The Duke's Stolen Bride

by Jordan, Sophie

  “I-I will . . .”

  “Consider it,” he finished for her, his voice faintly mocking.

  He thought she was being foolish not to immediately accept. Perhaps she was. Perhaps there really was no choice but this now. Perhaps she was just deluding herself into thinking otherwise.

  “Good night,” she murmured and turned for her home. She felt his stare on her back as she made her way up to the front gate, and she resisted the urge to look behind her.

  She felt his stare until she rounded the house, stopping at the kitchen door. She fetched the key she hid beneath a rock. They never used to lock their doors. Since Papa’s death and since they had so many angry creditors, they had begun.

  She put the rock back in place and straightened. Key in hand, she fumbled in the dark, trying to insert it in the lock.

  Snap.

  She spun around, peering into the night, expecting to see the duke behind her. She may have told him not to walk her to her door, but he had never been one to follow her dictates.

  She searched for a few moments, scanning her surroundings, attempting to make out any suspicious shapes in the darkness.

  He wasn’t there. No one was.

  It must have been a rabbit scurrying about, deciding to make a foray into their paltry garden. Nora kept most of her herbs inside at night where it was safe, carting them in and out every day.

  Marian lingered before the door, hesitating, searching the night.

  Another twig cracked and she jerked.

  “Hello?” she whispered loudly, hoping Nora couldn’t hear her from her room on the other side of the house.

  Silence met her anxious query. Even the bullfrogs fell quiet.

  “Nathaniel?” Her voice trembled on the air, betraying the fact that she was a little frightened and a little certain that someone was out there. Someone not a rabbit.

  Heart hammering, she whirled around and unlocked the door, trying not to panic because her back was turned on whatever—whoever—was out there.

  Then she was inside. She locked the door and sagged against it with a ragged breath.

  She waited several more beats, marveling that it was just slightly less chilly inside. She rubbed at her arms beneath her cloak. As her goose bumps receded, common sense returned.

  No one was out there. It was her fervent imagination, seeing things where they were not. It’s what came from sneaking about and conducting life-ruinous liaisons.

  Liaisons with the duke might be ruinous, she reminded herself, but they could also be the thing that saved her family.

  Sighing, she unwrapped her scarf several times from around her throat and proceeded through the darkened kitchen, mindful to keep her steps soft so she did not alert the girls.

  She didn’t need a light to reveal her way up the stairs to her chamber. She stealthily let herself in her room and moved to her window. She peered out the curtains, her gaze landing on the tree line where she stood moments before with the duke.

  Even in the dark she could see no one stood there now. He was gone.

  Turning away from the window, she stripped out of her clothes. She could get a quick nap before facing the world.

  Once under the covers, she stared straight ahead into the dark.

  And considered his offer as she said she would.

  She played his words over and over in her mind until the full light of dawn crept in between her curtains. There would be no nap.

  With the morning light came an awakening of sorts.

  A realization that she didn’t have a choice. But then, she’d always known that. From the moment he’d shocked her with his proposition, her heart sang with the knowledge that she could agree.

  There didn’t have to be others. There could be just him.

  Chapter 18

  A scream wrenched Marian from sleep.

  She blinked and looked around, taking in the bright light streaming through the crack in her curtains.

  She last remembered dozing off at dawn, telling herself she would nap for a mere hour or two and then face the day. She’d underestimated how taxing a night of copulation could be. She winced. Copulation didn’t sound right, but neither could she allow herself to call her activity with the duke lovemaking.

  It must be well past morning now, and from the sound of it, someone was being murdered in her house.

  She jumped from bed, grabbed her robe from the chair where she’d tossed it at some point, and rushed from her room, her heart a wild drum against her ribs.

  In the back of her mind lurked the fear that one of their many creditors had come calling and was taking their due out of one of her sisters. Bitterness coated her mouth as she skidded to a stop in the kitchen, her loosened plait bouncing over her shoulder.

  Her gaze shot to her sisters. Neither one appeared injured. They were dressed for the day—naturally, as it was afternoon. Both were fresh in one of Marian’s made-over dresses.

  “What—”

  Nora dug inside a crate atop the worktable and lifted out several leather-bound books. Marian swept her gaze about the kitchen, noticing then that there were other crates—several crates—and sacks and jugs and baskets.

  “Look!” Nora cried, her eyes glowing as she examined the books. “Botany and horticulture books! It’s better than any birthday I’ve ever had!”

  Marian shook her head in bewilderment. “I don’t understand. Where did you get—”

  “Apricot jam!” Charlotte brandished several jars from one basket. Still peering inside, she exclaimed further. “Pickles! Biscuits!”

  “Fresh bread!” Nora unwound twine from a package to reveal a loaf of gold-crusted bread. She dove for one of the jars of apricots, clearly intent on devouring the delicious-looking bread with jam right then.

  Charlotte continued rummaging inside a basket, digging among more undoubtedly excellent and extravagant supplies. “Figs and cherries!” She brought the precious fruit to her nose and inhaled deeply before moving on to another basket.

  Marian shook her head, battling her joy at the sight of such bounty.

  She knew. Of course, she knew who had sent all of this, and her heart swelled inside her chest.

  He did this. The food. The books for her sister. All the things.

  “Who could’ve sent us all this?” Charlotte asked as though she sensed Marian’s thoughts, but of course, she didn’t know the answer. She couldn’t have any idea. Not the slightest notion.

  “And look!” Nora mumbled around a mouthful of food as she pointed toward the door. There sat crates of coal for their empty grates. “And outside the lads stacked firewood this high.” She motioned to her chin.

  “Lads?” Marian looked sharply at Nora.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “They brought everything.”

  “Who were these lads?” Marian asked carefully.

  Hopefully no one recognizable. No one her sisters might see around Brambledon.

  “I didn’t know them and they wouldn’t say who sent all of this!” Nora swept a hand to encompass all the goods and supplies. “They were annoyingly tight-lipped and ignored all my inquiries.”

  “Who did this?” Awe hummed in Charlotte’s voice. “Such generosity . . . who do we know that is capable . . .” She stopped, eyeing their bounty again before her gaze snapped back to Marian. “Lady Clara!”

  “Clara?” Marian echoed.

  “Of course!” Nora slapped her side. “Your former employer! She is as rich as Croesus and she favored you greatly, Marian. She would not stand by and leave you to perish in miserable penury.” She tore off a hunk of bread and stuffed half of it into her mouth while she wrangled to open the jar of apricots.

  True. Clara would want to help. If Marian would beg of it, which she never would do. Clara would help if she knew how dire their situation, but Marian had not divulged that.

  Marian could not bring herself to apprise Clara of her family’s grim situation. She had kept that particular truth to herself in all the letters they had exchanged t
his past year.

  Marian could not lower herself to accept the charity of her well-placed former charge. Not when she had the power to control her own fate. Some might consider selling her body unsavory, but what was a loveless marriage to the likes of Mr. Lawrence if not unsavory?

  And at the end of every night, she still possessed her freedom. She could go home to her own bed and not have to share it with any man she did not wish to be bound to.

  “Marian? Is that it? Did Clara send all of this?” Charlotte looked at her expectantly, waiting for an answer.

  It took Marian a moment to find her voice. Lying had never come easily to her. Especially to her sisters. She donned a wobbly smile. “Yes. Yes,” she agreed. “It was Clara.”

  Best they think that than the truth—that Marian’s lover had sent them these many gifts as an advance on services yet rendered. Heat fired her cheeks as she thought of those services to come. Those delicious and wicked services.

  Her sisters could never fathom how completely and irrevocably Marian had embraced her ruination.

  She alone knew.

  Only she alone could ever know.

  She kept her appointment with Annabel. Fortunately it was later in the afternoon as she had slept most of the day away.

  Keeping her lessons with the young ladies of Brambledon seemed prudent if not a bit audacious considering her secret occupation.

  Even if she was now—or soon would be—a kept woman, it would behoove her to keep up the appearance of a woman in need of employment.

  There would certainly be talk once they repaid all their creditors, but Marian did not fool herself. Nora could not keep a secret if her life depended upon it. She would soon have it bandied about the village that Clara, sister to the Duke of Autenberry, had come to their aid.

  Nora would relish sharing that information, and Marian couldn’t blame her. Certain members of the community, people they had considered friends, had treated them abominably once Papa died and they fell into debt. She supposed it had been a test. Now they knew their true friends.

  Upon reaching her house, she assured herself that her sisters were still out and she went directly to the barn, intent on saddling Bessie and calling on Nathaniel whilst her sisters were gone from home and busy about their day.

  She would give him her answer as promised . . . and her thanks for his generosity. Then she assumed there would be particulars to be discussed. They were entering into an arrangement. A business arrangement. She needed to approach it that way and not with emotion.

  She hefted the saddle from its stand and threw it over Bessie’s back with a grunt.

  “Need some help with that?”

  She spun around with a gasp. “Your Grace? I m-mean, Nathaniel.” Her gaze darted around the barn. “What are you doing here?”

  “You said you would have an answer for me by today.”

  “Did I say . . . today?”

  He shrugged. “I thought you might know your mind by now.”

  His expression was impassive, hardly the image of an anxious man, and yet he was here, less than twenty-four hours since she had last seen him.

  He walked through the open door of the stall at a strolling pace, like a lazy jungle cat in no rush.

  “Well, I was, in fact, just coming to see you.”

  “I’ve saved you a trip, then, have I not?” He stopped and leaned a shoulder against the wood plank wall of the stall.

  She moistened her lips nervously, and wondered how it was that this man could still set her so much on edge. After everything they had done, after the shockingly intimate things that had transpired between them, there was not ease. He could still make her cheeks warm and her stomach quiver and her breath catch.

  “I agree to your proposition.”

  He smiled slowly. “Good.”

  She swallowed. “Shall we discuss the terms of the relationship?”

  “I will have my solicitor draw up the papers.”

  “Papers?” He had mentioned papers before, but until now she had never given it much thought. She had not been ready to consider it before.

  She was ready now.

  “Yes. A contract. We need no misunderstandings going into this arrangement. I think you shall find the terms favorable, but of course you may feel free to make any changes. It’s doubtful I’ll have any objections.”

  She angled her head. “How do you know? What if I have an unreasonable request? You trust me that much?”

  “You’re not the greedy sort.”

  She released a short laugh tinged with nervousness. “You hardly know me well enough to say that.”

  “I think I have an adequate idea of who you are.” He approached and she backed up, moving away from Bessie . . . away from him. And yet he followed.

  She thrust out her chin. “And who am I?”

  “A woman who isn’t afraid to break the rules. Who is practical and yet not ashamed to give in to her most innate needs.”

  She supposed that was accurate, but it wasn’t a full description of her. It wasn’t everything. He could never know everything about her. He could not understand the desperation she lived under—the unrelenting threat, the fear of tomorrow.

  But then, none of that mattered. This wasn’t about knowing each other. This wasn’t about closeness.

  It was an arrangement grounded in the physical. Not the emotional.

  It was only fortunate that she happened to enjoy being with him physically. He heated her blood and reduced her bones to hot pudding.

  She hadn’t counted on that.

  She’d told herself she would tolerate men using her body. She’d learn to tolerate it. She’d told herself it wasn’t necessary to enjoy it, only to stomach it.

  But with Warrington she didn’t feel used. She didn’t have to stomach his touch.

  She stopped backing away, colliding gently with the far wall.

  He stopped before her. “Shall we make it official and seal our agreement, then?”

  A small shiver rolled through her at the intent way he looked at her.

  “Seal it, how?”

  “The only way one would christen an agreement like ours.”

  She held perfectly still as his meaning sank in.

  “Is this another lesson?” she whispered.

  “Lessons,” he echoed, clearly amused. “Are you still calling them that?”

  Wasn’t that what they were? Only now the lessons would only be for this man. She would learn everything that pleased him.

  He would show her what pleased him, and that prospect excited her. Desire pooled heavily in her stomach because she knew she’d reap the pleasure, too.

  So why was there still a hovering unease? A fluttering in her belly that wasn’t solely about desire?

  His hand landed on her hip, gathering a fistful of the fabric in his grip. “This isn’t so much a lesson . . . as a transactional gesture.”

  “Like a handshake,” she murmured as his body pressed flush to hers.

  “Yes. Except not a handshake. Something better than that,” he said the moment before his mouth came over hers, stealing her breath.

  She melted between his body and the wood slats.

  This was definitely better than a handshake.

  He was a great wall radiating heat, singeing her all the way through her garments.

  He wrapped one arm around her waist, lifting her to her toes, bringing her mouth nearer if not quite level to his. His mouth consumed her, lips, teeth and tongue all working to devour hers.

  Distantly, over the roar of blood in her ears, she heard Bessie nicker, but Marian clung to him, her fingers clawing deep into his shoulders.

  The yearning was back—it had never gone away—but she’d done an admirable job keeping it in check. That savage need from last night broke free now and she kissed him back with ferocity.

  When he suddenly broke away, she whimpered, her lips chasing after his. She opened her eyes dazedly.

  He was staring directly at her face, looki
ng much more clear-eyed. “Marian.”

  She blinked at his very solid pronunciation of her name. “Yes?”

  “Someone is coming.”

  That woke her from her passion-clouded fog. “Wh-what?” She shoved past him and took several stumbling steps toward the stall door.

  A quick peek out revealed no one in the center passageway, and she heard what Nate must have heard.

  “Marian!” Nora called out.

  “My sister,” Marian hissed. “She’s coming! She can’t see you here.” Marian rotated in a quick circle, glancing all around the stall as though she might find a hiding spot.

  “I’m too old to play hiding games.”

  Her gaze snapped to his face and she accused, “You also promised me discretion.”

  He inclined his head in grudging acknowledgment. “That I did. So what do you suggest I do, then? She no doubt saw my horse. How will you explain that?”

  “Oh.” Her shoulders slumped. She had forgotten.

  “Marian!”

  The voice was closer now. Nora would be upon her any moment.

  Sucking in a breath, Marian emerged from the stall with a cheery expression. “Hello, there, Nora.”

  “Oh, Marian! There you are. I wanted to ask you if I could have Jillian and Henrietta over for tea tomorrow. One of those packages is fairly swimming with the most splendid Indian tea, and there are biscuits—” She stopped abruptly, her eyes drifting just beyond Marian’s shoulder. “Oh, hello, there, sir.” She turned a wide questioning stare to Marian.

  “Nora, allow me to introduce you to the Duke of Warrington.” She waved at him—the man, her lover. Her cheeks burned with the secret knowledge. “Your Grace, this is my sister, Miss Eleanor Langley.”

  He executed a smart bow. “Miss Langley.”

  Her sister blushed prettily and dipped into an awkward curtsy. “Your Grace.” She looked several times back and forth between them, clearly trying to figure out what was happening.

  Of course, everything she knew about the duke, everything she had heard, rumors all, were spinning through her mind. Marian fought down a wince and hoped Nora restrained her typical runaway tongue. “And what brings you to our humble”—she eyed their surroundings—“barn?”