Duke of Thorns (Heiress Games 1) (32 page)

He shoved her sleeves over her shoulders and down her arms. The silk slipped over her chemise, and he shoved that down as well. Her stays were still fastened, pushing up her breasts, offering them to him.

Only to him. He cupped them in his hands as her nipples hardened and the arch of her back gave him the response her voice denied him. She filled his palms perfectly, and he reveled in how they fit each other.

But his dreams of her couldn’t be fulfilled by breasts alone. He unfastened her stays and threw them aside, then moved her off his lap and onto the bed.

She had dreams of her own, though. It was clear in how she sat up and put a hand against his chest. “I want to see you,” she said.

He arched a brow.

“Your grace,” she added.

His heart broke on the words. He wanted her to tease him, call him ‘sirrah’ again.

But this was business. He pulled his shirt over his head.

Her smile was reward enough for now. She trailed a single finger down his breastbone, through the hair scattered across his chest. Then lower, to his stomach, which flattened under her as he sucked in a breath. Then lower still, to his unbuttoned trousers and the aching need waiting for her.

Even through his trousers, it was torture. He should have kept everything slow; she was still all but an innocent.

She was also more daring than anyone he knew. And the slow grin she gave him as his shaft hardened beneath her fingers fueled his deepest longings.

He flipped her onto her stomach, shocking a laugh out of her. He needed that laugh, needed to hear something lighter when all he’d brought her was darkness. He skimmed his hands down to her ankles, pushing her slippers off her feet. Then he moved higher, gathering her skirt as he went, revealing endless legs. When he found the edges of her stockings, at another perfect boundary between silk and skin, he paused.

When the silence grew too thick, she looked back over her shoulder. “I accept,” she said.

There were so many other words he wanted to hear from her. So many other words he wanted to say to her. He looked into the fathomless depths of her eyes and saw everything he wanted there, waiting for him.

But, fool that he was, he didn’t know how to dive for it.

He moved his hands higher, over the last torturous inches of her thighs to the sweet curve of her derriere. He shoved her skirts over her waist, pooling them around her. And he kissed the base of her spine, right where all her backbone gave way to softness.

“I accept,” he whispered against her skin, so softly that she wouldn’t hear him.

His thumb trailed over her cleft. His fingers curled under her and parted her folds. She gasped as he stroked her, gasped again when he slid a finger inside her. She was already wet for him.

He leaned over her, trailing kisses through her hair as his fingers increased their tempo. “I accept,” he murmured into her hair, hoping it would keep his secret.

Her hands clawed into the blankets as he, relentless, pushed her harder. Endless minutes of it, until she writhed underneath him. He bit her shoulder, lightly, then kissed the pain away. “I accept,” he said, in the softest voice he was capable of.

She cried out then, convulsing, shaking against his hand. He didn’t wait for her to settle; he couldn’t, not anymore. He freed himself from his trousers, slid an arm under her, pulled her up onto her knees, and drove into her.

For Callie, this was something she hadn’t dreamed of. His arms, his legs, his cock — she was surrounded, filled. Utterly at his mercy.

Thorington didn’t have mercy. But Gavin did. He whispered something as he rocked into her. She couldn’t hear the words, but the tone was a promise. His rhythm was devious, relentless. Her need built again.

She should have been shocked. She was enthralled instead. His fingers twined in her hair, pressed against her neck. It could have been business. He could have been using her…

Or it could have been love. He could have been serving her.

He slammed into her again.

“I accept,” she sobbed into the pillow. “Gavin, I accept.”

She wanted to say something else. But those were the only words they had, the only words for the contract they’d offered each other.

She came on his final thrust, as he emptied his seed into her.

He’d given her what he’d agreed to give her. It didn’t feel like business, though. As he collapsed, as he pulled her into his embrace on the narrow bed, as they splayed around each other, as they twisted in their half-removed clothes, all she felt was love.

She loved him. She loved him, and he could destroy her with it.

She couldn’t think about it. She ran her fingers over his chest. It heaved beneath her as he fought to catch his breath.

“God, Callie,” he said. “You are magnificent.”

Her heart bloomed. Her head couldn’t stop it.

But reason still ruled her tongue. She couldn’t bring herself to lie — couldn’t bring herself to say the words that would tear the moment apart, to hurt him before he could hurt her.

She could stay silent, though. She pressed a kiss against his heart, letting her lips give him the words her voice wasn’t allowed to say.

They stayed there for endless minutes. It must have been hours; the room turned grey instead of black as the candles guttered and made way for dawn. She should have gone back to her own bed, but it was beyond her power to leave.

He hadn’t made that choice for her. She had trapped herself more effectively than he ever could have.

Finally, as the grey slowly turned to gold, Callie sat up. Putting herself back together wasn’t a task either of them were equipped for, but she pulled her chemise and dress up and shoved her hair into a messy knot.

He watched her as she did so, trailing his fingers down her back over the row of buttons he’d destroyed. He did up the ones that remained, pressing kisses in the gaps. She shivered.

She felt like crying.

She stood and shook out her skirts. He stood behind her, smoothing his hands over her hips.

“I will do my best by you,” he said. “I vow it.”

She bowed her head, let him kiss the back of her neck. “I know it.”

But even though he escorted her back to her room, even though he held her hand as though they were sweethearts, even though he’d made a vow he wouldn’t break…Callie didn’t know if Gavin’s best was enough to make up for Thorington’s worst.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Callie had never had much patience for dressmakers. She had even less patience for this one.

“Please, hold yourself as still as possible,” the modiste said the next morning as she draped Callie in yellow silk. “If I do not cut this properly, it will be ruined.”

“I have been standing still for hours,” Callie said.

“It has only been twenty minutes,” Mrs. Jennings said, not looking up as she perused a pattern book.

“It feels like hours,” Callie said.

Her maid sighed. “You haven’t had a new dress made in over a year. You might enjoy it if you let it happen.”

Callie stood still. But it all felt too sudden. She’d had only a few hours of sleep after Thorington had escorted her back to her room, but it wasn’t fatigue that made it difficult to concentrate.

It was the question of what to do about Thorington. She was already tired of thinking about it. Would she drive herself mad thinking about him between now and their wedding?

Already she realized she had made a mistake the night before. She knew better than to negotiate anything in anger. It was one of the earliest lessons she’d learned when she had taken over her company, and she had never made that mistake again. But she hadn’t been able to stop herself.

The memory of Thorington’s lovemaking, though, gave her endless opportunity for regret. She finally understood the lesson he’d wanted to teach her during their first night together. They weren’t meant for a business arrangement. Her heart couldn’t bear the thought of spending her life with anything less than all of him.

But could she accept the risk? She’d known him for a week. She never would have bought a ship after so little research. In their marriage, he would have all the power and all the authority. No matter what happened, there was no escaping him until one of them died. She couldn’t win a divorce from a duke. And if he took his marriage vows as seriously as he took all his others, he’d never let her go.

You don’t want him to let you go
, her heart whispered.

She tried to put him out of her mind. But it was impossible — especially when a steady stream of visitors wanted to talk of nothing but him.

The first, surprisingly, was Octavia. When she knocked, Callie shook her head at Mrs. Jennings. “I do not wish to receive any callers,” she said to her maid.

Mrs. Jennings, for once, overruled her. “She is your family. It would do you well to have more family after all this time.”

Her maid opened the door before Callie could stop her. If Octavia had heard their conversation, she made no sign of it. “I wanted to congratulate you last night,” Octavia said as she strode into the sitting room Callie had commandeered for the fitting. “But so many others were offering their best wishes that I thought it better to call on you this morning.”

“Thank you,” Callie said.

Octavia was sharp enough to notice Callie’s reticence. “You aren’t blushing as I expected a newly betrothed woman to be. Is something amiss?”

“Of course not. I merely failed to sleep enough last night.”

Octavia looked Callie up and down. Callie twitched, earning another reproof from the modiste.

“Are you not happy? I’ll grant that Thorington isn’t the one of those brothers I’d have picked, but he is a fine enough match. If you like dukes, of course.”

“Do you not like dukes?”

“I find there are far too many of them at the moment,” Octavia said. “Two at one party isn’t just unusual — it’s unwelcome. They make all other men shabby by comparison.”

Callie remembered the night before, when she’d caught Rafe watching Octavia. Octavia’s earlier comment suddenly struck a different chord. “How do you feel about brothers of dukes?” she asked.

Octavia tsked. “You will have to be more subtle than that, cousin. I’m not fresh from the schoolroom.”

Callie held up her hands.

The modiste yelped. “Do not move again, Miss Briarley, I beg you.”

“I apologize,” Callie said to the modiste. To Octavia, she said, “I’ll say nothing further on the matter. But I wish you luck finding a match. Ferguson won’t let me win with Thorington as my husband, and I can’t bear to see Lucretia get her way.”

“Nor can I,” Octavia said. The steel in her voice was perceptible even under her drawl. “Especially not after she brought Captain Hallett here to trouble you.”

Callie cast a sideways glance at the modiste and her assistant, gauging what she could safely say. But there was no way to ask Octavia how she’d heard of Hallett — whether she had merely observed the name in the
Gazette
, or whether she had guessed Callie’s business. She moved the conversation to safer waters. “Did Lucretia really steal all of your invitations? How did she manage that?”

Octavia nodded as she took one of the pattern books from the pile in front of Mrs. Jennings. “I live at my brother’s former hunting box. It’s in the farthest corner of the Maidenstone estate, removed enough that I can go for weeks without ever crossing Lucy’s path. I’ll have to fire all the servants. She must have paid them a small fortune not to tell me about the party.”

She said it casually, as though they’d fought similar battles before. But there was an underlying note that Callie was too familiar with. “Were you lonely there, all by yourself?”

“I find ways to amuse myself.” Octavia flipped through the pattern book. “When you are done with your modiste, I would like to order a few dresses. I haven’t seen a modiste in far too long.”

Callie let Octavia change the subject. They talked of dresses for several minutes, as the modiste finished with the yellow silk and moved on to green. But the peace between them was soon disturbed by another arrival. Lucretia walked through the door. She stopped, startled, when she saw Octavia. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said.

“Callie and I are becoming fast friends,” Octavia said. “Perhaps I’ll share Maidenstone with her when I win it.”

The look on Lucretia’s face was something between annoyance and jealousy. “I shall return later,” she said, backing out of the room.

Callie waved her in. The modiste sighed and reset the pin she’d just placed. “Please,” Callie said. “I want to talk to you.”

She knew her voice didn’t sound like an invitation — she couldn’t keep the warning out of it. But Lucretia surprised her by coming in anyway. “I owe you an apology,” Lucretia said.

“Is this like your last apology?” Callie asked.

Lucretia looked confused. “Which apology?”

“The one in which you apologized for how rudely you greeted me, then vowed to keep me from winning Maidenstone.”

Octavia laughed. “That’s one of Lucy’s favorite apologies.”

Lucretia frowned. “I am still sorry for my rudeness. And I am sorry for bringing Captain Hallett here. I can be sorry and still be determined.”

“You haven’t learned anything about staying out of others’ lives, have you?” Octavia said.

There was no humor left in Octavia’s voice. It was strange how quickly she could turn dark — as though there was a vast well of danger beneath a bright, brittle façade. Lucretia flinched.

That flinch was so fast, so instinctual, that Callie wondered again what had come between them. Callie had no love for Lucretia. On the surface, Octavia was a far more entertaining companion. But Octavia had hidden depths that Callie couldn’t begin to guess. And Lucretia flinched as though Octavia had hurt her before — as though Octavia could only hurt her again.

They’d played princesses in Maidenstone Wood. But which of them was the princess, and which was the villain?

It wasn’t a question she could answer then. Stepping into their drama might provide a welcome relief from her swirling thoughts of Thorington, but she didn’t have the capacity to think of their problems while trying to solve her own.