The Duchess Takes it All

Chapter Six

The duchess was safe. Christian had prevented her from falling. So there was no reason to continue to hold her.

Yet…the urge to pull her completely into his arms hit him with an intensity he hadn’t expected. She rested her hands on his shoulders, and he tightened his grip on her waist, holding her close for a moment. Longer than he needed to. Her hands slid from his shoulders to his chest, and he waited for her to push him away. But she didn’t. If anything, she leaned in closer, her face tilting up to his.

Those lips, they were oh, so tempting. He just wanted one taste.

And he knew that was a lie the moment the thought crossed his mind. He didn’t know what it was about her. What drew him. Intrigued him. But he did know…one taste would never be enough.

“Thank you,” she murmured, not meeting his eyes, though the hands on his chest trembled a bit.

Releasing her took more effort than he wanted to admit even to himself. He cleared his throat and stepped away from her.

They turned toward the house to find the staff lined up to greet them. Tamsin introduced him to the butler and housekeeper, both of whom bowed deeply to him. And mustered the bare minimum for the duchess. She did not seem distressed by their lack of respect. But he was. He would have to speak to the staff about their treatment of their lady.

“Do not concern yourself,” the duchess murmured to him as they headed inside.

He turned to her, brows raised in question, and she gave him a soft smile.

“You are glowering, my lord.”

Was he?

He blinked, trying to arrange his face into more neutral lines. A bloody difficult thing for one to do without a mirror.

“I am used to it, my lord,” she said.

“You shouldn’t be.”

She seemed surprised by his vehemence. She couldn’t know how many times he’d seen his own mother treated so in his youth. She had been a countess, eventually, but still not near enough to his father’s status for servants who took pride in the ranks of those they served. Their unequal marriage made his mother a target for just about everyone she encountered. He had no wish to see the woman before him treated so poorly.

“I think I shall keep to my chambers to rest this evening, once I’ve seen to James,” she said. “It has been a long journey. Thank you for saving me,” she said with a smile, nodding toward the courtyard. “Though it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve taken a tumble from a carriage. Nor will it be the last, I am sure.”

He smiled softly and bowed his head. “I am pleased to be of assistance, meine Herzogin. Always.”

She nodded and turned to leave, but he stepped forward, wanting her to stay.

Yet, when she turned back to him, he couldn’t think of a thing to say. “I…” He stopped and blew out a breath. “If you have need of anything, please let me know. I am at your service.”

“Thank you, my lord. I will keep that in mind.”

He watched her until she disappeared up the stairs. And turned around to find Frederick watching him with open astonishment.

Christian scowled. “What?”

“I said nothing,” Frederick said, holding up his hands.

“You’re thinking it.”

“Am I?”

“You know you are.”

“Well, if you know that, then you also know what I’m thinking, and I therefore have no need to say it aloud.” Frederick flashed him a grin and turned to follow the maid up to their rooms.

Christian didn’t say anything else. The last thing he wanted to do was give Frederick any more fodder to lob at him. But he couldn’t deny that Frederick wasn’t entirely wrong. The duchess was getting under his skin in a way that no one else had before. He’d scarce known her two weeks, and their encounters had been more tense and fraught with misunderstandings and missteps than anything. But…he couldn’t seem to get her out of his mind.

Perhaps the key lay in their dealings with each other. Few people, man or woman, had the gumption to speak their minds to him when their thoughts differed from his. The experience was…aggravating. Yet invigorating. He found himself seeking her out. Not just to discover what she would say next, but also because he simply enjoyed being near her. There was something about her. Whether they were verbally sparring or sitting in silence. He simply found her company…comforting.

Which was a right tragedy for him as she doubtless did not feel the same. And even if she did, it would not be a friendship he could in good faith continue. He would be leaving soon. In a few months at most. He had other responsibilities waiting for him at home. He’d never left his own estates so long, and there were matters that needed attending to.

But for now…

The maid showed him and Frederick to their rooms, and he got one last look of Frederick’s smirking face before he closed the door on him.

…

Tamsin had been trying for days to find a quiet spot where neither the servants nor the ever-attentive Lord Rauchberg would disturb her. Had they been in London, she wouldn’t have worried so about her servants catching her. Quite a few of them were aware of her artistic proclivities. But she had worked hard to find staff who would be loyal to her. And so far, they had been.

She could not be assured of the same circumstances with the country staff. They had loved their previous, high-born, mistresses. Both of the women who had been Rupert’s wives before Tamsin. They had been proper duchesses. Titled and landed before wedding Rupert. Both tragically dead before their time, one in childbirth, one of disease. And while the staff at Herringbrook served Tamsin well, most—of those who remained in her service, that was—did so grudgingly.

She still had hopes to win them over. Giving birth to the long-awaited heir had gone a long way. But as with her peers on the other side of the social stratosphere, she would likely only do so by being the epitome of a well-bred duchess. Not a toe out of line or a hair out of place. And though her caricatures were meant only to improve their lot, Tamsin did not believe they would endear her to her staff. She had no doubt they would immediately tell Lord Rauchberg and… Well, Tamsin had no idea what the man would do. But she doubted it would be good. Not with his love of rules and propriety.

In fact, he might find it scandalous enough to enforce his rights as co-guardian of her son, and instead of simply moving them both to the country, he could do any number of increasingly distressing things. All with the court’s permission.

But the world would never change if no one said anything about the injustices therein. And so she would keep creating her art. Keep holding up a mirror to those in power. Keep drawing attention to the problems in the world. Keep getting the conversations started. She’d worked hard to get her caricatures out into the world. Even harder to make them popular. Desired. Sought after.

And they were doing some good. Just a month earlier, her lady’s maid had told her that the Viscountess Archfield had raised the wage of her servants by a pound a year after seeing a caricature of a woman heavily resembling her mistreating her servants.

Perhaps it was only one household. Perhaps it was a small thing. But it was a start. Others would follow.

Therefore, Tamsin would continue. If she could just find a hidden spot, one that had sufficient light, where she could draw without being discovered. Until she could convince the count to let her and her son return to London. They had been in the country nearly a week. It hadn’t been as terrible as she’d feared. The house itself was quite lovely. The gardens, beautiful. Even the staff were slightly less offended by her presence than when she had last been there.

But still, she was more than ready to quit the country. Her supplies were in London. As were her friends. Her father. And how was she supposed to gain any sort of acceptance into the ranks of the ton if she was not there? During the Season, which was now fully underway.

Of all the times to disappear into the country.

She finally went out to the stables. The stable hands were busy with their chores, but there was a bench near the east wall that was both out of the way but got great sunlight. She settled down with a sigh and pulled out her sketchbook and small traveling kit of graphite and clay Cont é crayons.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d worked, though she was nearly finished with her sketch when she finally glanced up at the sound of voices. A particularly clever one, if she did say so herself. Though the central caricature did perhaps look a bit more like the count than she had intended.

“Over by the stables, milord,” a boy’s voice said.

Tamsin sucked in a breath, a rush of adrenaline shooting ice through her veins. Only one person referred to as “milord” would come looking for her. And he was the one person who absolutely could not discover her secret.

She quickly gathered her materials, throwing the graphite sticks into their carrying case and shoving them in the pocket of her gown as she stood. If she ran toward the house, he would see her. Her only hope was the barn.

She darted inside the door at the far end of the wall and looked hastily around. There was nowhere close by to stash the sketchbook with her drawings. Nowhere except…

The count’s voice grew nearer as he and the stable hand drew closer to the doorway. There was no help for it. Thankfully, the stall nearest her was Bluebell’s, a sweet old mare who loved being brushed and getting treats and was generally a good-natured beast. Tamsin darted inside her stall just as the count entered the stables.

She looked down at the sketchbook in her hand, her heart pounding so furiously her pulse rang in her ears. Footsteps were coming her way. She was out of time.

She quickly kicked a hole in the straw covering the stall floor, put the sketchbook inside, and covered it with more straw. Then she grabbed a brush off the hook on the wall and began to brush Bluebell. That sweet horse, bless her, snuffled happily and shifted a little closer to Tamsin.

“Your Grace,” the count said, coming to a stop in front of the stall.

The stable hand’s eyes were wide as he saw Tamsin standing in there, brush in hand.

“My lord. Were you looking for me?”

“Yes. I hadn’t thought to look for you here until I was out of other places to look.”

Tamsin shrugged, willing her heart to beat normally. He wouldn’t suspect she was hiding anything as long as she didn’t act suspicious.

“Before you chastise me,” she said, hoping to stave off another lecture, “I often come to the stables to brush Bluebell.”

His eyes widened. “Is that so?”

Tamsin’s gaze flicked to the stable hand in a burst of panic. One word from him denying her story and—

But the boy, his own eyes a bit wider than normal, just nodded and gave her and then the count a clumsy bow. “Your Grace. Milord.” And then the boy hastened back out of the barn, likely hoping he wouldn’t be pulled further into her subterfuge. She must remember to reward him for his silence.

“You enjoy brushing the horses?” the count asked.

“Yes. It… I find it calming.”

Which was actually the truth.

“Hmm,” he said, a smile pulling at his lips. “And after a few weeks spent with me, you could use a bit of calming?”

Her own lips twitched into a half grin. “I would never say so, my lord.”

He chuckled quietly and reached out to pet the horse. “I am trying not to be overly critical of you or your household,” he said.

She stopped brushing and stared at him open-mouthed. “The last few weeks has been you trying?”

He scowled, a look that probably sent most people scurrying to hide from his wrath. To her, it only enhanced his already too attractive features. The color highlighted his cheekbones, brightened his hazel-green eyes. And the clenching of his jaw made the barest of dimples form just to the side of his mouth…

She blinked, snapping herself out of whatever madness-induced trance seemed to have befallen her, and went back to brushing the horse.

“I’m just…concerned,” he said, unaware, or unaffected, by her momentary fascination. “You have said your dearest wish is to be accepted by your new peers.” He put his hand over hers to stop her movements and leaned in enough that her breath caught in her throat. “An admirable goal,” he continued. “Not just for your sake, but your son’s. I merely wish to offer my services to facilitate this. I do have experience with this sort of thing.”

She snorted faintly and pulled her hand out from under his. “You were born into your position, my lord. What possible experience could you have that is comparable to mine?”

The count didn’t look as though he’d answer for a moment, his attention riveted on the horse as he moved to pet her neck. Tamsin took a tiny step back until her heel touched the hard corner of her hidden sketchbook. She kept her eyes on the count as she kicked a little more straw over it.

His gruff, quiet voice almost startled her when he finally spoke.

“My mother was not accepted by the nobles in my country,” he said.

Tamsin froze. “What?”

“The laws that govern who our nobility can marry are quite strict. And my mother, although she was of noble blood, was not deemed an acceptable match for my father. She belonged to one of the lower noble houses. My father was only permitted by law to marry a daughter of the upper nobility.”

She glanced at him before stroking the brush down the horse’s flank again. “They obviously did so anyway.”

He smiled faintly, though his gaze remained fixed on the horse. “Yes. But it was not without consequence. And unfortunately, the consequences mostly fell upon my mother’s shoulders. My father was the eldest son and therefore in line to inherit everything upon my grandfather’s death. His marriage to my mother put that in jeopardy. By law, he should have lost his place in the line of succession. But at the time, the Holy Roman Emperor had jurisdiction of such things and chose not to punish my father so.

“My mother, however, suffered the full consequences of their unequal marriage. She was a lady in her own right, but she could not share my father’s title, nor the income from any of his entitlements. Nor could any of the children who resulted from their marriage.”

Tamsin’s gaze shot to his, but his attention remained on the horse.

“My mother never quite fit in at court. One’s status is very important there. Even more so than here. And my mother…she was never fully accepted by the upper nobility. And the lower nobility judged her harshly as well. Her treatment at their hands took their toll on her. So, meine Herzogin,” he said, finally looking at Tamsin, “I do understand your position.”

She took a deep breath and released it slowly before saying, “Perhaps.”

His brow lifted. “You do not believe I understand?” he asked.

She chose her words carefully. She had no desire to disrespect his mother’s memory.

“I do. To a degree. However, yours is an outside perspective. And while I do feel a certain kinship with your mother over our similar situations…we are not the same,” she said gently.

“That is a fair point,” he conceded.

Tamsin watched him for a minute before speaking again. “It is not that your offer of help troubles me, necessarily.”

He raised another brow, and she gave him a half grin. “It’s the high-handed way in which you offer it.”

That drew a chuckle from him.

“I also would prefer that your efforts be kept to the estate. Not my marital status.”

He nodded. “I understand that. Truly. And I do not risk your wrath unnecessarily, I assure you.”

“I am glad to hear you have more a care for your health than that, my lord.”

He chuckled. “As always, I wish only to protect you. An unmarried woman is a target. Especially one as wealthy and…beautiful as you.”

Her cheeks flushed, and her mouth dropped open with a soft gasp she couldn’t stop in time. “My lord…” she said softly.

He looked startled at his words. Whether because he didn’t mean them or hadn’t meant to say them out loud, she wasn’t sure. But she couldn’t deny they affected her. It had been a very long time since anyone, especially a handsome man, had told her they found her beautiful.

“I…” he said. Then he pursed his lips and cleared his throat. “I only harp on the matter as making another advantageous match would go a long way toward ensuring your acceptance.”

“Except it wouldn’t be I that would be accepted, but my position as the wife of whomever I married. I have no desire to be accepted because I married well.”

He shrugged. “Why does that matter as long as you are accepted? You could still achieve your ambitions.”

“Because that acceptance will disappear if, for any reason, I am no longer a wife. As it did when my late husband died. Besides, if my marriage to the duke didn’t gain me true acceptance, why would another marriage do so now?”

He frowned, obviously having no answer for that, as she thought.

“Regardless, I have my reasons for my choices. Whether you understand or agree with them or not is irrelevant.” She shook her head, unwilling, or perhaps unable, to make him understand. “I will not remarry, my lord. Ever.”

He gave the heavy sigh of a man much put upon before saying, “Very well. But I could be of assistance to you in gaining the acceptance you crave, both for your own aspirations and for the sake of your son.”

“I still fail to see how your presence helps me in any way.”

“You wound me, madam,” he said, though his smile suggested he was more amused than hurt. “As for how I can be of assistance…sometimes we are too close to ourselves to see our own flaws.”

“Oh,” she said, her eyes widening. “And you are here to point out my flaws?”

He gave her a crooked grin that made her stomach flip. “I would never dare, Your Grace.”

“Hmm,” she said, turning her attention back to the horse. “Then what will you be pointing out?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he said with a laugh.

Smart man.

It was the kindness that irked her more than anything. If he were merely an insufferable know-it-all full of his own importance and (dubious) brilliance, it would be much easier to hate him. But she did believe he truly just wanted to help her. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem capable of believing that she didn’t need his help. Not with her personal life or quest for acceptance, in any case. He could poke around her husband’s ledgers to his heart’s content. But she needed him to do it from London.

She plastered on her sweetest, most innocent smile. “Perhaps you could be of some help to me.”

He blinked at her in surprise but then gave her a smile that nearly stole her breath away. A man as irksome as he really shouldn’t be as handsome as he was. It was quite unfair.

He lifted a hand, and she held her breath when he reached over and plucked a strand of straw from her hair, his finger brushing against her cheek as he did so.

“You need but name it,” he said, taking another step closer.

She sucked in a breath…until he stopped with a frown and glanced down at the straw.

“What is that?”