He wanted her. Now.

  He refused to take a virgin in a moving carriage, especially since they must be close to Linwood. He could, though, indulge in a kiss.

  His free hand moved to her nape, holding her in place as he moved closer to her. He brushed his lips softly against hers. Her hand tightened around his. It wasn’t enough, though. The need to taste her again tempted him and he eased her mouth open. His tongue slipped inside, colliding with hers. The faint taste of the strawberries and champagne they’d had at their wedding breakfast lingered. He swept his tongue around hers, teasing it, calling hers out to play with him.

  And she responded. Lord, did she respond.

  What she lacked in experience, Laurel made up for with enthusiasm. Her hands left his, sliding up his chest and latching on to his shoulders. Her tongue mated with his and then went to war, each of them wanting to dominate the other. His arms went about her, drawing her near, but it wasn’t enough. He grabbed her waist and pulled her into his lap, turning her so she leaned against the corner of the carriage.

  Anthony kissed her as if there would be no tomorrow. That the only time they would share was here. Now. He kissed her slow and long. Deep. Then hard and fast. He broke away and kissed her cheeks. Her eyelids. Her brow. He returned, feasting on her mouth, ripples of desire coursing through him. The need he had for this woman surpassed anything he’d ever experienced. His mouth moved to her throat and licked where her pulse pounded. He nipped at it and she gasped, then he soothed it with his tongue. Her hands pushed into his hair and then held on to it tightly as she began kissing him and the process started all over again.

  He might have kissed her until the sun fell and then rose tomorrow morning, but he sensed the carriage turning. Instinct told him they now moved up the lane and that Linwood was in sight. Anthony broke the kiss and cradled her cheek.

  “We are almost there.”

  “Oh!”

  She started to scamper from his lap but he needed a final kiss. He made it soft and tender and then lifted her from his lap and seated her beside him. Her face was flushed with color and her lips swollen. Her green eyes sparkled with desire. He smoothed her skirts, hoping the servants would think they’d wrinkled during traveling. Fortunately, he’d refrained from pushing his fingers into her hair and freeing the raven locks. He would have hated to arrive at Linwood with pins scattered along the floor of the coach, her hair tumbling down her back.

  The carriage made a wide sweep, coming to a stop. The door opened and Anthony climbed out. Surprise filled him. Two long lines of servants had formed, awaiting the arrival of the duke and duchess. He faced the carriage again and offered Laurel a hand. As her feet touched the ground she froze, seeing the mass of people that awaited them.

  Turning to her, he bent and said low in her ear, “You are the Duchess of Linfield. These are your servants.”

  He sensed her straighten as she looked out and a smile appeared, melting his heart and probably every one of the servants that stood before them.

  A man stepped forward and Anthony assumed this was his butler. “Welcome home, Your Graces. I am Sanders.” He indicated the women who had joined him. “Mrs. Wallingford, Linwood’s housekeeper.”

  Neither servant appeared familiar to him. He would have to check the estate records and see when they had been hired on.

  “Thank you, Sanders,” he said crisply. “We’ll need baths for us both. My valet, Monkton, and Her Grace’s maid, Retta, are in a coach behind us. They can attend to us upon their arrival.”

  “Very good, Your Grace,” Sanders said. Looking to Laurel, he asked, “Would you care to meet the Linwood staff, Your Grace?”

  “Yes, Sanders,” Laurel said eagerly.

  Anthony accompanied her, thinking she would nod and smile as she worked her way down the line. Not Laurel. She asked the name of every man and woman in both lines and remembered when she heard a surname twice, learning there were two sets of sisters who worked as maids and a pair of brothers who were grooms. She had a kind word for each servant and he could tell she was making a very good impression. It was for the best. She would be the one dealing with them, not him.

  At the end, he recognized a man in his mid-fifties. They paused before him.

  “Ross Woodward, Your Graces,” he said. “I don’t know if you remember me or not, Your Grace. I was an assistant steward when I first came to Linwood.”

  “I do remember you,” Anthony said brusquely, ready to go into the house and avoid any talk of the past.

  “Oh, you knew His Grace when he was a boy?” Laurel asked eagerly.

  “I did, indeed, Your Grace. He was a sturdy little fellow. Athletic. Always into mischief.”

  Anthony glared at Woodward and he immediately fell silent.

  “You’ll have to tell me more some time, Mr. Woodward. I’d also enjoy hearing all about the estate. I adore numbers. Could I examine the ledgers? I’d like to see what is grown at Linwood and learn something about our tenants.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be much too busy with household affairs,” Anthony said. “Shall we go inside?”

  Laurel didn’t budge. “I have always been very organized, Linfield,” she said sweetly. “Although I know supervising the household will take up some of my time each day, I have Sanders and Mrs. Wallingford to help with that.” She looked pointedly at Ross Woodward. “I will see the books, Mr. Woodward. His Grace and I will also be going about the estate and visiting with our tenants.”

  Turning back to him, she said, “Let’s go inside, Linfield. I’m a bit parched after our journey from London.”

  Fuming, he led her inside.

  Mrs. Wallingford followed close behind. “I’ll bring some tea to you, Your Grace. Sandwiches, too. Let me show you to your rooms first. You, too, Your Grace,” she said, looking to him.

  Laurel clasped his arm as Mrs. Wallingford led them up the staircase and down a corridor. The housekeeper stopped.

  “These are your rooms, Your Grace.” She opened the door and indicated for them to enter. Following them, she said, “This is your sitting room. Right this way and through the door, you’ll see your bedchamber.”

  Mrs. Wallingford pointed out the duchess’ dressing room next and mentioned that it led into the duke’s dressing room as they continued their tour. On the other side of it lay his bedchamber and a study.

  A maid appeared and announced that the second coach had arrived and that the duke’s and duchess’ trunks were being brought up.

  “Would you like your maid to unpack for you, Your Grace? I can send more help if you wish.”

  “Retta can handle things, Mrs. Wallingford. Thank you. Could you please see about the tea now?”

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  The housekeeper left and Laurel said, “This is a very dark room.”

  Anthony had noticed it immediately. It reminded him of the darkness of his father’s soul.

  “You said I might try my hand at decorating. Would you mind if I lightened it up a bit? I believe I would like a few new things in my rooms, as well.”

  He moved and closed the door that Mrs. Wallingford had used as she left. Since they were alone, he needed to address an issue with her.

  “Never make me look like a fool again, Laurel. Especially in front of the servants.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Do you mean when you made me look like a featherhead? Oh, the poor Duchess of Linfield. She hasn’t a brain in her head. What would she want in seeing ledgers and examining records of the estate?” Her hands fisted and went to her waist. “You said I would have freedom, Anthony. This is to be my home. Our children’s home. Why wouldn’t I want to learn everything about it?”

  “Because it’s not the kind of thing a duchess does,” he barked.

  “Oh, I see. You swayed me with pretty words before our wedding, telling me I wouldn’t have to follow the rules because I would be a duchess. Yet the moment the vows are spoken, you’re already ordering me about. I won’t have it.”

  She crossed her arms in front of her, defiance written on her face. “Besides, you’ve been gone a good twenty years. Even when you became Duke of Linfield, you didn’t bother to come and see your home. I’ll wager the first time you saw Aunt Constance and Hannah was when they came to London for the Season.”

  “So?” he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm.

  “If you don’t want to care about Linwood, I do. It will be our children’s home. Hopefully, I’ll produce a son who will inherit it. I want it to thrive for him.” Her voice softened and she placed a hand on his forearm. “For us.”

  “I plan to take a firm hand in estate matters now.”

  “Will I be allowed to investigate the ledgers? Or were you merely paying me lip service?”

  “You may look at whatever you wish. Linwood is your home,” he said stiffly.

  “Thank you.” She looked about. “I don’t know if I can sleep in here tonight. This room is so dreary. I suppose you’ll have to come sleep in my bedchamber until I can make some changes.”

  Her words floored him. “Sleep with you? Why would you say that?”

  Laurel let out an exasperated sigh. “We can’t very well make a baby if you’re in here and I’m in there.”

  He said firmly, “I will come to you. When we are done, I will return to my rooms.”

  She frowned. “We won’t sleep together as man and wife?”

  “That’s not how it’s done. We will . . . come together. Then I will take my leave.”

  “Jeremy and Catherine don’t do that. She uses her bedchamber for storing her gowns and readying herself but she and Jeremy always sleep together. I know Rachel and Evan—”

  “I don’t care what the bloody St. Clairs do during the night,” he shouted. “We will follow society’s lead on this matter. You will sleep in your bedchamber. I will sleep in mine. I will come to you and—”

  “Don’t bother coming tonight, Your Grace,” she said angrily. “I will be too tired to service you.”

  With that, Laurel Godwin, Duchess of Linfield, stomped away, slamming the door behind her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Laurel bristled with anger at her new husband but knew better than to take their argument public. No servants had been present, for which she was thankful. She drew in several deep breaths, composing herself, and then continued through the dressing rooms. She reached her own bedchamber and saw Retta already there, bustling about as she unpacked.

  “Your tea just came, Your Grace. I had it placed in your sitting room. Do you know what you wish to wear to dinner this evening?” her maid asked.

  “Just finish unpacking, Retta. I don’t think I’ll be going downstairs for dinner tonight. I’m very tired after the wedding and the journey to Linwood. Tea will suffice.”

  Her maid gave her a sly smile and Laurel realized what the servant must be thinking. Instead of protesting, she kept silent and went into the other room. She poured herself a cup of tea but had lost her appetite. She sat contemplating what the rest of her life would be like.

  Linfield had certainly proven himself to be a typical member of the ton. His behavior shouldn’t have surprised her. A man would do or say whatever it took to get a woman to wed him. Once she had, she was powerless. At least when Laurel had worked for Mr. Cole, she earned her living. Now, though, she was dependent upon her husband for everything. The food she ate. The clothes on her back. She couldn’t work. She couldn’t own anything. Even the hefty dowry Jeremy had settled upon her would have gone to Linfield.

  Frustration filled her. She hadn’t asked for this life or marriage to a duke and now she felt trapped. What upset her even more was, despite her husband’s high-handed manner, she had begun to develop feelings for him. She hurt for the little boy, one who had suffered a lasting trauma that had closed him off from the world. She ached for the young, idealistic man who had gone to war, only to have his soul shattered by the very actions that had allowed him to survive. Even worse, this duke stirred her blood in a way that might crush her. She didn’t want to love him. She would refuse to do that. His kisses certainly made her desire him, though. She must separate the physical want from any emotional attachment. Surely, she could do so. Members of society did it every day. They wed. They came together to make a child. Then they led separate lives beyond those few minutes in the bedroom. She could do the same. She was made of strong stuff, else she never would have survived in her former life as a Wright.

  Retta appeared. “Everything is unpacked, Your Grace. When do you wish me to return to ready you for bed?”

  Laurel only wanted to be alone so she said, “You may do so now. I will not be leaving my rooms until tomorrow morning.”

  “So, the duke will come to you then,” the maid observed. “Very well.”

  She held her tongue, not bothering to protest. The duke certainly wouldn’t be coming to her tonight. Not after the scene between them.

  Following Retta to the bedchamber, she allowed the maid to remove the wedding dress, which had been meant for a ball. She would wear it again later this Season and try not to think of this day and the disappointment it had brought.

  Retta replaced it with a filmy night rail, which had been a gift from Catherine, as was the silk dressing gown the maid helped her slip into.

  “You look lovely, Your Grace.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, feeling hollow inside.

  “Thank you again for allowing me to come with you. It’s an honor to serve you. Good night.”

  Laurel paced restlessly once her maid left. She finally went to the desk and found parchment and ink. She wrote to Luke and Caroline of her marriage and how she was eager to see them and their baby come June. She set the letter aside to be posted in the morning and retreated to a chaise lounge, her thoughts so muddled that they made no sense. Finally, she went to her bedroom to retire. She was weary, both physically and emotionally, and hoped the mattress was comfortable and that she would fall asleep quickly.

  Retta had already turned the covers back and Laurel stared at the large bed. She would spend time with Linfield in it at some point. It would be here they would make a child. Hopefully, more than one. Her eyes misted with tears, thinking she’d mucked up things between them with her flash of temper and wondered how she could apologize.

  A soft knock sounded, so faint she almost didn’t hear it.

  It came from her dressing room door.

  Gathering her courage, she crossed the room and opened the door.

  The Duke of Linfield stood there, wearing a dark maroon dressing gown. No coat or waistcoat. No shirt or cravat. She could see a bit of his throat and bare chest. The sight caused her mouth to go dry. She stepped back and he entered the room, closing the door behind him.

  “I said not to come,” Laurel said stubbornly, not ready to yield control to him, though she knew it would be a losing battle. He had rights over her in every way.

  Including her body.

  “I know,” he said softly. “I hoped you might have changed your mind.”

  His hands went to her waist. His thumbs began stroking her ribcage. Laurel shivered.

  “I know you want a child as much as I do. Do you think we can set aside what happened before between us?”

  “I suppose so,” she said begrudgingly. “But I don’t want to kiss you.”

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  She swallowed. “It has nothing to do with making a baby.”

  The truth was his kiss set her afire—and she didn’t want that. She wanted to hold this man at arm’s length.

  “All right,” he agreed. You don’t have to kiss me.”

  Linfield took her hand and led her to the bed. Those crystal blue eyes blazed. Holding her gaze, his fingers went to where Retta had tied Laurel’s robe. Slowly, he undid it and pushed the dressing gown from her. It fell to the floor. His hands cradled her face. The air filled with electricity. She had told him not to kiss her but now she wanted nothing more than his mouth on hers.

  Instead, he lifted her night rail from her and tossed it aside. Laurel now stood bare before him, her knees wavering. Her husband studied her at length. She felt herself turn red from her toes to her brow.

  His hands returned to her face, cupping it. “You are very beautiful, Your Grace.”

  She couldn’t reply. She wanted him so badly. Boldly, her hands moved to his sash and she repeated his actions. Undid the knot. Parted his dressing gown. Pushed it from his shoulders.

  He wore nothing beneath it. Her eyes took in the broad, muscular chest, dusted lightly with golden hair which trailed down past his belly. His manhood jutted from him and she refrained from gasping. She didn’t see how it would fit inside her.

  Linfield scooped her up and placed her on the bed. Her heart pounded fiercely as nerves consumed her. She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling, not daring to look at him. He settled on his side, his head propped up and resting in his hand. His free hand stroked her throat and slid down to cup her breast. As he kneaded it, his lips touched her throat.

  “No kissing,” she said, her words a whisper.

  “You said you didn’t want to kiss me—and I agreed. We said nothing about me kissing you.”

  Laurel wanted to protest but his warm lips were on her throat again as his hand continued fondling her breast. His mouth moved lower and suddenly it took in her breast. His tongue teased her nipple, causing her back to arch. Then his teeth grazed it and she almost came off the bed.

  “Kissing . . . doesn’t have . . . anything to do with . . . making a baby,” she managed to get out.

  He continued worshipping her breast and then moved to the other. By now, a throbbing between her legs had begun. The more he suckled her, the greater it pounded, demanding attention.

  His attention . . .

  “Please, Linfield.”

  He stopped. “Anthony,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I insist, Laurel. Call me Anthony.”

  “Anthony,” she repeated and then sucked in her breath as his hand touched her womanhood.