A Duke Like No Other Read online

  She wasn’t naïve. She understood a man enjoyed the act regardless of whether a woman did, but Mark had never left her unsatisfied. In fact, he’d taken gratification in her pleasure, ensuring every time they made love that she had her release before he took his. The man was stubborn, unsympathetic, and dominating, but by God, he was a master in bed.

  Even the simple act of having sex with him would be difficult for her. It would make her vulnerable. Expose her. Not just her body, but her mind and heart, too. A vague, strange thrill shot through her. This was a dangerous dance where her heart was concerned, and if he didn’t agree to her second condition, the only outcome guaranteed was pleasure like she hadn’t known in ten years. Her pulse raced at the thought. It was something she would have to accept to get her baby. It would be worth it. To have a child of her own. Someone who would love her unconditionally and never leave her, someone to devote herself to.

  She shut the fan and laid it back atop the desk. A babe had been her dream for many years. Now that the wars were over, it was time. She’d never expected to have the opportunity. She would have died a slow, painful death before she would have contacted Mark and asked him for a baby, but when the opportunity appeared on her doorstep asking for a favor … A smile of satisfaction crept to her mouth. That was a different matter entirely. She would be a fool not to try to get what she wanted out of this.

  Nicole stood and crossed to the window. She pulled back the silken drapery and looked out across the fields behind the château. She rubbed a hand up and down her suddenly chilly arm. She tried to picture a small child playing happily in the meadow below. Her chest filled with a tight yearning that felt supremely different, yet just as profound, as what she had once felt in Mark’s presence.

  He had asked her why she’d wanted a baby. She hadn’t expected that. She’d die another painful death before she told him the real reason. Because she was … lonely, because she wanted at least one being in this world to love her forever. Her father had died when she was a child and her mother had never made it a secret that she disagreed with every one of Nicole’s choices. It was one of the reasons moving to France hadn’t been a difficult decision all those years ago. She’d been able to escape both her disastrous marriage and her mother’s censure. The only person she’d truly missed (other than Mark) had been her grandmama. When word had arrived three years ago that Grandmama had died, Nicole had cried bitterly for weeks. She couldn’t even return to England. The letter had arrived a fortnight after the funeral.

  She traced a fingertip along the windowpane. She had an unhappy past with her own mother, but she would never allow such a relationship to form between herself and her own babe. A baby would be a chance to start the loving family she’d never known. A baby would be there every day and would need her. No more loneliness.

  Mark would mock her if she told him that. He already believed she was a scheming liar. His past had made him a distrustful son of a bitch, even when it came to his own wife. He’d seemed so open and different, so unlike the Marquess of Tinsley and the other fops her mother and grandmama had wanted her to marry. She’d chosen Mark because he was so unlike the others … because he didn’t seem as if he wanted a wife to be a biddable puppet who did and said all the customary things.

  Soon after their wedding he’d shown himself to be exactly like all other men. He hadn’t valued her for her uniqueness. He’d rejected her for her differences. He’d accused her of lying to him, of being disingenuous before their marriage. He’d allowed their marriage to be destroyed over it.

  She let the drapery drop across the window, a barrier between herself and the radiant sunlight, and returned to her desk, to the dutiful dullness of correspondence and the merciful escape it provided from the painful thoughts of the past. None of those thoughts mattered now. The only thing that mattered was the fact that she finally had her chance to get what she wanted.

  All Mark had to do was say yes. They’d both get something out of this godforsaken marriage. If Mark agreed, however, the next few months would be excruciating. Her stomach clenched. She would have to return to England to play his loving wife. How he intended to tell everyone why he suddenly seemed madly in love with a woman he’d managed to forget about for the last ten years was something she’d leave to him to explain.

  Regardless, she would have to be in his company for weeks, and in his bed, or somewhere, at night so he could fulfill his end of their bargain and get her with child. It would only take a few months at most, wouldn’t it? He’d already asked her to stay for a few months. That implied three. Three months. The same amount of time they’d spent happily married. No doubt he’d decided that was the amount of time in which it would seem believable that they were a true couple. It would be excruciating.

  Nicole forced herself to sit at the desk and spent an inordinate amount of time arranging her skirts. She still didn’t relish the correspondence, distraction or no. Mark had mentioned perhaps wanting to be in the babe’s life. She would allow that. She couldn’t deny him. In the eyes of the law, she and her baby belonged to him, after all. She could happily stay in England, perhaps buy a small cottage in the country, allow her child visits with his father and travel to see her family and old friends. That part wouldn’t be so bad, but could she survive the next few months in Mark’s constant company? In Mark’s bed?

  There was only one way to find out.

  The butler knocked on the open door, scattering Nicole’s thoughts. He bowed when she turned to face him. He held a silver salver with a note on it. “Madame, this missive came for you just now,” he said in French.

  Nicole stood, crossed the thick blue rug, and tugged the missive from the salver. She recognized the wax seal. The Grimaldi G sat large and imposing in the middle of dark green. “Merci,” she said to the butler, who immediately retreated from the room.

  Nicole returned to her writing desk and used her silver letter opener to break the seal. She quickly scanned the words. In Mark’s bold scroll it read, “I have a condition to your condition. We’ll discuss it over dinner tonight. I’ll be there at eight.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The wine and the first course had barely been served when a clearly perturbed Nicole plonked down her glass atop the ridiculously long dining table, glared at Mark, who sat at the far end, and said loud enough for him to hear, “What’s your condition to my condition?”

  Mark flashed her his infamous grin. She looked resplendent tonight, and even more tempting when her temper matched the fiery tones of her hair.

  He stood, gathered his plate, cutlery, and wineglass and marched down to the seat directly to her left.

  “What are you doing?” She eyed him warily. She clearly couldn’t stand the suspense. He intended to enjoy himself.

  “Moving closer of course. Or would you prefer I shout about our marital intimacies across this insanely long table?”

  “We don’t have marital intimacies,” she whispered, a near growl.

  He leaned toward her and ensured his breath brushed the tender side of her neck when he spoke. “Not at the moment, but we’re about to, sweetheart.”

  She snatched her glass from the table and took a long draught. “What’s your blasted condition?”

  Mark sat back in his chair and regarded her, taking a sip of the red wine in his glass. It burned a comforting trail of heat to his belly. “What do you think it is?”

  She rolled her eyes and tilted her head to the side. “Must we play this game?”

  “Just one guess,” he prodded, still grinning.

  “Very well. If the child is a son, you will want him with you more.”

  Mark’s bark of laughter bounced incongruent merriment around the staid dining room. “You think I wouldn’t care if I sire a daughter?”

  Nicole shrugged, set aside her glass, and took a spoonful of her turtle soup. “I assume she wouldn’t be as important to you.”

  This time he rolled his eyes. “Shows you how well you know me. I may well prefer
a daughter.”

  “What?” She blinked, her brow wrinkled in a frown. “Why?”

  “I understand you and your dynastic roots love male heirs, but my father was from Italy and girls are cherished there.”

  “Yes, but your family—”

  “I prefer not to speak about the rest of my family.” He clenched his jaw.

  She gave him a tight smile. “Oh, yes. I know only too well how sore a subject the rest of your family is.”

  “Good then. We agree not to discuss it.” He spent a few moments rearranging his silverware next to his plate.

  “Very well. Is that your condition, that you spend time with your child? I’ve already told you that can be arranged. I have no objection.”

  Mark shook his head. This was a fraught subject for him. Family. Any family. All family. He’d loved and been loved by his mother and father, but he’d hardly been wrapped in a familial embrace by the rest of the clan. His mother had tried for years to convince her father to accept her husband and son. When that didn’t work, after a final insult from his grandfather that Mark remembered all too well even though he’d been a lad of eight, his mother had given up. She and Mark’s father had moved their little trio to a small town in Devon and lived a quiet, simple, happy life. His father worked as a shoemaker in a village. To Mark’s knowledge, his mother never tried to contact her family again.

  As for Mark’s father’s family, they had lovingly sent letters, but they lived in Rome, so far away they might as well have been on another planet. None of them ever visited, and Mark’s father and mother never took him to Italy. He’d been an adult before he met his Italian relatives.

  Because of his childhood spent with no siblings, Mark’s thoughts about family mostly centered on the damage his mother’s relatives had done. She’d been devastated by their rejection. That was not how family should act.

  When Mark married Nicole, their courtship and marriage had been quick. He’d barely had a chance to think about their future before they’d become estranged. In the years since, he’d been so focused on his career and political ambitions he’d never considered the fact that being without Nicole meant he was giving up his only chance at siring an heir. He purposely hadn’t allowed himself to think about it.

  Now that possibility was sitting next to him enjoying turtle soup. Nicole’s confronting him with something he’d pushed out of his mind made him uneasy. He wasn’t prepared, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to have a child of his be born into this world and not know him. He also found the notion of having emotionless sex in order to produce a child repellent. Children should be conceived from love and passion … and pleasure.

  “I would like to spend time with my child, yes. But that’s not my condition,” he finally told her.

  “Then what is?” Her eyes flashed green fire. She was clearly growing impatient.

  He let his gaze linger on her face, then meander down to her décolletage. “I find the notion of merely copulating unacceptable. We have to make love or all bets are off.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Nicole’s spoon hit her soup, splashing liquid onto the pristine linen table cover as she shot to her feet. “What? No. No. No!” The man had obviously gone mad.

  Mark merely sat back and regarded her calmly, blinking his unfairly long eyelashes at her. “Why are you so upset about this?”

  She braced her palms against the tabletop and glared at him. “No, absolutely not. Simply no. I can’t. I won’t.” She could not explain to him why but she couldn’t live through such a condition. Why was he making this so difficult?

  “I fail to see what your objection is. If you recall, we had some remarkable times in bed.” His grin was unrepentant. She wanted to slap it off his handsome face.

  She recalled all right. She was doing her blasted best not to. “That has nothing to do with it.”

  He lifted his wineglass and slowly swished the liquid around. “It has everything to do with it. If we’re going to create a child, we might as well enjoy ourselves.”

  “No. Absolutely not.” Her heart was doing its best to pound straight through her bodice. He was being an ass on purpose. There was no other reason for him to make this demand. He wanted to see her squirm.

  A footman came bustling into the dining room. When he saw that Mark had moved to the other end of the table, surprise registered on his face. The servant hurried to deliver Mark’s bowl of soup to him.

  Mark waited until the footman left before prodding Nicole again. He continued to swirl the wine in his glass slowly. “Are you refusing my condition?”

  She narrowed her eyes. Two could play this game. He wanted his blasted promotion, didn’t he? She’d do well to remember that. “Yes. I refuse.” She raised her chin in the air and stared down the length of the table, declining to look at him.

  “Fine.” He set down his glass and crossed his arms over his chest. “Then I’ll return to England and do my best to get my promotion without you, and you can remain childless.”

  Her lip curled. Damn him to hell. He was calling her bluff. “You’d give up your promotion over such a ridiculous demand?”

  “I refuse to be used as a stud horse. I have a chance of getting promoted without you. You, however, have no chance of having a legitimate child without me.”

  Her fingers curled tightly around her wineglass while her heart continued to hammer in her chest. “You bastard,” she ground out.

  He grinned as he took a sip of his wine. “I assure you I’m no bastard. Although you must know that that is an option for you. You could have your comte impregnate you. I’ve been here for two days. No one would gainsay you if you turned up with a babe, say, nine months from now.”

  A growl roiled in her chest, threatening to break free. “You know I wouldn’t do that.”

  “I don’t know that at all.” The humor in his features faded. “I don’t know who you are anymore.”

  A sort of hopelessness fell over them, smothering the banter. “Did you ever?” she whispered, staring at her wineglass and not him.

  They sat in a mournful silence for what felt like an eternity before Nicole slowly lifted her glass to her lips and drained it. She glanced at Mark. “Damn you. Why are you making this so difficult?”

  He regarded her somberly, leaning back in his chair. “Seems you’re the one making it difficult, sweetheart. If you want my child, a legitimate heir, you simply have to agree to enjoy yourself in bed with your husband. That doesn’t seem like too much to ask. I fail to see why you’re fighting it.”

  Nicole blew out a long breath. She had to think about this reasonably. Rationally. To take the emotion out of it. The man was right. Damn him straight to hell, he was right. She was being ridiculous. More importantly, he’d already staked his offer by saying he would return to England. She knew him well enough to know that once he made such a claim his damned pride would keep him from changing his mind.

  If she wanted a baby, a legitimate baby, she would have to agree to his terms. He’d got her. Merde. There was no way she would try to claim an illegitimate child as his. It wasn’t in her nature. She was married, by God. Perhaps not happily, but she took her commitment seriously and she refused to cuckold her husband, no matter what he’d been doing all these years. She had never heard any gossip about his light-o’-loves, but then again, it was one of the reasons she lived so far away. Hearing about him would only hurt, and she’d forbidden her mother from mentioning news of him. It didn’t keep Mother from asking about her marriage, but it did keep the woman from sharing any tidbits she might have heard about Mark from the London gossip mills.

  Nicole stood and tossed her napkin onto the seat of the chair. “I’ve lost my appetite. I assume you’ve already arranged passage for us back to London?”

  He inclined his head, that infuriating grin returning to his lips. “Naturally.”

  “Fine. I agree to your terms and I want to leave at sunrise on the morrow. The sooner we get this over with, the better.” She t
urned on her heel and stalked from the room.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Mark arrived at Nicole’s house just as the sun was emerging the next morning. Mist was still rising from the surrounding lavender fields, and deer frolicked by the side of the long winding dirt road that led up to the house. Mark rolled down the carriage’s window shade and looked around. He sucked in two lungsful of crisp, early morning air, pungent with the scent of lavender. France would be a lovely country … if his enemies hadn’t lived here.

  In town, he’d hired a coach to drive them the entire way to Calais, where they would board a packet to Dover. The journey would take two days. After dinner last night, which he’d finished with a triumphant smile on his face, he’d spent the remainder of the evening searching for the best accommodations he could find on short notice. He’d managed to locate a reasonably comfortable conveyance with a reasonably sober driver. More importantly, the man was willing to drive them the entire way to Calais … after Mark had offered to pay him handsomely, of course.

  Nicole was late. Wasn’t she always? Mark waited in the foyer, his hands clasped behind him, rocking back and forth on his heels, while she and her maid scurried about upstairs. He’d consulted his gold pocket watch at least three times before Nicole finally emerged at the top of the staircase. He glanced up at her and his heart thumped faster. She carried herself regally in a gray traveling gown with a silver pelisse and matching bonnet. She was dressed for him, for a journey they were about to take together. He had the oddest sense that he was taking her home.

  Two footmen preceded her, carrying one large trunk between them. A blue and white embroidered satchel rested in the crook of her arm and her gray silk reticule dangled from her opposite wrist. She gave Mark a smug look as she marched down the steps and past him out the front door toward the waiting coach.