My Dark Duke (21 page)

‘Of course,' she answered softly, yet emphatically. She would never betray this man who now stood before her. A man who had known only betrayal at the hands of the woman he had loved. Even if he never came to love her as he had his former wife, she would not hurt him. She could not. Because she was very much afraid she was falling in love with her husband. She stepped forward and tentatively slipped her fingers into the loose clasp of his hand. ‘I swear on everything I hold dear that I will never break the vows I made to you,' she promised him.

His eyes softened. ‘I am glad to hear that.' She wondered if she had imagined the slight hoarseness in his voice. She did not mistake the way his hand tightened around hers.

This was the closest they had come to discussing his former wife. The question of what happened to her teetered at the tip of Alethea's tongue. Yet she was loath to lose the newfound closeness they now shared. Besides, she trusted him, did she not?

‘What is it?' asked James, looking intently at her. ‘Something is troubling you.'

Her eyes widened at his statement, and she moistened her lips, wondering if she should voice her thoughts.

‘Tell me,' he commanded.

His gaze was so compelling that she could do nothing but submit. ‘I . . . have been wondering . . . what happened with your first wife?' she asked tentatively.

James stiffened, his eyes turning to flint before her. ‘All you need to know is that I played no part in her death.' His voice was clipped and it was clear that he would not entertain any further questions.

Despite the sudden coldness in his demeanour, his hand remained fastened around hers, and it gave her hope. He would open up to her one day. She just had to be patient. ‘I would not have married you if I thought that of you.'

The hard set of his mouth eased. ‘Well, then.' He said nothing further, but merely beheld her with his dark eyes, so she gave him a shy smile. James cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, his voice was again that deep baritone that she adored. ‘You look lovely. Is that a new gown?'

Alethea nodded, blushing as his eyes roved over her in a possessive manner she was unused to. She was glad that she had chosen the rose-coloured gown with the lace-covered cream stomacher rather than the white gown sprinkled with violets. Even in her hurry, she hadn't forgotten the colour of his mother's favourite room.

‘Have you had breakfast?' he asked.

‘Yes.'

‘Good. Come with me, I have something to show you.'

They left the house through a side entrance after navigating through a bewildering set of corridors and stairs and Alethea looked wonderingly at the perfectly sculpted gardens that surrounded the main house.

‘You will have plenty of time to explore the gardens and surrounds. The stables are this way.' The duke suddenly stopped short, a frown appearing on his brow as he looked at her. ‘I am sorry. I have been unpardonably unfeeling. Are you well enough to walk? If you are not, I can show you the stables another day.'

Her heart swelled to see the obvious concern in his face and voice. ‘I am fine, Your Grace.'

His expression was regretful. ‘You do not have to tell me an untruth in order to spare my feelings. What happened last night . . . it was completely my fault. I —' He paused, embarrassment colouring his cheeks. ‘I have never lost control like that. Being able to finally feel you around me after all these months pushed me over the brink. I am sorry.'

His frankness made her blush, but his words, indeed, his very demeanour erased any resentment and hurt she was still harbouring. ‘Please do not apologise any more. I am fine. Truly,' she said softly.

His gaze held hers. ‘I am glad,' he said simply. He held out his arm for her. ‘The stables are a half-hour walk from the house, but it is a very pleasant walk.'

And it was. A little more than half an hour later they arrived at a large, well-kept structure with at least thirty stalls. A short, stocky, middle-aged man with straw-coloured hair came hurrying up to them as they stepped inside and gave them a bow. ‘Your Graces.'

‘Thackery, this is your new duchess.'

‘Most pleased to meet you, Your Grace.' Thackery bowed again.

James turned to Alethea. ‘This is our stable master, Thackery, who has been in my employ for, what, Thackery, twenty-six years, is it?'

‘Yes, Your Grace. Twenty-six years last month.' He turned a smiling face to Alethea. ‘I started as a stable boy when His Grace was but a small boy of seven.'

She returned his smile. ‘You must know everything one needs to know about horseflesh then, I would imagine.'

The stable master flushed with pride. ‘Oh no, no, Your Grace, trust me, I am still learning every day. But I do believe I know why His Grace has brought you here.'

Alethea gave her husband a questioning look. ‘I thought you brought me here to show me your stables.'

A corner of his mouth lifted. ‘That too. But Thackery is right. There is something in particular I wanted you to see.'

‘Follow me, please, Your Grace.' Thackery led them to the last stall on the left then made a soft clicking noise with his mouth. ‘Here girl, come here,' he said in a soft, coaxing voice.

A chestnut mare with the gentlest brown eyes Alethea had ever seen came to the door of the stall. The distinctive shape of her head and the high carriage of her tail told Alethea of the mare's Arabian lineage. ‘She's gorgeous,' she breathed, holding out her hand and letting the horse sniff it. She slowly extended her hand and patted the horse's neck, smiling when the creature whinnied its approval. ‘What's her name?'

‘Leila. Do you like her?' James's breath fanned the back of her neck and, startled, Alethea looked up at her husband.

She quivered at the warm look in his eyes. ‘Yes, of course I do.'

‘Good, because she's yours.'

‘Mine?' She shook her head without thinking. ‘No, I can't accept such a gift. It's too much.' In her surprise, she did not notice Thackery leaving.

The duke smiled. ‘I think I am entitled to give my wife whatever gifts I choose. Including a mare.'

‘But you have already given me so much: the jewellery, my room, the hairbrushes and now this.' The horse whinnied again and Alethea stroked her neck reassuringly.

‘In that case, I suppose I'll have to find a buyer for her,' replied James. ‘Pity really; she is descended from one of the finest bloodlines in the world.' His voice was mild, but Alethea whirled around in a rush.

‘What? No! Don't sell her!' She suddenly noticed the merriment in his eyes and frowned in reproach. ‘You are teasing me again.'

‘Forgive me, but yes.' He cupped her cheek with his hand, his fingertips stroking the sensitive skin on the side of her neck. ‘That is a husband's prerogative, surely.' His voice was low and intimate. Too intimate, really, for where they were. She could not mistake the look in his eyes. It was one she had witnessed just last night.

‘Such as your prerogative to give gifts?' Her voice was breathless as he lowered his head towards hers, his intent clear.

‘Absolutely.' To her surprise, his expression became serious. ‘Alethea, I have something of import to ask of you.'

‘Of course.' What could it be that had erased the frivolity from his countenance?

‘I need you to promise me that whenever you decide to ride your mare, you will always have a groom by your side.'

‘All right.' She didn't always have a groom with her when she rode at her father's estate. But she supposed it was a small annoyance she could put up with.

‘I am deathly serious, Alethea. You
must
do as I ask.' The forcefulness in his tone startled her.

Whatever the real reason was behind his request, the intensity of his gaze persuaded her to answer. ‘I promise.'

After looking at her for a moment longer, he nodded, apparently satisfied. ‘Good. Now,' he said, his mouth curving into a devilish smile, ‘where were we?'

‘I think you were about to kiss me.' Her voice was breathless as he lowered his head towards hers, his intent clear.

‘Ah, yes,' he murmured, just as their lips met. Alethea melted under the mastery of his kiss, her hands stealing up his shoulders and linking behind his neck as his tongue delved skilfully into her mouth. From one moment to the next desire flared and became a sudden conflagration between them. How long their kiss lasted, she could not have said, but when he finally lifted his head, her heart was racing full tilt and her mind was clouded with passion. At that moment, she couldn't have sworn where she was currently standing.

Her husband regarded her with such heated lust that she felt an answering surge of moisture between her thighs. Her breath caught, for she now knew that it was her body preparing itself for him.

James's eyes darkened to pitch-black. ‘That promise I made last night: do you still want me never to lay a finger on you?' His deep, dark voice made her shiver.

At that precise moment, she could barely remember her name, much less why she had made him promise such a ridiculous thing. ‘Yes, I . . . I mean no.'
No, definitely, no.

His smile was wicked as he bent his head and took her earlobe between his teeth.

Oh.

She could never have guessed that teeth grazing over such an innocuous part of her anatomy could prove so erotic.

‘So I have your permission then to lay a finger . . . and more . . . on your delectable person?'

The duke's tongue traced a path on the rim of her ear and her head dropped to the side to allow him more access. His tongue dipped inside her ear teasingly and Alethea gave a soundless moan.
More.

‘Yes?' he prompted.

What was he talking about? Oh, who cared? ‘Yes, yes,' she said frantically when he paused in his ministrations. Why had he stopped?

He gently set her away from him. Now what was he doing? She looked at him in bewilderment as he took her unresisting hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow.

‘You, my dear, are proving to be more temptation than I had ever imagined, but I refuse to take my new duchess against a stable door.' His eyes glittered dangerously and a thrill of excitement rushed through her. ‘Now then, I believe you are quite overcome by my generous gift and have need of a little lie-down; is that not so?'

Her mouth curved in a slow smile. ‘I think you are quite right, Your Grace. I am certainly feeling a little faint. Do you think you could escort me to my room?' She gave him the sultriest look she could conjure.

The answering flare of heat in his eyes almost made her gasp. ‘Certainly. It is my duty as your husband, after all,' he said as he kissed her hand and led her back to the house.

Our Heroine Neglects Her Promise

Alethea stared at her reflection in the oval mirror above her dressing table as James removed her gown. The memory of their night at the inn surfaced and she shivered lightly in reaction. She couldn't help the frisson of nervousness that flashed through her. The pain she had felt when he had claimed her body last evening was not something she wished to experience again. But he had told her he would not hurt her again, and she believed him.

A tug at her waist removed the last of her petticoats and then he was loosening the laces of her corset, before drawing it down. Next came her fine linen shift, which fell to the ground when he pushed it off her shoulders. Alethea stared down at the dark head of her husband as he knelt on one knee and removed the garments from around her feet. She had never before imagined that a husband would undertake the duties of her maid.

And yet, this simple act of undressing was heating her blood as effectively as his kisses had done. Her eyes widened when he took hold of her right ankle and placed her foot on his raised knee.

He looked up at her and she felt a tide of heat rise up from her chest to cover her neck and face. It took every ounce of willpower she owned not to cross her arms over herself to hide her nudity.

‘Do you realise how beautiful you are?' His voice, made gravelly from desire, raked across her sensitive nerve endings, and her abdomen tightened in response. He stroked his left hand from ankle to knee and she shuddered at the touch. ‘These stockings . . . are they from Madame Blanche?'

‘Y-yes.' Alethea watched as he bent his dark head and kissed her knee. The moist heat of his mouth made her gasp.

‘The pink ribbons are extremely . . . seductive,' he growled, placing another kiss further up her thigh. ‘I think I shall leave them on.' His fingers stroked further up her limb as his mouth followed.

One kiss.

Two kisses.

Three.

Oh heavens above.

He finally reached his intended destination and Alethea cried out softly, her hands reaching out blindly for his shoulders to steady herself. His blunt fingers slipped through her folds and she knew from his gasp that he had discovered exactly how drenched she was. She opened her mouth to say something, apologise perhaps, but he didn't give her a chance. Pushing her raised thigh outwards, he leaned closer and did something she never would have expected.

He placed his mouth
there
.

Her entire body stiffened in shock. Her hands pushed at his shoulders, but his grip on her hip and knee was immovable. ‘James, what are you —'

He suckled gently and her vision blurred. Shards of pleasure tore through her and she closed her eyes helplessly, as if by doing so she could shut out the sight and sound of him pleasuring her. Surely this was wicked. Nothing that felt so incredible could be good. His tongue was now stroking lightly over that spot that always made her limbs weak. Strong, slow strokes, then lightning-fast quick strokes. Over and over he repeated the pattern until she was panting harshly, her hands fisting tightly over the coat on his shoulders.

To her dismay, he suddenly stopped, dipping his tongue lower below to tease her where she ached, where she felt an emptiness and a need to be filled. Up, down, circling, his movements delicate as the fluttering of butterfly wings.

‘James, please . . . I beg of you,' she breathed, opening her heavy-lidded eyes to see him looking up at her, his eyes burning fiercely with desire.

‘You need never beg,' he replied roughly.

He tightened his grip on her, and then his mouth was back where it had been, his tongue flicking her bud quickly and unceasingly. Without warning, her release swept over her, and she cried out, her entire body trembling as an explosion of sensation overtook her. His tongue gentled, moving over her sex with soothing strokes until she finally stilled, her breath slowing.

The duke stood up, drawing her into his arms and she leaned gratefully against him, her legs weak. After a short time, he placed his fingers on her chin and lifted her face up to his.

Alethea gazed up into her husband's eyes, and seeing the question there, smiled. Wordlessly, she reached up and slipped her hand around his neck, under his queue and pulled him towards her. She thought she saw something flash in his eyes as he bent down obligingly, but what emotion that was, she didn't know. In any case, any thoughts she had been entertaining vanished the moment his lips touched hers and she yielded herself completely to his masterful mouth.

When he finally drew away, her breathing was heavy and the heat that had not completely dissipated from his previous attentions swept over her again. What was this spell he held over her? When he turned slightly to lead her to her bed, she placed her hand on his arm, stopping him.

‘Wait.' Her eyes held his as she reached up and slid his coat over his shoulders. He said nothing, merely watched her with hooded eyes while she removed his black velvet waistcoat, then slowly loosened his cravat. Before long, he stood in naked magnificence before her. She only hesitated briefly before placing both her hands on his chest. His skin was warm, the muscles supple beneath. She stroked her hands, palms flat, down his chest, feeling and hearing him suck in a sharp breath when they came in contact with his flat stomach.

Then down, even further, until she encountered
that
part of him. His cock, he had called it. As before, it strained towards her, its head flushed, the veins prominent. She curled her hand around it tentatively. He was so hot, so very hard. A complete contrast to the silky soft skin that covered it.

‘Alethea.' He emitted a tight groan when she slowly started to stroke him. She experienced a thrill of pride at her power over him from her mere touch.

‘Does this give you pleasure?' She lifted her eyes up to meet his. His cheeks were flushed, and a faint gleam of perspiration lay on his forehead.

‘Yes.' His breath quickened.

‘Show me how to do this.' She moved her hand on the soft skin, sliding over its hard core. ‘I want to give you the pleasure you gave to me.'

‘There's no need —' he started to say.

‘Please, let me.'

At her softly worded entreaty, his eyes blazed and he reached down, covering her hand with his. ‘Tighter. Faster.' His hand showed her the pace. ‘Harder.' His voice was so gritty she could barely understand him. His body trembled next to hers.

His breathing harshened, and Alethea stared, unable to tear her gaze away as a flush covered his chest and his pupils dilated until his eyes were almost completely black. Suddenly, his body stiffened and he threw his head back, the cords in his neck standing out in sharp relief. He expelled a sharp breath through gritted teeth and shuddered.

Something wet splashed onto her inner wrist and she looked down, her eyes widening at the sight of his cock releasing a creamy emulsion. She had felt the wetness between her legs last night, but had not witnessed its provenance. So this was the seed that men emitted. James tugged her hand, and she released him reluctantly.

‘I'm sorry.' Still breathing hard, the duke looked down at her, appearing somewhat chagrined.

‘Whatever for?'

‘I haven't spilled my seed so quickly since I was an untried boy.' He bent down and retrieved his cravat, wiping her hand and himself in fast, efficient motions, then discarding the cloth.

‘Don't be sorry.' She smiled up at him, despite the trace of shyness that still remained. ‘That was most educational.'

He shook his head resignedly as he led her to the bed. ‘Well then, far be it from me to deprive you of a lesson such as this.'

Alethea laughed, the painful memory of the night before almost completely gone as he picked her up and placed her on the bed before coming to lie next to her. ‘I do expect many more lessons, you do realise. I mean, surely you wish me to be the most
accomplished
wife.'

His reply made her giggle. ‘Your accomplishments might well be the death of me,' he muttered. Her eyes widened as he began to slide down the bed. ‘Now, I think it is time for your next lesson, don't you?'

As the days passed by, Alethea settled into her role as duchess and mistress of her new home. Her days started to fall into a rather predictable pattern. She would alternate between rising early for a morning ride and having a leisurely lie-in with breakfast served to her in bed. After that there were consultations with Alphonse about the menu for luncheon and dinner, and Mrs Tilford about various housekeeping matters. Alethea now had new-found respect for her mother, who had been dealing with such matters for most of her life. Alethea had only been a duchess for three months and she was already finding these chores tiresome. Did she really need to be consulted if the scullery maid was not carrying out her duties as diligently as she should? Or whether the turbot should be served with a dill sauce or a white wine sauce?

Then there had been the seemingly never-ending stream of visitors. Being the new Duchess of Trent, she also felt duty-bound to meet the families who lived near them. She had told Martha just yesterday that if she saw another cake, she might very well scream. She didn't even like sweets! Certainly she had drunk enough tea to sail a ship. And yet, she continued to smile and converse with her visitors. Duty was duty.

Alethea sighed, laying down her book on the side table. She stood up and went to stand at the window overlooking the meticulously landscaped gardens, which stretched out as far as the eye could see. The view was magnificent, even from the small salon she was in. As she gazed down at the small army of gardeners who were busy tending the large acreage, she thought how very fortunate she was to be in her position. To live in the lap of luxury, her every whim tended to at an instant. Not to mention being married to the Duke of Trent. Her duke. The thought of her husband made her cheeks heat. Her days might oft-times be mundane, even a little dull, but the nights, well, the nights were anything but.

From the time James had shown her the heights of passion that were possible that afternoon after their visit to the stable, she no longer held any resistance against him. She allowed him liberties she would never have dreamt of before her marriage. A few days later, after she had fully healed, they consummated their union together again, and this time there was no pain. Only bliss.

Her lips curled up in a small smile when she thought of what was to come later this evening. As with most days, after he had spent most of the day dealing with his business and estate affairs, they would dine together in the breakfast room. The table in that room only seated twenty; it was much smaller than the formal dining room table, which could seat up to eighty. That first night after their wedding, they had taken their seats at opposite ends, then fallen silent. How were they supposed to converse? She was not about to raise her voice across a table laden with at least three candelabra, two large floral arrangements and a magnificent crystal epergne. Not only would that have been completely indecorous and unladylike, she doubted that he would even have been able to hear her from that distance. Taking matters into her own hands, she had stood up and walked the length of the room before seating herself next to her husband, much to the astonishment of the footmen.

With the barest hint of a smile, all the duke had said to her was, ‘Somehow I am unsurprised that my headstrong wife has again ignored decorum.'

‘Are you saying you object to my presence, Your Grace?' she had replied impertinently, completely sure of herself by the gleam of amusement in his eyes.

‘I would never object to your presence, madam wife.' Then he had lifted her gloved hand and kissed it.

When she had suggested the next day that they use the breakfast room instead, James had been surprisingly agreeable. She realised why later that evening when she found herself collapsed in a dishevelled heap atop the breakfast table. Her husband was seated before her, that now familiar wicked smile upon his lips. He appeared extremely pleased with his efforts. She, on the other hand, had been shocked. And delighted, too. She had never known that sweet cream, intended to accompany the peaches, could be used in
quite
that way.

Alethea had accused him of trying to shock her, which he had denied, retorting that it was her fault that he was unable to keep his hands to himself. A fact that he then proceeded to prove by carrying her to her bedchamber. Even now she shuddered to think what torrid gossip the servants had shared below stairs after that incident. Doubtless the way she and the duke looked at each over their dinner each night provided continual fodder for the servants. Not that either of them cared. Why, sometimes she didn't even know what she was actually eating, so spellbound was she by the heat in his eyes. Neither one of them could wait for their meal to end so that they could retreat to her bedchamber. She grinned, wondering if they appeared like lovesick fools to others. She hugged the thought to herself, wondering if he was falling in love with her. She knew he cared for her. But she hoped that his feelings went deeper than that. For she loved him with her entire being.

The clock chimed, interrupting her musings. She glanced over and saw that it would be a few hours yet before she had to dress for dinner. Feeling more restless than usual, she decided to go for a ride on her mare. She rang the bell and informed the footmen to tell Thackery to saddle the horse, then went upstairs to change.

A half hour later, Leila was trotting along the usual path that Alethea took on her rides, a young groom, Jack, trailing behind her on another mare. As she rode, she suddenly remembered that she was to visit the rectory tomorrow. The vicar and his wife had come to the house for a visit, and she had already put it off much too long. It was her duty as the duchess, after all. At the thought of all that she had to endure lately in the name of duty, everything suddenly felt too much.