Wed By Proxy (Brides of Karadok Book 1)

by Alice Coldbreath

  “This won’t be gentle,” he growled in her ear. “I’m too far gone for that consideration right now.”

  “I don’t care,” Mathilde answered recklessly. His hands were at his crotch, unfastening the ties there, shoving down his breeches. Mathilde sobbed with relief when he slid between her thighs. She clasped him to her.

  “Yes, Guy!” she urged him on.

  He swore again, and if she wasn’t so ready for him already, the way he shoved inside her would have been brutal. As it was, they both immediately stilled. “Mathilde?”

  “All’s well,” she panted, grasping his shoulders. “Hurry!”

  “Gods,” he whispered, and started moving. She could feel him struggle to loosen his hold on her hip and shoulder, to pull his powerful strokes, but he was too far gone.

  “This won’t last long,” he gritted out against her neck.

  She felt his teeth lightly graze her neck, his ruthless possession of her body. But already his desire was transferring to her, setting her on fire once more with need. She moaned, wrapped her legs around his hips and dug her heels into his buttocks, meeting his brutal thrusts with her own.

  Guy shuddered. “Ah, love,” he groaned. “Don’t let me hurt you.”

  “You’re not,” she insisted breathlessly in his ear, but he paid no need.

  “Let me just—” He started to turn his shoulders, as though to roll them, and surrender his dominant position.

  “No! I want it like this!” she panted, twisting to resist his attempt to switch. He was so much bigger and stronger than she, she could never stop him reversing their positions if he truly wanted to.

  “I’m being too rough,” he said, sounding panicked as he continued to thrust into her almost frenziedly.

  “No! You’re not!” she protested. “I like it. Please, Guy! I need it.” Mathilde sank her nails into his back like little claws, and watched his eyes roll back in his head.

  “Ah gods!” he groaned. “I can deny you nothing…” She felt his body tense, on the verge of explosion and suddenly, his hand was at her jaw, forcing her gaze up to meet his.

  “Mathilde?” he said urgently and looked like he was trying to form some other words, before his jaw gritted, and he stopped even trying. His whole body trembled, and she felt her own grip his in fevered anticipation. Suddenly he collapsed onto her with a loud roar. His furious release triggered her own, and Mathilde convulsed around him as he came, and came hard. It rolled over them like a wave, sweeping them under the dangerous current, to oblivion.

  She wasn’t sure how many moments later, he grabbed her nape and mashed his lips to hers in a bruising kiss, which gentled as it went on. Mathilde luxuriated in the feel of his hard body over hers. Never before had he given her his full weight, or the full fury of his lust. Tearing his mouth from hers, he took several great gulps of air, before moving to withdraw from her. Mathilde had to stifle her protest as he rolled off her to lie quiet a moment, staring up at the ceiling.

  “You little witch,” he said thickly after a couple of minutes had passed and they had both caught their breath. “How the hells am I meant to part with you for four days now?” He reached across, tilting her chin so he could look into her eyes. “You’re sure, I didn’t hurt you?” His eyes were alight with concern and something else. Tenderness.

  She shook her head, then looked at her own bloodied nails. “No, but I think I…”

  He twisted to look back over his shoulder, then surprised her by giving a short laugh. “You’ve scored my back, little she-cat.” He leaned down and kissed her again lingeringly, his large hand at her waist. Mathilde allowed herself to return the soft pressure of his lips.

  When he drew back, his eyes were alight again and he looked a different man, refreshed and ten years younger. Did I have that effect on him? She wondered dazedly.

  “Mathilde,” he whispered, “wife,” and kissed her again, sweet and gentle this time, his tongue stroking against hers eager and coaxing.

  Again, she let him, tangling her tongue against his, letting him draw it into his mouth. His hand slipped around to her back, cradling her to him. Reluctantly, he drew back at last with a soft groan.

  “You know I wouldn’t go now, if I wasn’t honor-bound.” His eyes were seeking something from her. Permission? Nay, never that. Understanding? She said nothing and saw that pained him.

  Swallowing the knot in her throat, Mathilde turned her face away from his searching gaze. Carefully, he cupped her cheek and stroked it with his thumb. She wasn’t going to cry, she thought blinking back tears, as he moved away. The rustle of the bedclothes told her he was rising and righting his clothes to leave. Suddenly, she knew she couldn’t let him go now without speaking.

  “I don’t want you to go,” she admitted croakily, then took a deep breath. “But if you must, then I want you to take the opportunity to get that jewel back off Lady Julia. The Martindale ruby brooch.”

  He froze in the act of fastening his tunic, and expelled a breath as though astounded by her sheer effrontery. “I can buy you a dozen rubies, Mathilde,” he said his voice hardening.

  She folded her arms across her breasts. “And I would refuse them all!”

  His brows snapped together. “What did you say, wife?” He took a step toward the bed. “That you would continue to flout me in my own house?” His voice rose to a bellow at the last few words, doubtless waking anyone sleeping down this wing of the house.

  “I don’t want your dozen rubies, Guy,” she answered him loudly, her volume rising to match his.

  She scrabbled to her knees on the bed to face him. She was still naked but did not care. She could feel her face hot and angry, but for the first time in weeks she felt fully alive and furious. For days now, she had felt nothing but crushing heartbreak and misery. Now she felt invigorated, and warlike.

  “I want the ruby brooch that is mine by right,” she announced defiantly. “The one that belongs to the Marchionesses of Martindale, for that is who I am!” She struck her fist against the mattress as she yelled the last few words and it felt good. “And I will no longer be denied, in my own house!”

  He stared at her, his chest rising and falling. “I rue the day that Vawdrey bound me to you,” he ground out, his voice shaking. “You, madam, are a merciless, pitiless little bitch.”

  She inclined her head. “And also, your marchioness,” she agreed calmly.

  He was breathing hard now, his gaze seemingly riveted to her face, then it dipped a moment to her nakedness. Hot slashes of red appeared over his cheekbones.

  “We’ll discuss this further when I get back,” he said in a low, uneven voice.

  “If I’m still here,” Mathilde interjected, earning an incredulous look from him.

  “Are you trying to reduce me to rage, madam?” he roared.

  Mathilde had another crazy impulse to fake a yawn and see where that got her. It could well be over his knee, she thought, eyeing his rigid stance. What would that be like? she wondered and felt herself flush. Was she crazy? Now was not the time to find out. With an effort, she pulled herself together. Shrugging one shoulder, she dropped down onto the mattress and rolled into the sheets, away from him. Let him make of that what he would.

  Mathilde lay silent, cocooned in the sheets for a long few moments, holding her breath. She thought she could hear his own ragged breathing nearby, and then the door slammed so hard the whole room seemed to shake. Mathilde smiled in grim satisfaction, though her throat burned. She could have sent him away with sweet words and wifely understanding. Instead she had by turns inflamed and enraged him. Her body ached every place he had touched her, and she was glad because that meant his would too, for her.

  Doubtless her scratches down his back would smart on the entire ride to the Allworthy estate, she thought wiping away a tear from her cheek. Just as she would bear bruises on the morrow from the hard grip of his fingers, so too would he wear her scratch-marks as a reminder of their tryst. Julia Allworthy would not have one ounce of his
attention for the four day journey. He would be too angry to make polite conversation with her. He would be fuming the entire way.

  When she fell asleep twenty minutes later, though Mathilde’s cheeks were tear-stained, a small smile played about her lips.

  XXXVI

  Mathilde woke late and rolled over, squinting at the sunlight streaming through the window. There would be no snow left in sight at this rate. She hoped Guy’s party would have made good progress through the night. A slight knock on the door roused her from her sleepy thoughts.

  “Come in.” Then remembering her nakedness, she drew the covers up around her. It was Lettys carrying hot water and clean cloths.

  She washed and dressed, again using the satin underdress to lend some modesty to the low-cut gown of deep amber she wore over it. She had not worn this dress before, and found the skirts rather voluminous, catching them under her feet as she went to fetch her hair comb. Casting around, she saw the dagger on the black leather belt Guy had given her when she first arrived. Snatching this up, she fastened it around her hips, and caught a section of the skirts in the belt, tugging them higher so her feet were not impeded by their length. The satin under-gown ensured she was still modest, and Lettys nodded in satisfaction at the overall effect.

  Lettys then spent a good twenty minutes pinning a brown velvet toque to Mathilde’s head, catching up her hair in sections and tucking and pinning them into place under the toque, giving the illusion that her hair was longer and piled up under the headdress.

  “That looks very nice, Lettys,” said Mathilde with surprise. Really it was the most respectable her hair had looked since it had been cut! “You have quite a talent with hair.”

  Lettys blushed. “Thank you,” she said looking grateful. “I always dressed my sister’s hair as well as my own. When yours is longer, I’ll be able to help you braid it into ever so many styles.” She attached a short veil to the arrangement and then pronounced her ready.

  Mathilde was just heading for the door when she paused and turned back. “I believe I will wear something from my jewelry box to complete my outfit,” she decided.

  Lettys helped her select a brooch which had an ‘M’ set out in pearls. She told herself it suited the outfit far better than a ruby brooch ever would have. “Like it was made for you,” said Lettys, patting her on the shoulder.

  Below stairs, Firmin was solicitous and had a fire lit in the blue sitting room, but Mathilde found she could not settle to her tapestry. Even a walk in the garden did not cure her restlessness this morning. Again and again her thoughts returned to Guy and their enthusiastic reunion the night before. Of course, they had parted on harsh words, but to her mind they were a step closer to reconciling. If only, he had not had to leave for Allworthy. From what she had been told the journey took four days there and back in ideal conditions, but in weather like this it would more likely take five.

  “I believe I’ll go for a ride,” she said aloud, as she and Lettys neared the stables. “A ride would help clear my head.”

  “It’s bitter cold out!” Lettys protested, shivering and rubbing her mittens together.

  “I know the perfect spot,” Mathilde coaxed. “Braeburn Heights. It’s a sun-trap up there, and there’s a good clear stretch, perfect for galloping.”

  Lettys shuddered again. “I know where you mean and it’s frigid up there even at the height of summer!”

  “Nonsense,” Mathilde said bracingly. “When Guy took me up there, we basked in the sunshine.” She did not mention that she could not feel her nose or the tips of her ears until a full hour after they returned.

  “I think a canter up on Braeburn Heights sounds the very thing,” a smooth voice interrupted them. Mathilde swung round with surprise. There, leaning against one of the stalls was Tristan Kerslake, for once he was not dressed in colorful robes but wore simple and inconspicuous black. Mathilde blinked at him.

  “You missed your sister’s departure for her husband’s estate,” she told him. “They departed in the early hours of this morn.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Alas,” he drawled. “I am out of favor with my sister at present. She has made it quite clear that she does not wish for my company for at least a six-month.” He shot her a direct look. “She thinks I made things worse for her and made her look bad in front of the Strethneals.”

  “But what of your brother-in-law’s burial?” Mathilde said in surprise. “Do you not wish to pay your respects?” After all, he had told her himself that Lord Allworthy had supplied him with a generous allowance for several years.

  Tristan pulled a face. “Even your brief glimpse of Julia must have shown you how uncomfortable she can make people when she wishes.” His tone was light, but Mathilde still flushed remembering how the haughty Julia had tried to order her from her own home. “She is quite merciless and would not hesitate to put me to shame before her friends and neighbors by demanding my removal.”

  He sounded saddened by this, and Mathilde felt a pang of sympathy for him. His sister really was not a nice person!

  “That is a great pity,” she said gravely.

  “I did rather like Cecil.” Tristan sighed. “He was a decent old stick and never objected however much I bled him.”

  “Are you really willing to accompany Lady Martindale up to the Heights?” Lettys asked hopefully.

  “Absolutely,” he sketched a bow. “I am at your ladyship’s disposal as an escort.”

  Which was rather ironic, Mathilde reflected, when you considered that her husband had been forced to act that very same role to his sister due to his mysterious disappearance. Once they were saddled up, and on their way, she asked him where he had been.

  “Oh,” he replied airily. “I went to visit with some wholly disreputable old acquaintances. No one that Julia ever knew.”

  “And you returned this morning?”

  “That’s right,” he answered easily. “We were out carousing all night.”

  “How exactly,” Mathilde asked, “does one carouse? I’ve always wondered.”

  He laughed. “Well, for my part it usually entails large quantities of wine, women and song.”

  “I see,” she replied, feeling if anything even more curious than before. Experience told her that he would not tell her any more detail. “And what of Guy?” she asked.

  “Guy?” he looked startled. “Nay, he did not accompany me.” He hesitated. “He was never much of a one for carousing, even before the war.”

  Mathilde flushed slightly. “I meant, does he know these disreputable types with whom you associate?”

  “Ah,” said Tristan. “I see.” He shook his head. “Guy and my brother Miles were always more serious-minded than I. We did not move in the same circles. Still don’t.”

  Mathilde considered this a moment in silence. They were nearly upon the heights now. The only downside to her elegant torque, was that her hood kept slipping down over it. No doubt her ears would be quite pink again by the time they rode back, she thought. There was barely a trace of cloud in the sky, and Sabrina was in high spirits as they galloped along the newly thawed ground.

  “Did Guy show you the caves?” Tristan called as they rounded the Tor. Mathilde shook her head. “They’re well worth a look,” he suggested, pointing to their shadowy depths in the bare rock.

  Mathilde glanced at them doubtfully. What was it, Guy had said about them? “Aren’t they rather dangerous for strangers?” she asked.

  “Ah, but you have an expert guide with you,” he answered swiftly. “I know them like the back of my hand. A misspent youth,” he added at her quizzical look.

  Without waiting for her reply, he rode toward the caves and dismounted, tying his horse to a nearby tree. Mathilde followed his example and he tethered Sabrina there too. The sun had disappeared behind a cloud now, for all the sky had been clear only moments before.

  “What is it?” Tristan asked, taking her arm and drawing it through his.

  She shook her head and Tristan led her
up the steep incline that led to the nearest cave entrance. When they reached it, Mathilde felt her first real prickle of alarm.

  “It’s very dark,” she commented with misgiving.

  “Lean on my arm,” he offered easily. “It’s only this first part that is narrow and dark. It opens out once you get inside.”

  Mathilde took a tentative step inside. “Is it damp?” she asked anxiously. “Only I shouldn’t—”

  Tristan took a firm grip of not only her arm, but her waist and hauled her inside. “Walk before me now, if you please,” he said in a calm voice of authority. His tone was flat and lacked its usual teasing quality. For some reason, all the fine hairs on the back of Mathilde’s neck rose up in warning. Her mouth was dry.

  “I can’t really see where I’m—” Mathilde broke off as they came to a section where the roof of the cave was missing and light streamed in. The floor was flooded with water, very likely melted snow. Mathilde looked back over her shoulder at Tristan, but what she saw was far from reassuring. His expression was grim and even though they had momentarily emerged from the darkness, somehow, he still seemed among shadow.

  “This cavern is flooded,” she pointed out. “I think we should turn back.”

  He did not answer, just gave a sharp push to her middle back, propelling her forward. Mathilde drew a sharp breath as she negotiated the slippery rock floor. Something is very wrong here. She managed to come to a stop before the next gaping hole in the rock face, but then he was behind her, forcing her to continue through it into the pitch blackness. Her hands groped around on the walls blindly as she stumbled along.

  “I wrote to Lord Vawdrey,” he said, his former light and breezy manner returning. Somehow it seemed rather chilling to hear it now in the darkness, when his presence was so menacing in every other way. “I told him that my position had become… sadly compromised.”

  “Compromised?” she repeated through numb lips. “How so?”

  “Keep walking,” he ordered sharply, then sighed. “Let us have frankness between us at this point, Mathilde. You have fathomed out, have you not, why it was you saw me issuing forth from Vawdrey’s study?”