Dukes Prefer Bluestockings (Wedding Trouble, #2)

by Blythe, Bianca

  She couldn’t allow herself to be seen as so vulnerable. Would he be laughing to himself at the manner in which she would clutch him toward herself? Would he be uncomfortable, bracing himself through the experience as he might during a particularly unpleasant meeting at his club?

  “You can’t be at ease,” he said again.

  The ship continued to pitch, as if to push her toward him, and she tightened her hands on the bed, as the ship rolled through the waves, fighting gravity’s determination to topple her toward the floor.

  “I see,” Callum said, his voice more quiet. “I can go on the floor.”

  “There’s glass on the floor,” she said quickly. The man shouldn’t hurt himself.

  The thunder roared again, more ferocious than any lion, and the world shook. She tightened her grip again, but this time even she could not stay on the bed.

  She pitched over the ledge, and despite her instincts to retain some semblance of dignity, she squealed.

  In the next moment, strong arms were around her, pulling her toward him. She wrapped her arms around him instinctively, noting the breadth of his chest and inhaling his masculine scent.

  She forced her eyes shut, but the room was already dark, and no change occurred. Nothing could banish the man’s comforting clutch or his appealing scent.

  “I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he said soothingly.

  “We’re going to die,” she said.

  “Nonsense,” he said, and he managed to sound so utterly confident that she smiled.

  “Death is not the plan for tonight,” he said.

  “Then what is?” Her voice wobbled, and she felt blood rush to her cheeks.

  At least the room was dark.

  At least he couldn’t see her.

  But the blanket rustled again, and he came closer to her.

  “This is,” he said, in his tenor voice.

  In the next moment, she was being kissed.

  Callum had kissed her before, of course.

  Those kisses had been strong and forceful, highlighting a passion she wasn’t supposed to feel, and one which she knew he certainly did not feel. Those kisses normally were the province of milkmaids and shepherds, people who didn’t need to abide by society’s rules.

  This kiss was tender, despite the hammer of waves against the ship. The world might be turning this way and that, threatening to sink into an abyss of salty water, inhabited by vicious, unseeing sea creatures and the algae upon which they typically satisfied themselves, but right now, Callum was beside her and life felt not nearly as threatening.

  Heavens, she craved him.

  The man’s salty scent tantalized her nostrils, and she adored the rough feel of his cheeks as they brushed against hers. Shaving was not advisable during turbulent seas, and she felt a thrill to witness him in a state not seen by others in the ton.

  This was Callum, and right now, he was hers.

  At least, he seemed to be giving every indication of desiring to be hers.

  His lips brushed against hers. The touch was so gentle it ushered an undulation of yearning through her.

  His mouth moved everywhere. He claimed her cheeks, her throat, even her earlobes.

  Everything sent tremors rushing through her. He was beside her, on top of her, and life was absolutely heavenly.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  And she was. Her heart didn’t hurt, and her breath didn’t come out in strange bursts.

  “I should stop,” he said, but she didn’t miss the hint of longing, the hint of regret emitted through his voice.

  So she swept him into her arms. This time she kissed him. This time her lips sought his. She repeated the movements his lips had made, but this time there was more, as if her action had caused him to unrestrain himself, like a horse freed from an unwelcome harness and eager to gallop about a field.

  She should feel more hesitant. The doctor had been clear that she was to have no excitement. And yet the only thing that seemed to be possible to cause her to distress was to not be with him, to not feel him beside her, to not clutch him, to not have his lips claim hers, his hands—

  The man’s hands were moving in a most intriguing fashion about her.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

  “The lantern is out.”

  He chuckled. “I haven’t forgotten your appearance. Besides, I can feel you.” He brushed his fingers over her body, as if finding pleasure in her mere shape.

  The sky thundered again, but this time it seemed fainter. She wasn’t certain whether it was because they were moving from the storm, or if Callum had such power over her.

  She smiled.

  Of course, he had such power.

  I love him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  NERVOUSNESS, CERTAINLY, was not a trait Callum was familiar with. Nervousness was something confined to other men with less pleasing features, whose skin was less exquisite, whose height could never be termed lofty, and whose shoulders would always be termed narrow, no matter how much they might throw themselves into playing cricket or perching on a galloping horse.

  But gazing down at Charlotte, nervousness thundered through Callum all the same.

  I shouldn’t touch her.

  Excitement could be fatal. The doctor’s apprentice had been specific. How could he harm her? I love her.

  The words rose up unbidden in his mind, and he kept them unspoken.

  Not touching her was impossible. Not when she moaned sweetly, not when her arms clung onto him, and not when she whispered his first name on her tongue.

  He found her mouth again with his, and he allowed himself to succumb to their tongues’ rhythm.

  “Do you think...?” He halted. He shouldn’t suggest it. He shouldn’t suggest actually bedding her.

  It didn’t matter that she was his wife, and consummating a marriage was normally a venture completed the first night.

  “What is it?” she asked. Her voice sounded almost...hopeful.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

  She laughed softly. “I rather think the storm is more likely to hurt me.”

  “I won’t let that happen,” he said defiantly, and his hands tightened into fists, as if he might tackle the storm with the enthusiasm of a boxer.

  “I know,” she said reassuringly.

  And then, sweet heavens, she kissed him again.

  He’d already memorized the curves of her slender body, but now his hands explored everywhere.

  If he were doing this properly, he would have wanted candlelight and to be with her on a luxurious bed. The narrow bed of the ship was imperfect, especially given its recent propensity to tip.

  He kept his mouth on her, exploring her succulent lips and the soft curve of her cheeks and neck. He wanted to claim every inch of her skin. He grasped her tightly to him, and continued to kiss her while he moved his other hand to explore her hips, her thighs, her bottom.

  He pulled himself from her lips, instantly missing their delicious taste. “I want to be inside you.”

  He paused, not sure if she understood. He’d never been with someone untouched before.

  But Charlotte only squeezed him more tightly. “Yes. Oh, yes.”

  His hardness strained against his falls, begging to be freed. The feel of Charlotte in his arms had turned him to stone long ago. He undid the buttons quickly, and he lifted her dress and shift. More pleasure rushed through his body as his fingers touched the delicate shape of her legs.

  Heavens, she was tiny. So delicate. So utterly perfect.

  “I love you,” she said, wrapping her arms about his neck. “I think it’s appropriate that you know.”

  “Sweetheart,” he murmured. “I love you too.”

  She’d uttered the words he’d felt.

  He moved his hands over her again, concentrating on the delightful curve of her breasts.

  “My bosom is small,” she said.
r />   “Your bosom is perfect.” He glided his hand over her chest. His hands brushed over her peaks, and her body trembled.

  “Keep on doing that.”

  “It’s my absolute pleasure,” he said.

  Heaven, it seemed, was right here on this ship, with Georgiana. Her hands tentatively explored his body, and then, he moved his fingers to her entrance, delving into warmth and wonderfulness.

  “Oooh,” she murmured.

  “Is that nice?”

  “Exceedingly so,” she declared.

  His length seemed to harden even more, and he removed his fingers. This time, when he entered her, it would be with his most intimate part.

  “Tell me if it hurts,” he warned.

  “Very well.”

  He pressed into her, and everything was perfect. Pleasure soared through his mind, and he rocked inside her. He dipped his face toward hers, and continued to kiss her.

  The waves sloshed against the hull, and the thunder raged above them. It didn’t matter.

  All that mattered was Charlotte.

  Joy surged through him, and he pulled out rapidly and spilled his seed over her. He then moved his fingers over her entrance, until she trembled and moaned.

  “Sweetheart,” he said again, clutching her closely to him.

  SCREAMING JOLTED CHARLOTTE from her reverie.

  There had been screaming before, but not like this.

  Grown men in her experience did not scream. In the next moment a crash sounded, as if dozens of brooms were snapping.

  The room tilted, and Callum grasped hold of her.

  “Everyone out!” a sailor shouted. “Go! Go! Go!”

  Callum pulled her toward the door, despite the darkness, despite the horrible sounds of the storm and the shouting sailors. Water sloshed in from above, even though no water should be here.

  This was not the nice upright ship she’d encountered in the port, and it certainly wasn’t the majestic quick sailing one, with all its sails carefully sewn, billowing proudly in the wind.

  This ship was a disaster.

  This was a catastrophe.

  The world tilted more.

  Is this death?

  Is this the last thing I’ll remember?

  Somewhere she could hear Callum saying her name, and then he swore and swept her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

  The ship rocked violently, forcing them against the walls. Finally, Callum put her in front of the narrow staircase.

  “Climb up, sweetheart,” he said gently.

  “Quickly!” Lord Braunschweig’s voice bellowed behind her. “The ship is sinking! Mein Gott!”

  “You have your sister?” Callum called out.

  “I’m behind you,” Miss Braunschweig said.

  Charlotte’s heart beat wildly, and she pulled herself up the stairs.

  The wind slammed against her, accompanied by thousands of raindrops that seemed to have shifted into a horizontal direction. Her eyes stung, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the rain or her own tears.

  The mast was missing. That had been the crash. It had likely rolled off the ship.

  The deck groaned beneath her, and a prickle of additional fear ran through her body.

  She glanced at Callum. The man had a grim look to his face “The deck is going to collapse,” he said.

  Oh.

  Fear gripped her.

  “In here! In here!” The captain pointed to a wooden boat.

  Callum swept her into his arms again and lifted her into the boat. He soon placed Miss Braunschweig inside, and then Lord Braunschweig and Callum entered. Sailors followed them.

  They were not trying to save the ship. There was not going to be a ship to save much longer.

  The boat was dropped into the ocean with a large plop that sent additional salt water spraying over them.

  This beautiful ship would be destroyed. Would all the sailors be able to save themselves? Was there even land anywhere near here? If this ship couldn’t survive, how could a mere boat?

  She surveyed her surroundings. Tall rocks rose through the waves like icebergs, illuminated by the bright beams of a light house. The rocks’ jagged tips pointed ominously into the air, like dozens of knives, each one uniquely shaped and dangerous.

  “Quick,” Callum said, moving closer. He grabbed an oar and scooted beside a sailor and began rowing to assist.

  At first, she didn’t realize his sudden fear. But then sizzling sounded, and a great light burst through the air.

  “Quick lads!” Sailors shouted and sloshed their oars through the water, looking determined.

  Amber flames flew into the water, and the air burned her throat. The rocks jutted perilously close to them.

  This is it.

  Charlotte braced for death, but in the next moment, one of the sailors flung a rope to the shore.

  We’re safe.

  The rope drifted back, and the sailor swore. The boat jutted from the intended point and headed toward the rocks. She glanced at Callum. His face was steely, and he scanned the horizon carefully, despite his exertions in rowing.

  “Mein Gott,” Lord Braunschweig shouted, and Miss Braunschweig squeezed Charlotte’s hand.

  Callum was with the sailors. He had not even asked for permission. He’d seen a way in which he could help them, and he’d done so, perhaps not wanting them to offer polite excuses. It wouldn’t do for any of them to ponder the fact that his station was so far above theirs.

  A crowd of people stood on the rocks.

  The sailor continued to try throwing the rope to the land, and finally, despite the wind, one of the people on the land caught it. The townspeople worked to pull their boat toward the land.

  At last, the boat touched the shore, and relief soared through her.

  “Come.” Callum extended his hand to her.

  She grasped his hand and despised the way the mere touch of his skin, unhampered now by the barriers of gloves, sent butterflies flurrying through her body.

  “Dreadful journey,” Lord Braunschweig said, jumping from the ship.

  Callum helped Charlotte and Miss Braunschweig onto the shore. People surged about them.

  “You poor thing!” A friendly woman said, tearing off her own shawl, and wrapping Charlotte in it. “You must get yourself dry.”

  “Th-thank you,” she stammered.

  She moved over the land, following the woman, Callum at her side.

  “It’s a miracle you’ve survived dear.” You wouldn’t believe the amount of bodies that show up here. It’s a difficult corner to turn, and with that thunderstorm...” She shook her head. “The dear captain didn’t stand a chance.”

  Charlotte looked back toward the ship.

  There was nothing where it had been, only some flames floating through the water that had not yet been extinguished by the salty sea and the rain’s continuous downward tumble. More boats were in the water.

  “Is there a place we can stay?” Callum asked.

  “There’s an inn. We don’t usually get guests at this time. I reckon the innkeeper has been preparing rooms for you. Are you hungry?”

  Charlotte shook her head.

  “I think sleep would be best for her,” Callum said.

  “An understanding husband,” the woman declared.

  Callum nodded but his face still seemed stiff.

  “I’m going to help the sailors,” he said. “I will entrust you to Lord Braunschweig and his sister. Unless you need me...”

  The man was so brave. So willing to help.

  She shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I know.” He nodded grimly and then gave instructions to the baron and his sister.

  A thought assailed her. I’m alive.

  She shouldn’t be alive.

  The world had seemed to topple and swerve around her for hours, tossing her about with no constraints.

  The doctor had said her heart would give out were it exposed to stress. Heavens, her heart had bee
n hammered with the fear of survival.

  And yet—I’m alive.

  She should be dead. The duke had married her out of pity and some short term convenience to himself. The man didn’t want to be saddled with a wife, not the real kind, the kind who didn’t die three months after the honeymoon.

  She couldn’t meet the duke’s eyes. He would realize what had happened.

  If this stress hadn’t caused her heart to give out, the doctor must have been wrong. She wasn’t sick after all.

  The duke’s jaw was set, and she wasn’t sure whether the ashen pallor on the man’s face was because he was assessing the prospects for them to survive this, or if he’d just determined that she was fully capable of surviving much more than this.

  Chapter Twenty

  “I am wet and very cold,” Lord Braunschweig grumbled. “This inn is very far from the shore.”

  “It seems to be close to the beach,” his sister said, gazing at a half-timbered structure.

  “Then the captain sank the ship in the wrong location,” the baron said. “An Austrian would have more sense.”

  Miss Braunschweig sent an apologetic look to Charlotte. Lord Braunschweig continued his complaints when they arrived at the inn.

  “I demand to go to London at once,” Lord Braunschweig said. “The farther from the ocean, the better.”

  “Then perhaps we should visit Oxford,” Miss Braunschweig said.

  Her brother narrowed his eyes. “That is most unamusing. London will suit us.”

  “There’s a coach that stops here in the morning,” the innkeeper said. “It leaves very early in the morning though.”

  “If I can manage a shipwreck, I can manage an early morning coach,” Lord Braunschweig declared.

  Charlotte was grateful when the innkeeper showed her to her room, but the sight of a soft bed and privacy did not bring joy.

  She wasn’t dying.

  The realization should have been wonderful, the sort of announcement accompanied by full symphonies, but now horror moved through her.

  Callum had married her.

  Dear, sweet, lovely Callum had married her, expecting her to die before Christmas. He’d chosen her over all the other debutantes, expressly because she was ill suited to be his wife.