’s eyes did not leave her for a second, and Teresa raised hers only to be met with a stern gaze.

  “Hmmm.”

  Teresa found that she was holding her breath, and not even a squeeze of her hand from Alexander was enough to calm her. This was it, then: this was the moment that her fate was decided. For what sort of
man would go against his mother’s wishes? If Arabella, Dowager Duchess of Caershire, took a disliking to her future daughter-in-law, well – she would simply cease to become her future daughter-in-law.

  “Good morrow, Miss Metcalfe,” the Dowager Duchess said sternly.

  Teresa found her voice, but it was a struggle. “Good – good morrow, my lady.”

  A stern eyebrow was raised. “Is it? Is it indeed?”

  She flushed. She should have known that it was all too good to be true: meeting Alexander, being saved by him and falling in love with him. There was, of course, going to be something that stood in their way.

  And she could think of nothing more substantial to stand in their way than a fearsome mother-in-law. Alexander dropped her hand and took a slight step back – the coward, she could not help but think.

  “So. This is the young lady who threw herself into your path, and claimed you.” The Dowager Duchess sniffed. “How . . . interesting.”

  Her unyielding gaze swept up and down Teresa, and she felt her flush deepening. Really, it was too much to bear. To think that she was going to lose Alexander in the next five minutes, and she was just standing here, letting it happen!

  “‘Tis indeed an interesting story,” Teresa found herself saying, as she tried not to notice her fiancé’s broad grin just beyond her future mother-in-law. “I would love to tell it to you, sometime.”

  “I have already heard it,” snapped the Dowager Duchess. “And I must say, I did not think that it would be my son, of all the noblemen of England, who would end up being seduced by a harlot.”

  The word stung in the air, and Teresa glanced desperately at Alexander, who shook his head slightly to indicate his non-involvement. There was bile growing in her throat and she felt like she was going to be sick.

  This was how it ended, then. She had taken on the job to protect her family, and now she would be returning to them, carried by a different kind of disgrace.

  And then, a sort of madness overcame her.