A Duke by Default: Dangerous Dukes Vol 3

by Wendy Soliman

  She wanted to protest when he removed himself from the bed, but she glanced at him and realised he had only done so in order to remove his clothing. Oh my! He was truly magnificent. His chest was muscled and toned, his manhood enormous. The sight of it heralded the return of her fears, but before they could intensify he was with her again, holding her tightly in his arms, whispering words of reassurance. She ran her fingers across his chest, anxious to become more acquainted with him, wishing she could tell him that she loved him.

  Because the situation called for it and…well…because she did.

  The realisation didn’t surprise her. On a visceral level, perhaps she had always known it, otherwise she wouldn’t have married him no matter how much pressure had been put on her. But she was aware the feeling wasn’t reciprocated, and the last thing she wanted was for him to sneer at her sentimentality. She had received first hand proof, just that afternoon, of how quickly his moods could change. She enjoyed his current mood very much and wanted to prolong its presence.

  ‘You are ready,’ he said softly.

  ‘I am? Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive.’

  He lowered himself over her, taking his weight on his forearms and nudging her legs apart with his knee. She was as anxious as he was to do this now—no longer afraid of the size of him or how much it was likely to hurt. She closed her eyes, keen to experience what happened next as she absorbed the exquisite feelings created by his fingers. Harriet tensed when she felt the tip of his cock invade her body. He soothed her with his lips as he delved a little deeper, stretching her, filling her. It felt sublime, until he hit the barrier that was her virginity.

  ‘There will be one sharp pain,’ he said. ‘There’s no help for that, I’m afraid.’

  She bit her lower lip, wondering why she had allowed herself to be lulled into a false sense of security by his hypnotic words. Of course it would hurt. ‘All right.’

  He flexed his hips and thrust. She cried out as a stinging pain ripped through her. He remained inside, unmoving, as he stroked the hair away from her forehead.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Was it so very bad?’

  ‘No. Is that all?’ she asked, feeling vaguely disappointed and unfulfilled.

  He smiled. ‘Not nearly. We have just started.’

  He worked carefully into her, kissing her as he did so, absorbing her soft exclamations into his mouth. This would never work, he was too large for her. Panic and sorrow consumed her. She couldn’t accommodate him, and he would have good reason to be disappointed in her.

  Distracted by her own thoughts, it took Harriet a moment to realise what had happened. He’d actually buried all of himself inside her, and he was breathing hard. She opened her eyes wide and looked at him.

  ‘You are remarkable,’ he said softly.

  And then he started to move, and she moved with him because it seemed like the right thing to do. Marc’s breathing became increasingly ragged, as did hers. Her body responded with vigorous enthusiasm and she felt herself on the brink of something truly remarkable.

  ‘Marc, I…what’s happening?’

  ‘Shush, just let it happen, sweetheart.’

  Sweetheart, he called me sweetheart. His loving words and the feel of him inside of her caused her body to ignite. Rushing, soaring excitement ripped through her like a glittering starburst and her world fragmented.

  ‘Ah, Harri!’

  Marc pounded hard into her and then fell across her, totally spent. She had pleased him as much as he had pleased her, she sensed. Now he would gather her in his arms, she would rest her head on his glorious chest and they would fall asleep in one another’s arms.

  It didn’t happen that way. Marc got up almost immediately, went to the basin and ewer and dampened a cloth. He returned to the bed, causing her to blush when he gently wiped her intimate places clean, and helped her back into the nightgown she still didn’t recall taking off. As though he regretted revealing too much of his inner self to her and couldn’t wait to put distance between them, he collected his scattered clothing from the floor, the remote expression he usually wore now firmly back in place.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Retiring for the night,’ he responded, heading for the adjoining door. ‘Goodnight.’

  Without touching her, or offering even the blandest of endearments by way of reassurance, he left the room.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Marc and Giles were breaking their fast when Harriet entered the dining parlour the following morning. She gave every appearance of composure but the dark shadows beneath her eyes told a very different story, causing Marc a momentary pang of guilt. It had not been his intention to make her unhappy by leaving her so abruptly. It was obvious she had expected him to stay and that she had questions. Marc was surprised at just how much he would have preferred to stay, but knew it was important to set boundaries if only to ensure her wellbeing.

  ‘Did you sleep well?’ Marc asked.

  ‘Perfectly so.’ Harriet helped herself to a small plate of food from the selection available on the sideboard and joined them at the table. It must have been obvious to Giles that there was tension between them, but before the situation became too embarrassing Lady Calder entered the room. Marc suggested the ladies spend the day with the housekeeper so that Harriet could get to grips with her new responsibilities. He was conscious of Giles and his aunt looking at him askance, both presumably having expected him to want to keep Harriet to himself. He pretended not to notice and calmly changed the subject.

  With breakfast out of the way Marc invited Giles to join him in the library, barely waiting for the door to close behind his friend before broaching the subject that was plaguing his mind.

  ‘When do you think to return to town, Giles?’

  ‘What, you want rid of me already?’

  ‘No, I thought I might accompany you.’

  Giles beetled his brows. ‘You would leave your lovely bride already?’

  ‘My lovely bride returns to her duties at Matlock House tomorrow,’ he reminded his friend. ‘She won’t notice I am gone, and I have business to transact in town.’

  ‘I thought the duchess looked a little out of sorts at breakfast. This must all be a little strange for her. I’m not telling you your own business, but are you sure you ought to leave?’

  ‘You misunderstand,’ Marc replied coldly. ‘My arrangement with my bride is of a purely practical nature. I can assure you, the less she sees of me the happier she will feel.’

  ‘Well, just so long as you’re sure,’ Giles said, sounding anything but sure himself.

  ‘You are aware of my reasons for marrying. Discovering Harriet was fortuitous in that it saved me from the inconvenience of making a selection elsewhere. Nothing else has changed.’

  ‘Except you didn’t want a beautiful bride,’ Giles reminded him.

  ‘That is unfortunate, I grant you, but she is suitable in all other respects. Besides,’ he added, with the ghost of a smile, ‘Harriet doesn’t appreciate how attractive she actually is so I shall endeavour to overlook her handsomeness and make the best of the situation.’

  Giles chuckled. ‘What business can you possibly have that draws you to the capital so soon after quitting it?’

  ‘I wish to make enquiries in respect of one James Jessup.’

  Giles frowned. ‘Who the devil is James Jessup?’

  ‘He’s a local landowner and also an amateur art collector.’

  ‘Not in your late uncle’s league, I take it.’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘Then I fail to understand what interest this person is to you.’

  ‘I have been examining my uncle’s records, and I see he sold a few small items to Jessup not long before his death. Jessup has only had the blunt to indulge his passion for art since the death of his father a few years ago, but is already starting to build a reputation as a connoisseur.’

  ‘Presumably your uncle would have enjoyed tutoring him. He always was keen t
o encourage others to share his passion.’

  ‘No doubt Jessup felt obligated to him.’ Marc flexed his jaw. ‘But not to the extent of creating three vacancies on his estate for the workers who left Harriet’s mill, surely?’

  Giles looked perplexed. ‘You have completely lost me, I’m afraid.’

  ‘When my uncle died no less than six of the men employed in the cider mill left without giving notice, refusing to report to a woman. I could understand that, except they had expressed few qualms about doing so in the period since the death of Harri’s father.’

  ‘I recall you mentioning it the other day. But didn’t you think then that Sanderson was probably behind their defection? We know he was in league with your aunt in attempting to evict the Astons from Matlock House. He probably persuaded the men away with offers of better paid employment here and at Jessup’s.’ Giles’s voice slowed as comprehension dawned. ‘Ah, I see your reasoning now. Sanderson could have created vacancies here, but how could he have done so on Jessup’s estate without that gentleman’s compliance?’

  ‘Precisely.’ Marc stood and paced the room, stroking his jaw as he voiced his thoughts. ‘Sanderson might well have sought to salve his wounded pride by causing a little trouble, making accidents happen in the cider mill after Charlotte had repulsed his advances. But Jessup’s involvement throws a very different light on matters and makes me uneasy.’

  ‘You think he wanted possession of Matlock House, too?’

  ‘I think he wants whatever my uncle left for Harri’s family as a means of support; almost definitely some form of valuable art work. Sanderson would have known about it, because he made it his business to know all about my uncle’s affairs, doubtless taking advantage of his illness to pry into his personal papers. All my instincts tell me he’s in league with Jessup, who has presumably offered him a commission for uncovering the work.’

  ‘You are persuaded then that your uncle did leave something to the Astons?’

  ‘I’m convinced of it, and I also believe he left a letter to me stating his intentions.’

  ‘Then what has become of that letter?’

  ‘Obviously, Sanderson has destroyed it. Either that, or passed it into my aunt’s hands.’

  Giles looked scandalised. ‘You think he would dare to go so far?’

  Marc scowled. ‘I think there’s little he wouldn’t dare do.’

  ‘If he has the letter, why hasn’t he uncovered the bequest and passed it to Jessup?’

  ‘Because my uncle was being obsessively cautious and probably didn’t entirely trust anyone to keep his secret. Not even me. I suspect the letter contained information which, if passed to Harri, would have made sense to her. It would enable her to locate the bequest, which is probably hidden somewhere in Matlock House.’

  ‘Hmm, possibly.’

  ‘Think about it, Giles. My uncle was a gentleman of honour. He had given my aunt his word not to openly support the Astons, but he loved Mrs. Aston and Harri. He wouldn’t leave them destitute. He could do for them from beyond the grave what he couldn’t manage while alive. He had sworn not to use any of my aunt’s money to benefit them, and must have known she would pay particular attention to any arrangements made for them after his death, so subterfuge was called for.’

  ‘Yes, but even so—’

  ‘He sent for Harri just before his death and kept her here for several hours, showing her his art collection. Why would a dying man do that, unless he was trying to make something clear to her? Something that would make sense once she read the letter he had left behind.’

  ‘Yes, I do see that. But now that you are married into the family, does it matter anymore? No doubt the bequest will come to light sooner or later, but your wife’s family is no longer in need of the support it would have provided them. So, why not simply dismiss Sanderson and have done with it?’

  ‘For two reasons.’ Marc’s expression hardened. ‘Jessup is known to be an obsessive collector and obviously covets whatever it is that has been left to Harri. I can’t see him giving up now, and given the fact that she will be spending several days a week at Matlock House without my physical presence to lend her protection, I won’t rest easy until I get to the bottom of the matter.’ Marc leaned against the mantelpiece and sighed. ‘As for Sanderson, I want to keep him where I can observe him.’

  ‘If you dismiss him you can’t trust him to leave quietly without exacting some sort of revenge, almost certainly at your wife’s expense.’

  ‘Precisely. And I can’t be sure what other of my uncle’s documents his mendacious nature has driven him to procure.’ Marc shook his head decisively. ‘No, it is preferable to keep that scapegrace in my sights until I am fully conversant with all aspects of Endersby, which is why I must resolve the matter of the bequest as soon as possible.’

  ‘Oh, of course.’ Giles’s grin implied he didn’t believe a word of it. ‘It’s a good thing you have no emotions invested in the union with your wife. God alone knows what measures you would take to protect someone you actually felt genuine affection for.’

  Marc’s scowl did little to curb Giles’s mirth. ‘She is my responsibility and I won’t have others threatening her well-being.’

  Giles rolled his eyes. ‘Heaven forbid.’

  ‘Harri returns to Matlock House tomorrow. I have business to occupy me here until Tuesday. Why do we not leave for town together on Wednesday morning?’

  ‘I am entirely at your disposal.’

  ‘No, on second thoughts, Giles, it might be better if you preceded me. Would it inconvenience you to leave tomorrow?’

  ‘Not in the slightest. And what would you have me do when I reach town?’

  ‘There are two agents situated in Bond Street whom my uncle was known to patronize. As you know, he followed his instincts and invested in some of Hogarth’s earlier works. I know that both agents were active in unearthing those works for him. If he had acquired any recently, then one of them would most likely know about it.’ Marc frowned. ‘I can’t think what other form the bequest would have taken, since I’ve checked my uncle’s inventory and all the rest of his works are where they should be.’

  ‘So you need me to pose as a buyer and ask if any new Hogarths have been bought or sold recently?’

  ‘Indeed, I do. I also need you to find some ingenious way of asking, without arousing their suspicions, if someone answering Jessup’s description has been making similar enquiries.’

  ‘Tell me what he looks like and you may consider it done.’

  ‘Thank you, Giles. I shall be at my rooms by Wednesday evening. Perhaps we could dine together, and you can update me on your progress then.’

  ‘By all means.’

  ‘In the meantime, would you care to ride out with me now? We shall call upon the magistrate and discover why he appointed the beadle. I’m uneasy about him, too.’

  Giles was still chuckling about Marc’s precautions for his wife’s safety when he mounted his horse half an hour later.

  Harriet and Lady Calder spent an agreeable morning consulting with Mrs. Grant about the household routine. If the housekeeper considered it strange that the new duchess intended to spend most of her time away from Endersby she remained silent on the point and professed herself to be entirely at Harriet’s service.

  Mrs. Grant had been a parlour maid at Endersby when Lady Calder had lived there before her marriage and was intimately acquainted with every corner of the house. Harriet wondered whether Marc’s seemingly casual suggestion that they spend the morning in her company had sprung from the realisation that her godmother’s presence would ease the introduction between well-established servant and new mistress. Then again, it might just have been a polite means of getting rid of her.

  That was more likely to be the case. Marc cared little for her finer feelings, but then she had known that when she agreed to marry him, and it was too late now to dwell upon her disappointment at his impermeable reserve. Well, almost impermeable. There had been a moment or two las
t night when she had dared to believe… But no, in the cold light of day, it was clear what she thought she had seen in his expression had been wishful thinking.

  Harriet was determined to examine every inch of Endersby, and Lady Calder readily agreed to be her guide. They finished their tour in the picture gallery, where the new duchess gazed in admiration upon the valuable collection.

  ‘It has grown since I was last here,’ Lady Calder said. ‘My brother certainly had a good eye. Just look at the detailed brushwork in that one there, Harri.’

  ‘Indeed, the whole collection is very impressive. I saw it all for the first time when Uncle Frederick summoned me just before his death. He was inordinately proud of it and spent a long time showing me his favourite works. I was concerned the effort would fatigue him but he wouldn’t hear of resting.’

  ‘He could be very stubborn where his art was concerned.’

  ‘Yes, but I think he noticed that I genuinely appreciated all he showed me, even though I don’t know what to look for in a work of art. It was the last occasion upon which I was in his company so I am glad we spent our time pursuing a subject that so enthralled him.’

  ‘Quite.’ Lady Calder smiled. ‘Shall we return to the drawing room? A restorative cup of tea would be most welcome.’

  ‘I do hope I haven’t fatigued you this morning with my curiosity about Endersby.’

  ‘Not in the least, child. It has been enjoyably nostalgic.’

  The gentlemen didn’t appear for luncheon. Harriet wondered why she should be compelled to spend a day away from her cider if her new husband couldn’t even trouble himself to take his meals with her. Preoccupied, she didn’t realise she had only toyed with her food and scarcely spoken two words to her godmother for some considerable time.

  ‘You seem fatigued, Harri.’ Lady Calder dismissed the servants and looked at Harri with concern. ‘Why do you not rest for a while?’

  ‘I am not at all tired,’ she snapped, more forcefully than she had intended. ‘Oh, I am so sorry, Aunt, I didn’t mean—’