“You can close your mouth, Rupert,” his mother snapped in disgust. “She’s married to your cousin Rafe.”
“Ah, that would explain it.” He didn’t sound too disappointed that she was married. “The incomparable Ophelia, no doubt. I knew I should have sought her out when I heard about her, but frankly, I didn’t believe a jot of it. No one could be as beautiful as they were claiming she is. Bloody hell, for once I wish I hadn’t played know-it-all. But no matter.” He gave Ophelia a truly magnificent smile. “Forget about my cousin. You must run away with me. I’ll make you deliriously happy.”
“Rupert, I raised a fool,” his mother admonished.
Rupert wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to his mother now. He’d leapt forward and was bending over to kiss Ophelia’s hand, nor would he release her fingers, continuing to hold them to his mouth while his blue eyes remained locked to hers. She feared he’d start sucking them in a minute.
They were joined by another man, one of such stature, dignity, and noble bearing, even though he was casually dressed in a rumpled frock coat, there was no doubt he was the Duke of Norford. He was also, undeniably, an older version of Rafe, the same height, the same blond hair and blue eyes, just stockier in girth.
He glanced at the scowling woman and said, “Julie, go home. You’ve overstayed your welcome.”
“I just got here!”
“Exactly.”
But he moved farther into the room to hug her, and she snorted before she hugged him back. He was teasing her? A duke was teasing his sister?
Then he turned to Ophelia. “I don’t believe I need to ask who you are. The rumors of your beauty don’t do you justice. Come along. We’ll find somewhere to get acquainted where my nephews aren’t drooling over you.”
“Oh, I say, I really don’t drool,” Rupert protested vehemently.
But the Duke of Norford had already left the room, and Ophelia was sure he didn’t doubt for a moment that she would follow. She still had to tug her hand away from Rupert first, who didn’t want to let go. Finally succeeding, she rushed out of the room.
“Don’t be long, love. I’ll be waiting right here,” Rupert called after her. Then she heard him howl. His mother must have hit him with something.
Ophelia just caught sight of Preston Locke’s back disappearing into a room down the hall. She picked up her skirt to run after him, slid a few inches on the marble floor as she stopped, and took a few seconds to compose herself before she entered. She wasn’t sure if she was in a library or a study. It was a large room. Filled bookshelves lined nearly every wall. But there was also a desk, twice the size of any she’d ever seen before, placed in front of some windows in a corner. The room was filled with small groupings of comfortable-looking chairs.
“This is a nice—study,” she remarked as she joined him by seating herself in one of those comfortable chairs. A tray of tea had been placed on the low table between them.
“My study is utilitarian and a few doors further down this hall,” he corrected. “This is where I come to relax and not deal with estate business. Would you like to pour us tea? It was just served.”
“Certainly.”
His tone gave no indication of his mood. She couldn’t tell if he was pleased to meet her or annoyed by her presence in his home. She was amazed the teacups didn’t rattle in their china saucers, she was so nervous. She could feel his eyes on her face accessing her.
He finally said, “You really are too beautiful for words, aren’t you? I honestly thought people were exaggerating as they tend to do, but not in this case.”
“I wish it were otherwise, Your Grace.”
“Come now, no formality amongst family. I suppose you can call me Father if you like, though if you feel uncomfortable doing so, Preston will do. Do you really not like being so pretty?”
Her eyes met his as she handed him a teacup. “It has been a blessing and a bane, more so a bane.”
“Why is that?”
She was given pause. No one had ever asked her that before, and she saw no reason not to be truthful about it. This was her father-in-law after all.
“Mainly, it has caused my father to treat me as a prized bauble good only for showing off, which has set him and me at complete odds. But there’s also the reaction people have to me when they meet me. Your nephew for instance.”
The duke actually laughed. “Rupert isn’t a good example, m’dear. The boy behaves like that around any skirt he crosses paths with. But I understand how you might see that sort of reaction as a problem.”
“It’s not just the men. Women flock to me as well, not because they like me, but just to be associated with me. This face has made me quite popular. It’s also caused me to distrust people for most of my life. They are so rarely sincere when they’re around me. Anyway, that’s been my bane.”
He stared at her oddly for a moment. “You would think that anyone as incredibly beautiful as you are would have led a charmed life. How unusual that it would seem you’ve led just the opposite.”
She shrugged. “I’m not quite so bitter about it anymore, and that’s your son’s doing. He helped me to view things from perspectives other than my own. It’s made an amazing difference, having a little trust in my life again, when I had absolutely none.”
“Yes, he mentioned—working with you.”
His pause indicated that Rafe had told his father far too much about their relationship. He might even have mentioned that they’d been intimate. Father and son could be close enough to discuss things like that.
She felt a blush coming on, but it halted when he added, “By the by, where is the groom? I expected him to bring you here for this first visit.”
She hesitated only a moment before admitting, “He doesn’t know I’ve come here. Rafe and I aren’t talking—or living together.”
That produced an instant frown. “You refuse to live with him?”
“On the contrary. He married me and then promptly returned me to my parents’ home.”
Preston shot immediately to his feet, his face suffused with color. “The devil he did.”
She wasn’t really surprised that he’d be offended on her behalf, or perhaps it was just his son doing something so out of the ordinary that he objected to. But oddly enough, she found herself defending Rafe.
“He didn’t want to marry me. He’s quite angry that he feels he was forced to.”
He digested that for a moment, then sighed as he sat back down. “I’m afraid that’s my doing. I did more or less order him to do right by you. The rumors, you know. Couldn’t have them getting out of hand. They could have been quite detrimental to your reputation if you weren’t engaged to marry the boy. But I certainly didn’t expect it to happen this quickly.”
“Neither did he. In fact, he didn’t expect it to happen at all. His intention was to defuse the rumors and avoid marriage entirely. But my own anger got out of hand and I pretty much goaded him into acting hastily, so, no, it wasn’t your fault a’tall.”
“I could have sworn he said something to the effect that your temper had been tamed.”
Her lips tightened. “Did he? Well, yes, in most regards that’s true. I can even get through a conversation with my father these days without screaming at him. The one exception is Rafe. I can’t seem to control my temper a’tall where he’s concerned.”
“I see,” the duke said thoughtfully.
She wished she did. “At any rate, I’d rather not live alone in the house that he bought me. I’m sure it’s a nice house and I probably won’t mind living there eventually. But just now while my moods are so turbulent, I think it would better if I remained in the company of other people.”
“You’re more than welcome to stay here,” he said, and appeared to mean it.
“Thank you, but that’s not why I’ve come. My maid, Sadie, thinks I’m with child. I dis—”
“Truly?” he cut in with a brilliant smile. “That’s wonderful news! So he didn’t desert you immediately
after the wedding after all?”
“Oh, he did. But our time together at Alder’s Nest was—eventful—in a number of ways.” She was glad to see by his expression, mixed with understanding and disapproval, that she didn’t need to elaborate further. “But as I was saying, I disagree with Sadie. It’s rather soon to know for certain. But on the oft chance that she’s correct, I thought this would be a good time to meet Rafe’s family. Frankly, I wanted to make sure you aren’t all as aggravating as he is.”
The Duke of Norford didn’t take offense at that remark. In fact, he burst out laughing.
Chapter Forty-eight
T HE LULL BEFORE THE STORM was driving Raphael crazy. He had fully expected his “wife” to do some outlandish thing to enrage him. She had promised retribution. She had sworn she intended to make him suffer. By mere chance he’d remained apart from her so that she couldn’t taunt him into ruining his life any further.
He had gone looking for her, he just hadn’t been obvious about it. He’d attended quite a few parties, expecting to encounter her at one or more of them. But she was either attending different parties or she was too busy moving into her new house.
Then it occurred to him that she might be staying out of the public eye because she didn’t want to answer any questions about them. Smart girl. It would be highly embarrassing to have to admit that her husband didn’t want to be her husband. Of course, he couldn’t really see her admitting to that a’tall. No, she was more likely to create a completely false scenario that would show him in a bad light.
But he’d heard no rumors to that effect, no rumors period regarding their marriage. And he’d been bombarded with questions himself. But he was rather adept at providing answers without really divulging any pertinent information. And his sister, who was also being barraged for some juicy tidbits, had agreed to continue to assert that she was annoyed with him.
Dining with her last night before she’d left for yet another ball, she’d assured him, “They think I’m still not talking to you. It’s so much easier to just say I don’t know.”
He finally gave up wondering what Ophelia was up to and early that evening went to find out for himself. He’d staffed the house he’d bought her. It had come fully furnished, tastefully, all in excellent condition, which was in fact what had sold him. Having told Ophelia he was buying her this house, he didn’t want her to have to wait for furniture to be delivered before she could move in.
He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d dismissed the staff he’d selected for her, so she could hire people of her own choosing, but she hadn’t yet done so. The butler who answered his knock and let him in was the same chap he’d sent over.
“Where is she?” he asked Mr. Collins.
“Who, m’lord?”
“My wife, of course,” Raphael said as he handed over his hat and greatcoat. He was already remembering the last time she’d kept him waiting. He might as well get comfortable.
“Lady Locke hasn’t taken up residence yet,” Mr. Collins informed him, appearing rather embarrassed to impart that information.
Now that he wasn’t expecting. “It’s been nearly a week since I let her know this house was ready for her. Did she at least move her belongings in?”
“We haven’t seen the lady yet at all.”
Raphael asked no more questions. He grabbed his coat back, forgot his hat, and was on his way to the Reid household within moments. There he was told where she’d gone and that she’d left two days ago! And that was when he panicked.
The trouble she could cause in his family could be everlasting—for him. And he didn’t doubt for a minute that she’d gone to Norford Hall with the express purpose of turning his family against him. And she’d had two days to do so. She was once again the Ophelia he’d first met, the one he didn’t like, the one capable of spreading false rumors and backing them up with lies, the one who didn’t give a damn about anything other than her own selfish ends. She didn’t care whom she hurt on the way to her goal, and her goal was to hurt him.
A few hours later he arrived at Norford Hall. The house was quiet at that time of night, most of the lights extinguished. The footman who manned the front door during the late hours was sleeping in a chair beside it and didn’t wake when Raphael slipped inside and went up to his room to get some sleep before he faced Ophelia in the morning.
She was in his bed. He hadn’t expected that they would put her in his room. He should have. She was his wife, after all.
He should leave and find another room for the night. Most of them were empty in this wing of the house. He was too tired after racing pell-mell for Norford to deal with her tonight. In the morning, when he was fresh, he would be clearheaded enough to force her to reveal what she was up to. But he didn’t move to retrace his steps.
She was in his bed. That kept him riveted to the spot, standing next to the bed, staring down at her sleeping form.
Her hair was glossy white in the moonlight, spread across his pillows. She hadn’t closed the drapery. It was a clear night, a bright moon, which is why he’d made such good time getting there. It was still late. She’d probably been asleep for several hours.
She was in his bed. And she was his wife. Wild horses couldn’t have pulled him out of there.
Was she a deep sleeper? Would she even notice if he got into bed with her? He quickly stripped off his clothes and did just that. She didn’t wake. She didn’t move a speck. And he was tired. It had been a stressful day full of unpleasant surprises. He ought to get some sleep. She’d be sure to wake him when she found him there in the morning. That would be soon enough to deal with the raging shrew.
But just now the shrew wasn’t present. And there was no way he was going to sleep with her soft, warm body only inches from his. Sex had tamed her anger before, or had that been a lie too, just another part of her ruse to trick him into believing he’d succeeded in changing her? There was one way to find out….
Chapter Forty-nine
I T ONLY TOOK A MOMENT for Ophelia to realize why she felt so good. It only took another moment for her to decide that she wasn’t about to deny Rafe the path he seemed intent on taking. She wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t going to refuse the exquisite pleasure he was capable of giving her, just because the anger he’d ignited in her wouldn’t go away.
She knew instinctively that making love with him again wouldn’t alleviate that anger, though. It might make her forget it briefly, but that would be all, because she’d been betrayed, maybe not in the typical sense, but that’s what it felt like. A broken heart. She’d had all the symptoms of one and still did, which more or less answered the question she’d been avoiding. She had fallen in love with this man. And that’s why making love with him again wasn’t going to mend her broken heart. But it certainly was gratifying to know that he still couldn’t resist her.
Her linen nightgown, which she typically raised up above her knees once she was under the covers, had been no hindrance to him and was now bunched up above her hips. He had been stroking the insides of her thighs and now slipped a finger inside her, just deep enough to set all her nerves tingling. The top of her gown, which had been nice and snug when she’d gone to sleep, was now wide open, giving him full access to her breasts. He was suckling one of them, drawing on it deeply, though gently.
She wasn’t fighting the hot sensual feelings he was arousing in her, quite the opposite. She luxuriated in every sensation, struggling to keep her breath under control and her sighs of pleasure to herself. She wasn’t pretending to still be asleep. She simply didn’t want to talk to him, confront him with the many angry questions she knew she should ask him, or…distract him from what he was doing to her.
And she watched him. Seeing him take so much enjoyment from the simple act of sucking on her nipple was heady indeed. She gently ran her fingers through his hair, then stopped when she realized what she’d done. She hadn’t meant to give him such an obvious clue that she was fully aware of what he was doing to her—and enjoying
it. She’d just done it without thinking. It brought his eyes directly to hers.
Don’t say a word, not a single word, his gaze seemed to warn her.
She knew that if she spoke, it wouldn’t be to say anything nice. If he spoke, the sensual trance he’d lulled her into would be broken.
He leaned up on an elbow, continuing to gaze at her. It seemed like forever. It also seemed as if he was debating whether to say something.
She couldn’t remain silent any longer. “You’ve deliberately avoided my bed. Why are you here now?” she demanded.
“The bed is mine,” he replied softly. “And so is the woman in it. We may have a lot to talk about, but now isn’t the time to talk.”
He kissed her. And, oh, my, what a kiss it was, deep and sweet and intended to change her mind if she had any reservations about making love with him. She didn’t have a single one. If the kiss hadn’t been enough to sway her, his calling her “his woman” pulled on her heartstrings in a most persuasive way. She fully participated in his sensual exploration, drawing his tongue into her mouth, slipping her own into his to taste him more fully. She put her arms around his neck and held him tightly, to try to keep him there…forever.
And then she realized…his finger was still inside her. And it was no longer still. He was moving his finger deeper, steadily penetrating her, moving it in and out, changing tempo, exquisitely slow, then a few quick thrusts, then slow again. His knuckles, possibly his thumb, rubbed against the small sensitive bud at the apex of her thighs. She gasped and her body thrust upward in surprise. He continued stroking her that way, again and again, as she writhed on the sheets moaning in pleasure. And all the while he just kissed her harder.
The Devil Who Tamed Her Page 24