Heartless Duke

by Scott, Scarlett

  Ara too had flung herself at Clay. Edward had come next, attaching himself to Clay’s leg. Lily swept Leo into a sweet-scented embrace, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You have come back, my darling son. Where you belong.”

  He hoped she was right, that he was where he belonged at last. That his love for Bridget would be enough to heal the distance between them.

  “Yes,” he agreed, his throat going tight with emotion, the back of his neck itching.

  “Find your way back to her, Leopold,” Lily whispered in his ear.

  Only she could call him by his full name with impunity.

  He smiled, releasing the fierce mother hen in his arms so she could greet Clay and Cullen. Bridget extracted herself from her brother’s embrace and turned to Leo, tears of happiness shining on her cheeks. Her elation faded before him, her expression growing guarded. Solemn. Her arms were not open.

  “Thank you for bringing my brother home,” she said, as formally as she would to any casual acquaintance.

  He wondered if he had waited too long, pushed her too far. Her stiff greeting was a barb to his heart. “You are welcome, wife. I trust you are well?”

  She looked no different than she had when he had last set eyes upon her, except perhaps a trifle more pale. It was almost impossible to believe she carried a life within her womb. A life they had created together, in love, although they met again as detached as strangers.

  “I am as well as can be expected,” she answered, a world of meaning simmering beneath her words.

  They walked into Harlton Hall, their divides intact.

  But it felt wrong. So horribly wrong.

  His mother was right. Bridget was his other half. He had to find a way back to her. A way back to them.

  Bridget stopped just short of Leo’s chamber door that evening, her hand outstretched. The closed door was symbolic of their marriage. How fitting it was he stood on the other side, just out of reach, this barrier between them as if it had been erected of her own making, a product of her sins against him.

  She did not deserve the man on the other side of the door. That much she knew. But she wanted to deserve him, and he had met her halfway by coming here. Or at least, she wanted to fight for the chance. To fight for him. For them. For what they could be together.

  Lily’s words returned to her.

  The most important decision you can ever make in your life is to love someone. Loving is not easy. It is raw and messy and hard-won. But it is also worth every struggle made to gain it.

  Love was worth swallowing her pride, and so was Leo. She owed it to him—owed it to herself, to the tiny heart beating within her—to take this chance. To try to make him see she was still the same woman he had fallen in love with. That she was not perfect, but she loved him. She loved him fiercely and fully and deeply, and there was not one single thing in this world she would not do for him if it was within her power.

  A short, deep breath for courage.

  And then she tried the latch. Unlocked. The door opened, as if willed by a magic hand, swinging inward. There he was. Her eyes lit on him, hungry for any sight of him she could garner. She had not realized how desperate she was for him until she had seen him striding up the drive alongside her brother and Clay, tall and impossibly handsome.

  He stood now in the center of the chamber, clad in a dressing gown and nothing more, his bare feet and calves peeping out from beneath the hem. She crossed the threshold without invitation, closing the door at her back.

  His bearing went rigid, gaze burning into her. “Duchess. What do you require?”

  So icy and formal. He treated her as if they had never shared such wild and wicked moments in each other’s arms. As if they had not been as close as two people could be. Her courage faltered for a moment, wilting beneath the ice of his indifference.

  Again, Lily’s words recalled themselves to her, venturing back into the recesses of her mind when she most needed them.

  Leo has a soft heart.

  He has been wronged in the past.

  Do not give up on him, my dear. He needs you.

  Yes, he did. Bridget knew it just as surely as she knew she needed him in return.

  “I require you,” she announced boldly.

  Something flared in his eyes, but she could not be certain of what it was. Interest? Irritation? Anger? Oh, how she wanted to believe it was the former rather than either of the latter.

  “I beg your pardon, madam?” He raised a brow, his face a study in cold, dismissive hauteur.

  He may be the duke, but she was the duchess.

  She tipped up her chin, warming to her cause. It occurred to her there may be another way back into his heart. Or at least back into his bed. From there, she could make the rest work. All she needed was a path. A glimmer of light.

  “I want you naked.”

  It was a mimicry of the words he had spoken to her not long ago. A daring move on her part, but this was her battle plan. She needed to be bold or risk losing everything that was important to her. Risk losing Leo.

  And she would never lose him, she vowed.

  They stared at each other. She did not flinch.

  “Naked,” she repeated in a voice that lashed through the room, echoing off the walls. “Now.”

  Molten-brown eyes seethed into hers. His entire bearing was rigid, from his broad shoulders to his tight, chiseled jaw. He could have been a statue. But she would not retreat. Would not back down. “Now, Duke.”

  A small flicker of movement caught her attention. His fingers, long and tapered and strong, fingers she loved on her skin, inside her, shifted. Found the knot on his dressing gown. Pulled. The knot came undone. The belt went slack, twin ends falling apart to dangle at his sides. His robe gaped.

  One shrug of his shoulders, and it was on the floor.

  He stood before her, magnificent. Nude. Oh, how she had missed the mouthwatering sight of that well-defined chest, the slabs of muscle on his abdomen, the quiet strength of his upper arms, those broad shoulders, capable of holding so much upon them. And then her gaze tracked downward, lingering on his lean waist, the grooves at his hipbones, his firm horseman’s thighs, long legs, his cock, which was impossibly large, hard and thick. Yes, she had missed that too.

  But most of all, she had simply missed him. Her beloved, enigmatic, harsh and dominating, yet tenderly soft Leo. Had missed being able to be near to him. Had missed his dark eyes, his full lips, his wit, his kindness, his embrace, his kiss. Every little part of him. She had missed it all.

  Do not get maudlin now, Bridget, she admonished herself. Stay the course.

  “Here I am,” he said roughly. “Naked before you, madam.”

  How she loved him. Would always love him, even if he could not find forgiveness in his heart for her. But she had to believe he could. That he would.

  “On the bed,” she ordered.

  Over the course of the time she had known him, she had learned him well. She knew his past helplessness with his mother had shaped him into the man he was. From governing the League, to the manner in which he ruled his life and everyone in it with ordered precision—even within the bedchamber—he craved control. He relinquished it for nothing and no one. And so, she understood she was taking a risk, not only in trespassing in his chamber, but in attempting to shake him in such a fundamental way.

  He would either tell her to go to the devil, or it would work.

  She held her breath and waited.

  “Has no one ever taught you the virtue of good manners, wife?” he asked silkily. “If there is something you want, you must ask prettily. You must say please. Or get on your knees.”

  She recognized his attempt to regain control of the situation, but she was not going to allow it. They were doing this her way or no way. Ever since the rift between them had turned into a yawning chasm, she had been attempting to do things his way. To remain at Harlton Hall and do penance, to give him his space, his distance from her, time. Whatever he needed.

  She h
ad wronged him, and she knew it.

  But she was growing impatient. She loved him, and she wanted a true marriage with him. Not only did she deserve it, but their babe did as well. She wanted all of him. His heart. His soul. His body. His absolution.

  “On the bed,” she prompted him again, maintaining her determination and her strength. She could do this. She would do this.

  At long last, he moved, turning on his heel and stalking across the chamber to his bed. She watched the muscles in his bottom flex, admired his strong thighs and calves. His body was beautiful, and she was going to worship it. She was going to do penance her way.

  In her own dressing gown, she had her stockings carefully tucked within a pocket. He watched her warily as she approached the bed, eyeing her as he might a wild animal.

  She was not inclined to reassure him. “Give me your wrists, Duke.”

  “Do you mean to slit them, banshee?”

  His expression was serious. So too his tone. She hated him for asking the question. And yet she understood it all too well. “I suppose you will have to trust me.”

  “The last time I trusted you, you nearly got us both killed.” His observation was as unyielding as his tone.

  Her heart ached. “I am sorry for that day, Leo. Sorrier than I can possibly convey. I know I should have come to you the moment I received his summons, but I was afraid. Time was running out for Cullen, and John was the only one who had given me hope of rescuing him. Had I any inkling of how mad he was, I would never have gone to him. And I would never willingly put you in danger. I love you far too much to lose you, mo chroí, though I fear I already have with my foolishness.”

  So much for her determination to be strong. She had already revealed her every vulnerability. He watched her now, eyes searching, seeking, and she could not help but to feel although he was the naked one, she had been stripped down far more intimately than he.

  “You haven’t lost me, Bridget. I am your husband.” He held out his hand. “Come.”

  She hesitated, for this was not part of her plan. She was meant to be seducing him. Convincing him. “Let me finish, if you please. I have more to say.”

  His hand remained outstretched. “Say it while you’re lying here with me. I’ve been missing you for all the days we have been apart, and I find I cannot bear another moment without you in my arms.”

  It was all she needed to hear. All the broken pieces inside her seemed to suddenly fuse together. He had come for her, had he not? And he had just admitted to missing her. He had seen her brother freed from prison. With trembling fingers, she untied the belt on her own dressing gown. A shrug of her shoulders, and it slipped to the floor, forgotten.

  She placed her hand in his. His warmth reassured her, his gentle grip melting the icy fear around her heart. One tug, and she was on the bed, falling into his arms. He caught her to him, anchoring her there, Bridget atop his powerful body, looking down into his beloved face.

  “I once thought my only allegiance was to my country, to the land where I was born,” she told him. “And then I met you, Leo. You changed everything for me, like a storm that sweeps along a shore and changes the coast forever. I will never be the same. You made me whole, and I cannot be complete without you.”

  His hands were on her back, caressing, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “I am furious with you for being stubborn and headstrong and not coming to me that day, but I understand how deep your love for your brother runs. I see now how torn you must have been. You broke your promise to me, and seeing you in danger, that bastard pointing his pistol at you…”

  His body shuddered beneath hers.

  “It is over now. He cannot hurt anyone ever again.” She framed his face in her hands, the prickle of his whiskers against her flesh a welcome abrasion. How beloved he was to her. How necessary. “I will never break another promise to you so long as I live. You are all I want. All I need, mo chroí. If you cannot forgive me, I understand. I only ask that you let me love you.”

  Tears blurred her vision. She blinked them away, sending a droplet to splash on his lips. He drew her head down to his for a kiss that was slow and tender, and she tasted the salt of her sorrow on her tongue as it melded with his.

  Gently, he rolled them as one until she was on her back and he was atop her, his body cradled between her thighs. He broke the kiss, staring down at her, his expression for once open and unguarded.

  “You are already forgiven, my darling. But I must ask for your pardon as well. Can you forgive me for not heeding your concerns about your brother’s innocence until it was almost too late? And for being such a stubborn, hardheaded fool that I stayed away from you for so long, when the only place I should have been is here by your side?”

  “Yes.” Happiness and relief and love, so fierce and strong and consuming, burst within her. “Of course I forgive you, my darling man. I love you.”

  “I love you, Bridget Carlisle,” he said tenderly, his hand coming between them to cup her belly. “And I love our babe as well. I stepped down from my position with the League before leaving London, and all I want to do is make a home and a family with you, to love you, to laugh with you, to journey through life with you. Forever.”

  He had given up his position? “Oh, Leo, they did not make you do it because of me, did they?”

  “No. It was my choice. The time had come, and I am glad for it now that I know we will have a little banshee soon.”

  She smiled up at him, her heart full. “Or a stubborn little duke.”

  “Perhaps one of each.” He grinned as his lips met hers once more.

  And then, the time for talking was decidedly done.

  Epilogue

  Leo stared down in awe at the small pink face wrapped in blankets in his arms. Rose had Bridget’s nose and ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes, along with a shock of raven hair atop her head. She screwed open her small mouth and let loose a wail to rival any banshee.

  “She has her mother’s temperament,” he announced, grinning as he tore his gaze from his daughter and settled it instead upon her mother.

  Bridget was propped up in a sea of pillows in her chamber at Blayton House, another equally beloved bundle in her arms to match the one in his. She looked exhausted, but happy, her brilliant eyes glistening with her contentment. “The Duke of Carlisle and his clever sallies. You wished this upon us, you know.”

  Becoming a mother suited her. She was more beautiful now than ever. And so strong. So bloody strong it took his breath.

  “I did nothing of the sort, darling.”

  “You most certainly did.” There was no heat in her voice as she lovingly stroked their son’s thatch of dark, silky hair. James resembled his sister in every way, save his nose, which was almost definitely Leo’s. “One of each, you said, and look at us now.”

  Patting Rose’s bottom and rocking her in his arms to soothe her, he thought back on the day of their reconciliation at Harlton Hall. How fitting it was that the place where they had first met had also been the place where they rediscovered their love. He was so damned glad he had come to his senses. The last few months with Bridget had rushed by in a blur of blissful happiness. He loved her more with each day that passed.

  Having twins had come as a shock. A pleasant shock, and indeed a terrifying one, but pleasant all the same. As Bridget’s time had neared, her petite frame had scarcely been able to support her belly. It all made sense when the doctor had announced, immediately following the birth of Rose, that another Travers was about to make his way into the world.

  And so, here they were one week later, the proud parents of two demanding, miniature people. His mother was overjoyed. Ara had given birth to a daughter not long before the arrival of the twins, which meant Lily now had four children to dote over.

  “I have never been fond of doing anything in half-measures, you know.” He rocked the hungry infant in his arms, cooing to her. “There now, my little love. Mama will be ready for you soon.”

  Bridget removed
their sated, sleepy son from her breast and readjusted her gown before she held him to her shoulder, patting his back. “Do you ever miss it, Leo?”

  He traced a finger down Rose’s nose, marveling for at least the hundredth time at how small and perfect she was. “Hmm? Do I ever miss what, my love?”

  “The League,” Bridget prodded.

  He went to her, gently laying Rose in her left arm and taking James from her right arm. “Not for a moment,” he said truthfully. “Everything I want and need in this life is right here within these four walls. All I had to do was fall in love with the enemy.”

  Bridget situated Rose at her breast. She had insisted she would not use a wet nurse, despite having two babes to feed, and thus far, his fierce wife had been able to manage the incredible feat on her own.

  She glanced up at him, flashing him that saucy, secret smile he loved best. “After you shot her, of course.”

  She would never let him forget the unconventional start to their love. He grinned right back at her. “It was the only way I could catch her.”

  “I am so very glad you caught her, my darling man,” she said softly. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, banshee. Now and forever.”

  His son snuggled against his chest, slumbering the deep, innocent sleep of babes. Everything was right in Leo’s world.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading Heartless Duke! I hope you enjoyed this second book in the League of Dukes series and that you fell in love with Leo and Bridget’s story the same way I did when I wrote it. If you’ve read my books before, you already know I’m a fan of the antihero and I’m a sucker for bad boys gone good, and Leo is the embodiment of both. Bridget is my favorite kind of heroine to write—a badass with just a little hint of punk rock circa 1882. Bringing these two together for their happily ever after was great fun.