The Wicked Duke (24 page)

“He does have his principles.”

“Find a way for him to see his way clear on it. You said you could. You even said he was inclined to anyway.”

“Yes. Quite. Quite. Only I think someone else has become involved. I am not sure of it, but I think— He said something about those higher up taking an interest in his deliberations. He received some kind of letter.”

Irritation with Radley gave way to deep interest in this revelation. “Tell me exactly what he said. Was it from a government official?”

“I think so. Someone in Whitehall. I could not imagine what interest there would be in a vague case here in this county.” Radley's eyes brightened. “Perhaps this
letter told him to settle the whole matter quickly, that the realm can ill afford to have one of its dukes under such a cloud. Perhaps he will do so, and it will all be over, without my pressing him.”

Unlikely. From the sounds of it, the letter did not come from the lord chancellor, however, or one of his people. Lance began enumerating the other members of the government who might bear him ill will.

Foremost on the list was Viscount Sidmouth, the home secretary. That business last autumn with Ives and Padua had probably left Sidmouth hungry for revenge regarding his humiliation during the denouement of that episode. He had no authority regarding legal proceedings in Gloucestershire, but men enjoying unchecked power often ignored such details.

He cursed himself for not seeing sooner how Sidmouth might be exploiting this situation. He may have even put the notion of a trial in the prime minister's ear.
You helped humiliate me. Now I will help humiliate you.

“I am truly sorry,” Radley said, trying a smile. “I will do what I can, of course. I was sure I could influence the coroner, but I do not control him.”

Lance could barely contain his anger. It filled him, an ugly fury longing for release. He stood. “That witness you claimed to have is a part of the quid pro quo that you do control. If you are a man of honor, you will not allow this person to repeat those lies to Peterson, or anyone else.”

Radley had the gall to take umbrage at the insinuation. “Are you suggesting I am not a man of honor?”

“The question is open at this point.”

Radley stood. “How
dare
you, sir. I have acted in good faith.”

“The hell you have. You have acted in your own interest. Not mine and not Marianne's.”

“I must insist you take that back, sir!”

“I will do so when you have completed what you promised. If you do not, I will question your honor publicly and you can either call me out, or live with the result.” Lance advanced until he stood mere inches from Radley's lanky body. “Damnation, right now I almost hope it comes to a duel.”

Radley stared, his expression one of shock.

Lance strode to the door. “I will be in the carriage. Send your niece out to me.”

M
arianne resented the way Uncle Horace sent her away.
Aylesbury awaits you outside. He chooses to leave now.
She disliked even more the way Aylesbury had ended this visit so rudely. She had not even had time to see Nora.

She carried her pique to the carriage, and into it. Once seated across from Aylesbury, however, it drained away at once.

She had never seen him like this. The lamps on the portico carved his face in harsh highlights and shadows. His eyes blazed. His gaze pierced her. She might have been a thief who tried to pick his pocket.

“Did you and Uncle Horace have an argument?”

“We shared some excellent port while we discussed various things.”

That was not the same as saying there had been no argument. Perhaps her uncle had shared the same rumor that her mother had shared. That might explain his dark mood. The way he regarded her made her wonder if he somehow blamed her for the malicious talk. The news of it had certainly dampened her own spirits. A man, and a duke at that, most likely would take such gossip far worse.

They rode back to Merrywood in silence. By the time they arrived, she felt as though she sat across from a stranger. One with a jagged, dangerous streak in him, much like the scar on his face.

She went to her apartment at once, after a brief good-night. He aimed for the library.

Katy helped her undress. She sat at her dressing table while Katy brushed her hair out. She averted her gaze from her looking glass. Each time she glimpsed herself in it, a thought seemed to repeat in her head, one she wanted to avoid.
What if it is not just a rumor? What if that is the why?

The idea sickened her heart. She was not so childish as to expect love to blossom between them, but she had begun to think that perhaps theirs could be a decent marriage, one with intimacy at least, and humor and joy. That optimism could not survive in her reflection, where truth wanted to assert itself.

If that is the reason he married you, you are nothing to him. A convenience at best. A woman purchased with his honor at worst
.

Suddenly, Kay ceased brushing. The air in the dressing room instantly grew heavier. Marianne did not have to look to know Aylesbury had entered. He had brought his darkness to her.

Katy put the brush on the dressing table. She left. Aylesbury's robe appeared behind Marianne in the looking glass's reflection. His hands slid up her shoulders and around her neck in a peculiar caress.

She forced herself to speak. “You are displeased about something.”

“Most displeased.”

“Did I do something to cause this?”

“No. And yet, you are at the heart of it all the same.”

“My uncle told you about the talk abroad regarding our marriage, didn't he?”

“He did. I would have learned soon anyway.”

She turned and looked up at him. “It is true, isn't it? You married me so he would remove the suspicions about your brother's death.”

He just looked at her. She had her answer then. She knew. She just knew. She wanted to both weep and apologize at the same time. Instead she held on to her composure, barely.

“There had to be a good reason, of course. I knew that. I must conclude something went wrong with the plan, if you are so angry. A bit of gossip would not be enough for what happened after dinner.”

“You are not only curious, but clever, pretty flower. I believe you were unaware of your uncle's plot, but of course I will never know.”

“Of course I was unaware. I am indignant that you would think otherwise.”

He smiled, not kindly. “Indignant, are you? You do not know true indignation. Imagine mine. You are my duchess and my wife due to a bargain gone bad. At most I will get half a loaf. Other than the use of you, I received little secure benefit.” He took her hand and bade her to stand. “I find myself inclined to make the most of my situation. Can you understand that?”

She guessed what he meant. A tremor shook through her. Fear, to be sure, but also excitement colored that response. His sensuality had become palpable. The way he looked at her reflected no interest in polite love play. He appeared as bad as everyone said he was.

The danger in him should not arouse her, but it did. Not so much that she did not worry, however.

He saw it in her. “I am not going to hurt you. If you allow yourself, you will even know great pleasure.”

She nodded. Speech had become impossible.

He sank onto the divan in the dressing room. That left her standing before him. “Open that frothy thing you are wearing. I want to remind myself what I got in return for my imprudence.”

She looked down at the froth. She pulled the ends of four ribbons to untie the bows. Her fingers trembled while they sought the buttons buried under tiers of lace. She glanced at him once, but his attention terrified her so she did not look again.

The sides of the undressing gown fell apart, leaving her nakedness visible.

“More.”

She eased the sides apart farther, so her breasts and mound showed.

“Take it off.”

She obeyed. The lace fell to her feet, leaving her naked.

He left her standing like that. She felt awkward. Vulnerable. Allowing him to gaze upon her like this charged the air in the chamber with an undeniable eroticism. Despite her nervousness, a sly arousal began spinning its insistent lure.

He stood. His own robe floated to the floor. “Look at me,” he commanded. “I do not want you shy. I have told you that.”

She forced her vision to him. He stood as naked as she. Hard. Sculpted. Stern.

He will not hurt me
.
He is not like that
.
And he promised.
Yet much had changed since that promise, and he appeared harsh enough that she might be too trusting. A small part of her, the primal part, found his dominating disposition thrilling, however, and her vulnerability almost delicious.

He came to her, so close that her breasts touched him and his arousal touched her. That made her feel small as well as naked. She should not like that, but—

“Kiss me.”

She had to go up on her toes to do so. She had to hold on to him for balance. His shoulders felt hard beneath her fingertips. She pressed her lips to his.

“Kiss me the way I kiss you, Marianne.”

Feeling more foolish than bold, she let her tongue
invade his mouth. She had to hold his head for it to work. That brought her closer to his body, until she pressed his warmth. His arm surrounded her waist, holding her closer yet.

She was not sure she even did it right, but he did not correct her at least. His embrace lifted her so her toes barely touched the floor. He took over, and his own invasion proved far more aggressive than hers. That and the strained energy his body contained gave her an inkling of how it would be.

He released her. He took her hand and led her to the bed. “Sit.”

“Will it be like this all night? With your commands, and my obedience?”

He looked at her the way a king might look at an audacious rebel. “Yes.”

She sat.

He stood in front of her. “Kiss me again.”

She looked up. She could not kiss him unless he bent to her.

He did not bend, but only looked down at her.

She stared at the torso in front of her face. Tentatively, she leaned forward and kissed it. The taste of him fascinated her. Soft skin over hard body. A little salty. Spicy, perhaps. She kissed again. And again. The action ceased being a strange novelty. She held his hips and kissed more, using her mouth, finally venturing her tongue along his ribs.

He pressed closer, between her legs, until his erection teased at her breasts. His hands did, too, reaching
below her arms to caress her nipples until she forgot his mood, and the reason for it, and the way this had started.

Then he reminded her again. One hand went to her crown. Subtly, unmistakably, he pressed her head down and encouraged her kisses lower. She realized what he wanted. Thoroughly aroused now, already anticipating the bliss to come, she did not know shock so much as ignorance. She stroked the length of his shaft with her fingertips, then ventured a kiss on the tip.

He did not demand more, or even wait for it. Instead he pushed her away, and down, so that she fell back on the bed.

“You first.” He went to his knees.

She watched in a daze. Watched and felt his hand demand her passion. Deliberately, ruthlessly, he coaxed her arousal higher and higher. When she was moaning and frantic, his head dipped and new sensations assaulted her. Too intense to bear, they forced her eyes closed while her mind contracted until it knew nothing else but erotic pleasure and need. Wicked caresses teased her until she wanted to scream. Then she did scream as the release exploded in her.

She emerged from her stupor to see him standing again. Jaw tight, eyes narrowed and fury raging, he reached for her hand and pulled her up again.
You first
. His words repeated in her head. She knew what he expected. She grasped his erection and lowered her head.

He told her what to do. His words came to her through the daze in which she still floated. She liked how he reacted, how she tortured him as he did her so often. She
sensed the fury tightening in him, and his pleasure at her command for a change.

Something in him changed. Snapped. She found herself on her back again. He lifted her knees to his hips and entered her hard, with one forceful thrust. He withdrew and did it again. And again. Each time he closed his eyes, as if to contain or savor what it did to him. Five times he did that. Then he withdrew, reached for her, and flipped her. Hands grasping her hips, raising them high, he continued his thrusts, furious and hard, until after a long while a violent release claimed him.

*   *   *

H
e collapsed on the bed, spent and sated. Not satisfied, however. Not at peace.

Marianne did not move for a long while. She remained as he had left her, bottom high, her pose erotic to him even now. Then she rolled onto her back, and pushed herself up the bed so her legs did not dangle. The action made her grimace a little.

Hell.

“I hurt you.”

She closed her eyes. “Not really. Although I thought you might reach the bottom of my throat if you kept it up.”

Damn. “I did not mean to.”

“I think you did. I think you meant to have use of the woman you had received in a bad bargain, and courtesy be damned. At least now I know what being ravished means.”

He should feel guilty. Only he didn't. Not nearly enough.

She opened her eyes and looked at him directly. “I think I like being ravished.”

“That is good to know.” Very good to know. A relief to know, he had to admit.

“Not all the time, of course. If that is your intention, you will find me unwilling. I still know how to punch when I have to.”

He had no idea what his intention was. He had not yet completely conquered the fury born of discovering he had been Horace Radley's fool.

He turned on his back, too, and waited for his body to replenish some strength.

“What happened between you and my uncle?” she asked. “I think I have a right to know. I have earned that right.”

He told her, because she did have a right to know. She listened without comment.

“I had guessed part of it. Not about this witness he claimed to have. The rest, however. I suspected that for a long while. It was the only why that made any sense.”

He reached for her hand, and pressed it to his lips. “If I had not liked you, and not had affection for you, there would have been no proposal. It was very easy for me to do, you see.” Too easy. She had earned the right to know that too.

“Thank you for that.” She gently extricated her hand from his. “Do you mind leaving now? It has been a long day, and a startling night. I would like to sleep.”

“Of course.” He left the bed, retrieved his robe from the dressing room, and let himself out. Chaos still churned
inside him, but not like before. The ugly anger had diminished at least.

Of course it had. He had relieved himself of its ragged edge by turning it on Marianne. She had no blame in this, but he had treated her as if she had.

She had never requested that he leave before. He suspected she would do so frequently in the future.
It will always be the best for me when you allow me to hold you close in the peace afterward.
That had ended tonight, probably forever.

*   *   *

T
he next morning Marianne called for a bath soon after dawn. Then she dressed and went below. She asked for Calliope to be saddled. Once astride she rode directly to her uncle's house, and barged in while he was eating his breakfast.

Her mother sat there too. And Nora. They all looked at her. Mama's mouth fell open.

Marianne had no interest in anyone except the one man at the table. “I would speak with you, Uncle. In the library, if you do not mind.”