CHAPTER 14
Dear Chauncey,
You are important to me as well. When I first arrived, I was sad and alone, not knowing how I could exist in a world without my parents. Losing my mother devastated me, but I took comfort in knowing Papa was with me. Then I lost him too. Your friendship was my only comfort, and I am glad that I will always have it.
Love,
Kitten (The Chemist)
Carlisle sat directly near the Scottish border, less than a day’s ride to the village of Gretna Green. They had arrived in the early hours of the evening, the moon the only source of light on the dark English roads. If not for the fear of highwaymen, St. Clara would’ve pushed Randall to proceed on to the small village responsible for half the marriages in theton.
The Woodfoot Inn became their home for the night, and in the morning, they would rush to the blacksmith at Gretna Green to be married. Pippa’s mouth went dry, and her stomach felt like an anvil sat in it. After years of ignoring the man St. Clara had become, she couldn’t get enough of his touch, of his kiss, of him. The more time she spent with this version of her childhood friend, the more she forgot about the sins of his past.
Pippa had no idea if she could ever forget about Maggie and the babe. That revelation had changed her from a young, naïve girl to an angry woman. There was a small part of her that wanted to know what became of them, and if they needed her and St. Clara’s assistance. As his duchess, she would provide it.
Though she was curious to uncover the truth of their past, Pippa no longer wanted it to interfere with their relationship. Deciding to release the hurt, she believed that it was finally time to speak to St. Clara. If she was to spend a year as his wife, then Pippa needed to know the truth.
One year where Pippa would experience the pleasure of his touch like so many before her. Jealousy pooled in her veins as it often did whenever she heard of him with another woman. Now, he would be hers. Only for a year, but she was determined to enjoy it nevertheless.
No emotion. No expectations.
After the year ended, she would be her own woman. The intelligent part of Pippa did not see a problem, but her heart gave a traitorous thump of warning, which she ignored.
Walking to the only available room in the inn, Pippa held Newt close as the plump matron opened the door, eyeing she, St. Clara, and the cat harshly as they entered. Pippa was sure the woman knew that they weren’t married but were sharing a room for the night.
A shiver glided over Pippa’s skin at the sight of the massive brass bed in the center of the room. Surely St. Clara wouldn’texpect her wifely duties to begin before they were married,would he?
Taking a deep breath, she centered herself. She wanted this after all. A year of carnal bliss as his wife—for scientific purposes, of course. And to finally know what it was like to be a woman.
Her entire body heated at the thought of sharing a bed with the man that would be her husband in a matter of hours. Placing Newt on the floor, she tried to control the emotions that were wreaking havoc through her, but she found it rather difficult. She sensed them all at once, experiencing them fresh and new. Trepidation for the unknown, excitement that she had taken control of her own life, and a small bit of joy. Joy that it was him and no other, and that one emotion caused fear to rise like a flame inside her.
After hearing rumors of his many exploits, Pippa knew what St. Clara was capable of. He was gentle, kind, and fun. Once she’d heard one of his lovers, a widow, bragging about their recent affair in the ladies retiring room. It was absolutely scandalous, and she had been so jealous that she had wanted to scratch the other woman’s eyes out.
“Breakfast will be ready in the morn, ye ken,” the matron called out in a Scottish accent.
The sound of the door closing was like cannon fire to Pippa’s ears. Suddenly she was alone with him… with a bed … and she didn’t know what to do. In theory, she understood the mechanics of lovemaking. After hearing intimate, intricate details from Julia and the maids, she knew what to expect, yet it was still a bit concerning.
Pippa followed Newt as he roamed around the room, taking note of their surroundings. The furniture was old and chipped, carpet fading, and a framed likeness of King George IV sat over the hearth where a roaring fire had been started.
“You should prepare for bed.” St. Clara took off his tailcoat and waistcoat.
He began removing his cravat slowly. The smooth skin of his strong neck had her heart pounding wildly. St. Clara wasn’t at all like the man she had thought him to be. He was attentive to her every need, a perfect gentleman, the opposite of the duke she’d heard about over the years.
Averting her gaze, Pippa watched Newt curl up by the fire, ignoring the two people in the room.
“Your Grace, a bath is ready for you,” Agnes called out from the adjoining bath chamber.
Pippa blinked several times, not realizing the girl had entered the room nor that she was speaking with her. Without another thought, she followed Agnes, needing a distraction.
Hearing someone address her asYour Gracestill shocked Pippa. It would take her a great deal of time to acclimate to the title. The realization that she was marrying St. Clara became more and more real with every use of the phrase. Long ago, there was a time in her life when the prospect of marrying her friend had given Pippa a sense of peace and belonging.
Then, she hadn’t understood their connection, the heat she felt from his touch or the flutters in her abdomen at the thought of marrying her Chauncey. All she knew as a girl of sixteen was that he was to be her salvation, and she was his.
Pippa had to remind herself that the man she was marrying was not her friend; he wasn’ther Chauncey. That boy was long gone.
“Are you well, Your Grace?” Agnes asked in her cheery manner.
Pippa began removing her clothing, the steam from the copper tub calling to her tired and aching bones.
