The Dissolute Duke(31)

Kicking off his boots and trousers, he lifted her skirt and opened her legs, the searing flesh of his manhood stilling as his fingers parted heat—balanced, waiting, poised on that moment of change that comes to every new bride.

Slipping inwards, driving hard, breaking flesh as she arched up to him, slick in the coupling. Her hands tried to push him away, her nails digging into his back, the terror of it written into one single keening cry. And then stillness as he waited, engorged, filling her, tightening, the deep pain of loving changing into a different consciousness.

Her breath came quick now, the dead weight of him pinning her down, unmoving.

‘Wait, sweetheart.’ It was all he could say. Wait until we become accustomed to each other. Wait until your body answers. Wait until the waves of response begin.

And then they did. A slight quiver of flesh, an easing, a softening, the first call of her body as she moved and allowed him a different access. Slowly. Out and in again. Deeper. Faster. Wider. Harder. Again. And again. He prayed that the pain was lessening and changing into some life-filled thrall that was indescribable and heightened. He knew that he had her when her hands came around his back and she held him to her as if she might never let him go.

She could neither breathe nor think. Every part of her was centred in the place between her legs where he was in her, joined by flesh, the hurt leaving now, not as ragged, and another pain building. A different pain. One that held her stiff and breathless, reaching for what was promised.

One that made her shake and groan and stretch as his movements quickened, needing the beauty of it, feeling the togetherness of what brought a man and a woman into a single person, nothing between them save the knowledge of each other. His breath against her throat, the movements faster now, reaching up and racing against hope and heat and desperate need.

And then a release, a melting ache of absolution quivering through the stiffness, widening and deepening, rolling across her stomach inside everything. She shouted out, her voice heard far away, the beaching waves unlike anything she had ever felt or known.

Lost in sensation. Adrift. Satisfied. Crying. Her tears hot on her cheeks and brushed away softly by a husband who had astonished her.

She heard the thundering of her heart inside her head, a languid lethargy in her limbs, the weight of Taylen and the heat of him drawing energy away.

Still joined. She could feel him twitch, the thick engorgement inside. Sweat ran through all the places between them.

‘Thank you.’ His words, caught between deep breaths.

Smiling, she closed her eyes, unable to say more, tears drying tight against her cheeks. She wanted to stay here just like this in the silence, wrapped inside each other’s skin, the sun slanting across the room in a yellow curtain of light.

Heaven.

‘I always wondered why my brothers were so … happy being married. Does everyone feel this?’ She had to know, had to understand.

‘No. My parents hated each other with a passion.’

‘So they sent you away?’ She watched him, his body bare in the light, the edges of the marks on his back creeping round on to his ribs. One finger traced a scar in wordless question.

‘On occasion. And when I was here they ignored me,’ he said, watching the ceiling, and Lucinda knew from the tone in his voice that the things he was thinking had been stored inside him for a long, long time.

‘Lady Shields’s maid said that you were in hospital in France?’

‘In Rouen. My grandmother hurt me when we were on holiday there. I had asked one of her friends if I could live with them, you see, and she found out and was furious. But it was only after my uncle came to pick me up a good month later that I understood the true meaning of … brutality.’

He whispered the word, softly, anger leaving him stiff and motionless. ‘My mother’s brother decided I needed lessons in … obeying him and took such tutorship to heart.’ He looked at her then full in the eyes, the torment of memory bright and fierce.

‘I was twelve years old and my parents had both died the previous summer. Twelve is no age to fight back, you see … and I couldn’t. He … he …’

Shaking her head, she placed her fingers on his lips as if to stop what he might say next. ‘I love you, Taylen. I love you because the things you have been through have made you who you now are. Strong. Certain. I think I must have always loved you, even then, when we first met, even without the memory of it.’

A single tear traced its way down the side of her face and he kissed it away before covering her lips and taking all that she said inside of him. Again.

Tay watched her as she fell asleep, lost safe in the arms of dreaming. Her lashes were long and curled, the tips dipped in lightness and even in slumber her dimples were still apparent. Three years of waiting for her and he had ruined it with his stupid truthfulness.

He slipped away from her body and sat on the bed, the blood of sacrifice easily seen on the top of his thighs.

How could she love him after the things he had told her? How could she find it in herself to do that? Maybe now it was possible in the first flush of passion, but tomorrow when the truth settled? What might happen then?

Every confessed word had been wrong and heavy and he swallowed twice, guilt rising with anger as he fumbled with the drawer to one side of his bed and extracted a hundred pounds.

Hers for the bargain.

He placed the notes carefully upon the counterpane and did not look back again as he stood to collect his garments and leave the room.

In the morning he rode to the home of Lance Montcrieff’s wife a good five miles from Alderworth. He had installed Lance’s widow in one of his smaller estates since his friend’s death when she had been ousted from her home by the heir and had visited her a number of times since returning to England a month and a half ago. He knew that Elizabeth Montcrieff wanted more from him than he could give and part of the reason he needed to see her this morning was to put an end to the hopes of any type of relationship between them.

Lance had loved his wife, well and truly, and Tay knew that his friend would have wanted his family to be settled and secure. Without any other relatives to help her, he felt she was his responsibility.

The butler took him straight through into the library and he was greeted almost immediately by Elizabeth.

‘I did not know you were coming this morning, Duke.’ The velvet in her voice was smooth. On her lips was the lightest of colour. The heavy perfume she favoured filled the air between them.

‘There is a chance of leasing a town house in London, Elizabeth. It is central and there is a school just around the corner suitable for the girls. I think you would be happy there with the chance of more society and a wider group of people to talk to.’

She watched him intently. ‘I hear that your wife has arrived at Alderworth. It is the only topic of conversation one hears at the moment around here.’

Her brown eyes were resigned, her smile calm. She was not a woman given to histrionics and she was sensible enough to understand he did not wish for tears.

‘I am sorry if I have given you any cause to think there could have been something more between us …’

‘You have not, Duke. You have been most circumspect and generous.’

‘It was Lance’s final wish as he died. He made me promise to look after you, but life has changed and my wife is …’ He stopped. What was Lucinda to him? A mother for his child? Or much, much more?

Her hand came down across his own. ‘I understand. You have helped me with a home and a living, Duke, and for that I shall be for ever grateful. You have done your duty ten times over.’ Unshed tears banked in her eyes. ‘I could not have wished for a more thoughtful man in the face of my own loss and loneliness. I hope her Grace knows what a treasure she has in you.’

He smiled at her words. ‘My lawyer says that you have not touched the money I deposited into your account.’

‘I have not needed to. Everything has been provided for me here. But now …’ She hesitated. ‘Now I think I will repair to London and see what that town has to offer us. You have been more than generous and I will always be grateful.’

‘Nay. It was Lance’s share.’

She shook her head. ‘I know the real money did not come in until after his death when you diversified into other areas. I am certain that you know that, too.’

Elizabeth Montcrieff had never looked so beautiful to him, a woman of honour and integrity. He hoped that she would find what it was she needed from London and that somewhere in the future he might bring Lucinda to meet her.

‘There is one more thing,’ he said as he turned to leave. Reaching into his pocket, he extracted the ring Lance had worn in Georgia and handed it to her. ‘This should be yours.’

He laid the gold in her palm. LM. The initials of his first real friend. But now he had another. The thought came from nowhere, but the truth of it was undeniable.

Lucinda.

Suddenly exhaustion overtook everything. He wanted to be away from this house and out in the open again, feeling the wide space of freedom over his head and the chance of redemption in his heart. He couldn’t go home, not just yet. He needed the hope of Lucinda’s words for a while longer, unspoilt by the consideration that must blossom when she had time to think about all that he had told her.