Stolen Encounters With The Duchess. Julia Justiss

      ‘You were certainly effective there!’ she declared, shuddering a little as she recalled how close to disaster she’d come. ‘So there will be a change in the way the country is governed, for the first time since the medieval era? How exciting!’

      ‘It is exciting, to know you can influence the governance of the nation.’

      She gave a wry smile. ‘I have enough difficulty exerting influence in the mundane matters of everyday life.’

      ‘As duchess? Surely not!’

      She hesitated, tempted to continue, though she really shouldn’t confide in him. She’d had to struggle these last miserable years to transform the open, plain-spoken girl she’d once been into a woman who kept her own counsel. But the warmth of his regard, and that inexplicable sense of connection that seemed to have survived the years they’d been apart, pulled at her.

      How long had it been since she’d had anyone to talk to, anyone who truly cared about her feelings or her needs?

      Compelled by some force she didn’t seem able to resist, she explained, ‘Ashedon’s housekeeper has been there since his mother’s day, and is ferociously competent. Since my husband supported her authority, I barely had more to do than arrange flowers and approve menus. Now that my mother-in-law has returned to Ashedon Place, challenging Mrs West’s years of unopposed domination, the two are in a constant battle for control, a struggle that frequently traps me in the middle.’ She sighed. ‘And then, there’s the boys.’

      ‘Your sons? Is your mother-in-law trying to take them over, too?’ he guessed. ‘How difficult that must be for you.’ Almost absently, he put his hand over hers, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze. ‘But as their mother, you must make sure your will prevails.’

      She ought to remove her hand. But that simple touch evoked such a powerful surge of emotion—gratitude for his compassion, relief at his understanding, and a heady wave of sensual awareness that intensified that sense of connection. She could no more make herself pull away than she could march back home and evict the Dowager.

      ‘I am trying,’ she said, savouring the titillating, forbidden feel of her hand enclosed in his. ‘As I told you before, the Duke didn’t consider it proper for his Duchess to hang about the nursery, an impediment to Nurse and the maids going about their duties.’ She gave him a wry smile. ‘I was reduced to visiting at night, tiptoeing past the sleeping maid to sit at the foot of their beds and study their little faces in the darkness. Since Ashedon’s death, I’ve worked to find ways to spend more time with them, but I’ve had to fight Carlisle, the tutor Ashedon installed, at every turn. My increased involvement with the boys was the first thing the Dowager criticised when she invaded us. I’ve held my ground—the first and only time I’ve defied her—but she reinforces Carlisle as much as she can, making it as difficult as possible.’

      ‘Bravo for resisting her! That can’t have been pleasant. Now you just need to figure out better ways to get round the tutor.’

      ‘Yes. And to keep the boys away from their uncle—an even worse example of manhood than my late husband, which is the truth, even if it’s not kind of me to say so.’ She grimaced, remembering the feel of Lord Randall’s hands biting into her shoulders as he tried to force her into that kiss. ‘Since his mother has taken up residence, he seems to think he can drop in whenever he wishes, usually to dine, or to borrow money from his mother. One of the few things Ashedon and I agreed on was that his brother is a wastrel who will spend as much of the family fortune as he can get his hands on.’

      ‘Then you definitely need to get the boys away more. There are so many places they might enjoy—the British Museum, riding in the parks, Astley’s Amphitheatre—even Parliament.’ He lifted a brow at her. ‘The young Duke will take his place in the Lords there, some day.’

      ‘Ready to persuade him to join your coalition?’ she teased, immeasurably cheered by his sympathetic support.

      ‘It’s never too early to start.’ Smiling, he raised her hand, as if to kiss it. And only then seemed to realise he’d been holding it.

      He sucked in a breath as he looked down at their joined hands, then up to meet her gaze, and his grip tightened. In an instant, a touch meant to offer comfort transformed into something more primal, as heat and light blazed between them, palpable as the flash of lightning, the rumble of thunder before a storm.

      In his eyes blazed the same passion she’d glimpsed earlier. The same passion she felt, building in a slow conflagration from her core outward. Struck as motionless as he, she could only cling to his fingers, relishing every atom of that tiny bit of contact between them.

      Slowly, as if he found it as difficult to break the connection as she had earlier, his grip eased and he let her go. His ardent expression turned troubled, and for a moment, she was terribly afraid he would apologise.

      Which would be beyond enduring, since she wasn’t sorry at all.

      He opened his lips and hesitated, as if searching for words. Watching his mouth, her mind obsessed by imagining the feel of it against hers, she was incapable of finding any herself.

      At last, he cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps you could take your sons to call on your sister, Lady Englemere? She’s in town with the Marquess for Parliament, I expect. Let the boys become better acquainted with their cousins?’

      He looked back down at their now separate hands as he spoke, as if he regretted as much as she did the need to break that link between them.

      Forcing her attention back to his words, she replied, ‘At the moment, they aren’t acquainted at all. I don’t even know if Sarah is in London; she may still be in the country.’ Faith grimaced. ‘Lucky her. The thing I’ve hated most about life as a duchess is being trapped in London, far from the “unfashionable” countryside Ashedon despised and I love so much.’

      Davie nodded. ‘I seem to remember a penchant for riding in breeches and climbing trees.’

      That observation brought her a smile. ‘Yes. We used to climb that big elm in Cousin Joanna’s garden, and I’d read you poetry. There were a few early-morning races on horseback, too, I recall, before Joanna found out and made me ride at a more decorous pace, on side-saddle.’ Nostalgia for that carefree past welled up. ‘How I miss those days,’ she said softly.

      ‘Avoid looking back by building something better to look forward to,’ Davie advised quietly.

      She glanced back at him, seeing sympathy overlay the passion in his eyes. ‘Like you are doing for the nation.’

      ‘Like you can do for yourself. You are free now, Faith. Free to remake the future as you choose.’

      And what would she choose, if she were completely free? Desire resurged, strong and urgent. What if I said I wanted you, now?

      But of course, she did not say that. ‘I may be freer,’ she replied. ‘But with the Dowager, and my sons’ futures to protect, I’ll never truly be free of the shadow of being Duchess. Never truly free to choose only what I want.’

      She gazed at him, willing him to understand what she could not say. Perhaps he did, for his face shuttered, masking whatever response her answer aroused in him.

      ‘Then, as in Parliament, you must strike the best deal you can get with the opposition, so all can move forward. Speaking of which, I’m afraid I must get back.’

      A sharp pang of regret made her want to protest. Suppressing it, she said, ‘Of course. You have important work waiting. Which just reinforces how trivial my little problems are. How I wish I could observe you making those real, significant changes!’

      ‘There’s nothing more important to the future of the nation than you raising your boys properly! But if you would be interested in hearing some conversation about the Reform Bill, Lady Lyndlington still plays hostess for her father. I’m sure she would be delighted to include you in one of their discussion evenings. With it being hosted by a marquess, I don’t think the Dowager