The Rusticated Duchess (9 page)

He steered them into the gardens, protected by the outer wall and the south face of the central keep. The sun shone warmly there on clear afternoons, but Clare was more interested in whisking Gloria into the gazebo, where the sloped roof created shadows that would prevent her narrow-eyed guard from spying.

Clare would hear her confession, one way or another. He’d ask her politely first, but if she baulked, Clare knew he’d not hesitate to use her body to soften her resistance and compel the answers. He wanted to know—he needed to know—why her father’s guardianship was such a threat, and he refused to think any more deeply on the subject than that. He had an obligation to his own honour, and a duty as his father’s proxy. It was enough reason.

His conversation died away, but Gloria was now exclaiming over the winter garden that the castle’s housekeeper and gardeners kept organised. Clare watched as she joyfully picked out snowdrops and ice plants. “You know what this one is, don’t you?” she asked him.

He shook his head, eyes on her instead of the flower. “It’s from the Mediterranean, and it’s called glory-of-the-snow.” She waved her hand over the garden. “And you have it planted nearly by the acre. It’s beautiful.”

Clare hadn’t known about the flower, but he had a Glory he’d like to see bloom in a bed of white snow. They moved towards the gazebo, her hand on his arm. He was pleased that she’d placed it there, and managed a small smile when he realised Gloria was looking up at him expectantly, even excitedly.

Clare was grim inside. He felt it creeping up on him, the cold, dread determination that came before a battle. Then they were climbing the steps of the structure and leaving Gloria’s guard behind, fuming. Clare couldn’t even bring himself to care. A strange heat washed over him, as if stepping through the gazebo entry was a turning point in his life—as if he wouldn’t come back out the same man.

Surely she would tell him what he wanted to know and that would be that. Her lips had been sweetly surrendered, but not freely offered, and her skin was ripe for his mouth, but she was still in mourning, and for a husband she’d intensely disliked, even feared. Her experience with men must be minimal and unpleasant. He knew to his bones that she was no hussy—

“Oh, what a wonderful place to walk. It’s beautiful! Thank you!” The angel beamed, and she turned in his arms, stretching up to him.

After that, Clare was lost. His mind seized, and was subdued by sheer lust. If she’d appeared at the foot of his bed in nothing more than her glowing skin and a halo, he couldn’t have been more surprised. He embraced her, pressing his palms to her spine. He lowered his mouth until he tasted rich tea and smelt sweet pea.

She was no longer a passive, sweet participant to yesterday’s experiment. Gloria pressed her lips to his, mimicking each caress and nibble. Her fingers twisted in his overcoat, and he removed one hand from her back to unbutton the high collar of her wrap and let it fall to the floor. It freed the underside of her jaw to his kiss. His lips trailed, by their own volition, to the sensitive skin below her ear and along that curve.

She had been busy. He gasped when he realised she’d unbuttoned his overcoat. Her gloved fingers were pressed into the lapels of his jacket, so he shifted to stroke her shoulder. Pressing his palm to her skin there, he rubbed his palm downward until he found her breast.

Even through layers of fabric and gloves, she responded sensually to his caress. Gloria made a small sound of shock and wrenched, but it was only to move closer. Her eyes flew open, and her soft cry was followed by a wide-eyed look of bewildered pleasure that faded into glazed pupils. He responded to her wordless encouragement and gently squeezed. Heat spread over her face and her spine arched, so he squeezed again, firmly and without hesitation.

She visibly shuddered beneath his hands.

Instinctively—he hadn’t planned this and couldn’t control it—Clare backed Gloria towards the column that supported the gazebo roof, trapping her with his body. Not that she was trying to escape. His mind and body both exulted in wild lusting desire at the knowledge, but instinct drove him to press against her, to hold her to him, to use the aids of architecture and his larger body to trap her. No, her hands were pressed against his waistcoat now. He lowered his hand at her back and squeezed her bottom through her petticoats.

It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.

He lifted his right hand to her golden halo, pulled her scarf away from the nape of her neck, and squeezed his hand to the back of her head, holding her in place.

With a startled cry, Gloria’s lips opened and his tongue immediately answered. The rich, lush recesses of her mouth welcomed him, reverberating around his tongue as small moans of pleasure continued to spill from her throat. She shuddered as he fondled her hip, then tweaked her nipple through the fabric.

He released her body only long enough to wrench off his gloves. She didn’t even seem to notice, but he was desperate to have them off, mindless with desire. He knew he was lost, hopelessly lost, but in that moment, Clare could only think of having her responsive body underneath him.

The chill that greeted his fingers penetrated only far enough to know it was impossible to have her as he desperately wished, naked and beneath him. The gazebo was simply too cold, and though he was desperately certain his body would function properly even in such temperatures, he could not expect the tender, soft flesh under his hands to find it enjoyable. Disappointment slammed low in his gut, almost an agony. In a fantasy, he could envision pressing her into the wooden boards beneath their feet, even if she was still mostly dressed. But their atmosphere couldn’t be controlled by his mind. Even with his coat beneath her head, she would be uncomfortable and aching.

Caught between him and the central column, dressed, would have to be good enough.

Gloria tangled her fingers in his collar as she pulled loose his neckcloth. She still wore gloves that protected those elegant digits from the chill so she couldn’t feel his skin. He unbuttoned the stiff bodice on her dress down over her curves until he could part the heavy fabric enough to accommodate his hands.

The chemise underneath was black silk and so thin that Clare jerked his mouth from her hungry one in sudden surprise. A fierce awareness of that erotic undergarment caused his hard cock to jerk in anticipatory satisfaction. Reverently, he scraped his palm over the silk and her nipple. In the cold, even in this half-darkened structure, the areole of that swollen tissue he had barely begun to caress was plumped and erect. Gloria’s wide eyes went hazy again and her head fell back against the column. He lowered his head to the rapidly thudding pulse at her throat and sucked on it gently as Gloria’s eager moan reached his ears.

What he wouldn’t do to see her like this naked, as she’d been in his dream. It wasn’t the mast of his yacht, but she was more responsive than he had dreamt. He bent lower, felt her gloved hand clench against his scalp, and he settled his mouth over the chemise and her breast.

Gloria’s moan turned into a choked, inarticulate noise and she shuddered violently in his arms.

The reaction was so unexpected that Clare nearly drew back in surprise, but instead managed to modulate his touch so that it soothed instead of incited. He knew very well what had just happened to her. She’d need a few moments to put her mind together before he lifted her skirts in the front and took her mind apart again. She’d come from the simple contact of mouth to nipple and Clare couldn’t wait to find out what rapture a more intimate touch inside her would cause. His cock raged and knocked painfully against the buttons of his trousers. Waiting even long enough to drag her inside the keep and onto the nearest bed seemed hours too long.

He moved his lips and tongued her other breast as the tremors eased. He worked to pull up her skirts. She must have felt the chill of the air when the layers cleared the tops of her stockings, but she didn’t complain.

He touched her hot flesh and she clutched his shoulders.

Clare was struck by a sudden urge to know how she tasted. Would the flavour of her cream be as sweet as her mouth? He didn’t know, wouldn’t know in that moment, but the rich fluid coated his fingers and he promised himself he’d taste them before they were finished. Clare feathered those fingertips over her inner thighs before sliding his index and middle finger between her hair-dusted labia and gently stroking.

She jerked, another soft cry escaping her as her forehead fell forwards against his chest. Ruthlessly he slid one finger inside the hottest, most intimate part of her and followed it with a second and was rewarded with a moan as her fingers dug into his shoulders.

Clare heard distantly his own husky chuckle, slid one hand around to her bottom to support her, and withdrew his fingers before thrusting them inside again.

Gloria was flung—perhaps without expecting it again—into another climax. He watched it slacken her muscles then shake them, watched her shoulders shudder, felt the contractions around his fingers, felt the dull roar in his head almost explode. He was going to lose it in his damn pants, and he couldn’t even find a reason to care.

But then he was being wrenched away from her. Gloria slumped back against the column and slid to the floor.

A powerful, well-aimed,
trained
fist hit his jaw and Clare lost his feet and hit the floor.

Chapter Six

After that, he saw little, though he hungrily absorbed every sound. Gloria cried out in a faint, shocked voice—“What have you
done?”—
and her gloved hands traced Clare’s face and his hair. Clare wanted to reassure her, wanted her gloves off and her fingertips on his skin, but he was dazed. He couldn’t feel the back of his head. Her breath rushed over his cheeks and nostrils and he inhaled it, and the back of his skull throbbed with renewed life.

“I’m just getting started. Get out of my way so I can finish him off,” the intruder snarled.

“No! Stay away from him, Brody,” Gloria snapped, and even through the dazed fog Clare could hear her imperious words. “You will not touch him again—ever again. Do I make myself clear?”

The other man was silent, deadly silent, but eventually he must have nodded because Gloria said more quietly, “Don’t make me send you back to Lennox. Don’t do that.”

Lennox? Awareness struck and an uncomfortable memory leapt into his mind. But Gloria had threatened to send Brody back to Lennox, as if she had hired him away from the manipulative duke.

An aggravated sigh reached Clare’s ears. “Yes, milady,” the guard conceded.

Clare felt Gloria shift, cradling him in her lap. He couldn’t stop the pathetic moan that escaped his lips, but let her gasp of remorse soothe him.

Gloria had joined him in that undignified place on the floor. Someone had dragged her velvet wrap to his cheek and he could feel the silk of her skirts and her thigh beneath him. He wanted to moan again in pain and happiness, but then the other man spoke, torment echoing in his words, and Clare stilled.

“I can’t just sit by and watch another man hurt you. Colman told me about how he would have to stand by silently, in the damned corridor outside your rooms, while that lowlife tormented you for months on end. He can’t tolerate it again. Neither will I.”

Gloria’s fingers tightened on Clare’s injury as the man’s words reached her. Clare’s head exploded in pain. He jerked and started, still not quite able to open his mouth and speak, but then her fingers softened and stroked his cheek. “He was my husband. His solicitors, my solicitor, Lennox—even my
mother
—said I could not refuse. And…” Her voice paused, then trembled as she whispered in abject regret, “If I had, I would not now have Eynon. How can I begrudge that, Brody?”

The man Gloria called Brody growled even as Clare struggled not to react to the words. Lennox had been complicit in her marriage to a monster?

“I will not wait idly by while it happens again!”

Gloria, now angry, snapped back, “
I
am not in your charge. Don’t make presumptions!”

Clare heard him snort. Nevertheless, Clare experienced a moment of begrudging respect for Brody, who clearly aimed to defend Gloria’s person even in the face of her own resistance.

Gloria’s answer drifted into Clare’s ears. “What if he isn’t in league with Winchester and his cronies? What if he just saw me, alone, and thought we might ease each other’s loneliness?” Silence met her question, so Gloria sighed. “Run up to the house and—”

“And tell them I’ve beaten their lord and master to unconsciousness and he’s laid out on the gazebo floor?” Brody asked dryly. Clare listened to his boots scuff on the floor, inwardly reeling about the almost friendly relationship between the two. If he sat up and spoke, would the guard hit him again?

“I can’t leave him,” Gloria fretted. “Who knows how long—”

“He’s breathing, he won’t freeze to death, and he’ll wake up on his own soon enough.”

Gloria drew an aggravated breath. “From now on, you stay in the cottage.”

Brody’s low chuckle shocked Clare, and he had to fight not to stiffen when the man spoke. “Good. Colman will shoot him.”

Gloria’s sharp inhaled disapproval made Clare shift on her lap. Pain exploded again. “Go home, Brody. I will not leave him.”

“But—”

“He’s in no condition to continue what you walked into
without permission
and he will need my help to walk to the keep when he wakes. I’ll not just leave him.”

Brody continued to argue, but Clare could already tell the tide had turned. He waited patiently, until finally Brody left, swearing to send Colman to wait by the main gates for his mistress.

* * * *

Gloria handled Clare’s incapacitation with the efficiency and imperiousness she naturally commanded—without explanation or apology. As soon as Brody had gone, she gently stroked his cheek and slid to the side. She eased his head onto the floor, her velvet cloak below his head. He struggled to open his eyes, but then shut them again and remained still.