The Other Duke (7 page)

He pulled away with a groan and swiftly stripped off his shirt and trousers. She stared up at him when he was naked and her blue eyes went even wider.

“Don’t worry,” he soothed as he settled over her. He smoothed her hair back from her face even as he gently settled himself between her legs. The head of his cock found her entrance as if they were meant to fit together and he struggled to not just slide inside, claim her hard and fast.

“I’m going to fit myself inside of you,” he explained softly as he positioned himself. “It will hurt for a moment, but I will make it feel good for you, I promise.”

She sucked in air as he pressed forward slowly.

“Rafe—” she began, her tone suddenly sharp.

But she was silenced when he pushed forward.

He slid home in one smooth thrust and stared down at her. Her eyes had filled with tears, but they weren’t tears of pain. He had not felt the barrier of her hymen, nor did she exhibit the signs that she had surrendered her virginity to him.

Because she hadn’t. It was evident from the welcoming stretch of her body and the expression of guilt on her face.

She had not been untouched when he married her.

“Sera,” he whispered as he reluctantly pulled from her sheath and moved away from her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, rolling away to her side where she balled herself up. “I’m so sorry.”

He reached out to touch her hip, stroking his fingers over her skin. Yes, he was disappointed. He hadn’t fully realized until that moment how much he wanted to be the one to introduce her to the pleasures of the flesh.

“You shouldn’t apologize,” he soothed softly. “I’m not angry.”

She moved to her back and stared up at him. “How could you not be? I am not the bride you thought you were getting.”

“Of course you are,” he said, wrinkling his brow. “Your innocence was a fleeting claim, Serafina. I was not promising to marry you only so I could collect it.”

She blinked at him in disbelief. “So you don’t hate me?”

He shook his head. “Of course not. I certainly cannot judge you. When two people care for each other, things are bound—”

She barked out an ugly burst of laughter and sat up abruptly. “
Care
? About Cyril, you mean?”

He nodded. “Or course. After so long an engagement, it isn’t entirely surprising that you would go so far.”

“Oh, but I didn’t care. And he
certainly
didn’t, Rafe.”

He stared at her, watching her pained expression shatter even more. “I—what do you mean?”

She swallowed hard past the pulse that fluttered in her neck. “Rafe… I… Cyril…he…he
forced
me. He forced me more than once.”

Rafe recoiled at her confession and Serafina felt the tears she had struggled to keep from falling begin to slide down her cheeks. She hadn’t meant to tell him the truth about Cyril’s actions.

Of course, she
had
intended to reveal that she wasn’t untouched before he claimed her, but then he had kissed her, stroked her, teased her so gently. It had been so confusing. Her body revolted at being touched, it awakened a deep and powerful fear in her.

And yet, when Rafe was the one doing the touching, there had been moments when her anxiety was replaced by something far better. Pleasure. It was remarkable and her feelings, her unexpected reactions to him, had overwhelmed her reason and suddenly it had been too late.

And now she had told him the truth one person in the world other than herself knew. Even Emma had only heard the kindest version of the ugly facts.

“Rafe?” she whispered in the face of his continued silence.

He stared at her, but she couldn’t read his thoughts.

“Tell me everything that happened,” he finally demanded, his voice flat and hard like she had never heard before.

She swallowed hard.
Everything
. That was a difficult order. But Rafe wasn’t like Cyril—the fact that he had withdrawn from her the moment he realized she was not an innocent, that he hadn’t attacked her for her lie of omission, proved it.

He had once said they could be friends and she hadn’t believed him. Now she felt a strange desire to do exactly as he required. To give him her story and hope he would understand and protect it in the end.

She cleared her throat. “My father and Cyril’s father were old friends and the two of them made their marital arrangement for us when I was just six. You’ve seen the documents by now, you know how title poor Cyril’s family was. In their minds, everyone would win with our match. Cyril’s family would have my generous dowry money, my father would be linked to what was once one of the most prestigious titles in all the Empire.”

Rafe nodded. “And?”

“I didn’t meet Cyril until I was ten and he was fifteen.”

Rafe recoiled yet again. “Dear God, he didn’t—” he began.

She shook her head swiftly. “No! No, he didn’t touch me then.” She shuddered. “But I was less than impressed by him. He was pimple-faced and snide. I also thought he was uncommonly stupid when he made fun of me for reading. He told me I would stop that when I was his wife.”

Rafe’s lips pursed. “He was always a charming one.”

“And he only grew more charming with time. Every year after that, our fathers would force the two of us to meet so that we would know each other a little when the time came to wed. I suppose it was meant to be a kindness, but as I grew older, Cyril’s attitude got worse and worse. He had a long list of things I would and wouldn’t do as his wife.” She took a long breath, trying to maintain control as she continued, “In time, he began to ogle, then g-grope me, when we were alone.”

Rafe’s jaw set. “You must have told your father.”

She turned her face. “I told
no one
. My father made it clear that this marriage would happen regardless of my feelings. The one time I danced around the subject that perhaps Cyril was not kind to me, my father slapped me so hard, my ears rung. So I
never
addressed the issue again.”

Rafe pushed off the mattress and began to pace the room, utterly naked and not seeming to care.

Serafina blushed despite the delicate subject she was now addressing and slowly slid the sheets up to cover herself. What she was going to say next left her exposed enough in spirit that she did not want to have her body revealed at the same time.

“I was eighteen the first time Cyril—” She cut herself off, as she flashed back to images from the night she was about to describe. Rough hands, rougher lips, tearing fabric, pain.

“Shhh,” Rafe said, crossing back to her. He leaned over edge of the bed and took both her hands. “It’s all right.”

She blinked at the concern on his face, then looked down to realize she was trembling.

“Can you go on?” he asked, his voice nothing but gentle.

She stared at him, this unexpected man who had been forced into this situation even more than she had been and yet was nothing but decent when it came to his interactions with her. And she nodded even though she didn’t want to voice the truth. Rafe deserved to know it all.

“The night I came out in Society, my father insisted that we attend the ball with Cyril and his family. We met at their estate to ride over together and he took me out on the terrace. He was going on and on about how pretty I was and then he was just…on me. Pressing me to the wall, holding me too tightly. His mouth was everywhere, his hands were everywhere and then he…”

She gasped for breath, trying not to relive it all, trying not to be swept away by the memories she had so carefully kept at bay in her everyday life.

“He raped you,” Rafe said softly.

She nodded, relieved he could say what she could not. “Yes. And then he took me inside, blamed my torn dress on a blackberry bramble on the edge of the terrace, and we went to my coming out ball together as if nothing had happened.”

“My God,” Rafe growled beneath his breath.

“Cyril danced with me, smirking the whole time, and before we parted that night he told me that I was truly his now and that there would never be an escape because he had claimed me.” She swiped at the tears that accompanied her unwanted memories. “No other man would want me even if I could convince my father to undo the betrothal.”

“How did you survive the night after what he had done?” Rafe breathed.

She shrugged. “I scarcely recall. It is all a blur. I went through the motions of my life, I suppose, without feeling or seeing what was around me.” She shook her head. “I think that became my mode of survival. It had to be because Cyril didn’t stop.”

Rafe flinched. “Yes, you said he did this more than once.”

“After that he went back to his usual intimidate and grope routine,” she said. “But every once in a while, he would go further. I dreaded seeing him because I never knew if this would be one of the times he would ‘exercise his husbandly rights,’ as he would put it. I only ever told my friend Emma—you met her today.”

Rafe nodded. “Yes, a lovely woman, though a bit standoffish with me. I can see why now.”

“She’s protective,” Serafina explained with a shake of her head. “She only knew the barest details. Once she encouraged me to tell my father.”

“And?” Rafe pressed.

“Of course, I couldn’t. I already told you why.”

“Bastard!” Rafe snapped.

“My father or Cyril?” she asked softly.

He spun on her. “Both,” he growled, his blue eyes flashing with indignation, rage. All for her. It was a strange thing. She had never had a champion before.

She found she rather liked it.

“It went on that way for two years,” she said with a shrug that didn’t at all reflect the tangle of pain in her heart. “We were to marry after I turned twenty, but then Cyril’s father died and his mother all but collapsed, so it got put off. I felt like the prison door had been cracked a bit, but it was a false freedom. It only delayed inevitable. And now, two years later, I was to marry him today. Until he quite obligingly died.”

“Only you still weren’t free,” Rafe said softly.

She looked at him. He remained naked and somehow that comforted her. She was emotionally exposed and he physically. It was as if that put them on more equal ground.

“But you are a very different warden, Rafe,” she said. “And so far, you haven’t proven yourself to be cruel.”

“I hope I never shall,” He turned and paced the room once more. “I was such an idiot. Here I read all your hesitation as residual feelings for Cyril, despite how mad it was to me that someone like you could care for a toad like my cousin. And all along it was this ugly truth that affected all your actions.”

She nodded. “Yes. It is why I wanted to negotiate for my future after our marriage. It is why I am happy to give you your freedom. It is why I hate this room.”

Rafe froze and looked around himself. “Great God, this is Cyril’s old chamber. He…he…?”

She nodded. “Once he took over as duke, he sometimes forced me to come up here for his fun.”

Rafe stared at her, eyes narrowed, expression dark and dangerous. Then he motioned for her to rise. “Come, we’re leaving.”

She wrinkled her brow in confusion. “I—what?

“We certainly aren’t staying in this horrible room or this awful house one more bloody moment now that I know what you endured. Get up, I shall help you dress myself and we will depart immediately.”

He grabbed for his trousers and pulled them up over his hips in one smooth motion, then looked around for his shirt. All the while, Serafina watched him, uncertain as to what her new husband was talking about.

“You want to flee this house in the middle of the night?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” Rafe said, hooking buttons with rapid and impressive speed.

“Where will we go?” she asked.

He paused in his dressing and looked at her, his face soft with compassion. “To my home, Sera. We’ll go to my home, just two miles away. Now get up. I’ll ring for the carriage and help you dress.”

Serafina stared as he moved to ring the bell by the door. She didn’t move, even as a servant knocked and her new husband opened the barrier just enough to say a few soft words to the unseen person. When he turned back, he smiled at her and strode back to the bed, only pausing to gather up her now-wrinkled wedding gown.

He held it up and she slowly departed the bed as if in a dream. She pulled her chemise over her head before she stepped into the gown and watched him fasten it. She had no idea what Rafe had planned or why he was spiriting her away in the middle of the night.

But she realized that for the first time in years, she wasn’t utterly afraid.

Serafina fought the urge to slip behind Rafe, to hide, as the door to his fine townhouse opened and revealed a finely liveried butler waiting for them.

“Good evening, Lathem,” Rafe said with a good-natured clap on the shoulder for the man. “Thanks much for rousing yourself so late and preparing for us.”

The butler’s stern face twitched into a brief smile. “Of course. It was my pleasure, Your Grace.”

Rafe flinched. “Damn, I suppose you do have to call me that, don’t you?”

The butler inclined his head. “I’m afraid so, Your Grace.”

“At least to my face, at any rate,” Rafe chuckled, and to Serafina’s surprise, the butler gave a warm laugh as well. Rafe turned toward her. “May I present my bride? Serafina, the Duchess of Hartholm.”

Serafina tensed. She had spent nearly two hellish decades preparing to be Duchess Hartholm, but hearing herself called that by Rafe solidified that the moment had finally come. And it was as far different from her imaginings as it could have possibly been.

“Your Grace,” the butler said with a stiff bow. “Welcome.”

“We have found we don’t care for the ducal home, Lathem, so we intend to take a few weeks here. We will need to make arrangements for the clothing that was brought to the other home for Her Grace to be moved here, as well as anything my valet took there for me. Her Grace will need a new maid as well, if you have any suggestions either from within the staff or from outside the home.” Rafe fired off these rapid statements before he turned on her. “Are you hungry, Sera?”