his plans were falling into place. But he hadn’t counted on the sweetness of Bella’s lips, her evocative response to his touch. And when she had capitulated to her desires and kissed him back, his heartbeat had skyrocketed and his arousal had been swift. He’d wanted to get closer to her, crush her lush curves against him, and discover if her auburn hair smelled like the vibrant wildflowers that she had picked.
He had ended the kiss only to find that when she raised her lids, she gazed up at him in wonder, like an innocent, inexperienced girl who longed to have him reveal the mysteries of sex. But how could that be? She had been married for seven years. Either she was a consummate actress or ... or what?
He shook his head at his folly. Perhaps the problem lay with him. How long had it been since his last conquest?
Over the past months his docket at Lincoln’s Inn had been taxing, and then the dowager duchess had resurfaced in his life. Since then James had been consumed with the news of his unexpected inheritance. And no matter how much he had told himself his father’s rejection had meant little to him as a man, the old duke’s passing had left a permanent sorrow and heaviness in James’s chest.
It was entirely reasonable to assume his ardent response toward Bella Sinclair was due to the recent pressure in his life and the fact that he had gone too long without female companionship. Unlike his colleague Brent Stone, James was not accustomed to even short stints of celibacy.
As for his telling speech by the stream, he hadn’t meant to reveal his entire family history—only that he had inherited the dukedom. But the sadness in Bella’s eyes when she spoke of her father’s passing had made him want to speak of his own parent. The irony was not lost on him. He had always been adept at getting a witness to confess on the stand, not the other way around.
There had to be a solution to this dilemma. He would win—he didn’t doubt himself—yet he found himself thinking of her. Reeves would eventually be found, and if the thief had spent all their money, then James would offer to pay Bella from his own pockets. If only she would accept the money and quit the place, then he never need be tempted by her again.
It was a good solid plan. She was merely a woman, no different from the countless other females whom he had entertained. He had a clear sense of himself and understood his current fascination with Bella Sinclair was due entirely to the fact that she was an irresistible challenge on two fronts—to bed her and to win against her in their battle over property ownership. He must maintain his focus, and not let the widow, no matter how alluring she was, distract him from his goal.
Chapter 8
“The duke requested you join him downstairs for the evening meal.”
Bella sat at a mahogany writing table in the corner of her bedchamber. Her notebook was open before her, the page blank. Whatever aspirations she’d had for writing had vanished for the day. She turned to see Harriet standing in the doorway, a look of expectation on the older woman’s face.
“Kindly give the duke my apologies and tell the new cook, Mrs. O’Brien, to prepare a dinner tray to be brought to my bedchamber,” Bella said.
Bella was tired from today’s events, and sitting across the table from Blackwood was the last thing she desired. Besieged by confusing emotions, she sought the comforting solitude of her room.
“He’ll want to hear it from you,” Harriet said.
Bella sighed. “I’ll write a note and have it delivered to him then.”
Harriet stepped into the room and shut the door. “You must meet him on equal footing, Bella. It is your house and you should dine downstairs rather than cloister yourself in your bedchamber.”
Bella raised her hand and stood. “Not tonight, Harriet. I spent enough time in his presence this afternoon.”
Harriet sat on the window seat and patted the cushion beside her. “Sit, Bella.”
Bella sighed and sat beside the elder woman. Harriet’s wizened eyes traveled Bella’s face as if looking for something amiss. “Tell me what happened.”
Bella bit her bottom lip, then blurted out, “He kissed me.”
Harriet’s face brightened. “Indeed. How was it?”
How was it? It was a kiss Bella wouldn’t easily forget. Just thinking of his lips brushing hers was enough to make the blood rush through her veins.
His first day here and she had fallen victim to his charm, had actually kissed him back. She had been overcome by the beauty of the landscape, the comforting warmth of the sun, and the virile man stretched out on the bank beside her. She had been entranced by the bitter sadness of his face—however brief the flicker of emotion—when he had mentioned his family’s abandonment. And when his arms had wrapped around her as he had demonstrated how to skip a stone, she had been foolishly swept away by an awakening yearning.
He was a skilled kisser, and no doubt a skilled lover. She couldn’t help but wonder—what would it be like to bed the duke? Her experience was limited to Roger, and based on James’s kiss alone she suspected the experience would be vastly different.
But Blackwood’s motives were questionable. He was devastatingly attractive and unscrupulous enough to take any woman. Combined with his title, she suspected females would be attracted to him in droves. Bella was nothing more than his opponent.
So why kiss her?
Harriet frowned, her eyes level under drawn brows. “Did the duke hurt you?”
Hurt her? Heavens, no.
James hadn’t even held her as he kissed her. It had been marvelous, gentle, and thrilling, and the degree to which she had responded stunned her. She could never admit, even to Harriet, that it had been he who had broken their kiss.
“No, he did not hurt me,” Bella said. “Yet he is trying to manipulate me. He wants me gone from Wyndmoor Manor.”
“You may be right. But how was the kiss?”
Harriet could be as tenacious as a terrier when she sought information.
“It was pleasant,” Bella answered.
Harriet eyed her as she had when Bella had stolen a sweet from the pantry. “You feared he’d be like Roger? You shouldn’t. Roger was nothing but a sick bastard, he was.”
Bella’s gut clenched just thinking of her deceased husband’s sexual attentions. Roger had only approached her after he had drunk no less than four tankards of ale. He had been mean without alcohol, but combined with spirits he was downright cruel.
It was then that he’d demand his marital rights. He’d douse the fireplace, insist she disrobe before him and stand still in the center of their bedchamber. She’d often tremble from the cold and dread, knowing what was to follow. As a young bride, she had been horrified to discover that he needed to inflict pain and fear in order to stimulate himself.
Bella was prideful by nature, and she had glared up at Roger in hatred. Often his frustration and ire would take control, and he would wrench her arm, push her to the floor before him, and strike her. After the first months of their marriage, he was unable to perform sexually, and he’d viciously berate her, repeatedly ranting that she was inadequate as a woman and not worthy to be his
