The Devil in the Duke: A Revelry’s Tempest Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  “He did. And my half-brothers couldn’t wait to get rid of us after the funeral. My mother hadn’t even recovered from the shock of my father’s death when they tossed us, penniless, into the gutter. She was the despised second wife—younger than the older two sons—and the only thing that kept my half-brothers in line was my father.”

  “She didn’t try to fight them?”

  He shook his head. “If she hadn’t been in shock…things might have been different. She might have thought it through properly, the power she didn’t realize she had.”

  “But she didn’t?”

  “No. She had no family, so she went straight to Bournestein in London with my brother and me in tow. Bournestein had been deeply in love with her when they were young, but he was destitute and she left him to marry my father—she needed the security he could afford.”

  “And Bournestein still took her in? Even though she left him?”

  “He made her crawl.” The words were steady, even though they came through gritted teeth. “But yes, he did. By then he had taken over the brothel. So that is where we lived. With you.”

  Sienna nodded, her sinking gut now turned into a hard, bitter rock.

  No wonder Logan hadn’t wanted to tell her. And to see his eyes when he talked of his mother. He’d held a facade on his face that was impenetrable, imparting the tale with no emotion. But to her eye it was flimsy and she could see right through it. Even if she couldn’t remember most of their past—she knew him. Knew this man so intimately that she could see the wounds from long ago deep in his silver eyes.

  “How old were you when you came to London?”

  “I was five, Robby was three—the same age as you.”

  “Logan, what—”

  The four horses of a coach crested the upcoming hill, their thundering hooves interrupting her question.

  Logan looked over his shoulder and the relief on his face was instant.

  He quickly nudged his horse to turn around and move in front of Sienna, leading her mare to the side of the road so the coach could pass.

  He didn’t stop his horse’s gait as the coach passed, instead moving quickly toward the village.

  She stared at his back.

  He thought he’d just been delivered from her inquiries, but all he had done was create a whirlwind of questions in her mind.

  More questions without answers.

  She wasn’t done with him just yet.

  ~~~

  Logan walked into the room at the carriage inn carrying a silver tray holding two platters piled high with beef, breads, asparagus and parsnips, and large cuts of grapes nestled along the edges.

  For as ravenous as she was, the heavenly soak of water around her body took precedence over her empty belly. After three days of the muddy roads and the early summer heat, she had begged Logan to convince the landlady of the coaching inn to have a bath brought up for her.

  She had left Yorkshire with the clothes on her back, and her body was now just as much a sticky, dirty mess as her skirts.

  The room they had been shown to was stifling hot until the breeze had found its way inward. The third level chamber was spacious, bedecked in airy peaches and mauves layered over white wainscoting that belied the heat it captured. Yet once the windows were opened, the room caught most of the evening winds.

  Wedged deep into the bathing tub that had been brought up and filled with tepid water, Sienna peeked at her husband over the rim of the basin, the comb she was pulling through her wet hair stilling.

  Logan stood with his back to her, setting the tray down on the small round table by the open window. He moved the platters, along with the teapot and cups and the small decanter of brandy onto the table, then fiddled with the utensils. She caught glimpses of his profile as he set the table. The dark scruff of a beard that had started along his face had grown quickly in three days. It made him look older, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

  An image flashed in her mind—an image of that same dark scruff on his face. Of him in uniform. Of him striding away from her, angry. Furious.

  The memory of him stomping away reached into her chest and squeezed her heart, constricting it so painfully in her chest it made her gasp.

  He spun around. “What is it?”

  The comb dropped into the water as her fingers dug into the skin above her left breast, trying to ease the sharp pang that had just swallowed her heart. “I wasn’t supposed to be there, was I?”

  “Where?”

  “In Spain.” Her eyes closed, her head shaking as she tried to conjure the memory. “I followed you…you left me in England and I followed you and it took months for me to find you. And then I did.” Her eyes popped open to him.

  He had moved across the room to stand next to the tub. His fingertips started tapping the rim. “Yes.”

  “And you were raging—raging—that I had come. And I only wanted you, but you turned and you left—you left me.” Her eyes closed again and her head dropped forward, her face scrunching as she tried to hold onto the memory.

  It was gone.

  For minutes, she tried, tried to conjure the feel of it. To live the pain again so fully she had no choice but to remember more of it—all of it.

  Nothing.

  “I came back.” His fingertips brushed across her furrowed brow, his soft words breaking her futile concentration.

  She opened her eyes, looking up at him. “You did?”

  “I could never leave you for long. That was the hardest thing I had ever done, leaving you in England for the war, Sienna.” His voice low, achingly gentle, he reached behind him to grab a simple wooden chair and pulled it next to the tub, sitting down.

  He leaned forward, settling his arms on his thighs and clasping his hands together. “And then when you showed up in that village in Spain, you scared me to Hades and back. So yes, I was raging. Yes, you were beyond headstrong to come after me. But at the core of it, as much as I didn’t want you there, I couldn’t deny my need to be with you. There was supposed to be a channel of deep water separating us—that was how I was going to deny myself of you for the years.”

  Her head softly bobbed. “I wasn’t supposed to be there, and I knew it. I knew it was a mistake to follow you. But I was just so…so…I needed you, Logan. I needed to be near you in case…in case…”

  “In case I died.” His lips pulled inward for a moment before he continued. “You came because you wanted the last thing I saw to be you, if I died.”

  She drew a deep breath, her chest rising out of the water as she nodded. “I couldn’t stand the thought that you would die alone, that the last thing you would see would be a bloody battlefield. And I didn’t care about anything but that.” She drew in a wavering breath to choke back a sob. “I had to come, but I shouldn’t have.”

  “No. You shouldn’t have. And I shouldn’t have let you stay—not even for those five nights. But I understand why you came. ”

  His head bowed for a long moment, the knuckles of his clasped hands turning white. “When I thought you were dead, when I saw your body charred in the rubble.” His look lifted to her, his grey eyes glistening. “All I could think of was that I wasn’t there. That you died alone. Alone, struggling to live, wondering where I was, desperate for me. Struggling. That your eyes closed without me there to hold you.”

  He drew a ragged breath. “I swore I would always be there—till the end. Nothing devastated me more than that moment, that thought. That you died without me. To this day it haunts me, even with you here before me—alive—I cannot think of it without my soul shattering.”

  He inhaled a deep breath, his head shaking. His right cheek pulled up into a half smile full of regrets. “We both made mistakes, Sienna. But you were young. I was young. And we weren’t always wise.”

  Her hand lifted from the water, sending ripples along the surface. She rubbed her eyes, the bathwater mixing with tears that had filled her eyes. Her fingertips dropped from her face. “And then you brought
your men—how many men died because of me?”

  “No, you do not get to do that, Sienna.” The deep rumble of his voice was vehement. “My men died because of a choice I made. Me. I marched them into that village.”

  “But you did it for me. Because I was stupid. Because I wasn’t the one strong enough to be apart from you. You did it for me.”

  “And I would do it again because I would sacrifice anything—anything to keep you safe.” His voice notched lower. “I told you before, Sienna, this is my burden to bear. Not yours. And I have been attempting to atone for my sins ever since.”

  “How?”

  “By making sure every soldier I can find that has lost his way discovers a path back to the land of the living. By helping them move past what they lost in the war.”

  “Your guards at the Revelry’s Tempest?”

  Logan nodded. “My guards. All of them have worth they did not see in themselves, and most have found their path in life again. But there are always more to help.”

  “Which is why going back to London and the Revelry’s Tempest is so important to you. Why didn’t you tell me this?”

  “It’s complicated, Sienna—everything is complicated until you remember things. I didn’t want the guilt I now see in your eyes to manifest, as I knew it would. What happened was never your intention. Never my intention.”

  “So why do you get to carry the burden of the past while I escape it free and clear?”

  He shrugged.

  “You don’t have an answer for that, do you?”

  “I don’t.”

  She nodded, somewhat mollified by his honesty. “I will own the guilt as I need to, Logan. It is a hard thing to learn that I have been selfish at the cost of others.”

  A crooked grin crossed his face. “You think you’ve always been a saint, Sienna?”

  She looked at him, unable to resist his half-cocked smile. “Of course I have been.” She splashed water at him and it landed about his face. “I have no evidence to the contrary, so I’ll just believe what I choose to believe, thank you very much.”

  He smacked his lips, the water dripping from them. “I was wondering if the water had turned cold yet.”

  “It is getting chilly. Why?”

  He dipped one of his hands fully into the water, his fingers stretching to tickle her side.

  She giggled, grabbing his hand to stop him.

  His fingers on her side stilled. “I want a turn in there before you dunk your muddy skirt into the water to clean it. But I only want cold water.”

  “Cold?”

  He paused, drawing his hand from the water, all levity from his face gone. “I prefer it when it is this warm outside, the cold water.” He stood and turned from her, moving away from the tub toward the table. The set of his shoulders had gone stiff. His walk, wooden.

  She stared at his back. “I used to know that, didn’t I?”

  He stopped halfway to the table. For several long breaths he was silent. “Yes.” He didn’t turn around to her.

  She pushed herself up in the tub, water sloshing along the sides. “Logan, look at me.”

  For a moment, she questioned if he would, but then he slowly turned to face her.

  She met his silver grey eyes, her look penetrating. “I know you, Logan.”

  She moved to stand in the tub, then stepped out of it and walked to him, a pool of water trailing behind her. She stopped in front of him, the breeze sending chilled bumps across her skin. It didn’t matter.

  What mattered was this man in front of her. This man that she knew to the bottom of her soul she loved, she needed, and would never let go of again.

  “I know you, Logan, like I know my own breath, my own flesh. Don’t doubt that, just because I don’t remember a detail like whether you like your baths cold. I can relearn all of that about you. All of it. Me not knowing something like that in this moment doesn’t mean a thing—not when I know in my heart and in my soul that you are mine and I am yours.”

  “Sienna—”

  She lifted her hands, wrapping them around his neck and pressing her wet body into him, soaking his clothes. “You believe me the most when I am parted for you, trusting you with everything I am.” Her fingers moved downward, working off his waistcoat and linen shirt. “And I know all sorts of things you like, Logan.”

  She dragged his linen shirt up over his head. “I know you like it when I strip you.”

  Silently, she removed him of his trousers, going to her knees to pull off his boots, one by one. His erection too hard, too pulsating to ignore, she grabbed him, setting her lips to the head of his cock.

  Her eyes lifted upward. “I know you like this.” With brutal slowness, she took him into her mouth, her tongue sliding along the ridges lining his smooth skin. His cock fought her, going impossibly hard under her tongue.

  She withdrew, taking him in four more agonizingly slow times before he clutched the back of her wet hair, dragging her upward.

  She stood and grabbed the back of his neck, using her body to push him backward to the wooden chair by the table. His calves hit the front of the chair and she nudged him downward to sit.

  His hands clasped onto her hips and she spun around before he could pull her onto him.

  “I know you like this.” She backed up, her wet thighs straddling him, slipping along his legs until her backside hit his chest. Leaning back into him, she lifted her left arm over her shoulder to wrap her hand around the back of his neck.

  Her right hand found his wrist and she wrapped her fingers around the back of his hand. Controlling his movement, she dragged his fingers up along her stomach, her ribs, and then set his palm on her breast, squeezing it. “I know you like this.”

  He exhaled, ragged and conquered.

  Her left hand came down from his neck and she found his left arm, capturing his fingers and flattening them on her stomach. “And I know you like this.” Her fingers tight on his knuckles, she sent his hand lower, caressing her abdomen before dipping down, her hand setting his fingers deep into her folds.

  Her hands stayed tight over his on her body as she leaned back against his chest, his face aligned with hers, and she turned until the edge of her lips met his. “This is me parting for you, Logan. Me trusting you with everything I am.”

  She slid downward.

  A rumble from deep in his chest shook her, shook the chair as his right hand clenched fully onto her breast, his mouth dipping to ravage her neck.

  He shifted his hips upward, his cock piercing her.

  A gasp flew from her mouth at the sudden pulsating filling her full and hard. Even with these past three days, her body was still getting used to the size of him. Of how he stretched her in ways her body remembered, but her mind did not.

  His lips clasped hard onto her neck as his fingers rolled her nipples into hard nubs, sending pangs of fire from her breast to her core. It stole her breath, stole the gasps from her mouth.

  She lifted herself along his cock, and his left hand dropped, spreading her wider to him, his fingers sliding along her slick folds. Her body losing control, her right hand flew up, gripping the back of his neck as ballast.

  His mastery of her body sent her gasping, curling as she plunged down on him, the crux of her trembling, her nerves recklessly firing in every direction. The length of him drove deep into her in rhythm with the strokes of his fingers. Her thighs clenching at the exertion, she couldn’t stop the thrusts, couldn’t bear to break the motion.

  He shook behind her, shook almost to loss of control, but then he grabbed her hips, lifting her and bringing her down, speeding the pace until all she could do was grip the back of his neck, holding on as he forced her to her explosion.

  “Hell, Sienna.” His hands went back to her breasts, gripping her, pleasure that bordered on pain as he thrust upward, her body taking him deeper than she thought possible.

  His muscles roared around her, his growl into her neck savage as his seed exploded into her and sent her already racin
g heart to pounding in her chest.

  Her fingernails dug into his neck, holding on as throbbing waves encompassed them, his chest and breath furious along her backside.

  His head dropped forward, his lips on her shoulder as his hot breath filled her pores.

  “Hell to heaven, Sienna.” The words were cracked, breathless. “You do know me. And you won’t let me forget it.”

  She smiled.

  { Chapter 9 }

  Logan carried her over to the wide tester bed, his body falling ragged against her as he collapsed forward on the bed, crushing her for only a moment before he spun so she could sprawl on top of him.

  Splayed wide on the bed, she could have stayed like that all night, riding each and every one of his breaths coming and going from his chest, his skin hot and damp and salty and stirring her core, ready for him to catch his breath and give her more.

  Then her stomach rumbled.

  “Was that your stomach or mine?” His deep voice vibrated his chest, tickling her breasts.

  “Mine. All mine.” She extracted her limbs from his, unsticking her still-damp skin from his. Sitting up, she patted his chest. “Get into your cold tub. I still have clothes to dunk.”

  “Are you sure your clothes will dry by tomorrow?”

  She stood and walked over to the table, picking up a chunk of bread and pulling it apart as she watched Logan heave himself from the bed and trudge toward the bathing tub. A dry bite of bread stuck in her throat as she watched him walk. He was beautiful. A sculpture straight from Michelangelo’s workshop.

  How had it even been possible that she had forgotten this man? That he was hers?

  She filled a tea cup and picked it up, washing the bread down her throat with the now-cold floral-infused brew. “No. But wet skirts are preferable to the mud that is caked on every fiber.”

  Logan eased himself into the cold water without flinching. Admirable. She sat on the chair next to the table, not bothering to put her shift back on. She wanted to wash it as well, and all she could hope for was that temperatures weren’t too chilly in the morning when they left and she would be in damp clothes.