like wildfire.
So, where had he found her?
And where was her other husband?
And more important, why had he married her?
No one ever contemplated he’d married for love. Hargreave’s profligate manner of living rather nullified any such fantasy. And while the duke and Lady Caroline had grown up together, friendship, too, was hardly a reason for marriage.
Which left only the likelihood that Simon had sired a child.
But if Caroline had been married, whose was it?
Not only would everyone be counting on their fingers, but the entire ton would be waiting with bated breath to see the child.
Simon, of course, was aware of all the rumors. Gore and all the servants had their ears to the ground and news traveled faster below stairs than above. But he’d forbidden any of the gossip reach Caroline. It was pointless to worry her.
Now that they’d finally reached a measure of emotional compromise.
It helped that he’d been home with her since their return to London. Although truthfully, he didn’t know how much longer he could continue playing the cicisbeo.
Neither spoke of his altered stance on having a child.
His reasons were too brutally possessive.
And Caroline couldn’t bring herself to voice the extent of her attachment and affection for a man who didn’t understand either emotion. But she quietly wished and hoped and considering the frequency of their lovemaking, judged the possibility of a child as highly likely.
They had made love repeatedly since their marriage, their journey to London, more leisurely than anticipated when they found themselves more interested in sexual amusements than travel. And while they’d been incommunicado at Hargreave House, waiting for Caroline’s wardrobe to be finished, their days and nights had been a carnal feast for the senses. In fact, Caroline found herself in a constant state of raging desire, as though she were perennially in heat. She had but to look at Simon and she melted in longing. He had but to smile her way and she was wet with desire.
It wasn’t as though Simon was unaffected by ravenous lust. He was in an ungovernable state of rut as well. And while he didn’t understand the finer points of love, he understood carnal desire. He quickened at the mere sight of his wife, and when she welcomed him into her body with the wild, tempestuous passion that was so much her nature, he was always reminded how intensely he’d missed her. And during those glorious moments of fierce, fanatical delirium, he would have gladly relinquished all his worldly goods.
That first afternoon at tea, they were forced to ignore their ready passions and close proximity and present the face of composure to their callers. Their guests had all come to ask pointed questions in as oblique a manner as possible and watch their hosts’ every move as though such close scrutiny would uncover the unimaginable reasons behind their marriage. Or at least lend a piquant authenticity to the reports that would come from this afternoon teatime. The whole town would be dining on the details of this mysterious marriage for weeks.
Throughout the afternoon, Simon was dealing with feelings he hadn’t experienced since he was fifteen. Not since then had he been so aroused by lustful cravings. At times he only half-listened to the banal conversation, consumed with desire. All he wanted to do was push Caro down on the settee, toss up her skirts, plunge into her and fuck himself to death. Glancing at the clock, he swore under his breath. Would these people never leave?
Caroline wondered if the heated flush on her cheeks was visible. Simon was much too close. It had been a mistake to sit side by side on the settee. She was wet with desire, the throbbing between her legs increasing in intensity, while she was having more and more trouble concentrating on the conversation. She moved away fractionally, so Simon’s thigh wouldn’t touch hers.
He shifted position, following her and she glanced up at him in panic.
His dark gaze was hot with lust.
She quickly looked away.
But not before everyone in the room had taken note of the shocking display.
Daphne was one of the visitors and her mouth tightened in resentment. “Do you ever see Louvois, Caro?” she asked in a silken tone, eaten with jealousy, wanting to draw blood. “Or shouldn’t I mention your former husband?”
Daphne was very blonde and very beautiful and not showing her pregnancy at all, a fact everyone in the room had observed the moment she had arrived. Another of Daphne’s ruses, everyone had concluded. Or she’d rid herself of the stable boy’s child, Simon more cynically reflected.
“Actually, I saw Louvois last,” Simon interposed, better able to withstand Daphne’s barbed tongue. “He was in fine spirits, as was his new wife. They seemed very happy. How is Blessington?” he inquired blandly. “Still in Ireland?”
“Charles is very busy with his estates.”
And his Irish mistress, Simon thought. “Charles has found a new calling, I hear. Although, farming? I wouldn’t have thought him a devotee.”
Daphne’s mouth firmed for a moment. “He’s quite involved, actually. Will you be visiting Monkshood soon?” she shot back.
As capable as Daphne at dissembling, Simon turned to Caroline and smiled. “What do you think, dear. Should we go and visit mother?”
“I’d love to.”
There was an audible gasp. Isabella had been heard to tell Caroline on more than one occasion, that she would never allow her son to marry a woman with a drunken father and no money.
“Mother may be off for Florence soon, Gore tells me,” Simon noted with a smile. “Perhaps we’ll drive down before she leaves and bid her adieu.”
If the visitors hadn’t known better, they might have thought Simon actually talked to his mother other than on those instances when their business affairs required it.
The visit was turning out to be more entertaining than a performance at Covent Garden.
“Will you be staying in London long?” The young Earl of Dalhousie asked.
And those friends of Simon’s who had come today to see the rare wonder of Simon married knew Dalhousie was asking-
Caroline glanced at Simon. “I’m not sure,” she said. Although she would have left for the country tomorrow if Isabella were gone. The pettiness and insincerity of society held no appeal.
The duke smiled at his wife and then cast his gaze on all the expectant faces. “It depends,” he said. On how long he could stand to play the husband. On how long it took his wife to get with child. On whether either of them could truly withstand the day-to-day obligations of marriage.
“Brookes isn’t the same without your high play,” Dalhousie noted.
Simon knew what Douglas had been asking the first time. “Perhaps after the honeymoon,” Simon murmured.
Caroline blushed furiously.
“Did I mention Caro has taken on the task of redesigning the gardens here?” he smoothly interposed. “You must all ask her about Villa d’Este, which is her favorite. Tell them, darling, about the grotto you’ve planned.” And he placed his arm along the back of the settee and leaned toward her slightly.
It was a protective gesture. He was telling them all to be kind to his wife or risk his wrath. A strange new role for a man who had always been charming but relatively indifferent to the woman on his arm.
The afternoon continued apace, with probing questions and temperate answers, the avid curiosity seemingly boundless until finally Simon had had enough. Coming to his feet, he bowed faintly to the visitors. “Thank you all for coming to welcome us back to the city. But my wife and I have a pressing engagement” Drawing Caroline to her feet, he slipped his arm around her waist and then kissed her gently not on the cheek, but on the mouth. After which he escorted his wife from the room.
The guests were left wide-eyed with shock.
The duke’s fondness for his wife, and more titillating, his sexual ardor was undisguised.
It was the most delicious scandal.
