Seduction Regency Style

by Louisa Cornell

  He now awaited her at the altar as her sisters’ grooms had and, to his surprise, he found himself nervous. It seemed he waited forever, and he laughed at the realization that no groom found it easy to await his bride.

  The parson fidgeted. The man was probably tired of marrying Roxburgh daughters. Fortunately, this would be his last. The minister’s eyes shifted past Stirling and he tensed. The duke and Chastity must have entered the church. He released a slow breath, then turned in anticipation of hearing the music begin as the two began the walk up the aisle. He started at sight of the duke striding toward him alone.

  Stirling hurried forward and they met halfway down the aisle. “Chastity is nowhere to be found,” he whispered to Stirling.

  “Bloody hell,” Stirling cursed under his breath. They strode from the chapel into the foyer. “When did you last see her?” he demanded.

  “Her sisters left her in the small parlor. That was only ten minutes ago.”

  “She can’t have gone far,” he said. “You gather your daughters’ husbands and fan them out. I’ll start looking for her.”

  The duke nodded and Stirling hurried from the chapel out into the overcast day. He paused at the bottom of the steps. Where would she have gone? Carriages and horses awaited out front and around the side of the church. She would probably want to avoid being seen by the drivers, so would likely have headed east.

  Stirling hurried around the side of the church toward the woods that bordered the river. She only had to walk a quarter mile to reach a small inn. There, she could rent a horse. Damn her, did she truly despise marriage—and him—so much that she would run away like this? His chest tightened. He had been certain he could make her fall in love with him. Last night, he’d been sure she had begun to thaw. Had he miscalculated in making love to her? She clearly had little or no experience, but she had been receptive to him. He was sure of it.

  He plunged into the woods and hurried along a narrow path. Should he rethink their marriage? If she truly shunned marriage this much— Could he let her go? He looked up from the path and saw her descending the gentle slope near the water. He started. Was she going to throw herself into the river?

  Stirling broke into a run. He leapt over a fallen log and didn’t quite manage to miss a branch that whacked him across the leg. He dodged a large tree. She neared the river. Should he call out to her? Might she jump if she saw him? He pumped his legs faster. She abruptly turned and faced him. He discerned the confusion on her face. She froze, and in two more heartbeats he reached her side and yanked her to him.

  She cried out and caught him off guard with a kick to his shin. They toppled to the ground and he hugged her close as they rolled toward the water. A rock scraped his knuckle and he cursed. He tried to change their course, but only managed to turn so that their heads would hit the water first. With one mighty yank, he turned them again and they struck the water feet first.

  With one hand, he held Chastity close and grabbed for brush that overhung the river. His fingers slid along bark, slicing his flesh, but he prevented them from being swept down river. Chastity clung to his neck, sputtering.

  “Hold tight,” he ordered.

  “Even if it means drowning you,” she snapped.

  That was something. Tentatively, Stirling loosened his hold. Her arms remained tightly wound around his neck. He grabbed the bush with his free hand and began hauling them up the bank. When his feet hit the river bottom, he pulled her up until she could walk, as well. He dragged her up and over the bank and rolled away from the river’s edge. They lay panting for several moments, wet, muddy and out of breath.

  Chastity abruptly pushed onto her knees and pummeled his chest with her fists. “Have you completely lost your mind? What is wrong with you?”

  He sat upright and seized her wrists. “Wrong with me?” His gaze caught on her dress. The damned thing was near indecent, wet and clinging to her breasts like a second skin. She tried to yank free of his grasp. He yanked his gaze to her face.

  “Why did you run away?”

  “What are you talking about? I was taking a short walk before—” She broke off.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Before you were to walk the plank, eh, lass?”

  Chastity yanked free of him and tried to stand. Her dress tangled her legs and she tripped. She cried out and started to slide down the bank. Stirling seized her arm and shoved to his feet as he hauled her over his shoulder.

  “You have gone mad,” she growled.

  “Of that there is no doubt,” he muttered, and strode up the bank and through the woods.

  Chastity kicked and pounded his back with her fists. The wench managed a couple of hard blows to his ribs. He couldn’t stop a grunt and she gave a dark laugh that made him wonder about both their sanities.

  “You will pay for this,” she cried when they neared the church.

  “Indeed, I shall,” he replied.

  The duke emerged from the woods on the opposite side of the church, followed by three other men. He broke into a run and met them at the church steps.

  “What in God’s name happened?”

  “We fell in the river,” Stirling shot back. He stomped up the steps and threw back the door, then strode inside the church foyer with Chastity slung over his shoulder.

  “Put me down!” she shouted.

  He ignored her.

  “Don’t you dare go into the chapel with me over your shoulder and us dripping wet,” she warned.

  Stirling marched through the open doors and up the aisle.

  Many of the guests surged to their feet. Uproarious laughter filled the small chapel.

  “Ohhh,” Chastity growled, and Stirling was sure she was trying to bite his back.

  “Sir,” a man called, and the vicar hurried past Stirling, then turned to face him. Stirling didn’t stop, which forced the man to walk backwards. “Oh dear,” the man said. “Perhaps you should put your fiancée down.”

  Stirling caught sight of Chastity’s sisters standing near their seats in the front pew. All three sisters’ eyes were wide and their husbands had their arms about their waists.

  Stirling reached the podium and said, “Get on with it, Minister.”

  The man’s eyes widened and more laughter went up amongst the guests. “You must set her down,” he said.

  “There is no law that says the bride must be standing,” Stirling said.

  “I will not marry you this way,” Chastity shot back.

  Her father arrived at Stirling’s side. “Ye returned home last night at four in the morning with Sir Stirling in a rented coach,” he said. “The minister’s vows are a mere formality.”

  She gasped. “You told him!”

  More laughter from the guests.

  “I did not,” Stirling said. “But you just did. Minister, say the vows or we will go straight to the wedding bed now.”

  “You mustn’t do that, sir,” he said.

  “Then do your dirty work now,” Stirling ordered.

  “I will not consent.” Chastity began to thrash.

  Stirling clamped one arm over her legs and gave her bottom a swat.

  She cried out—and he was sure he heard her sisters gasp amongst the uproar that followed.

  “Get on with it, Minister.”

  The vicar stuttered through the vows so badly that Stirling wondered if they held any validity at all. Chastity tried to twist free, but Stirling gave her another swat, this one a bit harder. She howled in what he was sure was more rage than pain, and threatened to call the legions from hell to punish him. When the vicar asked if Stirling took her to wife, he said, “God have mercy upon my soul, aye. I take her.”

  “You will need mercy,” she muttered darkly.

  When the minister asked her to repeat the vows, she went quiet. Stirling said in a low voice, “Either repeat your vows, Chastity, or I will put you into the first carriage we find outside and consummate our marriage with everyone listening to your cries of pleasure.”

  She gasp
ed. “You fiend.”

  “A fiend who knows how to please you, madam. Repeat the vows or we begin with a kiss right here at the altar that will be more indecent than you can imagine. Do you take me for your husband?” he demanded.

  “For better or worse,” she said. “Guess which one you will get?”

  “I am aware of my fate.” He looked at the minister. “Are we finished?”

  He looked confused. “The rings.”

  “A mere formality. Where is the damned registry?”

  The man hurried to the book lying left of the altar. Stirling followed. Chastity tried to kick, and his signature came out as shaky as an old man’s.

  He looked at the duke. “Your Grace, would you lift the book so my wife can sign?”

  “I will not sign,” she muttered.

  “The carriage awaits us, Chastity,” Stirling warned.

  The duke hefted the big book up and Stirling turned so that Chastity faced it. She went stiff.

  “Sign,” the duke said, “or I will annul the marriage and marry you to Lord Bigly.”

  “What?” she cried. “What of Lord Hathaway?”

  “He is too good for you. Lord Bigly is older and certainly more reprehensible to you.”

  “You are a traitor,” she cried, and grabbed the quill from him.

  She signed with a jerky motion and Stirling didn’t wait for anything more, but strode from the chapel, with her rigid over his shoulder. He emerged from the church and hurried down the steps to the nearest carriage.

  “Excuse me, sir,” the driver called when he opened the door, “but I’m waiting for Mrs. MacPherson.”

  “She gave me leave to borrow her carriage. Begin to drive, now.”

  “Where to, sir?”

  “Stay in the country.” Stirling tossed Chastity onto the seat and vaulted inside. A cheer went up as he pulled the door shut.

  She glared at him in the dim light. “Stay on your side of the coach,” she warned. “I married you, so you have no reason to carry out your threat to-to—” She growled in frustration.

  The carriage started forward with a squeaky wheel and a clop of horses’ hooves on stone.

  He stared back. “Do not play the injured miss with me. We are not parked outside the church, so no one will be privy to our lovemaking.”

  Her mouth fell open. “You forced me to marry you—”

  “Forced you? I beg to differ,” he said on a laugh. “This entire scheme was your idea.”

  She started to reply, then glared.

  “Why did you run away?” he demanded.

  “I didn’t. I went for a walk.”

  “You expect me to believe that?” he said.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Wouldn’t you want to clear your head if you were going to marry you?”

  Stirling blinked. How did he respond to that logic?

  The carriage jostled over a bump. “When have I ever hesitated to tell you what I thought?” she demanded.

  She had a point. Good God, he was a bigger fool than the three men he had married to her sisters. He thought she had run and he’d nearly lost his mind.

  “I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered.

  She frowned. “What?”

  “I saw you walking so near the river…”

  Chastity stared. “You thought I intended to end my life? You think well of yourself if you think I’d kill myself over you.”

  “You have fought marrying me from the start. How was I to think anything different?”

  “I would brain you in your sleep before I would end my own life.” She shook her head. “My God, does becoming the Duke of Roxburgh mean so much to you that you would risk your life by jumping in the river to save me?”

  He scowled. “If you recall, I didn’t jump in to save you.” To his shock, she laughed.

  “Nae, you fool. You threw me to the ground and dragged me down with you.”

  Stirling stared. She truly was magnificent. How many women would take a man to task for practically attacking them—then laugh at him? “That will teach you to leave our wedding day—and to walk too near the river.”

  “And it will teach you not to underestimate me. Do you really believe that if I wanted to run away that I would get only as far as the river?” She rolled her eyes.

  “How far would you have gone?”

  She swayed as the carriage made a slight turn. “If I told you that, then I could never go there, could I?”

  He fought to hide a grin. “I shall have to keep a close eye on you.”

  “Like you did last night?”

  She knew?

  “Last night?” he repeated.

  “Spare me the innocent looks.” She pinned him with a stare. “You have married my sisters to good men. Thank you.”

  Stirling blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Don’t act so surprised. I might not want to marry you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate what you did for them.”

  “How do you feel about being married to me? Surely, I’ve proven myself to be of some use.”

  Her cheeks flushed and he longed to see that blush while he moved inside her.

  “Use, as in when you tried to drown me?” she said.

  He shrugged. “I did save you, as well.”

  “With a savior like you, who needs enemies?”

  “I can see I need to redeem myself.”

  Her face clouded in confusion—then her eyes widened and he felt certain she was attempting to melt into the seat. He recognized her embarrassment and perhaps a little apprehension, but no hatred for him, and certainly no loathing for what he’d done to her last night. In fact, he would wager another good ship that she would let him do it to her again. A light patter of rain began to beat down on the carriage. In truth, he was about to wager something far more important.

  His heart.

  Chapter Seven

  Chastity tamped down her rising panic. She was married. Not just married. Married to a very handsome, very intelligent man. A dangerous man. A man who could make her lose her sanity. He would take her body, and eventually her soul. That, she’d sworn after eloping with Lord Everston, would never happen again. Love was well and good, but losing oneself wasn’t. Since she had no intention of giving all of herself to a man, she’d seen no reason to marry.

  But this man would take all she had, then demand more. The look in his eyes confirmed her thoughts. Only an hour ago, he’d nearly killed her—killed them both. Yet he stared at her boldly, demanding that she give what he wanted and take what he offered: pleasure.

  He startled her by moving to the seat beside her.

  “Use some sense,” she said. “We are not in your private bedchamber. This is a public coach.”

  “This is a private carriage, if I am not mistaken. That aside, being in a public coach did not hinder you last night.”

  “It should have,” she muttered, and the rogue laughed.

  “On the contrary, my lady, it is good for you.” Before she could argue, he dragged her across his lap. “Let me demonstrate.”

  He crushed her to him and kissed her so soundly that she wondered if she’d ever truly been kissed before. Chastity found herself back against the cushion, him half on top of her, his wicked hand tugging down her bodice, then cupping her breast. His tongue gently—but insistent—slipped past her lips and he thrust in and out in a fashion that heated her and made her head spin.

  The hard ridge that pressed against her abdomen caught her attention and she half feared—and half hoped—he would demand his husbandly rights that very instant. She started when he laid his palm on her leg. Warmth seeped through the cold, wet fabric of her dress to her skin. She shivered as much from his touch as the thought that he might stroke her as he had last night. Merciful heaven, the man was a warlock. He sucked her tongue into his mouth and lay more heavily on her, pressing her deeper into the cushion. He gave a low laugh and she realized he’d read her mind. It was just as she feared: he would quickly own her.

&n
bsp; “You tempt me, Lady Chastity,” he whispered.

  Her mind muddled. What did he mean?

  “Ask for anything, and it’s yours.”

  What was he talking about? She didn’t understand. But she did understand that he was tugging the hem of her dress upward.

  “I swear to make you happy,” he said.

  He grasped her hand and drew it to him. Her palm covered his erection.

  “Sir,” she cried, and tried to yank her hand free.

  “Nae, Chastity. We are married. You need not fear that this is wrong.”

  Wrong? It felt oddly right. But the feelings flooded her and she couldn’t make sense of anything. He abruptly sat up and pulled her across his lap again. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “I cannot tumble you like a common tavern wench—especially on our wedding day.”

  “You already did,” she said.

  He gave a strangled laugh. “Not quite, love, but I came damned close.”

  “It’s what you threatened to do,” she said.

  “By God,” he exclaimed. “You make it sound as though that’s what you want.”

  Chastity flushed. He was right—and she felt like a tavern wench.

  He muttered something under his breath, then slid her from his lap. He stripped off his coat and had his falls unbuttoned in an instant. His erection sprang free and Chastity swallowed.

  Sir Stirling laid her back on the cushion and pulled her dress up to her waist. He lowered himself onto her and she expected him to immediately drive his cock into her. Instead, he levered up onto his elbows and kissed her. Chastity grasped his forearms. Muscles strained beneath her fingers. His kiss remained gentle as he eased her legs apart. The carriage bounced over ruts and his manhood bumped her stomach. He drew in a sharp breath, then eased her bottom closer to the edge of the cushion. She realized he had braced one knee on the floor.

  He probed her opening with the head of his rod as he traced the seam of her mouth with his tongue. Chastity released a breath—then tensed when he suddenly thrust inside her, hilt deep.

  He stilled, his breathing ragged. “Why didn’t you tell me?”