The Duke's Bedeviled Bride (Royal Pains Book 2) (24 page)

The door opened, startling her a little, and in came the Duke of York with a flacon of whisky and two pewter stoups. He brought them over and set them on the nightstand before saying, “I shall just leave these, as I wish not to intrude upon your happy reunion.”

As His Royal Highness started to leave, Robert said to Maggie, “I deserve not all the credit for avenging your honor. Your father made short work of the baillie after he took a malicious shot at me.”

“My God,” she said, aghast. “I did wonder why I’d heard gunfire.”

“’Twas the least I could do.” The duke gave her a deferential nod. “I only wish you had been spared their villainy, my dear.”

After her father left the room, Maggie got up, poured a whisky, and handed the cup to Robert. “Thank God he was there to help.”

He laughed—a sound she’d sorely missed. “Now there’s a sentiment I’ll wager you never thought you’d express.”

“True.” A small smile pulled on the corners of her mouth. “But I am coming to see he is more than a Lothario.”

“As am I.” He sipped his drink. “The week we spent on the road proved exceedingly enlightening. Though I’ve not quite decided if he is a man of great conviction or great folly.”

“Let us hope he is the former, as he will be king one day.”

“Unless the Whigs have their way.”

Alarm prickled through her blood. Now that they were reconciled, she should like to see her father accede the throne. “Do you think they will?”

“Not if his brother Charles has anything to say about it.” He took another sip from his stoup. “I hear he is contemplating the disbanding of the Parliament.”

This surprised her. “Can he do that?”

“He is the king.” Robert held her gaze. “He can do as he pleases.”

“Goodness me.” She fingered the pearls at her throat—once his mother’s—a touchstone she was rarely without. “How nice it must be to enjoy such power.”

He grinned. “Truthfully, I would not wish it upon my worst enemy.”

The statement made her think twice. Perhaps she should pray her father was spared the burden of ruling subjects who despised him. “Talking of kings, did you see my uncle whilst in London?”

“Nay.” He finished his drink and handed her his cup. “I was set upon by those hooligans before I got the chance of it.”

She got up and poured him another drink. “Pray, why did they assault you?”

“I fell into, quite by accident, a drunken gang of protesters who were burning effigies of the pope and other prominent Catholics.” He took the cup from her. “After stealing my mother’s rosary, a bloody pickpocket loudly declared me an enemy spy to all within earshot.”

She heaved a sigh and reclaimed her seat on the bed. “Upon my soul, if I see much more evidence of mankind’s ignorant savagery, I believe I shall renounce the whole race.”

He regarded her with an expression of grave concern. “Am I included in that statement?”

“You are not a man.” Looking lovingly into his eyes, she stroked his cheek. “You are an angel who lost his wings and fell to earth. And God sent me to find you in order to remind you who you are and restore you to a state of Grace.”

“I believe nothing less. Your goodness is what first drew me to you.” He drank from his cup and held her gaze a long moment before he said, “Please tell me you are all right, Rosebud—that the things he did to you will not spoil your good nature.”

Scorched by sudden shame, she looked away. “He wounded my pride, but not my spirit.”

“I am so very glad to hear you say so. And so terribly sorry you had to go through it. Had I not gone to London on a fool’s errand—”

Turning back to him, she pressed a finger to his lips. “Shush. Your only crime was trusting a man who set out to fool us all.”

“To the bitter end.” He captured her hand and kissed her finger. “But at least Abel got his revenge in the end.”

She laughed. “How funny you should equate yourself with Abel. For I thought the very same thing.”

For several moments, they gazed deeply into one another’s eyes. As her desire for him erupted anew, she did her best to squelch it. Injury aside, he’d had a long and trying day, as had she.
 

“The doctor said you should rest, and so you should,” she told him. “But would you mind terribly if I lay down beside you?”

He smiled rather devilishly, which pleased her more than was good for either of them. “If you lay down beside me, I shall get no rest.”

“Would you prefer I left you to it?”

Please say you would not.

Desire kindled in his greening gaze. “If you want the truth, I would prefer you took off your clothes.”

“Are you sure you are up for it?”

He moved the hand he still held down his body to his crotch so she could feel he was hard beneath the bedclothes. “You tell me. Though, given the state of me, you will have to take the lion’s share of the task upon yourself.”

“Anything for the cause,” she said, grinning with delight.
 

Wasting no time, she got to her feet, stripped to her shift, and went around to the other side of the bed. She lifted the covers, planning to crawl under, then changed her mind and pulled them back. As she let her gaze roam over his naked physique, desire coiled hot and tight in her womb.

Climbing onto the bed, she bent over him and kissed his bellybutton. She moved upward, kissing as she went until she reached his mouth.

He put his good arm around her and she dropped onto him and spread her hands over his shoulders. They kissed affectionately for a while, their lips meeting and parting, their tongues touching and entwining, their teeth nipping now and again. Enjoying each other and the renewed closeness. If there was a more wonderful mouth to kiss in all the world, she could not imagine such a thing.
 

“Mmm,” he half muttered, half moaned.

“Mmm,” she wholeheartedly concurred.

“I have missed you, Rosebud,” he said against her mouth.

With the arm around her, he drew her over him, and she lay atop him, savoring his warmth and scent.
 

“I have missed you, too.”

He kissed her again and moved his hand down over her bottom to spread her legs on either side of his own.
 

She pushed herself up so she was kneeling astride him with her hands flat on his chest. Lifting her hips, she eased onto his erection, taking him deeply into her body.

He tipped back his head, pressing deeper into the pillow, and made a low growling sound she found at once primal and enflaming.

His good hand came up and tugged at the drawstring on her shift. “Take this off.
 
I want to see all of you.”

Without ado, she pulled the shift off over her head and threw it away from her. “Better?”

“Much.”

Heat flashed within her, burning her from the inside out. She lowered her face to his and captured his mouth. As their tongues clashed, she moved her hands over him, propelled by a burning desire to feel the reality of him beneath her fingers. She needed him, wanted him, wanted to crawl inside his skin, inside his soul.

To be one with him, body and blood, in blessed conjugal communion.

Impelled by her hunger for him, she fed on the sweetness of his mouth, taking it into her like nourishment. He was her sustenance, her strength, her Rock of Gibraltar. When she kissed him this way, all the bad in the world faded away. There was only him. Only them. Only love.

He cupped her breast, thumbing the nipple.

’Twas as if he tugged a string attached to her clitoris. She raised her body up, to the brink of separation, and then came back down on him with a grinding flourish. She repeated the move again and again until she was riding him with the metered rhythm of a Bach concerto. Slow, steady, deliberate, and utterly mesmerizing.

Determined to give the effort everything she had, she squeezed her internal muscles each time she went up and circled her hips each time she came down.

Up, squeeze.

Down, circle.

Up, squeeze.

Down, circle.

He was so hard for her and she was so wet for him. Wet and wound as tight as a clock’s mainspring ready to snap with the next turn of the key.

Under her he was just as tightly coiled. She could feel his muscle spasms, hear his ragged breathing, and see the dark clouds of ecstasy gathering in his hooded gray-green gaze. She knew he was close when, forgetting his wounded arm, he grabbed her hips with both hands and dug in his fingers. Then, he drove upward with a strangled cry and stayed there, breathless and clenched, whilst he spilled into her.
 

She joined him the next second, exploding around him in an orgasm that left her dizzy and panting.

When the pleasure dissipated, she sat up and looked deeply into his eyes. God, how she loved him. He was all man and yet so gentle and vulnerable beneath his brave veneer.

A firestorm of emotion swept through her, threatening to overwhelm her.
 

He had returned to her.

He had been faithful to her.

He had avenged her.

“I love you, Robert,” she said, still winded. “To the depths of my soul.”

His mouth hitched into a crooked grin, but his eyes remained serious. “I hope you still feel the same after I’ve disclosed my decision pertaining to our future.”

His ominous statement plunged a knife of alarm into her heart. “Oh, God. What now?”

“Your father wants us to come to
Edinburgh
, as he fears Dunwoody is no longer safe for us.”

“And
Edinburgh
is?”

“Hardly. But he has helped us defeat our enemies and ’tis only right we return the favor.”

“But—what about Balloch and the duchy? What about the baby? What about Mrs. McQueen?”

“What about them?”

“What will become of them if we move to
Edinburgh
?”

“The baby we shall take with us, obviously. And Mrs. McQueen, too, if she wishes to come along.”

Besieged by the dread born of the fear of the unknown, Maggie rolled off him. He pushed up a little and reached to grab the bedclothes. Then, his complexion went ashen, as if he’d seen something shocking. Alarmed, she looked to see what had triggered his inexplicable response. To her horror, the whole of his lap was covered in blood.

“My God,” she exclaimed. “You are bleeding.”

“The blood is not mine.” He leapt out of bed and crossed the room in great haste. Throwing open the door, he shouted at the top of his voice, “Fetch Dr. Cockburn back here at once. I fear my wife may be having a miscarriage.”

—THE END—

(For now)

Glossary of Unfamiliar Terms

Now, for those without a device offering word definitions, I offer a brief glossary of some of the terms peppered through the story to add period flavor.

Abigail: a lady’s maid.

Concupiscent:
sexual lust.

Cunny: slang for female genitalia considered less offensive than “cunt.”

Dildol: an earlier version of the word “dildo.”

Doxy:
whore.

Flacon: a stout, sealable bottle common to the period.

Fortnight: fourteen nights or two week.

Gamahuche: a French word meaning “mouth on genitals.”

Godemiché
: a dildo

Larking: a slang term of the period for a man making love to a woman’s breasts.

Meschant: a villain or bad person.

Petites linges: French for “small cloths,” a euphemism for condoms at the time.

Se’nnight: seven nights; a week.

Stoup: a cup or flacon for drinking.

Swive: a coarse term for having sex; comparable to “fuck.

Tarse: a slang term for “penis.”

Tawse:
the plural of Scots “taw”; a thong of a whip once used for corporal punishment of children in Scotland.

Twattler(s):
gossip(s).

Wame: “belly” or “stomach” in Scots.

Nina Mason is a hopeful romantic with strong affinities for history, mythology, and the metaphysical. She strives to write the same kind of books she loves to read: those that entertain, edify, educate, and enlighten.
 

She is the author of The Queen of Swords, a darkly erotic Scottish paranormal romance/urban fantasy, and The Tin Man, a political thriller, both published by Vamptasy/CHBB.

Devil in Duke’s Clothing is her first historical romance and Royal Pains is her first series. Starry Knight, book one in a second series titled Knights of Avalon, will be released in August 2015 by Lyrical/Kensington.

When not writing, Ms. Mason works as a communications consultant, doll maker, and home stager. Born and raised in Orange County, California, the author currently lives with her husband, teenage daughter, two rescue cats, and a Westie just north of Atlanta, Georgia.

Don’t miss the tantalizing first book of the
Royal Pains
series,
Devil In Duke’s Clothing
!