What a Duke Dares

Chapter Twenty

Cam watched Pen’s wariness deepen, but at least she appeared willing to listen. As she sank into the chair, she looked fierce and sensual, like a ravished goddess. Her black hair flowed around her. The blue nightdress was cut like a Greek tunic and emphasized the otherworldly quality of his wife’s beauty.

In the firelight, he noticed a red mark on her collarbone, just below where her pulse pounded like a trip-hammer. He’d branded her as his. Desire rippled through him, but he stifled any impulse to push his luck. He’d done that earlier and catastrophe had resulted. Guiltily he remembered the blood marking her thighs. Her cry as he’d pushed inside her still rang in his ears.

She watched him as if expecting him to pounce. “I told you I don’t want to talk about your… assumptions.” She gave the last word a bite that made him flinch.

“I’m sorry, Pen. But we must.”

She raised her chin and glared at him. “I suppose you mean to apologize again.”

He slid a chair from the other side of the hearth closer, but not close enough to crowd her. After he sat, he tasted his wine. The claret filled his mouth, rich and heady and complex. Nothing to compare to Pen’s kisses.

Beneath his composure swirled a turbulent stew of emotions. Anger at himself. Compunction at his clumsiness. Uncertainty that he could make up for what he’d done. Surprise—how had this sensual, beautiful woman remained untouched? “Would it do any good?”

“Probably not.”

Inwardly he winced. “You’ve been away from England a long time.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” Her temper lifted his spirits. He never again wanted to see her hurt and crying. Especially over something he’d done to her.

“You must know there’s been gossip.”

She looked unconcerned. Dear God, he wished he could be as nonchalant about spiteful talk as the Thornes. “Occasionally someone would write and say that they’d heard about something I’d done. But why should the ton care about me? I never had a season.”

“That’s part of the appeal. You’re a mystery. A well-bred girl who chooses to scandalize the Continent rather than make her debut and find a husband. Peter’s profligacy and Harry’s tomcatting kept the Thorne name on everyone’s lips. Your antics added spice to the mixture.”

She sipped her wine. “There were no antics.”

His eyes sharpened on her. “What about the Grand Turk’s harem?”

She looked startled. “What about it?”

For years, outlandish tales of Pen’s adventures had piqued both his chagrin and curiosity. The rumors had become pure torture once he’d met her again. “Don’t try to be funny.”

Her lips firmed with impatience. “I’m not being funny. A woman is safer in a harem than she is in a nunnery. Apart from the eunuchs and the Sultan, the harem is a female preserve.”

“What about your affair with Count Rosario?” An affair which had never taken place, Cam realized.

Hostility sparked her gaze. “The Count is seventy if he’s a day.”

“You and he traveled together for weeks.”

“I joined a party of scholars to see the excavations on Rosario’s estate outside Palermo. The weather was bad and the count was kind enough to take me into his carriage. His arthritis has stopped him riding.”

How thoughts of the count had tormented Cam. Now Rosario loomed in his imagination as a geriatric bookworm. “What of the Prince of Castrodolfo? He’s a young man. And you two spent a night alone in the Apennines.”

Amusement lit Pen’s annoyance. “At thirteen, the prince is certainly young. Most people consider him hopelessly bookish. His mother fears difficulties in securing an heir, unless she can awaken his interest in the fair sex.”

“What about Goya? Word is that he painted you wearing what only the most intimate associate would wear.” Which meant wearing nothing at all. The idea of another man feasting his eyes—and other things—on Pen’s glorious nakedness made him livid. He knew he was a primitive, but despite everything, he looked at this woman and his heart beat mine, mine, mine.

Her cheeks went pink. “He’s a great artist.”

Cam started to feel like a schoolmaster quizzing a troublesome pupil. “So that rumor is true?”

“He swore that he’ll never show the painting to another living soul. I believe him.”

“And Sir Andrew Melton?”

Pen laughed dismissively. “Now there’s a fellow whose mother has definitely given up hopes of awakening his interest in the fair sex.” Umbrage sharpened her voice. “My refusal on the yacht must have stung, given you believed that every man in Europe has shared my bed. And a few in Asia too.”

He struggled not to squirm under her taunts. “Not so many. Definitely one or two.”

“You kept careful note of my supposed paramours.”

Another jibe that hit home. “Our childhood connection spurred my interest.”

He was mortified to admit how agonizingly jealous he’d been of Pen’s lovers. Especially when she showed no interest in Camden Rothermere.

Her lips tightened. “If I’m so notorious, nobody would think you a cad if you didn’t marry me. I only gave you what I’d given a hundred men.”

“There have been plenty of wanton duchesses.”

When she caught the bitterness in his voice, her expression softened. “Cam, not every woman is like your mother.”

“You’re not.”

The thaw ended abruptly. “You thought I was.”

“No, never,” he said emphatically. “My mother’s every act was a betrayal. Of her husband. Of her rank. Of her family.”

“I had no idea that people thought me such a trollop. You sacrificed yourself to this marriage to save my good name. Now I discover that I have no good name to save.”

As her indignation faded, Pen looked tired and wretched. He should let her go back to bed—without him—but he knew how quickly she’d rebuild her defenses. He needed to get to the truth now.

“Don’t forget that I was preserving my good name too. A man who seduces a girl he’s known from childhood then abandons her to insult is beyond the pale.”

Her smile held no amusement. “Even if the childhood friend goes to the dogs?”

“You’re still a Thorne.”

“And now I’m a Rothermere.” Clearly a fact that gave her no pleasure.

Why should it? She’d exchanged independence for life with a man who had treated her like a doxy. Remorse twisted his guts anew. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Hell, Pen, you’re twenty-eight years old. For nine years, you’ve run wild with a louche crowd under your aunt’s inadequate supervision. Not to mention that any man would want you. What in Hades was I meant to think?”

Bleak humor flickered in her black eyes. “Don’t sound so peevish, Cam. Most men would be delighted to discover that their bride was a virgin.”

Was he blushing? “Perhaps so, but not in the circumstances that I did.”

“Poor boy,” she said sarcastically.

“You have every right to anger. There’s no excuse for my behavior. I should crawl on my knees to you and beg forgiveness.” Cam gestured with his free hand. “But we’re together for life and we need to reach some understanding.”

Her expression was cynical. “So you can touch me again.”

Devil take his blundering, she spoke of his possession like dire punishment. “Do you mean to bar me from your bed?”

“I made promises to you.” She twirled the glass in her hand until the wine flared ruby.

It was the same dead tone she’d used when she said that she’d done her duty. Disappointment pierced him. But what could he expect after his rough wooing? “If duty alone compels you, our marriage bed will be a cold place. I think we can do better than that.”

“You’re an optimist.” She sighed and the resistance seeped from her body. “Cam, can you give me some time? Surely we don’t have to decide everything tonight. It’s been a long and difficult day.”

Guilt, his constant companion, stabbed deep. It had been a long and difficult few months. She’d lost both aunt and brother, and faced death several times. He’d risen to take her in his arms before he remembered that his embrace was the last thing she wanted. He subsided into his chair and surveyed her discontentedly.

A bride proved more bewildering than any mistress. His sympathy went out to the Grand Turk with his hundreds of wives. Then all impulse to amusement fled when he saw his wife’s closed expression. “Pen—”

She raised her hand. “Not… yet.”

With that he must be content. It had been a devil of a wedding night.