The Duke's Stolen Bride

by Jordan, Sophie

  “Nate! Now!”

  He drove deep, lodging himself inside her, breaching her maidenhead.

  “Oh!”

  He held himself still, trying not to hurt her—or hurt her further—even as everything in him cried out to keep moving, keep driving into her snug channel. He watched her face, gauging her expression, her level of pain.

  She wiggled her hips, and the friction made her eyes flare wide. “Oh!”

  Her inner muscles clenched around his cock and he groaned, dropping his head in the crook of her neck. She was killing him. He might die if he didn’t move in her. He supposed that’s what people meant by a good death. Buried deep in the sweetest quim he’d ever known.

  “Marian,” he said against the soft skin of her throat. “I can’t not . . . are you—”

  “Please! I throb. Move inside me.” She bent her knees and hooked one ankle around his waist.

  With an exultant cry, he pulled out and entered her again, burying deep.

  “I’ll make it better,” he promised, increasing the tempo, driving into her faster, harder.

  Thank. God. She lifted up to meet his thrusts, crying out at every impact.

  He still wore his clothes. She still wore her chemise. They were going at it like two savages without a care for the world around them.

  She dragged her hands down his back, over his shirt. She grasped his ass in both hands, urging him faster, harder.

  He released a guttural sound that could have been her name—or not. He was out of his head and could just be rambling senselessly. He followed her bidding, moving quicker in stabbing thrusts.

  She flung her arms above her head in utter abandon.

  His hands found hers there. He laced his fingers with hers, pinning her to the bed. Her hands squeezed and held fast to him as his body moved over hers, pumping into her, pushing them both to the brink.

  A shrill cry spilled loose from her throat.

  He released her hands and she flung her arms around him. Her legs clamped around him until all of him was wrapped up in her.

  He slid his hand along one of the thighs draped over his hip, lifting her leg higher for deeper strokes. She shattered around him as he thrust in and out of her.

  He drove into her one more time and spent himself, shuddering his release inside her welcoming heat.

  The moment he did it, he knew it was ill-advised. He never lost himself so completely with a woman—in a woman. He always took precautions. He had never wanted to impregnate another woman again, but everything was so intense, so wild with Marian. He lost himself with her.

  Or perhaps he found himself.

  He rolled to his side, facing her. She turned to look at him. Neither spoke or moved. Their breaths crashed between them from the toll of their exertions.

  He studied her face, tracing her features, committing them to memory. “Regrets?”

  She gave a slight shake of her head. “No.” She smiled tremulously. “It just means I’ll be more experienced.”

  She was still planning on a future as a mistress. As a prostitute for other men.

  That had been the understanding from the start. He should not feel any amount of surprise . . . or disappointment.

  “Generally, mistresses are experienced,” he agreed. “This night’s activities will do you no harm.”

  As long as she didn’t end up with child.

  “I just won’t have the benefit of auctioning off my virginity.”

  No, that was her gift to him. He felt his cock swelling between them, ready for another go.

  She must have felt it, too. She looked down. “Again?”

  “You should rest. Your first time—”

  “Is such a thing possible?”

  “Yes. It’s possible. It can be done multiple times a day. As often as a couple likes.”

  Her eyes went adorably wide. In truth there was nothing about her he didn’t find attractive. “Multiple times in a night? I had no idea.”

  “We should wait, though.”

  “Why?” She frowned.

  “You might be sore.”

  “I’m not. I feel fine. Wonderful.” She wiggled against him. “I’m ready if you are.”

  “I don’t think you should—” His words died a swift death as she renewed her squirming, raining sweet little kisses along his jawline.

  “Nathaniel,” she breathed against his skin. She was a siren. A temptress. A seductress. She had achieved her goal. I want to be good . . . so good that I can name my price and have my pick of clients.

  He could only imagine she had reached that objective. Men would fall at this woman’s feet.

  He knew he would.

  “You’re certain—” He sucked in a breath as her hand drifted between them to stroke his cock.

  “I am certain you agreed to educate me,” she purred.

  “Yes,” he groaned as her hand stroked him faster. “I’ll do that.”

  And this time he would not lose his seed inside her.

  Even as he agreed and let her have her way, he knew he was lying. There was nothing about what just happened between them that felt rooted in education.

  It had been all about lust and need.

  It still was.

  He speared his fingers through her loosened hair and kissed her.

  Chapter 17

  It was dawn when they left.

  They rode in silence, and Marian was grateful for that. She was glad to have her thoughts to herself with no intrusion from Nate.

  Nate descended from his mount first and then approached Marian where she sat atop Bessie.

  Without a word, he reached for her and swung her down.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, “but you really did not need to escort me.”

  “Nonsense, and we’re well past discussing this now.”

  She nodded slightly. They were past a great many things now.

  They were past any hope of their relationship remaining unconsummated. That was an impossibility now. There was no undoing what had been done. They were also past any hope that matters between them would remain uncomplicated.

  Everything felt hopelessly complicated now.

  She stroked Bessie’s cheek so she would have something to do with her hands.

  He stared through the darkness in the direction of her house. “I would still prefer to walk you to the door.”

  “Such a gentleman,” she teased, desperate for a little levity.

  “I’m not jesting.”

  No. She knew he wasn’t. “We can’t risk that.”

  It seemed absurd to say that after everything, but she still had a reputation to protect. A family to save. Public ruin was not an option. That had not changed. She shouldn’t even be out alone with him now. She glanced around nervously, surveying the sleeping countryside.

  “We can leave our mounts here and I can walk you a little closer.” He led his horse beneath a tree, tied it off and returned to her side. He took Bessie’s reins from her hand as though it was decided and there would be no argument.

  She opened and closed her mouth several times, undecided if she should object. He motioned for her to walk and she decided it would be simpler not to argue the point. She just needed to be rid of him. She wanted to reach her bedchamber, to be alone, to think.

  To remember her purpose.

  The moon peeked through the leaves overhead, following them. They walked side by side with several inches between them. Hardly like the lovers they now were. She quickly amended that thought. They once were.

  There was no need for them to continue their lessons any longer. To do so would just be frivolity. Not for any real benefit. She had learned all she needed to know. She had learned enough, as Mrs. Ramsey would say. Mrs. Ramsey would also tell her to get out while she still could. To end things before too deep of an attachment formed.

  The fading night was turning soft purple. Daybreak was close. The air throbbed all around them as they cut through the woods toward home. Frogs croaked, enjoying the
aftermath of the recent rain. Her boots squelched on the moist ground as she walked.

  “Marian—”

  “This changes nothing,” she blurted, before he could. She was certain he was going to say something similar to that.

  He was quiet for several moments. “You still intend to make your way as a mistress?”

  “Yes. Even if I won’t be auctioning my maidenhead to the highest bidder.” She released a dry little laugh.

  “Sorry you no longer have that . . . commodity,” he replied evenly.

  She wasn’t sorry. Indeed not. She was rather glad she would always have this experience. It would forever be something she did for herself. Not because she had to. Not because she needed to for some advantage. She had done it for no other reason than that she wanted to.

  Because she had to have him or she would die from the want.

  “I imagine this concludes our lessons,” she murmured.

  “Does it?” His feet crunched over loose leaves and bramble. “There is still much you can learn. Much I can show you.”

  She stopped and turned to face him, considering his offer.

  It would be pleasurable, but she had to take care of her family and dallying with him wasn’t putting food on the table or paying their creditors. “I can’t continue this indefinitely. I must move ahead. I have my sisters . . .”

  He knew this song. She’d sung it to him before.

  She exhaled heavily. She needed funds. She needed funds now.

  No, not now. She needed them yesterday. Last month. Last year.

  No more playing at this.

  She knew enough to perform the duties of a mistress without being shocked or squeamish. At least, she thought so.

  “Will you help me?” she asked. “I recall you mentioned you would put me into contact with a woman. Someone who could help find clients for me?”

  As much as it turned her stomach to think of another man touching her—a stranger who might be as repulsive as Mr. Lawrence—she needed to persist with her plan.

  Staring up at Nate’s handsome face, she felt an unwelcome pang in the chest.

  She needed to sever ties with Nate—no. With the Duke of Warrington.

  Things were not supposed to become so very personal between them. She should not look up at his face and feel a pang in her chest. It was to be an arrangement between them. Nothing more. No feelings. No engagement of the heart.

  He nodded. “I did say that.”

  She nodded back, waiting expectantly for him to elaborate about this woman and how he might go about introducing them.

  He turned so that only his profile was in view in the murky air.

  “Your Grace?” she prompted. “The woman? Can I meet her?”

  “You might not need to meet her at all. I might have a client for you.”

  Surprise rippled through her. “You do?” He had been quite adamant on the matter that he was no pimp. “I didn’t think you . . . did that. Or would do that. You said you wouldn’t.”

  “I didn’t think I would.”

  Except he had changed his mind. Why?

  She tried not to feel upset, but her stomach churned. She pressed a hand against her middle, trying to quell the rolling sensation. He’d bedded her and now he meant to pass her on to a friend? She had not thought him that manner of man.

  “Who is this client?” she asked warily, telling herself to act the professional. A professional would only care about the work—about gaining a new client. In her case, her first client.

  “Me,” he answered. “The client is me.”

  “You?” She stared at him and then a small nervous bubble of laughter escaped her. “You jest.”

  “I assure you, I do not.”

  “You don’t keep a mistress.”

  “True.”

  “You said you have no desire to keep a mistress,” she reminded.

  “That is true, too. Or rather, was. I never have kept a mistress before, but that doesn’t mean I can’t.”

  She shook her head and pressed her fingers against her forehead. “This makes no sense.”

  “A man is entitled to change his mind.”

  “And why have you changed your mind?”

  “Why not? Obviously we are good together. You can’t deny that. It’s convenient. You live a stone’s throw from me.”

  Ah. Convenience. That was what won him over. Not exactly flattering.

  She stifled an outright sneer. “I appreciate the—”

  “I’m not ready for things to end between us. Are you?”

  She felt undeniable longing pulling at her chest. “I had a plan—”

  “Forget about your plan. Can you tell me you never want me to touch you again? I can be your plan. I can be your benefactor. I’m wealthy. I can provide for you.”

  He was earnest, and blast if she didn’t feel tempted. No surprise there. The man tempted her in every way.

  “We can be discreet,” he offered.

  She considered that . . . sneaking off to his house in the middle of the night. How long could they keep that up without discovery? Discretion was crucial, and it was already such a struggle even this soon in the game.

  As though he could read her mind, he added, “There’s a hunting cottage not far from here on my grounds.”

  “I know it.” Of course she did. She knew this countryside. The hunting cottage he’d spoken of had been abandoned for as long as she could remember. As a girl, she’d spied through the grimy windows, curious about the interior.

  “I could have the place cleaned up. It could be quite comfortable for the two of us.”

  Quite comfortable.

  A little love den.

  Only it wouldn’t be about love. Her face flushed. She knew that. She’d told herself that from the very start, and yet . . .

  She gave herself a firm mental shake. There would be no “yet” in her mind.

  This thing between them was more intense than she had expected. Evidently it was more than he had expected, too, or he would not have had this change of heart. He felt something for her, but it was not love or affection. She knew enough of men to comprehend that.

  It was about convenience. For both of them.

  If she was agreeing to be his mistress, it would certainly be simple enough to sneak away to the cottage rather than his house. No doubt it would also be easier than traveling to London and entering into liaisons with other gentlemen.

  The cottage was on the far end of his estate. There was nothing in that direction. No one should be about to catch a glimpse of either one of them coming and going. There would be less risk.

  “I will have to consider it.”

  His head pulled back slightly as though surprised at her response. “What’s to consider? You wanted a client . . . a protector. I’m offering you that. Your home shall remain your home. Your sisters shall have food and clothing and want for nothing. You shall want for nothing.”

  He was right. It was everything she had sought. It was everything she had set out to achieve and more. So why did the offer feel so very disappointing?

  He continued, “Would selling yourself to a stranger be so much better than what I am offering you? Would you prefer that?”

  “Of course not,” she snapped, although she wasn’t so convinced. At least with strangers, it would never be complicated. She would not feel so very confused.

  “Then what is it? What is it you want, Marian?”

  She resumed walking and bit her lip to stop herself from saying something she could never take back. Something she could not even dare to formulate in her mind.

  “I’ve only ever wanted to provide for my family and keep my independence.” A far-fetched dream perhaps, but that was her goal.

  “And you’ll have that. You’re free to come and go, to end our arrangement whenever you please. I’ll have my solicitor draw up some papers. If either one of us chooses to end the merger, you’ll be left with a stipend regardless.”

  Merger.

&nb
sp; Her head was spinning. She knew she should feel triumphant—like she had just come into some grand inheritance. Any girl in her position would feel such a way. Mistress to a duke. Few would balk at such an arrangement. She was impoverished without even her virtue any longer and he was offering her a way out—salvation.

  “I will think on it. It is a very fine offer for me,” she murmured, wondering at how very hollow she felt inside.

  He said nothing, but she felt his eyes on her, crawling and roving over the lines of her face.

  The croak of frogs swelled around them as they stopped at the edge of the trees bordering the side of her house.

  A light glowed from her sisters’ upstairs bedchamber. They’d just retired for bed when she left last night.

  There were two possibilities for the light on this early. Either Nora had stayed awake all night reading from one of her botany texts, or she woke early to resume reading. Charlotte had long ago learned to sleep in a lit room.

  Nora had read all the books in their library multiple times, but she claimed that rereading the old material sometimes helped a new formula take shape in her mind. It pained Marian that she could not afford to buy any new books for Nora. Such a simple pleasure had become a luxury they could not afford.

  “Someone is awake?” he remarked.

  “My youngest sister. She is quite the academic. She reads a great deal of botany texts in her quest to invent new tonics and medicines.”

  “Impressive . . . and quite the unique pastime for a young lady.”

  She nodded. “It comes from working so closely with Papa.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  She shivered, suddenly feeling the chill on the air. “She’ll likely ruin her eyes reading by candlelight.” Hopefully, Nora, so engrossed in her reading, would not hear Marian entering the house. “I should go.”

  She shifted in her boots where she stood, feeling awkward.

  His hand reached for her. She braced herself for the contact. He brushed a thumb down her cheek. She leaned into the touch and then he pulled his hand away. It was gone as soon as it started.

  She stepped back, feeling foolish. After their night together one would think she had had her fill.

  “Good night, Miss Langley.”

  Miss Langley. So formal. So proper. So very strange, all things considered.