The Duke Buys a Bride

by Sophie Jordan

  “Is it true?” Nana asked evenly. “Are ye ’is wife?” She pointed at Marcus.

  Alyse fidgeted. Marcus cocked that infernal eyebrow at her, daring her, challenging her to lie. “Well . . . in a manner. I suppose I am.”

  Nana didn’t let her finish. She clapped her hands. “Fetch ’im a plate. Are ye ’ungry, sir? Forgive our lack of ’ospitality . . . and the abduction of yer wife.” She shot a glare at her grandson.

  He held his hands up in the air. “How was I tae ken? The Sassenach said she was ’is housekeeper,” he blustered in defense even though his dark eyes glinted in humor.

  “Scamp,” Nana chastised without any heat. “Yer lucky ye be m’ favorite grandson.”

  “I’m your only,” he returned.

  “Thank you for the offer, but I think I should just like to retire for the night,” Marcus spoke up, gesturing to his disheveled person. “It’s been a long day.”

  “’Course.” Nana swerved her gaze pointedly on Alyse. “P’raps ye can show ’im tae yer chamber and treat ’is wounds?”

  She felt herself scowl. Her chamber? She knew this monstrously large castle boasted more than enough bedchambers. “I am certain it would be more appropriate to show him to another room.”

  “Come now, lass.” Nana clucked her tongue. “Dinna be an ill-tempered wife. No man wants that.”

  Releasing a gust of frustrated breath, Alyse lifted her skirts and turned, walking back the way she had come. It would do no good to argue. He’d announced them husband and wife and that was that as far as everyone here was concerned.

  She heard him behind her but she didn’t look back. Her blood simmered. Soon they’d be alone. Then she could unleash everything that was burning inside her. Her hands opened and closed at her sides as she fought for composure.

  She located her chamber in the shadowy halls of the castle. The large fire still crackled in the hearth. It wasn’t as big or as lavish as the room she’d slept in when they stayed with his brother, but it was still far finer than anything she had before. The four-post bed was a monstrosity and looked like something out of the Middle Ages with its ornate wood posts and headboard. A four-step stool was required to gain access to the bed.

  She heard him close the door behind her.

  Crossing her arms, she whirled around to face him.

  He moved across the chamber and dropped in a wingback chair before the fireplace with a heavy groan. As though nothing untoward had happened.

  He lifted a hand to his face, lightly probing his swollen jaw. She felt a twinge of pity that she quickly squashed. He would not have her sympathy. Not now when she was angry with him.

  She stalked toward him, arms still crossed tightly over her chest. He dragged a hand through his hair, wincing.

  That softened her somewhat. Slightly. Evidence of him in pain deflated some of her ire.

  She was glad he wasn’t dead, after all. Sighing, she dropped her arms and inched closer. Closer to him. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice so low it was practically a whisper.

  “Did you think I’d leave you here?”

  “Why not? They wouldn’t harm me.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “That’s right.” She snorted. “Trust no one.”

  He pointed at himself. “Have you seen me? They left me for dead.”

  “Aye, you for dead. Not me,” she retorted.

  “Oh, that’s splendid. As long as they didn’t wound you they are trustworthy.” He glared at her and pushed to his feet. “And you know you would be safe here? With absolute certainty?”

  “Nothing is certain in life. I don’t know my fate with you . . . as your . . . whatever I am . . .” She stared at him, waiting, hoping he would fill in that silence so she could at least know what he was thinking and then she would have some indication as to what was happening here. This was when he would explain that he did not really consider them married—that he had just said that to appease the crowd downstairs.

  Except he didn’t do that.

  “There’s no point arguing about this. You’re my wife. You heard me say it. They know that now.” He shrugged. “And apparently they respect it.”

  “Stop saying that,” she hissed.

  “What?”

  “That I’m your wife!” she exploded. “You know I am not.”

  He pushed to his feet. “You are my wife!”

  His claim sparked something inside her. Fear. Hope. And that hope only made the fear twist tighter because she had no business feeling such a way. There was nothing to hope for with this man. They had no future.

  “I’ve got the bill of sale to prove it.” His words dropped like heavy rocks inside her, settling in the pit of her stomach.

  Fury spiked through her. Fury at this world that deemed her property. Fury at he who would remind her of that and make her feel suddenly lower than she did when the auctioneer was shouting her attributes to a frothing crowd.

  “No!” She slapped both hands against his chest and shoved. Hard. Hard enough to sting the palms of her hands. Hard enough to force him back a step. “Stop saying that. From the very beginning you’ve insisted we are not that. I’ve never been that to you! I’m simply your burden!” Her chest lifted with savage sobbing breaths. “I never will be your wife.”

  The words tore from her like a bandage being ripped free. She couldn’t blink, couldn’t look away from his face. A muscle pulsed to life in his jaw. He looked fierce—like some warrior walking into battle . . . or emerging from it. All that was missing was his sword.

  Too late she realized her mistake. She was still touching him. Her hands were still on his chest. His heart beat hard and fierce under her fingers.

  She’d forgotten herself and laid hands on him.

  She forgot who she was. A simple commoner without a penny to her name. And, more importantly, she forgot who he was. A duke moons above her.

  There was no sound save the crash of their breaths filling the space between them. She slid back a step, but his hand shot out, looping around the back of her neck, hauling her close until all of her pushed up against the longer length of him.

  It was like being pressed up against a living, breathing wall. A wall radiating its own heat. Their breaths collided, mingled. Their gazes devoured each other.

  Then he broke. He moved. His head swooped down, his mouth claiming her own.

  She couldn’t move. Her hands were trapped between their bodies. His other arm stole around her, pulling her in tight, wrapping her up in him. It was impossible to break loose. Not that she wanted to. The moment his lips touched hers, she was lost.

  His kiss was demanding, punishing and yet seductive. Her head swam as his mouth softened against her lips, coaxing. His fingers delved into her hair, fisting in the heavy mass and pulling her head back, better angling her mouth.

  Her lips parted on a gasp, and his tongue slid along her bottom lip. Her blood sang, everything in her going soft. She opened her mouth wider, inviting him in. Their tongues touched and it felt like a bolt of lightning shot through her.

  All hesitation fled. She leaned forward, diving into the kiss, into him like he was the air she so needed for survival.

  He growled, deepening the kiss, his grip tightening in her hair. He took. He claimed, and that only made need pulse more swiftly inside her. Made her need him more.

  She struggled to free her hands from between them, so that she could wrap her arms around his neck and climb inside him. There was no such thing as too close. No such thing as too much or too far. No such thing as impossible.

  It was the longest kiss of her life. Not that she’d had many. Only chaste ones with Yardley and her recent ones with him . . . Marcus. She didn’t know that a kiss could make her lips all tingly and numb. Her entire being ended and began where his mouth melded with hers. Sensation flooded every nerve in her body

  Minutes ago there had been fury and now there was this. Desire. Want. Fury of another manner.

  A twi
sting ache started at her core and spread like wildfire.

  He broke away, one hand in her hair, an arm locked around her waist.

  He looked down at her with blazing eyes.

  She moistened her tingling lips. Her fingers flew there, touching the tender flesh. His eyes tracked the movement of her tongue. The dark blue of his eyes went darker, almost black.

  She waited expectantly. She knew what would come next. He would pull away and put a stop to this. That’s what he did the previous times.

  Only that didn’t happen.

  His dark head swooped in and kissed her again. He picked her up in a sudden move and brought her body flush against his. He carried her . . . somewhere. She couldn’t see and she didn’t care. Her head spun, eyes closed as his mouth moved on hers. She opened her mouth wider and increased the fervency of their kiss, her tongue stroking and tasting his.

  A growl rumbled up from his chest, vibrating into her. The sound made her feel desired. Wanted by this man with his too beautiful face and piercing dark eyes. A duke! She shoved that thought away. She didn’t want to think about that right now.

  He lowered her on the bed, following her down. He came over her, pushing the red material of her dress up to her hips so that her legs were bared and freed. He sat back and eyed her as he peeled her stockings off her legs, slow inch by slow inch, tossing each one aside. Finished, he paused to stare down at her with his relentless gaze. She fidgeted, her dress rustling around her.

  “I should have been the one to put you in a fine dress.”

  She glanced down at the ruby fabric. He touched the edge of her bodice, pinching the fabric between his fingers as though testing the texture. “This makes your eyes glow.”

  She wanted to tell him the dress had nothing to do with making her eyes glow—that it was him. It was what he did to her. Instead, her hands went to the laces at the front of the dress. Loosening the ribbons with shaky fingers, she watched him under heavy lids.

  He stilled, watching her fingers work. She loosened them enough so that her bodice gaped open, exposing her shift—along with the top swells of her breasts.

  With a curse, he yanked off his jacket and vest, casting them aside with anxious movements. His hand went behind his neck and he pulled off his shirt in one move, sending it flying like a bird on the air. His hands gripped her thighs and she hissed at big hands on her flesh as he leaned over her, his big body fully wedged between her welcoming thighs.

  Her hand drifted between them. She curled her fingers around the edge of his trousers, letting her fingers slip inside, nails lightly scoring the tight skin of his abdomen. She watched him, transfixed by the intensity of his stare. He made her feel like she was at the center of his universe, this moment—she—was everything. This castle could crumble down around them and he would still be looking at her like this.

  And she would still be wanting him.

  She tugged him toward her. He fell forward, his hand falling beside her head on the bed, bracing himself. She didn’t even care that she was acting the wanton.

  He sucked in a breath as she slid her hand deeper inside his trousers, led by some impulse, some instinct that lived inside her. He was easy to locate. She wrapped her fingers around him. He filled her hand, overflowing. She gave his member a slight squeeze, and he pulsed, grew in her hand. A throb answered between her legs.

  “Alyse,” he panted, his own hand delving between her thighs, finding the slit in her drawers to touch her, stroke her, slide along her opening. He touched that little nub nestled at her center and she cried out, arching under him. His hand set to work, fingers rubbing in fierce circles, bringing her to a frenzy. Moaning, she ran her fingers into his hair, learning the shape of his skull beneath her palm. His head lowered, his breath moist and warm on her neck and it was all too much. Overwhelming. Her release welled back up inside her again. She couldn’t stop it. She didn’t want to. She rode the wave, arching under him.

  He pushed, touched, stroked.

  “God. You’re so bloody responsive,” he grunted against her mouth before claiming her lips in another scorching kiss full of their mingled pants and moans.

  And then, suddenly, he pushed one finger deep inside her, curling up and touching her so deeply that she shattered, crying out loudly. Wildly. Unashamed.

  His hand stayed between her legs. It was like he wasn’t going to give up until he wrung out every last drop of joyful release from her.

  Her hands dropped to her side to twist tightly in the bedding. She tossed her head from side to side, fighting the overwhelming sensations.

  “Let go, Alyse,” he commanded. “You can do it again.”

  With a choked cry, she did, breaking apart as his fingers toiled over her, not even slowing down as another wave overtook her. Her hands rolled over his shoulders, palms skating down the smoothness of his muscled back, ripples of feeling eddying throughout her.

  This couldn’t be her. A creature of passion. Without shame. And yet it was. It was and she didn’t regret it.

  His member bulged in his trousers, prodding rock hard against the inside of her thigh. She was acutely, achingly aware that there was much left to explore between them. The hunger was still there, pulsing and throbbing in her . . . unanswered in him.

  He made a deep sound in his throat and claimed her mouth in a kiss again, his fingers cupping her face. They kissed and kissed and kissed, stoking the fire hotter between them again. She didn’t know kissing could be like this. So mind-addling. So consuming. Endless and yet not enough.

  She gasped and his tongue entered her mouth, slicked over hers in total possession. She leaned in, moaning, giving as much as she took.

  He muttered against her lips, pulling back to seize her gaping bodice and chemise. He yanked the material down to her waist, leaving her naked from the waist up.

  Cool air wafted over her. Her hands covered her breasts self-consciously in an attempt to hide her chest from him. His fingers circled her wrists, exerting only slight pressure, but she was fully aware of his power, the strength in his big hands as he tugged her hands down.

  “I want to see you,” he whispered, his night-blue eyes dark and intense, moving down her throat to her breasts. Her nipples tightened under his stare.

  He eased his hands off her wrists, and this time she didn’t try to cover herself. She held still, stopping herself from covering her body up again.

  She blocked out her embarrassment and focused on him, reveling in his breath-stealing beauty, the intensity of those deep-set eyes on her, the lush mouth.

  She gasped at the first touch on her breast.

  Her head dropped back and she moaned senselessly as he rolled both fingers over her rigid nipple. Back and forth, back and forth, he toyed with the peak, making the point harder with every swipe of his fingers.

  “So beautiful,” he growled. He turned to her other breast, rolling the quickly hardening nipple.

  She squeaked as he pinched her pebble-smooth nipple. She felt a rush of wetness between her legs and she squirmed under him, desperate for relief, for the ache to be filled.

  He looked at her from beneath heavy lids and then ducked his head. His hot mouth closed over the tip of her breast like he was starving and she the long-denied food.

  She cried out as his warm tongue laved and sucked her nipple. She grabbed the back of his head, pulling him closer, likely smothering him at her chest.

  Everything in her tightened and squeezed, pleasure centering where his mouth fed on her, his tongue swirling wildly. Her core pulsed, clenching in agony.

  She cried out again as he turned on her other breast, sucking hungrily, licking and nipping. Her noises were wild. Embarrassing. Especially when his teeth scraped one stiff nipple while his fingers simultaneously pinched down on the other one.

  She rolled her head side to side on the bed. She felt out of control. Too wild, too removed from her own body. She inhaled a thick breath, fighting for control.

  Then he was at her mouth again, k
issing her. Savage kisses that she met with equal fervor. The possibility entered her mind that there would be no stopping this time.

  He tunneled his hands into her hair, dragging the loosened mass.

  “Please,” she whimpered, writhing against him.

  He hopped off the bed. She watched as he shed his trousers until he was naked beside the bed. “Oh, my,” she breathed, allowing herself to have a good look at him. All of him. All of him. All all of him. Her face caught fire and a trickle of unease ran through her. How was that going to fit inside her? As nervous as the sight of him made her, her core throbbed, almost hurting in her need to be filled.

  He was big and looming and jutting straight out and it made her intimate parts clench in anticipation.

  His lips curved in a cocky smile as he returned to the bed, doubtlessly reading her mind.

  He slid back in between her thighs, his own solid thighs rubbing against hers. It was shocking for a moment, the sensation of a man against her, the hair on his skin tickling hers.

  His hands touched her everywhere. Touching, stroking. She was bombarded with sensation, another climax rising up inside her again from all his ministrations.

  His hands slid under her, cupping her derriere, lifting her up so that his manhood prodded at her entrance. She gasped. It was really happening. This . . . him . . . them . . .

  “Please,” she choked, reaching down between them, closing a trembling hand around him. Keeping a careful eye on his face, she wrapped him in her palm and pumped several times, enjoying the way the lines and firelit shadows of his face seemed to grow more stark, more torment-ridden.

  His breathing grew ragged. “Enough.” He grabbed her hand and peeled it off him.

  His big hands gripped her thighs, holding her, splaying her wide as he settled between her, his manhood rubbing against her where she was wet and throbbing. She moaned slightly, tilting her hips up to him.

  He looked down at her, all of him tense—one hard, lean line curved over her, ready to snap.

  His thumb worked small circles inside her thighs as his gravel-deep voice stroked over her. “I feel as though this were inevitable . . . I was a fool to think otherwise.”