Page 83 of Distracting the Duke

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A few months after the wedding, on a bright, cold day in November, Clara and Marcus decided to spend a lazy morning in bed. They had breakfast trays brought up, indulged in some languorous lovemaking, then relaxed with periodicals to read and discuss.

There was something odd about her husband today, though. Clara couldn’t quite put her finger on it. He always had a wicked twinkle in his eye for her, but today that twinkle had become a burning ember. He was excited about something, but was keeping it a secret, even though it was smoldering away inside him.

“You’re like a child sometimes,” she said, smoothing away a lock of fair hair from his forehead. “You can barely contain yourself when you’re excited.”

He caught her hand and kissed it. “That’s because I had a deprived childhood, you understand. I take no pleasure for granted.”

“What pleasure is exciting you now, pray?”

“You’ll have to wait and see. I think we should get up now, as it’s a fine morning. As soon as you’re dressed, my love, would you go out and harvest a few of my favorite roses for the dinner table, before the frost destroys them utterly? I just need you out of the house for quarter of an hour or so. Then be sure to return through the main doors and meet me under the oculus.”

“You have it all planned out, don’t you? I take it you wish to surprise—or shock me—with something.”

“It’s my bride gift to you, my darling. I’m sorry it has been so long in coming.”

“I don’t need a present,” she declared. “You’ve given me your heart and made me a duchess. What more could I ask?”

“You’re getting it, anyway. I’ve been planning this for weeks. You can’t refuse to accept it.”

She sighed melodramatically. “There’s no point in trying to prevail over you, is there?”

“I’m happy to listen to reasoned argument and am generally biased in favor of everything you say. But I must make an exception in this case.”

“Very well, Your Grace. I’ll go and cut some bedraggled blooms for you.”

“Put on your warmest pelisse. I don’t want you getting cold.”

“Then hold me for a while, before I get out of bed.”

“Of course.”

She smiled at him, and her heart was full. Though she’d said nothing about it, she had a gift for him, too, and perhaps today would be a very good time to offer it, so she didn’t feel beholden to him for his. He was so apt to spoil her in every way, and she needed the opportunity, once in a while, to spoil him back.

The cool air, when she finally made it outside, and the crisp brightness of the day, made her feel wonderful. She breathed in joyous lungsful of the clear air and smiled at the optimistic singing of a robin in a bush nearby.

Having knocked the dew off Marcus’s roses, she snipped the stems and arranged the blooms carefully in her basket. She added in bunches of rosehips for contrast, and went in search of a few sprays of bay to add depth to the display she was planning.

How wonderful to have the leisure to indulge oneself in such pleasant pastimes!

It was not always the case—the work of a duchess could be quite taxing, especially when one’s husband was so active, both publicly and in private. Currently, the efforts of the Duke of Ulvercombe and his new duchess were concentrated on raising funds and making investments in support of good causes. At Kate’s suggestion, the allowance left to Clara by Simon’s parents was now assisting the parish to help struggling lone parents and their children. By patronizing such a scheme, Marcus had drawn in other members of the ton, eager to prove they could be just as generous as he.

Clara pushed a wisp of hair off her face and gazed up at the cold and cloudless sky. She thought about Marcus and little Georgie, of how comfortable the duke looked with the small boy on his hip, and how much they enjoyed sharing games of chase and hide-and-seek, despite the risk posed to the valuable artifacts that adorned the niches and pedestals of Kessington House.

The basket was now full of roses. Had she given Marcus the time he needed to prepare his surprise? Little trickles of anticipation ran up and down her spine as she approached the great doorway.

She took a deep breath, knocked, and in response to his cheerful, “Enter!” she stepped into the atrium.

He waited beneath the oculus, the sunlight making a golden halo of his hair and the specks of dust dancing about him like myriad miniature glowworms. He stood calm and relaxed, his weight balanced on one hip, next to the pedestal bearing the Pajou Venus.

The smile on his face ignited a thousand tiny points of fire in her veins, and the basket trembled in her fingers. She put it on the floor and moved toward him, itching to hold him and run her hands through his tawny hair and over the hot, taut skin of his body.

He held up a hand, and said, “I must ask you to remain where you are, Duchess.”

Puzzled, she halted. Then he stepped aside and revealed what had been concealed behind him.

There, on a plinth that was the twin of the one supporting the Venus figurine, was another marble statuette.