The Virgin at Goodrich Hall (7 page)

Margaret’s hands shook as she opened the box, the soft fabric smooth under her fingertips. The groan of the hinges was the only sound in the room until her breath caught.

Settled in white fabric sat a grand ruby, surrounded by several diamonds. She had never seen such a striking piece of jewellery. “It is stunning,” she whispered.

“Not as stunning as you,” he said as he picked up the ring and took her left hand, sliding it on to the second finger from the end. He rolled her fingers down, closing her hand into a fist, and ran his thumb over the ring. “I never thought I would find a woman to whom I wanted to give this. I cared for my grandmother dearly, and she told me only to give it to a woman I could envision spending the rest of my life with.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

“You are that woman, Maggie.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She could not stop them, though she did not try.

“Will you become my wife?” he asked, dropping her hands and raising his to her face, where he cradled her cheeks in his palms. “Will you spend the rest of your life with me?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “But we must leave now.”

His grin of pleasure narrowed slightly as she added her final words. “Leave?”

“Yes. Father will not understand, but he will be able to do nothing if we go to Scotland and marry before he discovers us.”

Victor pulled her close, settling her over his lap before he wiped away the tears on her cheeks. “I have already spoken with your father. He gave his blessing this afternoon.”

She sat there stunned for a moment, thinking back to her father’s carefree and joyous manner when she had returned from shopping. “He said nothing of it.”

Victor’s lips twitched. “I asked him not to. I told him I was going to ask you this evening when we dined with Lord and Lady Belfort.”

“Where are they?”

He shrugged and smiled devilishly. “I do not know. Belfort House, perhaps?”

She blushed slightly at the thought of his rakish behaviour, but leant forward, finally doing what she wished. She caressed his lips with hers, his groan urging her on as he pulled her closer to him.

“Where is your chamber, my betrothed?” Margaret whispered as she moved her mouth to the softer skin of his ear.

She squealed, then followed it up with giggles as he lifted her off the settee, carrying her at a fast clip out of the room, through the foyer and up the stairs. Within moments, the click of a closing door signalled their privacy before he settled her onto the softness of a bed, his weight coming down on top of her.

“Your father requested a six-month engagement, but I quickly talked him out of that. In two months you will be my wife,” he murmured into the hollow of her throat before his lips kissed it.

Pleasure coursed through her, her nipples beading in her corset, her need to become one with this man at the forefront of her mind. He wanted her for her, not for her money.

“But we can wait, if you wish. Holding you in my arms now is enough to get me through the long nights till then.”

She snorted. “I wanted you to take me at Goodrich Hall, just as I want you to take me now,” she groaned as he bit into the softness at her neck.

Victor instantly slid off her and the bed, ripping at his clothes and cursing as his hands became caught in the sleeves of his shirt, thanks to his cufflinks. Margaret’s amusement bubbled forth in a laugh as she joined him, sliding off the bed and assisting him to undress. She freed one hand and started on the other but Victor seemed impatient to have her. She did not mind in the slightest, moaning as he pressed his palm against her breast through the fabric of her gown.

“That’s it, my love. I adore the sounds you make,” he whispered as she slid his other arm through the fabric that had constricted him.

Another squeal escaped her lips as he spun her around, his lips touching the soft skin of her neck as his warm, solid presence came up behind her. The sharp sting of pain as his teeth nipped her flesh made her groan. A shiver of pleasure raked her body, starting from the bite and travelling down, sending sparks in the direction of both her nipples and her cunt. She felt the moisture pooling there as her internal muscles clenched. Her breasts felt heavy and her breathing deepened—her corset needed to go.

“Victor,” she moaned.

It appeared he was a man of many talents. Not only could he send her body melting wherever she stood, it seemed he could also read her mind.

He found the ties of her dress and quickly undid them, and fabric pooled around her feet. He turned her around, his eyes deep and stormy in the candlelit room as he lifted her shift over her head.

The gentle touch of his fingers as they ran down her raised hands sent her arousal to new heights. His eyes were dark, his breathing as deep as hers. Margaret had never felt so special or loved.

Stepping out of her slippers, she allowed herself to break eye contact to move her gaze down his body, pausing on his proud, defiantly aroused cock. The bulbous head wept with excitement for her. She licked her lips, unable to control the action.

Victor growled, low and deep. Before she had the chance to look up at him, she was tumbling down onto the bed, his body following.

His demanding lips found hers, his kisses needy and severe on her tender flesh, but she would not have wished for them in any other way. She wanted this man, all of him, without any restraint.

Her legs wrapped around him of their own accord. She had inwardly applauded his restraint back at Goodrich Hall, but now he need not. He was to be her husband. She would have loved him all her life even if he had not wanted to wed her, but the knowledge that he wanted her as much as she did him only made her heart swell more.

Victor moved his body until she felt the intense heat of his cock come to rest against her cunt. She moaned and pulled him closer with her legs. He nipped at her lips and growled. His body, too, seemed to shake with anticipation.

“I cannot wait. I am sorry, my love,” Victor mumbled against her lips. A moment later, he plunged into her with a single thrust.

Air whooshed out of her lungs at the force behind the move. Her eyes drifted closed as she felt him fill her, stretch her. He didn’t move, though—instead, he remained still, barely breathing.

Margaret prised her eyes open. Victor held himself above her, focused on her.

“Are you in pain?” he ground out, his teeth clenched.

She let her lips curve upward. “I feel wonderful.”

He growled again and left her body. She was about to protest, only to gasp as he thrust his cock back into her. He pummelled her into the mattress, and Margaret loved the rough pleasure she experienced as he pounded into her. Unable and unwilling to control herself, she dug her fingernails into the skin of his back and screeched, biting into him further as his speed increased. She pulled her legs tighter around him, bringing Victor’s cock deeper within her. Her world quickly shattered.

Victor’s war cry pierced her clouded brain and she felt her mouth open as she came hard around his cock, but she heard no sound. All she was aware of was the profound pleasure flowing through her blood, and the welcome weight of her betrothed as he settled upon her.

* * * *

The bang of the door as it hit the wall woke Victor within an instant. He pulled Maggie under him, ensuring she was covered. Her eyes gazed up sleepily into his.

“Son! What is this I hear of you bringing a woman into this house? I will not have it! Do you hear me, Victor? This house is only for women of breeding!” his mother’s voice screeched from the doorway.

Maggie gasped, wiggled as if to escape from under him. He did not allow it.

“Mother. Get out,” he said, his voice calm, yet deadly.

“I will not! I am the woman of this house until you wed and that day, by your own esteem, is a century or two away. I shall be dead before you give me grandchildren!” she bellowed back.

Victor, holding down Maggie, worried she still may try to flee, raised his head slightly and turned to look at his mother over his shoulder. “Mother, I proposed to Lady Margaret, daughter of Lord Carrieton, tonight. She has accepted and your grandchild could well be growing within her as we speak. So kindly get out!”

His mother looked at him blankly for a moment, then to the sheets that hid Maggie. Anger quickly turned to elation.

“Oh, God, son, get the woman dressed and respectable! We have so much to discuss. Let her up so we can speak. When is the wedding to be held?”

Victor stared blankly at his mother. Was she mad? “It is the middle of the night and, no, I will not let her up. Get out of my room and you can meet her in the light of day. Out!” he bellowed, when she did not move.

After a moment, she huffed out a breath and left, closing the door behind her.

“Oh my, your mother will think me a whore for bedding you before our wedding,” Maggie whispered, horrified.

“She will not. She is too pleased at the thought of grandchildren,” he said dryly.

Maggie looked up at him with a gaze of disbelief. He smiled down at her. She would soon come to realise he was right.

“Who is your mother?” she asked after a moment, biting into her lower lip. “I mean, I may have met her. I do not even know your full name. To me you are simply Victor.”

He smiled slightly, though he no longer felt it. Now would come the reaction he had feared.

“My mother is the Dowager Duchess of Rothbury,” he said.

“I have never met her,” she said, “but I know of her. She only has one child. The Duke of Rothbury.” A frown grew.

“Yes,” he said with a slight nod. “I am the Duke of Rothbury and you are to be my Duchess.”

Her eyes widened. “Duchess?”

“Yes. My wife will become the Duchess of Rothbury.”

She was silent for so long, his fears of her reaction seemed to be justified. “Why is it you have waited until now to tell me this, Your Grace?” she asked, her tone mocking. He felt it odd for her voice and expression to hold so much class and anger as she lay there, still naked from their loving hours ago.

“I will admit I feared your reaction to the news.”

Her narrowed eyes studied him. “Are you in need of coin?”

He snorted out a surprised breath. “Hardly.”

“That is what I thought,” she murmured as she relaxed slightly beneath him.

“You would have run away to Scotland with me even if I had been a merchant?” he asked, wanting confirmation of what he felt in his heart.

Margaret gazed up at him. Her previously pinned hair was now tousled around her features from his vigorous lovemaking. Caught in the candlelight, her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but it was the slow and steady smile that graced her lips that made her more beautiful to Victor than any other.

“I would have married you, Victor, even if you were a poor farmer. The only condition would have been that you loved me back.”

Never before in his life had such simple, yet powerful words meant so much to him. This woman loved him. Him, and him alone.

Victor leant down, capturing her lips with his as he rolled between her legs.

“Victor, dawn will soon be approaching. I must get home,” she murmured huskily, her breathing deep and filled with desire. She tipped her head back to give him more room as he guided his mouth to her neck, only confirming the lack of insistence behind her words.

“You are to be my wife. What can your father do?”

Maggie wrapped her legs around him as her hand moved between them, grasping his hard and ready cock.

Victor nipped at the skin of her neck.
Vixen!

“Then I suggest you make it worth my while,
Your Grace
,” she taunted.

He smiled into her skin and planned to do just that.

Also available from Total-E-Bound Publishing:

Rogues of Deception: The Rose’s Bloom

Danielle Lisle

Excerpt

Chapter One

Northern Dorset Forest, England, 1803.

A clear blue sky was a rarity at this time of year. England had the worst weather, apart from Scotland, perhaps, where it rained no matter what the season.

Damon knew he shouldn’t complain, especially on a day as grand as this. The birds were singing, the wind whispered softly as it passed him, and the wildlife rustled in the underbrush. He was not after a small creature. No, he had his sights on a mighty stag. His man of business had mentioned seeing one in the area when he had recently journeyed from London. How prized would the animal look hanging on his wall? Of course, his study was already filled with the heads of other beasts, but Damon would make sure his staff found room for this creature’s massive antlers.

Approaching the large, winding river where he hoped his prey would stop to drink, Damon was surprised to notice a white mare tethered to a fallen tree. The mare raised her head as he approached, though she paid him and his black stallion little mind, finding the greenery below more appealing. He noticed the horse wore a sidesaddle and Damon’s eyebrows drew down as he looked for another steed. The mare was a fine horse, her saddle also of noble quality, yet it was unlikely a lady of nobility would have ridden out alone. A lady would never be found unchaperoned. It could ruin her reputation.

Scanning the tree line along the wide river, he became more puzzled as time progressed. Had the lady come to some harm? Where was she?

A sudden ripple in the water caught his attention. A woman rose, gasping for breath, taking the air deep into her lungs before she laughed, flipping onto her back, floating around as she gazed up at the blue sky.

It took Damon a moment to overcome his shock at the woman’s sudden appearance before he noticed she wore nothing but her slip. A very sheer slip. His eyes moved hungrily over the wet material, which clung to the vibrant curves underneath. The round softness of her breasts and the darker shadow at the apex of her sex intrigued him, as it would any hot-blooded male. His cock hardened as he sat upon his steed, conflicted between twin desires—to watch, or to make the girl aware of his presence? The former won out, and he encouraged his steed backwards, into the thickness of the forest along the river, concealing their presence. He was thankful for the soft splatter of water falling from the small waterfall upstream, masking his steed’s hoof falls.