The Duke Goes Down

by Sophie Jordan

  His thrusts were relentless, the friction unbearable.

  His eyes gleamed hotly down at her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and flipped them both, settling her on top of him.

  “Perry!”

  “Ride me, Imogen. Take me as you please.”

  His eyes locked with hers as she started to move, uncertain at first and then gradually building a rhythm, gaining speed as she rode him, pushing her palms down on his chest for leverage as her hips worked over him.

  Gaspy little cries escaped her that might later embarrass her, when she reflected. But not now. Now there was only this. Now only raw hunger.

  His low groans encouraged her, fed her passion. An aching pressure built inside her as she moved, increasing the delicious friction and tightening the coil in her belly. Her eyes widened as she felt the familiar swell coming. The pressure built and built and she increased her movements, becoming wild and completely lacking rhythm as she raced toward it, searching for her release.

  “I’m close. Come with me,” he choked, his chest tensing, muscles bunching tightly beneath her fingers. Her nails scored his skin as she worked desperately over him. “Get there, Imogen.”

  “I’m almost . . .” She rocked and felt him deeper. He hit an angle that made her fly apart. She cried out, every nerve bursting. A full body tremor started at her toes and worked its way through her. “Ohhh.”

  His arm came around her waist again and he flipped her on her back. He drove into her, still going, still pumping hard. Sharp gasps spilled from her lips as her climax came hard and fast. He raced toward his own release, pounding into her, launching her into another climax.

  He groaned and stilled inside her, his weight a delicious thing on top of her.

  She went limp, folding both her arms around his smooth shoulders.

  His arms slid around her, coming around her back, hugging her closer, his lips nuzzling in her neck. As solid and heavy as he was, she didn’t want him to ever move. She wished they could stay like this forever. Never leave each other or this bed.

  It was a lovely wish.

  “Imogen,” he whispered.

  “Hm?”

  “I don’t want walks with anyone else.”

  She exhaled. Perhaps it didn’t have to be just a wish.

  Perry watched Imogen for several long moments, studying her as she slept and imagining waking to this—to her—every morning. He could not envision a better life. Not even when he had been the duke.

  Certainly he had to figure some things out. He wasn’t going to bring a wife to his mother’s house.

  Wife. Yes. He was thinking of that. What else could he be thinking at this point?

  He wanted to marry her. It felt right. The notion of building a life with her thrilled him more than anything he’d ever had—anything he had done or ever wanted to do. And build they would. Nothing would be given to them. No royal dukedom with all its contingent wealth would be handed down to him for the simple matter of his existence.

  They would start a life together. Build a life together.

  But until then, he should remove himself from her bedchamber. Morning light already spilled through the window. He needed to make haste and go before her father or housekeeper roused themselves. He did not want to scandalize the household with his presence in Imogen’s bedchamber.

  He eased from bed and quickly dressed himself. Moving to her desk, he searched for a piece of paper to leave her another note. He smiled as he contemplated what kind of clever message he would leave her this time.

  Not finding anything on the top of her desk, he opened a drawer and ruffled through for some stationery.

  His gaze arrested on one piece of paper, his name leaping out at him. Well, rather his old name: the Duke of Penning. He lifted it from the drawer, scanning the words.

  His hand started to shake.

  The paper dropped, fluttering through the air and landing on her writing desk with a whisper. Strange. That slight whisper sounded as loud as a horn in his ears.

  His own letter-writing task forever forgotten, he turned, staring at her where she slept, her brown hair soft all around her on the pillow.

  He could still feel her. Her hair wasn’t the only soft thing about her. Her skin. Her breasts. The pillow of her lips.

  Perry blinked once hard, as though attempting to shake the very real memory of those sweet things from his mind. A moment ago he had thought to never lose those things. He had thought to keep them forever. Now he felt the desperate need to forget. To put those things so far from his mind that he never wanted them again. Never wanted her again.

  He’d lost everything. Because of her.

  And then he’d decided to give everything up—for her.

  The irony was bitter and terrible and he felt a little like he was dying inside.

  He’d cast out any hope or desire for an heiress. He’d given up the notion of reclaiming a semblance of his old life. A life of comfort and affluence. He’d decided to happily settle for whatever life he fashioned for himself as long as he could spend it with Imogen Bates.

  All this time he could have been playing the doting suitor on any number of prospective ladies, but he had forgone that, immersing himself in Imogen Bates.

  Clearly a waste of time and energy.

  What a daft fool he’d been.

  He released a soft bark of laughter. She must have enjoyed tying him up in knots—seeing him brought so low and then watching him pant after her all the while knowing she was the reason for his downfall.

  She stirred in the bed. “Perry?” She moved beneath the coverlet, her legs kicking it free.

  He crossed his arms over his chest as though to trap them, as though he needed to be certain he would not reach for her.

  She lifted her head, pushing that honey-brown hair back from her face as she scanned the chamber, her gaze searching and landing on him. “Ah. There you are.” She patted the bed beside her. “Come back to me.”

  He didn’t move. He could not even summon the will to speak.

  She glanced to the window as though assessing the time and pouted prettily. “I suppose you must go.” She sat up, holding the coverlet over her chest. Still modest. Even after everything. She looked shy for a moment, tucking her hair behind her ear as she murmured, “I will miss you.”

  He didn’t have to harden his heart to resist her sweet charms. It was already hard. It felt like a stone in his chest. A dead thing. Cold and bloodless as a rock.

  She must have finally sensed something was not right with him.

  “Perry?” The pretty pout disappeared. “What is it? Is something amiss?”

  He turned back to her desk and lifted the letter he had dropped as though it scalded him. He carried it over to her, not getting too close. He couldn’t get close to her. He dropped it in her lap and took several steps back. Distance was good. Necessary even.

  She glanced from the paper to him curiously. Settling her gaze back on the paper, she picked it up, canting her head as she examined it.

  It didn’t take long.

  Recognition lit her eyes. The color drained from her face.

  She lifted that big brown gaze of hers to his and slowly shook her head. “Please, Perry. I can explain—”

  “Can you? That would be a neat trick.” He stabbed a finger at the damning parchment. “Can you explain that letter from some curate, confirming my birth date was in fact in January and not the month of May.”

  “Perry . . .”

  “You were the one. You! You outed me. You snooped and discovered the truth of my birth.”

  “Not on purpose. When I took over my father’s book and ledger keeping, I uncovered a few inconsistencies and merely sought to update and organize his records. The previous vicar had handled all the records abysmally. I knew your birth date. I was at most of those celebrations.” She began stammering. “I—I simply wrote to the curate so that he could correct his records since he had the wrong birth date recorded. You must believe me.”
/>
  “Must I? Because you’ve been so honest up to now?”

  “I did not know it would spur an investigation—”

  “So you discovered the truth accidentally? You realize the distinction is not important.” He shrugged. “You made certain to alert the world of your discovery and ruin me.”

  “No.” She pressed her fingers to the center of her forehead as if fighting off an aching head. “I did not! It was not like that.”

  He shook his head. “You cannot even accept responsibility? You cannot admit the harm you’ve done me.”

  She sat up straighter. “I did not mean to!”

  “And yet you did,” he snapped. “You did. You took my life away.”

  Her voice fell small, almost whisper-like. “I’m sorry, Perry. I can admit that. I am so sorry. God, you have no idea how sorry I am. I didn’t mean to, but it happened. And . . . isn’t a part of you glad to know? To have the truth out?”

  He went hard as stone, seeing her then, seeing how little she truly cared for him—still.

  “Glad? How could I ever be glad about any of this? You stole my birthright,” he said softly, perhaps unfairly, but the poison of her betrayal ran swiftly through his veins, the sting so hot that he could scarcely even think about what he was saying. “You must have hated me.” He shook his head. “Really truly hated me to do such a thing.”

  She shook her head, too. “That had nothing to do with this. I didn’t like you. That is true, but then you didn’t like me either.”

  “You’re correct. I didn’t.” There was a long pause, and then he added, lashing out, “And now I don’t again.”

  She flinched. It was the barest flicker of emotion. The reaction passed over her face and vanished quickly. He didn’t miss it though, and he felt a stab of guilt and pain that he quickly shoved aside.

  She had wronged him. She had destroyed his world.

  He should feel no compunction over hurting her feelings.

  “You should go.” She nodded toward her window. Her voice was thick, as though her mouth was stuffed full of cotton and he suspected she was holding back tears. “And never come back. Rest assured, I will be getting a lock.”

  He nodded once in agreement. “Fear not. You don’t need one. I’ll never climb up your trellis again. There is nothing for me here.”

  She watched him with bright wide eyes as he gathered up his jacket, slipping it on before he tugged on his boots. He moved to the window and opened it, peering out to make certain there was no one out and about in the morning. It would not do at all to be spotted climbing down from her window. He didn’t wish to be caught in a compromising position with a woman he wanted to be rid from his life. The last thing he wanted was to be coerced into matrimony with her—especially after they had just asserted their eternal acrimony for each other. That would be a nightmarish union.

  He swung one leg over the sill, freezing when her voice cracked over the chamber.

  “Oh, and Perry?”

  He looked over his shoulder at her, arching an eyebrow in question.

  “Good luck finding your heiress. You will need it.”

  He narrowed his gaze on her. “Is that a threat? Do you intend to thwart me again? Is that what you are thinking?”

  Her shoulders squared. “Don’t be ridiculous. Contrary to what you believe, I am not the reason for everything that is wrong in your life.” She cut a hand almost wildly through the air. “I thought you had changed, but you haven’t. You’re still that hard-hearted spoiled boy who laughed at me and said terrible things, who thought himself above everyone else in the world.”

  He released a hot breath. “Perhaps I was that lad once, but you’ve seen to it that I’m not. I’m quite aware of my life’s limitations. If I marry someone, it will be someone who doesn’t live to torment me. Someone who won’t lie. Someone with integrity.”

  “Ha!” She hopped from bed, whipping the coverlet around her body—her shapely body that he could still recall perfectly in his mind’s eye. “Oh, let us be honest. Whomever you find, you shall torment her, too. You will be miserable and so will she. Whatever woman you marry shall be attached to a man”—she gestured wildly at him—“who will spend his life mourning for what he lost. You will never be happy.”

  A long spell of silence followed this declaration. Her chest rose and fell on heavy breaths.

  “Perhaps,” he allowed, his gaze locked on her lovely face—the sight of which only made him ache, for multiple reasons he could not examine closely right now when he was already in such turmoil. “And I have you to thank for that. Do I not?”

  She’d ripped his heart out and didn’t even realize it.

  Without waiting for her to answer, he turned from her and took his exit the same way he had entered, through the window.

  Climbing down the trellis, he thought he heard the sound of her choked sob floating above him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Perry did not return home—or rather, to his mother’s home.

  He knew it would be impossible to go there without talking to someone, either to his mother or Thurman. Any time he was in the house, they seemed to find him. He could be hiding in a mouse’s den, and they would find him.

  They had interrogation down to an art form, and that was the very last thing he was in the mood for.

  So he walked.

  He walked the countryside as the sun lit up the morning sky. He crossed through pastures and fields, jumping fences. He walked through woods as morning faded to afternoon and the sun grew warmer on his skin.

  He walked aimlessly, thinking over the letter he had discovered, thinking over the words he had said to her. The words she had said to him. He thought of her attempt to apologize and her insistence that she had accidentally outed him.

  He thought about all the things.

  Gradually he realized it could have been as she said. She could have made an innocent inquiry that led to the revelation of his birth.

  Did it really matter?

  Whatever the case, it was the truth.

  How could he blame her for the truth, for the reality of his life?

  He only knew that moments before he read that letter he had been blissfully happy, in love with the woman beside him and planning a future with her.

  And then he had wrecked that.

  He wanted to feel blissful again. He wanted love.

  Sighing, he dragged a hand through his hair, realizing it could be too late for that now. He’d been an arse and had quite perhaps pushed her away forever.

  A terrible hollowness spread through his chest.

  Perry glanced around, taking measure of his location with sudden awareness. He’d walked far, his feet following a familiar path, for he stood on a familiar hill overlooking the familiar sight of Penning Hall.

  His feet had carried him here involuntarily. He looked down at the grand mausoleum with its stone face and countless windows. The vast green grounds. The burbling fountain with its swans. And he felt nothing.

  No ache. No loss or sense of longing.

  “Mr. Butler,” a voice called. “Good day.”

  Turning, he spotted his former housekeeper walking toward him. “Miss Lockhart,” he greeted. “Good day.”

  She stopped beside him and looked from him to the panorama of the grand house she so diligently maintained. “Lovely view,” she remarked.

  “Indeed, it is.”

  Miss Lockhart was relatively young. Not much older than himself. She was certainly young for her position, but she had seemed a natural fit for the role. She grew up at Penning Hall, at the skirts of her aunt, the former housekeeper. When her aunt had expired ten years ago, she had temporarily stepped into the position, but she quickly proved herself in his father’s eyes. What started out as a temporary arrangement became permanent.

  He felt her thoughtful stare on the side of his face. “We all miss you,” she declared.

  He smiled slightly. “That is kind of you to say.”

  “Do you
?” she asked abruptly. “Miss it very much?”

  He studied the house. It was just stones. Brick and mortar. “I find that . . . I don’t actually.” He faced her. “Not anymore.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Oh. I’m . . . that is good, Your Grace.” Her cheeks pinkened. “Forgive me. Mr. Butler.”

  “Old habits.” He shrugged. “When the new duke arrives, that will cease.”

  She sighed and crossed her arms, looking back down at the hall. “That should be at the week’s end. He and his retinue are coming.”

  “Oh?” The man to take Perry’s place would finally be here. He let that information roll around in his head for a bit, and felt . . . nothing. No reaction. No sadness. No resentment. It did not affect him. “Good. That’s for the best. It’s time for all of us to move on.” As he had. As he would. Nodding, he stepped back. “It was a pleasure seeing you again, Miss Lockhart.”

  “Oh. Am I keeping you from something?”

  He shook his head, his slight smile deepening. “No. Not at all.”

  There wasn’t anyone or anything keeping him back anymore.

  Least of all himself.

  Imogen was tending the garden with Mrs. Garry, gathering peas and dropping them in a bowl with satisfying clinks and trying not to think of Perry’s departure as the most devastating thing to happen to her. Even if it was. Not even Edgar’s betrayal compared to Perry walking out of her life.

  It was simple to understand why she felt this way. She never loved Edgar.

  She loved Peregrine Butler.

  She loved him and wanted only the best for him. He deserved only the best of everything in life, and it crushed her to know that she was the reason he would not have everything. She’d seen to it that he didn’t have anything.

  He thought she had betrayed him, and she supposed she had. She had not meant to, but she had outed the circumstances of his birth to the world.

  She had not realized what would happen when she wrote to the cleric of the shire of his birth. She had no suspicions. She thought she was correcting a simple error in the mess of her father’s bookkeeping. Not destroying a man’s life. The mistake had been hers, but he had paid the price.