The Unclaimed Duchess (12 page)

The rough fabric of his jacket rubbed her skin and her eyes came open. She looked at him, licking her nipple with little strokes, and smiled.

“Too many clothes,” she gasped as she tugged against his jacket.

He glanced at her, sucked one more time on the turgid peak and then pulled away. As he tore his jacket and shirt off and then began to work on removing his trousers, Anne struggled with her wrinkled gown. She had it around her ankles and was kicking it aside when she heard the thump of Rhys's boots and looked at him again. He stood at the foot of the bed, utterly naked.

Only firelight lit the room, for they had been in too much of a hurry to light a lamp or a candle, but the soft glow bounced off his skin and was more than enough to make her mouth go dry.

She would never overcome how arousing she found her husband's body to be. With muscular shoulders, a flat belly slightly textured by the muscles beneath, and hips that tapered downward to the powerful legs beneath, he was a specimen to behold. And then there was his…
cock
, he had called it once, although she had never been so bold as to repeat that harsh and naughty word.

Anne had little experience with such things, but she couldn't help but stare at the hard, ready member that stood at attention against Rhys's belly. Although he hadn't breached her with its stiffness more than a handful of times, she no longer worried when she saw it. In fact, now she ached to feel it deep inside her. She wanted to cradle it within her sex and feel him tremble when he found release.

Her body grew even wetter and hotter in anticipation of that act.

“Why did you stop?” Rhys asked with a smile as he knelt at the bottom of the bed near her feet. “You aren't yet undressed, though you are delightfully close.”

He caught up the tangled gown and chemise that
were wrapped around her feet as evidence.

“I was distracted,” she retorted. “You have only yourself to blame.”

“Did I distract you?” he practically purred as he slipped her gown free from her slippered foot. “I apologize. Let me assist you now as my penance for such a transgression.”

Anne lifted up to rest her body on her elbows and watched as he carefully unbuckled her slippers in turn. He tossed each one over his shoulder and they clattered somewhere behind him.

She laughed, but the sound turned to a moan when Rhys cradled her stocking-clad foot in his hand and began to massage it gently, then harder. Her body melted under his touch and she lay back as he massaged away the tension created by dancing and walking.

His fingers danced higher, sliding over her calf as he moved up the bed. Then her thigh, and when he found the bare skin at the top of her stocking he pressed a hot kiss there that made Anne suddenly very aware of her position. Her leg was resting on his shoulder, her body open wide to him.

She opened her heavy lids and they locked stares. It seemed he was as aware as she of how vulnerable she was. How easily he could do whatever he wished to her and she wouldn't protest. Silently she dared
him to take her. He held her gaze evenly, but she saw the fight in him. The desire to do what she hadn't stated out loud.

But of course he had more control than that. To her utter frustration, he always had. He caught the edge of her stocking and drew it away, rolling it back on the path he had taken. He repeated the same slow action on her other leg until both her stockings were gone and she lay naked across the bed, ready for him, even though he would never take full advantage of that situation.

Still, she opened her arms, beckoning him to her, praying he would forget whatever strange logic it was that dictated he leave her unclaimed. He stared at her, outlined in the firelight, and then to her surprise, he lowered his naked body to cover hers.

They had lain together before, but never like this. Her legs were open, welcoming him to come inside, and she felt the length of his body resting flat against her pelvis as he pressed his mouth to hers with a heated passion that spoke of desperation as much as desire.

It would take only a slight shift for him to breach her. Her heart raced and her breath came short at such an idea. She found herself lifting her hips in the hopes that she would find the right angle to do just that. It didn't work, but it rubbed his hardness against her in a most pleasing way.

Apparently it was equally pleasurable for him, because Rhys stopped kissing her and instead rested his mouth against her shoulder and let out a sighing moan that echoed in the quiet room around them.

He slipped a hand between their bodies, and Anne held her breath. This was the time! He had finally surrendered and now he would take her.

She felt his fingers open her, spreading her wet folds until she was fully exposed, but instead of breaching her, he shifted until his cock rubbed along the outside of her body, lubricated by her juices.

He squeezed his eyes shut and began to arch and thrust his hips. His member glided along her wet slit, stroking her clit with each thrust. Anne clung to his bare shoulders, arching to meet him, forgetting everything in that moment except for the pleasurable way he stroked her again and again and again.

As her fingernails dug into his skin, his shoulders trembled, like he was wrestling with a great physical burden. When she drew back to look at him, the lines of his face spoke of his struggle. His jaw was set, his teeth grinding together as he arched his hips against her.

She shimmied, trying once more to force him to breach her. He let out a growling sound of pleasure and displeasure at once and glared at her.

“Anne…” His voice was a warning.

She lifted her hips again. “Please.”

Rhys's eyes came shut and the veins in his neck swelled with the restraint he seemed compelled to practice.

“I can't,” he whispered, but before she could argue, his mouth covered hers. He cupped her backside, holding her close against him so she could no longer make any attempt to force his hand.

His hips jerked faster now, his slick cock stroking the outer lips of her body, stimulating the tingling nerves of her clit with expert precision.

The pleasure mounted deep within her and her sheath clenched at emptiness, teased by having him so close. Her body could no longer deny its release and she cried out, burying her face into his shoulder and rising to meet him as she quaked with intense pleasure. Her release seemed to spur him forward as well, for he let out a guttural groan and then rose up and turned away, spilling his seed into his hand as his shoulders shook.

She watched as he rose and found a clean cloth with which to wipe his essence away. He remained silent as he tidied himself, as did she. Now that it was over, the pleasure she had felt faded and was replaced by that lonely emptiness that had so long been her companion. Her pleasures at his hands since she came here had been wonderful, of course. But
they had never been enough to satisfy her beyond the moment of release. They were empty, just as she remained empty.

The bed sagged as Rhys took his place beside her. They faced each other, still silent in the growing darkness. His frown spoke his displeasure with the situation, and it was as powerful as her own.

He watched her face, gently brushing away tangled hair from her mouth and eyes.

“I realized something tonight,” he finally said after the silence seemed to stretch forever.

Anne tensed, seeing the determination on his face. Whatever he had “realized,” it was likely not something she was going to enjoy hearing.

“And what is that?” she asked, fighting to keep the tremor from her voice, fighting to keep a fraction of what little dignity she had left.

He cupped her cheek. “Anne, it's time to go home…to London.”

In the dying firelight, Rhys saw the flash of hurt, of fear that lit Anne's eyes. When he said it was time to return to London, it was clear they both understood what he meant. He had already told her once they returned, he would end this marriage.

And that was better for her. Once she understood why, once the scandal broke…she would thank him for distancing her from his disgrace. Eventually, when
the first round of whispers faded and Anne found acceptance in Society again, she might even think of him warmly for sparing her the utter shunning he would receive.

Because after his encounter with Caleb Talbot, Rhys was more certain than ever that shunning was exactly what he could expect. It was evident he had burned too many bridges, said and done too many things to expect any kind of forgiveness or kindness from those around him once they knew of his shame.

There would be many people who would revel in his fall and make his life a living hell to repay him for his behavior over the years.

“I suppose we couldn't stay here forever,” Anne said, rolling on her back to stare at the ceiling above. “It was foolish to think we could.”

Rhys nodded, but she had struck upon a desire he'd hardly allowed himself to have. Staying here forever sounded like paradise to him. Eden.

But even Eden had fallen in the end. And Rhys had more sins to face than Adam and Eve combined.

Rhys looked at Anne once more. Her expression was troubled and pained. He hated that he had done that to her. That he had hurt her like this. Especially after she'd offered him such comfort and friendship and love.

Tonight she had asked him to allow
her
to be his home when he feared he had none. She had meant for tonight, but these feelings he was beginning to experience, these desires and regrets that tormented him when he looked into her eyes…they seemed like they would last beyond a night or a month or a year. He feared he would feel this way forever.

And that was so unfair when Anne was bound to be snatched away from him. Perhaps, in this entirely appalling situation, it was the biggest injustice of all.

A
nne peeked past the fraying curtains and out the window with a sigh. A carriage was parked in the drive. A hateful, horrible carriage that Rhys had walked into the village that very morning to let. And the moment she stepped into that vehicle, her war for Rhys's heart, for her life as she knew it, would very likely be over.

Back in London, her husband's attention would be drawn by other things, other people. She would have far fewer chances to seduce or convince him to remain with her. For all she knew, he intended to take her directly to her father the moment they reached Town.

She straightened up as Rhys came around a corner and began to direct the men he'd paid to load their items. The glass was thick enough that she couldn't hear his words, but that didn't mean she couldn't observe his behavior. Once not so long ago, he would
have snapped, ordered, yelled at those he considered lessers. But something had changed in him since his arrival here.

Now he spoke with a firm determination on his face, but no disdain. And when they began to lift a bag onto the top of the gig and one of the shorter men lost his grip, Rhys even stepped into his place to assist them without so much as a cross expression.

Anne stepped away from the window and frowned before she shook off her troubled thoughts. There was no time for this. She had duties to perform before she went away with her husband. Lifting her chin, she looked around her for anything they had left behind. But the cottage was all but empty. The only evidence they had stayed there for any length of time was the basket of dirty dishes from their breakfast and the rumpled bedclothes.

Her gaze lingered at the bed. Although he'd never fully taken her, Rhys had claimed her more here than he ever had in their marital bed or on their honeymoon. He had loved her, at least with his body, and finally she understood the giggling whispers of her happily married friends and the long, lingering glances she saw shared between people like Simon and Lillian.

Passion was a powerful thing. She hated to lose it, but feared that was her fate.

Behind her, the door opened and she turned. Rhys leaned in the doorway.

“Stuart has finished loading the carriage and is going to depart back to the village. Would you like to say good-bye to him?” he asked.

Anne didn't answer, but slowly crossed the room to her husband. She drank in the sight of him, slightly disheveled, completely at ease, utterly handsome, and almost hers. When they were back in London, he'd no doubt become proper and distant again, so she wanted to hold this moment in her mind forever.

She could have sworn he caught his breath ever so slightly when she stopped just inches before him. Reaching up, she wiped a smudge of dirt from his cheek, then rose up on her tiptoes. His breath stirred her hair, his skin was warm as she neared him. When she pressed her lips to his, they were firm and welcoming. He released the doorjamb slowly and curled his fingers around her upper arms, holding her to him as their lips parted and the kiss deepened.

Finally she drew back, her heart pounding like butterfly wings against her rib cage and her body crying out for more than a mere kiss. She took a long moment to draw in a few breaths and calm herself before she answered the question.

“Yes.”

Rhys blinked down at her, his expression filled with desire, but also utterly confused. “Yes?”

She couldn't help but laugh. “You asked if I'd like to say good-bye to Stuart, and I'm saying yes.”

He remained staring at her for a moment more before he nodded. “Yes, Stuart, forgive me. Of course. He is…he's beside the carriage.”

Anne laughed at Rhys's uncharacteristic distraction, but then took his hand and drew him outside to find the man who had become, in some small way, a friend to them while they stayed here. As she approached the carriage, she saw him there, leaning against the vehicle. He smiled as they approached and straightened up while he swept his battered hat from his head.

“Your Grace,” he said with a small bow. “I'm so glad I have a chance to say farewell, both for myself and for my family.”

Anne released her husband and approached the other man. “As am I. You've been such help, as has your entire family. I hope you'll pass along my most sincere thanks for all their attempts to keep us comfortable. I've loved meeting them and will very much miss your mother's fine cooking.”

Stuart dipped his chin slightly, but Anne thought he blushed with pleasure. “I'll certainly pass along your kind words. And the next time you two decide
to visit here, I hope you'll send word ahead of you. We will have the cottage ready.”

Anne's smile fell a fraction. How she would love to make a yearly trek to this place, to have a week or two with her husband where they could simply lose themselves in the beauty of the sea and each other. But Rhys had already determined that their marriage would be over. What was awaiting her in London was pain and heartbreak and perhaps ruination. She might never return to this wonderful place.

“My lady?” Stuart asked, his face falling.

She shook her head as she sent a quick glance toward Rhys. He was standing ramrod straight, his mouth a thin, unhappy line. It seemed his thoughts mirrored her own.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Parks,” Anne said. “I'm afraid I lost myself in thought.”

Stuart nodded, but there was a flash of concern in his gaze as he looked from Rhys to Anne and back. “Well, that is bound to happen when one is about to return home. I wish you both a very good and safe journey. Farewell.”

Anne shook his hand, as did Rhys, and Stuart walked away down the path toward the village, leaving them with only their driver and the dreaded carriage.

Rhys turned to the man with a sigh. “We'd like
to take a final short walk around the property. Will you meet us at the top of the road?”

The other man nodded swiftly and got into his rig, urging the horses to drive on and away from sight. Anne glanced up at Rhys.

“One final good-bye, eh?” she said, her voice lined with tension she couldn't conceal no matter how hard she tried.

He nodded, the motion a jerking one. “It seems fitting.”

He held out an arm and Anne hesitated before she took it. Awareness crackled between them, desire and also a sense of melancholy as they walked down the short hill toward the cliffs that overlooked the boiling sea.

Anne smiled as they reached the edge.

“Here is where I first saw you,” she murmured, thinking of Rhys standing nude at the edge of the cliff.

“You nearly killed me,” Rhys said with a low chuckle that seemed to resonate all the way down her spine.

She glanced at him quickly, trying not to relive those horrible moments when she'd thought Rhys was trying to kill himself. “Yes, but I
was
trying to save you, so I suppose I should have some credit for that.”

He turned to face her, his expression quite serious now. He cupped her chin gently. “You have the
credit and all my thanks for the attempt.”

The gentleness in his tone and the true gratefulness touched Anne to her very soul. This version of Rhys, with his ease with others and his attentiveness to her, was everything she'd ever dreamed of, everything she'd known he could be from the first moment she met him as a child. She should have been happy, but she couldn't be, for this was bound to end.

She smiled because she feared if she didn't, she might cry, and that wasn't what she wanted in these last moments here.

“Did you truly jump off these cliffs as a boy?”

He released her face and motioned to their left. “Yes. This rock marked the safe place.”

She looked at the oddly shaped rock he indicated, then down the long, sharp drop to the sea below. She shivered. “What is it like, to fall so far?”

He didn't answer for a long moment, and when he did, his voice was strange and distant. “It's like freedom, Anne. Like flying.”

She stared down below once more, then turned toward him. “I want to jump, Rhys. I want us to jump together.”

 

Rhys stared at Anne, certain he'd misheard his proper wife. She couldn't
really
desire to hurtle herself over the edge of the cliff.

“I-I beg your pardon?” he stammered.

She smiled at him, but it was a wild expression that brightened her eyes, one born of panic and desperation, not pleasure.

“I said I wish to jump,” she repeated in a firm, calm tone.

“Absolutely not.” He stepped back from the edge and pulled her along with him.

“Why?”

“It isn't ladylike, for one,” he protested, though it was rather weak. No one could ever accuse Anne of being anything but a lady. One moment of frivolity wouldn't change that in anyone's eyes, including his own.

Her hands came to her hips in irritation. “Please don't insult me so. Apparently you think me incapable of handling any kind of truth, but I'm not so stupid or emotional as you seem to believe. And I
know
when you are avoiding a subject.”

Rhys flinched, fully aware that they were no longer talking about a cliff dive, but about his refusal to share the truth of his birth with her.

“Anne…” he began.

She shook her head. “No. Tell me, what is your real reason for denying my request?”

He struggled for a moment. The real reason was that the idea terrified him. He didn't want to allow
her to do anything dangerous that could hurt her. That could make him lose her.

But he couldn't say that because she was already fully aware that he intended to leave her when they returned to London.

“Because it is fifteen feet down!” he finally choked.

Once more, she appeared incredulous. “When I arrived here and thought you were attempting to do yourself a harm, you assured me that the jump was perfectly safe. That you and countless others, including
children
, had managed the feat. Is there something lacking in me, something that makes me physically incapable of the same?”

He stared, blinking. Her jaw was set so tightly that there was no way one could mistake her anger for anything else. Anne was furious as she stood before him and he realized it had little to do with his refusal to allow her to jump the cliff.

She had kept it in check well enough during their time here, but now he saw she hadn't overcome her anger at him. For leaving her so abruptly. For telling her he would end their marriage physically, if not legally. For refusing to tell her why all this was necessary…a gift to her, even.

And now this one small rejection, this one tiny refusal as they readied themselves to return home
and what would surely be the end of them, it set her off.

She deserved her anger.
He
deserved her anger even though such an unflinching show of emotion still made him uncomfortable.

“Of course there is nothing wrong with you,” he said softly.

He found he wanted to reach for her, but was certain that would be incorrect in their current circumstances. Anne might see it as patronizing and placating, rather than soothing.

“Then why not allow me this one simple request, Rhys?” she asked, moving back toward the edge in an act of pure defiance. “You've told me that the jump is like freedom, like flying. When we return to London, I'll have neither of those things, especially if you have your way and separate from me. Can you not give me this
one thing
now?”

Rhys stared. Her statement stung, and the person he'd been even a few weeks ago probably would have lashed out at her or dismissed her as a way of dealing with the pain. Today, though, he took it in. And he realized how fair it was that she doled it out.

Over the years she had been nothing less than the ideal fiancée. She had done as he asked, she had been at his side when he required it. She had loved him, but never asked him for his heart in return,
although he now realized just how deeply that must have hurt her.

In contrast, he had been terrible during their betrothal and even in the days of their marriage before he left. Oh, he had never struck her or purposefully embarrassed her as he'd sometimes seen others of his rank treat their women…but he had never
given
her anything beyond meaningless baubles and empty compliments.

In truth, until he came here, until she followed him, he had never even thought to ask her what she desired.

And now she told him exactly what she wanted, in no uncertain terms. And although he feared it, he realized the best thing he could do for her was to give her this gift. She deserved it and so much more.

“Yes,” he heard himself say.

She parted her lips like she was prepared to argue further, but then she stopped and merely stared at him.

“Yes?” she repeated after her stunned silence had lasted a moment.

He nodded. “Yes, I'll jump with you.”

To his utter shock, Anne launched herself into the air with a whoop that any boy would have envied. He stared, seeing her as a girl, seeing her as a
person
, perhaps for the first time since they were young chil
dren awkwardly spending time together. Feelings bubbled up from some dark and deep place within him. Emotions that were powerful and unexpected and so varied he couldn't have separated them and named them all.

But one he
could
was a caring he hadn't ever felt for another person. Something different, even, from the warm feelings he experienced for his sisters, his mother, even his stern father. These emotions toward Anne were something deeper and more meaningful, something that touched his very soul.

But all he could do was squash them instantly and pray they would never come back to torture him again.

He cleared his throat. “You must do as I tell you so that you won't injure yourself.”

She smoothed her skirt reflexively even as she nodded. “Yes, Rhys. Of course.”

He stared over the cliff at the water below. He'd seen people jump in pairs before, even in small groups, so he knew it was safe enough, but nervousness still made his stomach dance. None of those pairs or groups had ever been people he'd given a damn about. This was different.