The Duke's Stolen Bride Page 14

  As soon as the door shut behind Marian, Mrs. Ramsey whipped around and seized her by both hands. “What has transpired? One look at your face and I know something has happened. Have you seen the duke?”

  “Yes.”

  “I knew it!” She nodded eagerly. “Do tell. Did you explain your proposition to him?”

  “I did,” Marian said slowly. “And he turned me down.”

  “Oh.” Mrs. Ramsey’s expression fell. She sank back against the cushioned seat. “Well, that’s unfortunate. Were you very disappointed?”

  “I was, yes. And then he changed his mind.”

  “Oh my!” She sat up straighter, her expression jubilant once again.

  “Yes. He agreed to help tutor me and we’ve met . . . twice now.”

  Mrs. Ramsey clapped her hands with delight. “Marvelous. And I trust he’s the skilled tutor we expected him to be?”

  Heat filled her face as she nodded. “Oh, yes, indeed. He is quite skilled.”

  “Splendid. Well, you are on your way to gaining the experience you need. This is very good news.”

  “Wait.” Marian wagged a finger. “Actually it was three times. We’ve had three assignations. We just had another lesson in the subscription library.”

  “The subscription library?” Mrs. Ramsey queried, her smile slipping slightly.

  “Scandalous, I know.” Marian laughed, and the sound struck her as both giddy and uncertain.

  “Scandalous, indeed.” Disapproval radiated from her. “And perhaps a little risky for one trying to safeguard a reputation in this village, hm?” Mrs. Ramsey arched an eyebrow.

  “I know, I know,” Marian allowed rather sheepishly. “We were the only ones in the library besides old man Wallace, who was asleep at his desk the entire time, but you’re correct. It was not the most discreet behavior.” She smiled then, her fingers brushing her lips. They still tingled from Nate.

  “Oh, dear.”

  Marian snapped her gaze back to the woman’s face. “What is it?”

  Mrs. Ramsey examined her closely. “Have a care you do not grow attached to this man, Marian. He is a resource. Someone to be used to help reach your goals. Someone to school you in seduction . . . do not let yourself fall under his spell. It is well and good to enjoy yourself with your lover . . . only do not form too great an attachment. Ruin and heartache lie in that path.”

  Marian nodded solemnly. Given the way she was feeling right now, these were words she needed to hear, however cold and calculating they happened to be.

  “Three lessons, hm? I can only assume you are well on your way. I imagine you should know enough soon to get your start. Of course, I’m laboring under the assumption that he is truly a skilled—”

  “He is skilled,” she quickly asserted. Very skilled.

  Mrs. Ramsey eyed her speculatively. “Too many more lessons and your maidenhead could become a thing of the past. The temptation might be too great. Have you considered that? You might not be able to resist him.”

  Marian winced. The thought had crossed her mind. How could it not? Ever since he’d pleasured her so thoroughly on her bed she throbbed, ached to be filled by him. Already, in the back of her mind, she’d begun to ask herself just how valuable her virginity was. Could she not save her family without it? Wasn’t being an exceptional courtesan enough?

  She sucked in a breath and shook her head. It was dangerous thinking. Mrs. Ramsey was right. Do not let yourself fall under his spell.

  Marian would make sure that did not happen.

  Chapter 16

  Rain.

  That’s all there was. For hours. For days. For nearly a week.

  Water dumped in torrents. It was a deluge. A monsoon. A great darkness filled the sky and hammered over the village of Brambledon and the surrounding countryside with no sign of relenting. No one ventured out. They stayed inside, waiting out the rain, hoping it stopped soon.

  It was biblical. The type of storm that made one think of the end of days. Nora made plenty of jests to that effect as she peered out the window on the fourth afternoon, claiming she was looking for an ark.

  “We’re not flooding,” Charlotte chided. “Be thankful for that.”

  “Not yet,” Nora opined.

  “You’re such a dramatic creature. It will not come to that, Eleanor.” Charlotte only ever used Nora’s full name when she was annoyed with her—and trapped indoors together as they were, Charlotte had definitely reached her limits with Nora. They had all reached their limits with each other.

  On the fifth day, over Charlotte’s protests, Marian decided to venture outdoors and inspect the condition of the roads for herself. She had to investigate. One more moment trapped inside and she would go mad. She felt ready to crawl out of her skin. Her house had never felt particularly small before, but it felt the size of a milliner’s box now.

  It still rained a steady drizzle. She held her parasol aloft and tromped carefully in her brother’s old boots, peering through the silvery sheets of water. She didn’t get very far, however, before she was forced to turn around. The roads were muddied streams meandering through the countryside. There was no traversing them.

  She returned home. Her sisters were waiting anxiously on the front stoop with a blanket for her. They helped rid her of her cloak and wrapped her in its warmth.

  Charlotte tsked. “You’ll catch your death.”

  “Come into the kitchen beside the grate,” Nora directed. “I’ve prepared a hot toddy.”

  “With honey?” Marian asked through chattering teeth.

  “Of course.”

  Nodding, she allowed them to lead her back inside the house, sending one glance of longing over her shoulder. Charlotte was correct. She had been foolish to attempt to leave while it was still raining. She was impatient. Five days. It had been over five days since she had last seen the duke.

  Without this blasted rain they would certainly have liaised again. She sank down in a chair beside the warm grate and gladly accepted the cup from Nora, relishing the heat infusing her palms. She drew a slow sip of the hot drink, savoring the slide of the warm brew down her throat.

  Was this infatuation then? Foolishly braving rain and inaccessible roads so that she might have another taste of the man she craved? Mrs. Ramsey’s words reverberated through her as she stared into the flickering fire.

  It is well and good to enjoy yourself with your lover . . . only do not form too great an attachment. Ruin and heartache lie in that path.

  “I do hope you will be patient and not venture out again until the rain subsides.” Charlotte frowned. “We don’t need anything to befall you, Marian.”

  Marian nodded and smiled weakly. “Of course, you are right. I will be patient.”

  She would be patient and wait, bide her time until the weather cleared. Then she and the duke could meet again. There was no attachment.

  There would be no attachment.

  By the end of the week the rain finally weakened to an inconsequential mist. Marian bundled up in layers at the kitchen door, ready to greet the world.

  “Marian? Whatever are you doing?” Charlotte turned from the pot of soup she was preparing for their supper.

  “I’m just going to ride over and check on the Pratts.”

  Charlotte frowned. “I am sure they are fine. They’ve been on this earth long enough to have the sense to stay in and wait out the rain.”

  “They are advanced in years,” Marian argued. “I should check on them.”

  A plausible excuse. And she would check on them. She truly would . . . on her way back from the duke’s home.

  “It’s dreadful outside,” Nora volunteered. “You will probably catch your death.”

  “The roads are safe. I saw a rider pass by not an hour ago. There is no danger.”

  She could not stay away a moment longer. She had to see him. Every fiber of her being demanded it. She had not seen him since he left her standing in the aisle at the library. Over a week ago.

  Foreve
r ago.

  She’d promised she would come to him. Did he think she had forgotten? Or changed her mind? Surely he knew the weather was to blame.

  By now she had thought to have several more lessons—several more opportunities to be with him. This blasted rain had put a damper on their activities and delayed her mission to rescue her family from penury. She told herself it was that reason alone that had her so anxious to see him again.

  Lies. She cringed. She was lying to herself.

  She woke at night afire, her hands fisting her sheets, her body arched and aching, her core clenching in need. She craved relief.

  He’d done this to her. Blast him. It was as though he had contaminated her, infected her with a fever for which he was the only cure.

  A little mud on the road shouldn’t get in the way.

  She would see him today and they would continue their lessons as per their agreement. Nothing would keep her away.

  A week had passed without a glimpse of her. Nate knew the wretched rain was responsible, but the knowledge did nothing to quell his insatiable longing.

  She had not come to him and he didn’t care the reason, only that he had not seen her. Not heard her voice. Not touched her. Not tasted her.

  It had been risky the day he showed up at her house and even more so when he had followed her to the library, and now with this infernal rain he knew that she, like everyone else, was holed up in her home. She wouldn’t be alone. Her sisters would be trapped indoors with her. He could not simply ride through the rain, knock on her front door, and make use of her bedchamber to continue their lessons. Unfortunately.

  She had promised to come to him. He would not ignore her wishes. She wanted discretion and he would not go against her. He’d give her what she wanted—for some reason that was important to him. It mattered.

  He paced anxiously, imagining this was what a tiger felt like in a cage. Trapped. Restrained.

  The rain revived just then, drumming on the roof and dancing down the panes of mullioned glass, seeming to mock him, taunt him. He stopped before the window and looked out, hoping the clouds would appear a little less swollen.

  Instead of clouds, however, he saw a lone rider cutting through the steady fall of rain on a direct path for his house.

  He rubbed at the fogging glass as though that would somehow clear it. Peering, he noted the individual was slight. Perhaps a child. No, a woman.

  He lurched away from the window and bounded down the stairs, not even bothering to reprimand himself for his eager reaction.

  It was Marian. Marian had come to him.

  Foolish chit. She had risked rain and indiscretion and came to him.

  He didn’t pass anyone in his hurried descent to the bottom floor. He knew there were servants about somewhere, but he kept only minimal staff, and the house had been quiet these last few days. It was as though the rain had subdued everyone.

  He wasn’t concerned, though. His staff knew better than to speak out of turn and gossip about matters that occurred within these walls. He was a private man, and they knew not to risk their positions carrying tales. He paid them generously and allowed them time off. He knew his counterparts were not often so inclined.

  Even if one of his servants correctly identified Marian, they would keep it to themselves.

  And yet if the threat of being exposed were real, he doubted it would slow him down. He didn’t care. He would still continue on his path. He would still rush into the foyer and yank open the front door and yank her into the house.

  Threat of discovery or not, he could not suppress the urge.

  Her expression only reflected mild surprise at the sudden appearance of him before her.

  “Nate,” she breathed. Then she was stumbling readily into his arms.

  Apparently she wasn’t concerned with discovery either and that only inflamed him—made him burn hotter.

  He slammed his mouth over hers and she met his kiss, just as eager, just as hungry.

  She managed to get out a few broken phrases as he kicked the door shut behind her. “Wanted to see you . . . Tried . . . Wretched rain . . .”

  “I know,” he growled and deepened the kiss, making further speech impossible.

  He held her face, cradled it, clung to it, as though she might disappear. As though she might be a figment of his most ardent imaginings and not this real flesh and blood female. Not his.

  And she was his.

  He felt that in every sweep of her tongue against his own, in the wrap of her arms around his shoulders. The desperate press of her breasts into his chest.

  He folded her into his arms and lifted her off her feet, bringing her mouth on level with his.

  He took the stairs, carrying her with him, mindless in his hunger for her. Servants could be witnessing their display. He couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t give a damn.

  All his attention was focused on her. Marian in his arms. Getting Marian into his bed.

  He was in his chamber in moments, kicking the door shut behind them. Moments too long as far as he was concerned. It felt like a lifetime since he last held her, touched her, kissed her.

  He dropped her to her feet and growled against her mouth, “You came. You came.”

  “I had to.” She gasped as his fingers attacked the rows of buttons down the front of her wet gown.

  “You’re soaked.”

  “I suppose I should get out of these clothes then.” His fingers worked feverishly. The boldness of her words made him groan.

  “I suppose you should.”

  She added her hands, helping him rid her of her dress.

  All the while his mouth feasted on her, unable to break away. He didn’t need air as long as he had this—her.

  Her hands buried in his hair, and she pressed against him, into him, practically climbing him in her eagerness.

  He lifted her off her feet again and walked her to the bed, his mouth never severing from hers.

  He came down heavily atop her and then attempted to lift up, to ease his weight away, but she grabbed his shoulders and hauled him back down.

  “Too heavy,” he rasped, his tongue in her mouth.

  “No,” she denied. “I want you on me. I want to feel your weight. All of you.”

  He kissed her forever, holding her face with both of his hands like she might vanish from him. Desire pumped thickly through his blood. Her thighs widened for him, welcoming him in. Her skirts and drawers bunched between them. He cursed at the surplus of fabric, grinding through the material as though he might reach her. Impossible while they were dressed, he knew, but instinct demanded he move and thrust into her even if penetration was impossible.

  Because he had promised.

  Her hips rose, seeking the hard rub of his cock. The heat from her core radiated through all their garments, beckoning him.

  “I want to feel you. Skin to skin. Please, Nate,” she begged.

  “We can’t.”

  Her hands fumbled between them, landing on the fastening of his breeches. “Let me feel you, then.”

  He was helpless to stop her. In fact, he assisted her.

  Reaching down, he freed himself and groaned as her soft, cool hands surrounded him. She slid her fingers over him, gliding, stroking, her artless touch too much.

  “Marian, stop, please. I’m about to spill.” He seized her hands.

  She whimpered and wiggled, her eyes bright and wild on him. “I need . . . I ache . . . Please, Nathaniel. I’ve thought about this. I know what I’m doing. I know what I want.”

  Her broken plea compelled him. He pulled back and hastily rid her of her petticoats and drawers, shoving her chemise up to bare her from the waist down.

  He shuddered at the sight of her pretty quim, pink and weeping for him. “Oh, Marian,” he breathed, his mouth falling between her thighs with a hungry groan. The first taste of her was as heady and sweet as he imagined.

  He devoured her, licking and nibbling, rolling that swollen pearl between his fingers and then ta
king it between his lips, sucking deep and rubbing it with his tongue.

  She convulsed and cried out, writhing on the bed.

  He lifted his head to look up at her, his gaze fastening on her face. Her eyes were the color of a night storm with a dark ring of cobalt, almost black, around them. “You’re beautiful.”

  And mine.

  It wasn’t what he should be thinking at all, but he allowed himself the mistake. His erection bordered on pain and there was no relief forthcoming. He could be forgiven the possessive thought.

  He crawled up her length. A body-deep sigh escaped him as he came over her. Skin-to-skin. No part of them was shielded. His cock nestled against her sex.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” he said tightly.

  She leaned forward and rained kisses over his throat and jaw. “It’s the best idea.” Her mouth found his again, kissing him deeply.

  She arched and strained against him as her tongue mated with his.

  His hips settled deeper, nudging her thighs wider. “You’re so wet.” He panted, gritting his teeth.

  She maneuvered herself so that his erection was pressed directly along the crease of her lips—and then she rocked.

  He threw his head back with a hiss, jamming his eyes tight.

  “N-Nate,” she choked out, thrusting her hips until the head of his cock nudged her opening.

  “Marian, stop . . .”

  “Why?” She seized his face and forced him to look back at her. “We can do this.” She nodded fiercely. “It was my choice not to . . . now it’s my choice to do it.”

  “But you made me promise,” he reminded, desperate for her to remember that, to be strong when he felt so weak right now. He wanted her too much, but this wasn’t good for her. He didn’t want to take her choices away, her options.

  Her hand gripped his hair, tugging, forcing his gaze back on her face. “I release you from your promise. Now take me.”

  He was snared by the intensity of her blue eyes. “Marian, it’s not what you want . . .”

  “I want this.” She moved her hips, searching, seeking penetration. The head of him dipped inside her, just an inch, but that clinging heat sucking him in was bliss.