Beauty and the Duke Read online

  Helpless in her release, she pulled him into another soul-searing kiss and rode the currents of pleasure, arching her back as she came with the force of one blissful wave after wracking wave crashing on sand. His grasp tightened on her hips and he held her down on his sex, his guttural groan muffled against the naked curve of her shoulder where her gown fell open. She felt the shudder of his breath against her ear, and a white-hot rush flooding inside her, drenching her. Their breathing rasped in the heated silence.

  Even as her mind-numbing pleasure eased to tiny pulses between her legs, she quietly sucked in air and listened to the voices fading outside in the corridor. Erik’s forehead rested against hers. With his penis still heavy and thick inside her, they remained pressed against one another, breathing shallowly. In the aftermath, neither moved.

  “What just happened between us?” she said when some semblance of sanity tried to reassert itself in her mind.

  “I don’t know.” His voice sounded amused. “I think I just fooked you against the door.”

  A part of her welcomed his devil-may-care attitude and the way he could spurn convention. Yet, in many ways, Erik Boughton was as conventional an aristocrat, and archaic in behavior, as the new Queen herself.

  When he finally eased out of her and lowered her skirts, she fell forward against his chest. Bereft of strength and aching with a new tenderness, she inhaled the musky scent of sex still wet between her legs even as she absorbed his heartbeat against her cheek.

  What had he done to her? Wading through the mist of her emotions, she understood nothing but the feel of the shimmering rainbow that still seemed to surround her. She didn’t want to let him go.

  He spoke against the soft shell of her ear, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I will procure a special license. I think it wise that we be wed as soon as possible.”

  She pulled back. Her hands trembled as she worked to repair her clothes. “I need time, Erik.”

  His shirt hung loose and unbuttoned from his trousers. He looked as ravaged as she felt. “Time?” He laughed as if to say that ten years was more than enough time.

  “I have…I have responsibilities to attend to at the abbey,” she said.

  “I won’t force you, Christine,” he said quietly. “You’ll come to me willingly. Or you’ll not come at all. Do ye understand?”

  He would have no martyred wife in his bed. Theirs would be a marriage in truth, a partnership as he had said. A promise. Her eyes filling with tears, she touched the frown line bracketing one corner of his mouth. “I’m sorry.”

  “Christine?”

  Erik was halfway to his horse when he stopped. “Devil take it.” He did an about-face on his heel.

  He’d be damned if he was going to allow Christine to walk away from him…again.

  She, who braved a man’s world with spear in one hand and a shield in the other, like one of Sparta’s warriors at the pass of Thermopile. The woman who pampered old bones and relics as if they were her children, who set traps for thieves and named her cat Beast. She had fled him as if he were the plague.

  One thing was for certain, he told himself as he traipsed through an overgrown garden in search of a path that would take him to the front of the house. He would be deceiving himself if he thought today’s passionate sexual tryst precluded her from having any choice in the matter of her future. She did have a choice. At the moment, she was exercising that choice not to marry him.

  Fifteen minutes later, feeling like a supplicant as he followed an addlepated housekeeper into the drawing room, he ran into Joseph Darlington and his blushing bride, Amelia. Their presence shocked him. He had not expected to see Darlington back from his honeymoon so soon. They sat in the drawing room having tea with Lady Sophia, Christine’s maiden grandaunt.

  The housekeeper announced his name and that he was here to see Miss Sommers. The angelically blond Amelia leaped to her feet first and dipped into a curtsey. Mr. Darlington rose. Only Lady Sophia remained seated.

  “Your grace,” Amelia replied. “We have not seen Miss Sommers.”

  “Perhaps she is still in the laboratory,” Mr. Darlington replied. “I believe that was where she was fifteen minutes ago.”

  Amelia was studying the toes of her shoes. Remembering the noise he’d heard in the hallway when he and Christine were against the door, Erik looked from her to Darlington. He suspected these two had heard everything.

  So be it, he swore to himself. He intended to marry Christine. But announcing that fact would not further his cause.

  Lady Sophia watched the interchange over the rim of her teacup. He was sure Lady Sophia would have remembered him from years ago. How did one forget a man who had married into the family, then promptly lost his bride to a fever ere two weeks had passed? One did not, he suspected. “You are welcome to join us for tea, Lord Sedgwick. If my niece is in the laboratory she could be there awhile.”

  After an awkward moment where he declined tea and no one spoke, Erik returned his attention to Darlington. “You will be leaving soon for Perth,” he said, remembering their conversation at the museum, and the look on Christine’s face when Darlington had announced he had received the appointment. Erik had no idea why he should care. But he did.

  When no immediate reply was forthcoming, Amelia slanted her husband a hesitant glance. “We will be remaining in London for a while,” Darlington said.

  “You will be remaining at Sommershorn Abbey,” Lady Sophia told Darlington. “We were just discussing that very thing when you arrived, Sedgwick.”

  “I should let you return to your conversation.” He felt out of place.

  Erik patted his inside pocket. He hadn’t brought a card or anything that would make this look like a planned social call as he stood in front of the threesome in his shirtsleeves looking more like a roustabout than an aristocrat calling on a young woman. “Tell Miss Sommers I was here,” he said.

  Erik finally bowed politely and left the trio to enjoy their reunion in peace.

  He reached the tree where his horse should have been tied only to ascertain it had loosed itself from the branch where Erik secured him. He found the gelding’s tracks in the dirt and discovered the horse had decided to quench his thirst in the middle of the shallow duck pond.

  Erik’s new Italian leather boots were still wet and caked in mud thirty minutes later when he reined in the bay just at the edge of the wooded parkland behind his house and swore softly to himself.

  Now almost home, he’d remembered he’d forgotten to bring back Becca’s fossils. With an oath, he swung the bay around.

  Christine was suddenly in front of him, bringing her mare to a skidding halt before she collided with him. His startled horse reared, nearly unseating him. He brought his horse around as it pranced sideways into a mud puddle, sending a spray of black water up and onto his cloak, which now complemented the mud caked on his boots. But his anger died as quickly as it had come.

  The first thing he noticed was that she was riding sidesaddle. For some reason he had expected to see her defying custom and riding astride. A jaunty straw hat covered her hair and the large blue bow at her chin framed her oval face. Her blue velvet riding attire hugged what he considered a perfect pair of breasts. No country bumpkin was the very fair Miss Christine Sommers.

  He leaned an elbow against his knee. “Why am I not shocked that you are here without a groom?”

  Her black tossed its head and danced a few steps. “Perhaps we are beyond being shocked with each other.”

  “Are we?”

  Her flushed cheeks stood out in contrast to the white lace collar that buttoned at her neck. He suspected why she was here. Her presence had everything to do with Darlington and Amelia’s sudden arrival at Sommershorn Abbey, but he only knew he did not care the reasons.

  “I would have an answer from you.” She waited for him to nod. “You have made it clear your only reason for marriage is to beget an heir. What happens to our marriage after I give you a son?”

  “What do
you want to happen?”

  Evading the deeper issue of love, she attacked the primary topic of concern. The one she could control. “Any children we have will also be mine. I’ll not leave them, nor be forced to do so.”

  “You think me so heartless?”

  “The devil duke of Sedgwick is not known for his generous heart.”

  There was the briefest of pauses. “I will not force you to leave,” he said quietly. “Nor will I force you to stay.”

  “I see,” she said. “Then ours will truly be a marriage of convenience? A bargain met only in bed? You will have your life to attend to and I will have mine,” she said. “Is that it?”

  “Unless you know of another more suitable arrangement.”

  “Such an arrangement is not all bad,” she agreed.

  She fidgeted with the lace on her sleeve only to realize she was destroying her cuff. “You won’t wake up tomorrow and realize you have made a terrible mistake?” she quietly asked.

  Did she think so little of herself? “No, Christine.”

  “Then to that point, I have just one more request to ask of you.”

  “Will it hurt?” he asked.

  Despite her unwillingness to smile, she seemed warmed by his humor. “I hope not. But this is important.”

  “What is it you want, Christine?”

  “By law, Sommershorn Abbey will pass to my husband.” She drew in breath as she pondered what his reaction might be to her request. “You don’t need the property. I would ask that you put the school into a trust that cannot be touched except by the executor I appoint. I wish the Abbey to remain my legacy to the young women for whom my great-grandmother built the school. I want to keep the tradition alive. No woman should ever be allowed to feel shame for her intellect.”

  “As you wish, Christine.”

  “Thank you.”

  And for the first time since she’d ridden pell-mell into the glade, he felt the constriction in his chest loosen. “Is there anything else to which I should agree?” he asked.

  “This may be business for you, but it is also my business. I will be an equal partner in all matters personal between us.”

  “All matters personal,” he agreed. “In everything else, I have no doubt you and I can come to an equitable agreement. Do I meet your criteria?”

  The wariness inside her eased. “I will marry you, Erik. Your solicitor can deliver the contracts. I will sign them.”

  She urged her horse back as if she might swing away, but he bent down and took hold of the bridle. He looked into her startled face, her eyes wide open and blue as a piece of summer sky.

  Until today, he’d always considered himself a man of restraint and subdued passions. In his entire life, with only a few exceptions, he had never surrounded himself with anything that he could not live without.

  “Do we have an agreement, your grace?” she asked.

  His hand tightened on the bit. Even suspecting her reasons for accepting his offer and wanting to escape England, he would take her. “Aye,” he said satisfied for now with the bargain he had struck. He released his grip on the bit.

  “You have not told me where you wish to speak our vows,” he said.

  She toyed with her reins. “I wish to marry at Saint Jude’s Cathedral off York Square. It is not far from here.”

  “Ah,” he said simply and, despite himself, he smiled. “Saint Jude. Patron saint of hopeless and difficult causes.”

  She did not quite smile, but her expression became less tense. “Papa is buried there. I have known Reverend Simms my entire life. I would like him to perform the ceremony. As soon as possible.” A blush stained her cheeks and she rushed to explain. “As it will take a few weeks for me to pack and settle my affairs at Sommershorn Abbey before I can leave, and I know you cannot remain here in London. I would not wish to change my mind while you are frittering away your time in Scotland waiting for me.”

  His gaze tracing the tiny curve of her smile, he lifted his eyes back to hers and recognized the comment for what it was. A self-deprecating fact. “I can have a special license in two days. We can be wed by the end of the week.”

  She seemed relieved to put the entire affair into his hands.

  “Then we are in accord?” she asked.

  “Yes.” His thumb brushed her moist lower lip. “I believe we are.”

  Without giving her time to respond, he wrapped his hand around her nape and laid his lips over hers. He’d meant for the kiss to be simple, a bargain sealed. But somehow, his intent gravitated toward something far more complex and less governable, in a kiss that deepened into something rough. Her hand curled around his lapel. Heat clung to her like the sunlight warming his shoulders and she melted against him. Their horses stirred. Slowly, he pulled away.

  With trembling hands, she gathered up the reins. “I will await word from your solicitor.”

  She swung her black around in a tight circle and, as he watched her maneuver through the trees the way she had come, an old adage nipped at his thoughts. Something about…the wolf eating the lamb that strays from the field.

  He frowned and nudged his heels against his horse. Better that adage than the one that said He who picks up a thorn has one less sin, for had he stepped on it, he would have cursed.

  It should not have mattered to him why she was marrying him, only that she was.

  Christine arrived back at Sommershorn Abbey just before dark. Holding a package close to her chest, she shut the door then closed her eyes as if she could shut out the doubts as easily. After leaving Erik, she had not come directly home but had instead gone to a small lace shop near the cathedral where she would soon be wed. A true bride always wore a veil, she’d told herself.

  Mrs. Samuels came bustling toward her. “Oh, mum, you are finally arrived. Lady Sophia is in the dining room waiting for you. Oh, dear, oh dear. Mr. Darlington and Miss Amelia…” Wringing her chubby hands, the housekeeper murmured in her doomsday voice, “Mrs. Darlington,” she corrected, “also be with her, mum. And your uncle and that rascally son of his arrived twenty minutes ago.”

  “I see.” She gave Mrs. Samuels the package to take upstairs. “Make me some tea. At least you can boil water while fretting. You don’t have to be here.”

  “Yes, my lady. Thank you.”

  After Mrs. Samuels waddled away Christine removed her hat and hung it on a peg beside the door. She recognized Amelia’s voice and Joseph’s somber undertones coming from the dining room.

  She drew in a breath. She had no interest in hearing about his week, nor was she interested in explaining hers. She would not even know how to begin.

  And because no good reason could have brought her family to the abbey on a night like this and because she was a coward, she considered escaping upstairs to her room, before changing her mind. Except she had spent most of her life at the merciful whim of other people’s platitudes.

  Christine recognized the sound of her aunt’s cane tapping the floor. It was muffled by the carpet, but it had no less effect on Christine than if it had vibrated the very air she breathed and she imagined Moses’ staff when he parted the Red Sea. Her aunt appeared in the corridor and stopped.

  Since she was six and had got herself stuck in a tree while sneaking out of her room, Christine had not seen that worried look on her aunt’s face. “We were about to call out a search for you. Come inside, child.”

  Aunt Sophie never called anyone child. Unable to stop the downward spiral of her emotions, Christine clutched her skirts and stepped past her into the dining room. Joseph and Amelia sat at the dining table. Joseph came to his feet. Christine’s uncle, Papa’s brother-in-law, the earl of Heath, and his wastrel son, Gordy, did not rise. She laid her hand on the back of the dining chair as she faced them all, like Daniel in the lions’ den.

  She nodded to Joseph and Amelia. “I am glad to see you both back.” Her eyes on Amelia’s face, she attempted to smile. “You are looking well.”

  Amelia lowered her gaze to her hands.
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  “Where have you been, Christine?” her uncle demanded. “Don’t tell us you were at the museum. Mr. Darlington and Gordy just returned from there this evening. No one has seen you since this afternoon.”

  Gordy smirked behind his hand as if whispering conspiratorially to Joseph, “We shouldn’t say ‘no one.’”

  Remembering just how much she disliked the little weasel, she narrowed her eyes on Gordy, then settled her fury on Joseph. How dare he stand on the side of her family? “Am I now required to consult with all of you whenever I leave the abbey? Since when has any of you cared what I do?”

  Her uncle’s expression darkened. “Since Sedgwick was here this afternoon. Since further inquiries have revealed this is not his first visit.”

  Gordy leaned forward on his elbows. “And in case you ever had a doubt, old gel, your laboratory activities aren’t exactly beyond our hearing, you know.”

  Christine felt the awful rise of heat in her face.

  “What were you thinking?” her uncle said. “Have you no ken what would happen to the repute of the school and all of us if anyone found out about you and that bastard? We would be ruined.”

  Christine pulled off her gloves, jerking one finger at a time as she worked through the panic that threatened her composure. “You needn’t fear about your reputation. Any of you. I have agreed to marry him.”

  Shock silenced the group only momentarily. Then everyone started talking at once. “You have an obligation to the school”…“loyalty to the family to consider”…“The man has been accused of murder”…“His own mother wants nothing to do with him”…“He lives in the wilds of Scotland, a barbaric country.”

  “No decent woman dallies with the chap, much less marries him,” her uncle blustered. “Good Lord! Society tolerates him only because his title and wealth make him powerful. He may not have caused the scarlet fever that killed my Charlotte, but he is responsible for his second wife’s disappearance.”