Duchess Diaries [2] How to Pursue a Princess

by Karen Hawkins

  The fullness caught her unaware, and she stiffened. He pressed a little harder, murmuring how beautiful she was, telling her how she drove him mad, whispering secrets that made her writhe against him, desperate for more. He began to move, lifting her knees as he did so. Suddenly he filled her fully and a cry of pain escaped her.

  He captured her cry with a heated kiss, moving against her, his hands never ceasing. He cupped her breasts, her waist, her bottom, pleasuring her as he kissed her wildly. He rocked against her, filling her and then withdrawing, making her yearn for his fullness with each stroke.

  Lily forgot the pain as she met him thrust for thrust. Finally, their passions meeting, they rode the madness until they cried out, then collapsed in each other’s arms.

  Twenty-nine

  From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe Many people feel that words are easier than deeds. In general, I would hold this to be true until one tries to find the right words. At those times, deeds can seem quite easy.

  It was a long time before Lily could breathe. Why hadn’t anyone told her that lovemaking would feel so heavenly? So enthralling? So perfect?

  She let out her breath in a contented sigh. Her body hummed with joy, her heart sang with an overpowering sense of freedom, as if she could do anything she wished.

  Wulf murmured something deep in his chest, sleepy and satisfied as he spooned her against him, his skin toasty warm. She was wrapped head to foot in sensual male, his arm deliciously heavy over her waist as he pulled her closer, his breath against her neck.

  It was wonderful, and she rested within his arms for a long time before she finally opened her eyes to look around the cottage. I must soak this all in, experience it all fully. She suddenly felt as greedy for the details of his life as she’d been for his body a short time ago.

  Though the cottage had a dirt floor, it was freshly strewn with rushes. The fireplace blazed with nary a hint of smoke, the windows were firmly shuttered against the night, and the furnishings were well crafted and suited to their surroundings, except for his desk, an ornate secretary that wouldn’t have been out of place in the duchess’s sitting room. Made of beautiful dark wood, it seemed out of place compared to the other plain, serviceable pieces.

  “That’s an unusual desk,” she said.

  “Hmm?” he rumbled sleepily.

  She turned toward him. “Is it mahogany?”

  He opened one eye. “Is this how you greet your love?”

  She sniffed. “I just asked a question.”

  He smiled and, with a sigh, raised up on his elbow, resting his chin on her shoulder to see the desk. “Perhaps. My grandmother was insistent that I have at least one piece of furniture that befits my station.”

  “Where does she stay?”

  “In the manor house on the hill.”

  “Ah. Is she a guest of the owner?”

  “You could say that.” He nuzzled her neck, sending delicious chills through her.

  “She spoke to me yesterday and brought me some tea. She said it was a potion.”

  “Tata has many potions.”

  “Do they work?”

  “Always.”

  Her gaze found the basket on the small table. “I brought her tea with me.”

  He sighed. “Moya, you should be too exhausted to speak, enthralled by my prowess.” He nipped her ear, making her giggle. “Perhaps I haven’t yet completed my duties? Perhaps you wish for more of me? I cannot blame you—”

  She had to laugh, and her throat tightened when he answered with a pleased grin. How I will miss this. And you. For the rest of my life.

  “Ah, Moya, you are so beautiful,” he whispered. “So utterly beautiful.” He slid his hands up her arms to capture them over her head as he rolled over her again, his knee parting her thighs. His cock, hard once more, pressed against her womanhood, and she immediately lifted her hips to his.

  He gasped, his breath warm on her ear as he kissed her neck.

  Her body was aflame, and all thoughts of leaving scattered before it. She moaned and shifted against him.

  “Yes, my little love,” he whispered. “Show me what you want.”

  With a deep moan she wrapped her legs about his hips, opening to him yet again.

  And together, they lost themselves once more in the wonder.

  • • •

  “Moya?” The deep voice came from far, far away.

  Fighting her way up from sleep, Lily struggled to open her heavy lids but to no avail. Her body seemed inexorably melded between the soft bed and the large, luxuriously warm body that curled around her.

  “Moya, you must wake.” Wulf kissed her ear. “The sun will soon rise, and we must get you back to the castle.”

  She finally opened her eyes, frowning at him. “I don’t want to go back.”

  “Nor do I wish you to, my love.” Wulf smoothed her hair from her cheek, his hand gentle, his expression serious. “I knew you would come to me.”

  “I didn’t,” she replied truthfully.

  “Ah, but I have always known that you belong with me.” He trailed his fingers over her cheek. “Come. Rise. We will go to the duchess and tell her that we will marry. She may announce our betrothal at her ball and—”

  “Wulf, no.” Lily pushed herself upright, tugging the sheet with her. “That’s not why I came here.”

  His smile slipped. “Then why?”

  She wished with all her heart that she didn’t have to tell him the truth. “I came to say good-bye.”

  His gaze darkened. “Good-bye?”

  “Please, don’t make this more difficult than it is. I can’t marry you. You know that.”

  A hard look flashed over his face. “Still you will sell yourself for money.”

  She stiffened and he instantly looked guilty. “Moya, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  She turned and scooted to the edge of the bed.

  “Moya, please don’t—” He captured her hand and placed a kiss to her palm. “I was angry. I love you, Moya. I would spend my life with you. It’s agony to hear you say you will wed another. I—I cannot bear it.”

  His voice carried so much pain, and her bruised heart answered it. “Wulf, I have no other choices.”

  “You always have choices. And you would not be alone. I would be with you, and we would face this together.”

  “I can’t. Huntley will ask me to marry him this evening, and I will say . . . I will say . . .” The word stuck in her throat.

  He sat up. “But what of you, Moya? What do you want?”

  “It’s not that simple. You know that.”

  “Then you will tell Huntley yes.” His words were so heavy, it sounded as if his tongue could barely hold them.

  “I have no choice—”

  “You do, damn it!” He threw back the blankets and yanked her to him. “You cannot sacrifice your happiness for your family. Are they here, sacrificing their happiness for you?”

  “My sister has been trying to do just that. My father wrote and warned me.”

  He groaned and pulled her into his lap, his arms engulfing her as he whispered, “Moya, what of us?”

  What of them? Her gaze caressed every magnificent inch of him. As hard as it was, she said, “There cannot be an us. Tonight was my final good-bye to you, and to my freedom.”

  Wulf’s jaw tightened. “Huntley will expect you in his bed.”

  “Yes, and I will do my duty—”

  “No!” Wulf growled. “I will not allow it, I cannot—” His voice broke. “Lily, don’t.”

  Her heart breaking, she slipped her arms about him as tears filled her eyes. “I love you so much,” she whispered. “But I have no choice.”

  He was silent, but then he cupped her face and turned it to his. “You will do as you must—but you will think of me.”

  She would think about him. They both knew it. Suddenly, she couldn’t imagine being with another man. Couldn’t picture Huntley trying to kiss her. Couldn’t imagine him reaching for her.


  Her entire body rebelled at the thought. She wanted more of Wulf—of his warm skin beneath her fingertips, of the delicious feeling of the weight of his legs twined with hers, of his strong heart beating beneath her ear. She wanted desperately, completely, with every part of her. She was enslaved, bound to him by her passion.

  She slipped her arms about his neck, holding him close, naked skin to naked skin. She stroked his hair, murmuring words of love, willing him to forget their circumstances, to forget the agony the day ahead would bring. These last few moments were all they’d have.

  He turned toward her and pulled her back into the bed, sliding her beneath him with one strong tug of his arm. They made love again, each touch, each stroke fueled by desperation. It was not a gentle joining, but a flood of heated passion that left Lily breathless and weeping.

  Wulf held her close, murmuring soft words into her ear, the only one she understood—“moya,” mine—repeated over and over. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder and wrapped herself about him.

  A short time later, Wulf finally fell asleep. Lily waited until the gentle gleam of the sunrise told her that her time was at an end. With a face wet with tears, she slipped from between the sheets and gathered her clothes.

  • • •

  Wulf awoke slowly, a smile curving his lips. Moya. He reached for her, but his hand fell upon cool sheets.

  She was gone.

  He sat upright. Her clothes, once scattered over his cottage, were gone, while his had been placed neatly over the end of the bed. And that is it. We are done. He was filled with so many emotions that he couldn’t breathe.

  She’d come to him as he’d dreamed, and she’d given him the precious gift of her maidenhead. She’d even admitted that she loved him. But not enough, he thought bitterly.

  He pushed himself from the bed and walked to the fireplace. His cozy cottage was achingly empty. The fire burned and yet gave off no warmth, the rug beneath his feet seemed coarse and cold, the light flickering from the candles seemed chilled and impersonal.

  He wanted to break something, to throw something, to kick over the furniture and yell at the top of his voice.

  As he stood there, debating which avenue of destruction to use first, his gaze fell on his desk. There, sitting in solitary splendor, was a single mug of tea weighing down a note.

  Bloody hell—the damned Scots and their tea. He shoved the mug aside and reached for the note.

  Drink the tea.

  He turned it over, but that was it. No declarations of love, or remorse, or anything else. Just Drink the tea.

  With a roar, he sent the mug flying, the tea splattering the wall as the mug crashed against it, as broken and splintered as his heart.

  Thirty

  From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe Today is the day! The Roxburghe Butterfly Ball will change the lives of many, and the fortunes of a favored few. Oh, how I love a good ball.

  Hours later, Wulf was awakened by the creak of a carriage on the drive leading to the cottage, and the sound of Arsov’s voice raised in argument with Tata Natasha. Good God, not my grandmother. The last thing he wished to do was speak with her.

  But the voices were getting closer and he had no choice. Sighing, he rose, wincing as his head protested the movement. A bottle brushed his foot as he staggered to the washbowl and dunked his head.

  He’d just buttoned his breeches when a brisk rap sounded on the cottage door. He grabbed a clean shirt out of the wardrobe and tugged it over his head. “I’m coming,” he called as the sharp rap came again.

  “Then come faster,” she snapped loudly. “I’m an old woman and cannot stand forever in the doorway.”

  He shook his head as he opened the door. Tata Natasha swept in, her black gown sweeping the floor, as she surveyed the room. “Why did it take you so long to come to the door?”

  “I was sleeping.”

  “At this time of the day?”

  “I have nothing better to do.” He sank onto the bench before the fire and looked about blearily for his stockings and boots.

  “Pah.” She eyed his hair. “You must get ready. We have that harridan’s ball to attend. You said you’d accompany me.”

  “I’m not going.”

  Tata’s brows rose. “Da, you are. The duchess is sending her carriage for us.”

  “We have a carriage.”

  “Hers is better.” Tata’s shrewd gaze flickered about the room. “What is this?” She picked up something from the rug. “It’s a hairpin.” She looked from the hairpin to the mussed bed, then she spun to face him. “So, she was here. That is why you look as if a carriage ran over you.”

  Wulf scowled.

  “Well? Answer me.”

  “I’m not telling you a damn thing.” He plucked the hairpin from Tata’s fingers and placed it on the mantel, his chest aching as if someone had kicked it. “Why are you here?”

  “I came to see why you’re not ready for this ball.” Her gaze flickered over the rest of the cottage. “Why is that mug on the floor?”

  “I dropped it. Tata, did you come to look in my corners?”

  “Nyet. I brought you this. It is a letter from your father.” She pulled the letter from a pocket, handing it to him.

  “Thank you.” He rubbed his head where an ache was making it difficult to even decipher the writing on the envelope. He broke the seal and opened the missive, struggling to absorb the contents. Finally, he put it down. “I am to return home as soon as possible. The treaty has—” He frowned. “What are you doing?”

  His grandmother was standing as still as a statue by the table, something in her hands. He put down the letter. “What is it?”

  She turned, and he saw that in her hands was a piece of the mug Lily had left him. Tata sniffed it. “So the Balfour woman fixed you this.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know. On the night of the dance, I gave her a pouch of this tea.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “It was a test. I told her it was a not-for-love potion.”

  “A what?”

  “Whoever drinks it will forget their true love.”

  He looked at the broken mug and his ache grew. “She wishes me to forget her.”

  “Da. I didn’t expect her to use it for you, but for herself.”

  He gave a bitter laugh. “She does not love me, Tata. And now, she does not wish me to love her.”

  Tata scowled. “You don’t understand. When I saw her, she’d been weeping, realizing that she and you could never be.”

  “She was sad?”

  “Very. Her cries touched my heart. I thought she’d drink this to free her to marry Huntley.”

  Slowly, Wulf sat up straighter. “She’d have no regrets.”

  Tata nodded. “None. Her life would be simple, fulfilling if not blindingly happy. But instead, she gave it to you.”

  “But . . . why wouldn’t she want me to remember that I love her?”

  “Think, Wulf.” Tata waited expectantly, and when he continued to frown, she threw up her hands. “Men! After all the women you’ve been with, do you not understand how we think? A woman wants the love of only one man, Wulf.”

  “But I—”

  “And that one man is the one that she loves.” She threw him an exasperated look. “Lily left the tea for you so that your life would be better—she left it because she didn’t wish you to suffer.”

  He looked at the broken mug, then said slowly, “She sacrificed her chance for happiness for mine.”

  “Aye.” Tata frowned for a long moment, then sighed. “It’s as I’ve said all along; she is a woman worth keeping.”

  His jaw tightened. “She wishes no part of me. She said as much.”

  “Since when have you listened to what people say to you? Now is not the time to become obedient. If you want this woman, then do what you do best—demand that she be yours. She has shown her love. What more do you need?”

  He stared at his grandmother, then he sud
denly leapt from his chair, picked her up, and kissed her cheek.

  “Oh! Put me down, you ruffian!”

  Laughing, he twirled her once, twice, then set her on her feet.

  She staggered to one side, but he caught her and set her in a chair, chuckling. “I’m sorry to make you dizzy, but you’ve given me hope. I’ve been so caught up in my loss that I stopped thinking. You are right—I cannot just let her go.”

  Tata glared up at him. “Finally, some sense!”

  “Yes. So now, you must leave. I’m going to bathe. I have a ball to attend tonight.”

  “Good.” She stood, holding on to the arm of the chair as she tested her balance. Reassured when the room didn’t move under her feet, she released it and made her way to the door. “I’ll send in Arsov. I suppose he knows how to heat water.”

  “Tata?”

  She looked back.

  He grinned. “Thank you for helping me and my Lily.”

  Her expression softened. “I have watched you through all of this, and I was impressed with your constancy. Perhaps she will be the making of you, this Scottish thistle.”

  “And if she will not have me?”

  Tata’s black eyes twinkled. “Pah. You are my grandson and a prince, the son of a princess and a king. How can she tell you no?”

  “You would think she could not, but she does.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “But while she can deny me with words, her kisses say only yes.”

  “Then ask her with kisses.” Tata turned back to the door. “Now hurry, or we’ll be late.”

  • • •

  Lily looked at herself in the mirror as she tugged her gloves above her elbows. Her soft-gold gown made her hair seem redder than ever. Freya, who was helping three other ladies get ready for the ball, too, had returned in time to use an iron to set delicate curls about her ears. “I look well enough for a countess-to-be,” she told the mirror, but the words were so hollow that she had to turn away.

  She couldn’t stay here alone and keep thinking. The time for that was through; now was the time for doing.

  Lifting her chin, Lily left her room. She was walking down the steps behind some other guests when she saw Huntley standing at the bottom of the stairs, his back to her.