teasing words. When he was with her, the mundane seemed special, the ordinary important. He, a man who had always secretly mocked sentimentality, found himself feeling a great desire to be with Dorothea both in and out of bed.
Was that love? Carter sighed heavily.
Dorothea’s eyes fluttered open. For a moment she stared up at him blankly, then she smiled as she recovered her wits. “I received your message saying you would be out this evening. I tried to wait for you, but couldn’t keep my eyes open. Is it very late?”
Carter shook his head. Leaning close, he planted a kiss on her lips, a light, fluttering, brush against her softness. Pulling back far enough to see into her eyes, he studied her in silence for a long moment, his heart and mind rioting with revelations.
“I love you.”
He said it plainly, quietly. No flourishes, no long speeches, no fancy, florid rhetoric. Simply, sincerely, and from the heart.
Her brow furrowed in confusion and he panicked, worried that after all this time he had done it wrong, that she needed a more passionate declaration, a more romantic setting. Should he have brought flowers? Jewelry?
Lacking any sentimental gifts, and the opportunity to obtain them at this point, he repeated the words. “I love you, Dorothea. With all of my being and all of my heart.”
Her eyes were fully open now, round and wide with wonder. Carter wasn’t sure if he had ever seen them so hopeful, so filled with joy.
“Oh, goodness.”
She lifted her face toward him and their lips met. Softly, slowly at first, but then with a growing urgency. She was so beautiful, fitting in his arms so perfectly, his heart so completely.
They made love slowly, reverently. Every touch, every kiss held greater emotion, more meaning. There was passion, tempting and exciting, but it was tempered with an aching sweetness, a tenderness that came from the heart. From both their hearts.
When it was time for their bodies to be joined, Carter rolled on his back and urged Dorothea to climb on top of him. He wanted to give her the power of control, he wanted her to know that he would surrender himself completely to her.
The tips of her luscious breasts brushed against his chest. The sensual abrasion made his cock stand up harder as he ached to possess her. Her eyes were wicked and sultry when she lowered herself, sheathing his hardness fully inside. Wrapping his arms around her waist, Carter encouraged her movements, urging her to ride him hard and fast.
She braced herself on her knees and followed his silent commands, sweeping them both in a mindless passion. He tried to hold back his climax, to prolong the moment so he could capture it and hold it in his heart forever, but she was a temptress, undulating her hips urgently, pushing them both toward an explosive end.
The world receded to the edge of consciousness, straining the limits of his self-control. And then she leaned forward and whispered in his ear.
“I love you, Carter.”
Release pounded through him. His hands dropped to her hips and he held her in place as he ground himself against her. She cried out, and he realized she was climaxing, too. He did nothing to stifle the shout of pleasure that came from his throat, and she joined him with her own keening cry.
Afterward, she slumped forward, a faint, drowsy smile on her lips. He rolled to his side, then turned and laid his head beside hers on the pillow.
“I never dared to imagine it could be like this between us,” Dorothea whispered. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, suddenly looking embarrassed. “I was such a fool to think that passion was all one needed in a marriage.”
“Well, it was your passion that first intrigued me,” he admitted with a grin. “And that thoroughly delectable first kiss.”
“Carter!”
He cupped her face in his hands so he could look deeply into her eyes. “But you also told me that in the very best of circumstances, love comes after marriage. How lucky we are, dearest, to now be in those circumstances.”
Her eyes turned soft, almost dreamy. “Somehow we managed to find our way into each other’s hearts.”
“Rather miraculous, is it not?”
“Yes, all things considered.”
Her arms closed around his neck and he shifted his position so her head fell easily against his shoulder. Carter felt an almost obscene degree of contentment as he drifted off to sleep, but his mind was not totally at peace. He knew that in the morning, the problem of Major Gregory Roddington would still be with him, haunting and complex. Along with a phenomenal hangover.
Something was wrong with the duke, Carter decided as he glanced at his father. He had come into the morning room after Carter and Dorothea made their way down for a late breakfast, and joined them at the table. Though they had been living under the same roof, it was the first time the three of them had taken a meal together.
Beyond inquiring if the nasty business with Roddington had been concluded, the duke contributed nothing to the conversation, despite Dorothea’s attempts to engage him. Instead, he gazed off in the distance, occasionally lifting his silver spoon and stirring it absently in his cup of tea.
Tea he had requested, but didn’t drink. Because the duke disliked tea.
His father’s obvious unease could of course be attributed to his distress over the Roddington mess, but Carter felt there was more to this agitation. And it worried him.
Carter knew his eyes were a trifle bloodshot, in part due to his heavy drinking last night, and he lacked the proper amount of sleep, thanks to several bouts of robust lovemaking with his darling wife, the memory of which brought a genuine, tender smile to his face. But even in this less than stellar condition, Carter could see that something was amiss with his father.
He caught the eye of the lone footman standing near the sideboard and nodded dismissively. The servant bowed and departed. Free from any prying ears, Carter turned to his father.
“Was there something you wished to tell me, sir?”
That brought the duke’s head up. His expression shifted from denial to something startlingly different as he searched his son’s face. “Actually, Carter, there is something.”
The sound of a chair scraping against the hardwood floor distracted both men.
“I believe I need to consult with Cook about the evening’s menu,” Dorothea interjected. She rose hastily from her seat, but Carter reached over and clasped her arm.
“No. I want you to stay. You are my wife. You have every right to hear what my father has to say.”
For an instant there was a flash of defiance in the duke’s eyes, but it soon faded, dulled by a quiet acceptance. “Carter’s right. Please stay, Dorothea.”
Dorothea resumed her seat and the duke continued. “I’ve been pondering it all night, trying to determine what Roddington hopes to gain by this nonsense, and I’ve yet to arrive at a sensible conclusion. From all accounts he is an honorable soldier, a man admired by many.”
“Roddy is doing this, Your Grace, because he believes that you are his father,” Dorothea said softly.
The duke’s fingers gripped the edge of the dining table. “And what do you believe?”
“That someone is misinformed as to the truth,” she answered.
The duke glowered. “Me?”
Carter reached protectively toward his wife. “Dorothea is not accusing you of anything, sir.” He cleared his throat. “But the question needs to be asked. Is there any possibility this could be true?”
The faraway look returned to the duke’s eyes. For several ticks of the clock he stared at Carter without any discernable expression on his face.
“Actually, I did know Emily Roddington,” the duke finally admitted, his voice tinged with its customary sharpness. “We had a very complicated, unique relationship. It began as a friendship. An unlikely one, I’ll grant you, but we were both lonely and unhappy, and misery does love company.
“She was a sweet woman, well, a girl really. Kind, thoughtful, compassionate.” The edge was gone now, replaced by a wistful tone. “I was going through a difficult time in my life. Your mother and I were at odds over
