Free To Desire a Wicked Duke by Nicole Jordan

from the dangers of London.
    Then again, Rotham would likely give her the passion she longed for.
    She had never known real passion, just a sweet and tender love. Remembering, Tess squeezed her eyes shut.
    She secretly regretted never having experienced physical intimacy with Richard. He had wanted to consummate their love before he shipped out that last time, but she was saving herself for marriage and so wouldn’t allow it. She’d been so caught up in appearances, so determined to behave with propriety, that she had missed out on one of the momentous events of womanhood—giving herself to the man she loved. Now she was likely never to know that joy.
    Tess rolled over and punched her pillow.
    Losing Richard had taught her how trivial and petty society’s rules were compared to life-and-death issues, so it seemed particularly galling that once again she had to conform to the ton’s dictates for the sake of propriety—and even worse, wed a nobleman who was renowned for his very wickedness.
    *   *   *
    Tess spent the night tossing fitfully. The next morning, however, she had no time to dwell on her misfortunes since her friends descended upon her to help make her ready for her wedding. In a flurry of missives from Rotham and Lady Wingate, she learned that the ceremony was set for two o’clock at Danvers Hall. So before she knew it, Tess was entering Arabella’s drawing room, dressed in a simple but elegant gown of rose-colored silk, about to speak sacred vows to love, honor, and obey.
    When she spied Rotham at the far end of the room, she reluctantly acknowledged the violent fluttering of her heart. He cut a commanding figure, his blue tailcoat molding his strong shoulders and deceptively lean frame, which she knew was all hard muscle. With his devilish elegance, the duke would never be mistaken for anything less than an aristocrat, but the intimidating aura of power about him made him unique.
    He moved easily, gracefully, as he approached her. Tess, however, couldn’t help recalling her last sight of Richard dressed in his scarlet uniform the day he left with his regiment to fight Napoleon’s revived army. Nor could she fail to compare this moment with the wedding nuptials she had long expected.
    Thus, when Rotham greeted her with a polite “Miss Blanchard,” she merely inclined her head and murmured, “Your grace” in return. They might have well been strangers.
    The guest list was small, but included Tess’s dearest friends: Her godmother, Lady Wingate; the three Loring sisters and their husbands; Tess’s cousin Damonand his lively wife, Eleanor; Dorothy Croft; Jane Caruthers, the spinster who oversaw the daily operations of the Freemantle Academy; and the academy’s original patron, Winifred, Lady Freemantle.
    Tess’s women friends flanked her protectively until it was time to begin the ceremony. Rotham evidently noted their concern, for his gray eyes glittered with irony as he led her to stand before the vicar.
    Her mind was a riot of scattered thoughts and feelings just then. How many weddings had she attended this past year, watching her friends and neighbors and cousin become bound to their life-mates? The vicar was the same clergyman who had married Arabella and Lily.
    He was getting a good deal of practice, Tess thought irreverently as his gentle voice droned on.
    The sense of unreality continued to plague her throughout the liturgy. Some while later, though, it was over and Rotham gave her a brief kiss to seal their vows.
    His lips were cool, yet they still stirred the same deplorable heat inside her as yesterday, Tess realized to her regret. So did his casual touch at her back when he guided her toward a side table to sign the marriage lines that would make their union official.
    She hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath and putting ink to parchment. Then glancing up, Tess met her new husband’s eyes.
    For better or worse—likely much worse—she was now wed to the Duke of