Bertrice Small - The Duchess

He caught her hand for a moment. "I do not mind that we are to have an evening alone, my darling," the duke told her. Then, turning the hand over, he kissed its palm ardently.

Allegra colored, then smiled. "Neither do I, Quinton. Next winter we need not come up to London. By the time we go home to Hunter's Lair we will have tasted all its pleasures, and not need to come back at all until our daughters come for their seasons."

"We have no daughters," he reminded her.

"We will… eventually," she promised him. "Now let me go so I can send my note off to Pickford House."

"I don't think I can ever let you go, Allegra," her husband told her.

"To be loved as you love me is sometimes overpowering," she answered him, and then taking her hand back, hurried off.

Quinton Hunter lay back against the lavender-scented pillows. Her words rang in his head. To be loved as you love me is sometimes overpowering. And she loved him back. Passionately in his arms, but with words Allegra was more reserved. He hoped one day she would not be. It was his own personal weakness, although he would never admit to it, that he needed to hear her voicing her love for him. He closed his eyes. It had been a long time since he had been ill. He was going to enjoy being taken care of by his beautiful wife.

Allegra had left her bedchamber where her husband lay. She passed through her salon, and hurried downstairs to the small family drawing room. "Fetch Hawkins to me," she told an attending footman, and when the duke's valet came she said, "Was the duke wearing flannel drawers today, Hawkins?"

"No, Your Grace," the valet replied. He could see that the duchess was in a fine fettle.

"In future you will see that His Grace is dressed properly for the winter weather, Hawkins, which means his hat as well. If he complains at you you will say that I have given you your orders. Is that understood?" She looked hard at the valet.

"Yes, Your Grace," he replied.

"You are dismissed," Allegra told the valet.

Hawkins departed the room, and as he did he ran into Marker. "Her's got a good temper on her, eh, Marker. You must have been given the back of her tongue many times, her growing up in this house."

"Her Grace is generous of heart, and sweet-natured most of the time," Marker replied stiffly. He thought the valet presumptuous to say the least. "If she has chastised you then it is because you deserved it. I understand the duke has returned home with a chill. Obviously he was not warmly enough dressed by you this morning. You had best watch your place, Hawkins. There are those who would be eager to serve His Grace if you cannot."

"Tough old bird, ain't he?" Hawkins heard behind him, and turned about to see Honor standing there.

"I've had two dressings-down in a very short time," Hawkins said sourly. "For a lass with no background so to speak, your mistress is a proper Tartar, Honor."

"You watch your mouth, Hawkins," Honor said, suddenly angry. "I'll hear naught against my lady. You didn't do your duty."

"He don't like flannel drawers," Hawkins said stubbornly, "and I can't make him wear a hat if he don't want to. I'm his valet, not his ma."

"You have your orders from Her Grace," Honor warned him. "The duke will obey if you tell him she says it. He loves her something fierce."

"I'd like to love you," Hawkins said slyly to Honor.

"When you do your duty better," Honor said, "we'll see if I let you walk out with me."

"Didn't say nothing about walking out," Hawkins replied.

"Then you'll not be loving me. I'm a proper girl, Hawkins, and best you understand that right now," Honor answered him. Then with a flounce of her skirts she was off.

In the little drawing room Allegra wrote her note to Caroline and Eunice. She dispatched it with a footman, and returned upstairs to where her husband lay. Supper was brought. Cook had followed the duchess's instructions. There was a thick, rich soup which Allegra fed to her husband, sitting on the side of the bed as she spooned it into his mouth. Then she coaxed him to eat a bit of capon with some bread and butter. And finally the cook had provided a silken egg custard that the duke very much enjoyed. And when her husband had been fed, Allegra sat down at a small table and ate her own supper as Quinton watched, slowly sipping a glass of ruby port as he did so.

A footman came, and cleared the dishes away. Then Honor helped her mistress to prepare for her bed. When she was washed and in her nightgown and cap, Allegra dismissed her maidservant for the night. Wrapping a lacy shawl about herself she sat down by the fire.

"Come to bed," the duke said softly.

"Shortly," she replied.

"Why do you sit by the fire?" he asked her.

"So I may have the privacy to say my prayers," Allegra responded. "I pray each morning and each evening, Quinton."

"Who taught you to do that?" he wondered aloud. "You had no mother."

"Papa taught me. He said that one day I would have children of my own, and it would be my duty to teach them to pray to our creator. Didn't your mama teach you and George to pray before she died?"

"I think I remember her with me, but George was too young," he replied.

For several minutes the room was silent but for the crackle of the fire. Finally Allegra arose, and snuffing out all the candles in her bedchamber climbed into bed next to her husband. "There," she told him, snuggling into his arms.

"What do you pray for?" he asked her, curious.

"For us. For you. For our family. For children," she said. "We must strive harder, Quinton, for our children."

"Madame, I am more than willing to answer your prayers," he said with mock seriousness.

She giggled. "Do not be sacrilegious," she tried to scold, but she suddenly found herself being kissed as he cradled her beneath him. "Ohh, Quinton!" She sighed, and kissed him back fervently.

Lilacs. She always smelled of lilacs, and it intoxicated him. His hand caressed her heart-shaped face. "Whatever made me believe I would not fall in love with you, Allegra? How could I not love you, my darling?" His silvery-gray eyes devoured her. "I have learned that I could not live without you, Allegra. You have become the very reason for my existence." His lips descended upon hers again, and he felt her melting into his arms. His fingers undid the ribbons on her nightgown's neck, loosening it, and his hand slipped between the fabric and her skin as he moved to cup one of her small breasts in his palm. He fondled her, and felt her heart beat more quickly.

She loved him, Allegra thought as his hand aroused her passions. Oh yes, she loved him, but when she tried to tell him she could not quite manage the words. Oh, she had said it to him once, but she wanted to tell him more, except her tongue became tangled. He could not live without her? She could not live without him. She could not even imagine her life without Quinton Hunter. Allegra pushed her thoughts aside, and concentrated on the wonderful feelings that he could kindle within her. She sighed, and moved against him, letting him know that she loved everything that he was doing to her, and that she wanted more. For a moment she struggled from his embrace, and pulled off her nightgown and cap. Then she lay back against their pillows, her look inviting.

He responded in kind, drawing his own nightshirt off, then leaned forward to kiss her adorable breasts. One hand kneaded her while his mouth attached itself over the other nipple and he suckled. She writhed and murmured beneath him, stoking his passions until he knew exactly what he wanted from her tonight. Something he had never dared to do with her, but he needed to initiate her completely into this passion. Raising his dark head from her milky white breasts he said, "I don't want you to be afraid, Allegra." Then his head dropped again and he began to kiss her body.