Duke of Storm

by Gaelen Foley

  And so she did, her fingers wrapped around him all the while. She grasped his upright shaft from this angle and realized that open-mouthed kisses all up and down his kingly cock were what he truly desired. And when she took his throbbing member deep into her mouth, so that he nigh bumped the back of her throat, her diligence paid off.

  Before long, they found their rhythm together, and she gloried in the fierce pleasure she was giving him. She wasn’t sure exactly when his caresses on her head dislodged the combs from her hair, but her long tresses tumbled down around her shoulders as she kissed and sucked his raging erection. His deep groans enwrapped her senses, and she could feel the power of his body, the strength surging through him, though he was holding it back even now.

  Maggie wanted all of it—the raw male force of him. He thrust into her mouth, bruising her lips, but she didn’t care—she liked his rough, needy savagery; she liked it very much. This man was exactly what she needed, and all she wanted was to give him pleasure endlessly.

  She did not stop until she brought him to climax, but by now, she, too, was frenzied, so when she felt the shock of his hot, salty seed fill her mouth, she drank him down with crazed, greedy thirst.

  After a long moment, he collapsed back against the carriage bench, his chest heaving. “Oh my God. I can’t…believe…we just did that.”

  “Me neither.” Still trembling, Maggie laid her head on his thigh, and he petted her hair. His touch was tender, but she could feel his hand shaking with the aftermath of lust.

  “Oh, I’m really going to like being married to you, my little wanton,” he purred, and Maggie laughed a little, the curious taste of him still tingling on her tongue.

  Then he helped her to her feet; she sat down heavily beside him and stared into space, dazed. Beside her, he put his breeches back into order.

  When he nudged her a moment later, she looked over to find him offering her his flask.

  Wryly, she indulged, though it was the middle of the day. They sat in silence for a moment, him in obvious satisfaction, her dazed with virginal awe at what they’d done. What she had the power to make him feel.

  She wondered if she ought to feel just a bit guilty over such splendid wickedness. But when embarrassment threatened to rise, she refused to let it steal the triumph of their intimacy, however scandalous.

  Instead, she warded it off the same way he would: with a jest.

  “So.” She looked askance at him, then nodded toward his groin. “You’re going to deflower me with that thing, are you?”

  He flashed a broad smile. “Oh, I most certainly am.”

  “When?”

  For that, he pulled her onto his lap once more with playful roughness. “What, you need more already, you adorable little fiend?”

  She wrapped her arms around him and sighed. “I’ll never get enough of you, my dearest Amberley.”

  “Nor I you,” he murmured as he wrapped his arms around her and held her in dreamy silence.

  Several minutes passed in fond, doting quiet as they lazed in the carriage in each other’s arms, silently rejoicing in the happiness they’d found.

  Unwilling to risk any chance of losing it, Maggie sat up and turned to him, wagging a finger. “Now, you’d better not let me catch you flirting with those other girls your aunt is trying to shove off on you on Friday night.”

  He gave her a chiding look. “There’s only you, my lovely.”

  She gazed at him adoringly. “I hope Her Grace won’t be too cross about us.”

  “Cross is her nature, my love. Might as well resign ourselves to it.” He dropped his feet back down to the carriage floor after having rested his crossed ankles on the opposite bench, then he heaved himself up from leaning against the squabs. “Don’t worry about her. She has no power over me.”

  “Well,” Maggie said, “let’s just hope a lifetime with Delia has prepared me to face the dragon.”

  He chuckled. “I have every confidence in you.” He gave her a light kiss, and she brushed her nose against his, knowing she must go, but treasuring every moment in his presence.

  She could not recall one moment in her life in which she had been more ridiculously content than she was right now.

  A happy sigh escaped her. “Ah well. I should probably be getting back before anyone notices I’m gone.”

  He nuzzled his face against hers. “I wish I could keep you here always.”

  “Soon,” she said softly. After giving him one final soft kiss, she rose from his lap and they both went about the business of straightening out their clothes.

  “Now then,” Maggie said to herself, “I know I had tortoiseshell combs in my hair when I arrived.”

  Connor was tucking his shirt into his breeches. “I think I ate them.”

  “Figures.” She grinned at him then bent down to the carriage floor and peered under the seat. She spotted her comb, but as she reached for it, something else caught her eye.

  A small, round, golden object.

  She retrieved it after rescuing her comb, then looked at it: a brass button stamped with some regimental insignia.

  “Darling, did you lose a button off your uniform?” She held it up and presented it to him.

  “No, I’ve never used this carriage. I suppose it could belong to one of my men,” he added, accepting the button from her.

  But when he held it up and looked at it in a shaft of sunlight streaming into the high windows of the coach house, he furrowed his brow.

  “That’s odd.”

  “What is?”

  “We’re infantry. The insignia on this button belongs to a cavalry regiment. Fairly sure it’s one of the dragoons, but I’ve no idea which—” Pausing abruptly, he looked away and muttered, “Oh Lord.”

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What?” she asked as she twisted her hair back into a tidy formation and tucked it into place with the combs.

  Connor frowned. “It’s not the sort of thing one tells a lady.”

  “Am I still considered one after that?” she asked with a rascally smile.

  He laughed heartily. “After that, my love, you’ve risen to goddess in my eyes.”

  She elbowed him as she worked on adjusting the other comb. “What were you going to say?”

  Connor shrugged and looked away. “I just wondered if perhaps one of Richard’s, er, particular friends might’ve been a dragoon and took, shall we say, a ride in this carriage with my scandalous late cousin.”

  Maggie lifted her eyebrows, then dropped her gaze as she realized what he meant. Awkward. “I see.”

  “By the way, expect an apology from Bryce for how he treated you the other day.”

  She jerked her chin up and looked at him with alarm. “What did you do?”

  He lifted both hands. “Don’t worry. I merely showed him the error of his ways. There was no blood, I promise.”

  “Connor.” She set her hands on her waist and tilted her head at him, trying to look reproachful, though she couldn’t help but smirk. “Well…if it’s already done, at least tell me this: did he cower?”

  He tapped her on the nose. “What do you think?”

  “Ha.” She could not deny that she was pleased. “Did he tell you anything useful?”

  “Not really. Then again, if Richard had had some sort of liaison with whoever lost this button, I’m not sure he’d have wanted his darling Bryce to find out about it.”

  Maggie harrumphed at her former suitor’s unimaginable two-timing.

  “Hmm,” Connor said, “I suppose I could ask around at the Officers’ Club about it… But to admit to that vice is risking court-martial.”

  “Oh, Connor, it’s plain what you must do,” she said, sitting on the bench and hitching her skirts up to make sure her garters were well fastened.

  He stared at her legs—and much more than her ankles—like he’d forgotten what they were talking about. “Huh?”

  His desire for her was extremely flattering, but she snapped
her fingers to regain his attention. “Simply track down your former butler and ask him if any of Richard’s companions were dragoons. Butlers know everything that happens in a household. Trust me.” She nodded with great certainty. “If anyone would know Richard’s secrets, it’s the butler. Always.”

  “But, Maggie, the butler might’ve been the one that poisoned me. That’s why I sacked him.” He shrugged. “Besides, by now, I have no idea where he is.”

  “His whereabouts would be easy enough to learn, my love,” she said. “You’ll have all your staff records somewhere in the house—home addresses, references, and so forth.”

  “Oh…”

  “By the way, did you notice there were dragoons at your duel?”

  “Yes. They came over and spoke to me after I shot Bryce in the hat.”

  “Maybe one of them had designs on you,” she teased, poking him in his flat stomach.

  He snorted. “And maybe one day hell might freeze over.”

  Maggie couldn’t help but laugh as she brushed her skirts back down and rose again. “So cruel, Your Grace!”

  He arched a brow. “What can I say—I’m a heartbreaker.”

  “You’d better not break mine.”

  “Never.” He leaned down and kissed her, and Maggie went all dreamy for a moment.

  “By the way,” she continued after he ended the kiss and reality gradually faded back in, “I saw one of those dragoons during my jog through the rain the other day. I don’t know who he was, but I recognized him from that day. He gave me a bit of a fright, actually, at first.”

  “What do you mean?” The major instantly came to attention.

  She waved off his look of concern. “When he approached me, I thought he had some sort of improper intentions. But he was only offering me a ride home to escape the inclement weather—which is more than my former suitor did.”

  “You didn’t accept, I hope?”

  “No, of course not.” She shrugged and hopped down from the barouche. “I was practically at my doorstep, anyway. He did rather startle me, though, addressing me by name. For a moment, I took it amiss, but then I realized he must’ve known who I was because of the spectacle I made of myself at the duel, running over to you like that.”

  “Ah, I found it very touching.” With his cravat draped around his neck, Connor flashed her a jovial smile, then grabbed his tailcoat and jumped down from the carriage after her.

  “Well, anyway, he was one of those dragoons. But, as I said, I’d already reached Delia’s doorstep, so there was no point accepting his offer. Even if I had a long way to walk, a lady does not get into a closed coach with a strange man.”

  “But an open coach is all right?” Connor teased, hooking his thumb over his shoulder to gesture at the barouche.

  She tilted her head and tried to give him a chiding look, though she could all but feel her eyes twinkling when she looked at him. “An open coach is entirely acceptable,” she answered in a prim tone.

  “Good. We wouldn’t want to do anything scandalous, you and I.” Dangling his tailcoat over his shoulder, he rested his other arm around her shoulders as he walked her toward the door.

  Maggie looked up at him with affection. “Yes…whatever would the neighbors say?”

  He tugged her off balance so that she stumbled into him with a breathless laugh, then gave her a kiss to send her on her way.

  When the kiss ended, they exchanged a smoldering gaze and intimate smiles, then she slowly backed away from him, and only gradually let go of his hand.

  “So, we’ll speak to your butler tomorrow, yes?”

  He heaved a sigh. “I suppose. If we can find him.”

  “Check the kitchen office. Staff records are usually kept somewhere in there, along with the household ledger books. I assume you don’t have a steward here in town?”

  “No, it was just the old butler, Trumbull.” He paused. “For what it’s worth, Aunt Florence felt very sure there was no way he could’ve been involved in the plot against me.”

  Halfway to the door, Maggie stopped and turned to him. “Who’s Aunt Florence?”

  “An aged kinswoman… I think she was my granduncle’s cousin or something. She lives with Aunt Lucinda, though I don’t know how she can bear it. She’s a dear old thing, as sweet as the other one is sour.”

  Maggie was glad to hear that at least one of his relatives was friendly. “Will she be at the soirée on Friday evening?”

  He nodded. “Should be. She told me she trusted old Trumbull entirely. That I should consider hiring him back because he had been with the family forever.”

  She winced. “And you sacked him?”

  “Of course! Even if he wasn’t the poisoner himself, it happened on his watch.”

  “Now you really sound like a soldier.”

  “Shouldn’t a household be run a bit like a regiment?”

  She arched a brow. “Is the family home a theater of war?”

  He digested this for a moment. “Very well. You may have a point.”

  She chuckled with affection. “Darling, a servant capable of rising to the rank of head butler in a ducal household is nearly guaranteed to be as loyal as the family dog. In all likelihood, you needn’t have dismissed him at all. In fact, he probably could’ve helped you more than I could.”

  He scowled at this, and Maggie got the feeling he was berating himself for not understanding better how a great aristocratic home functioned.

  “Well, it’s too late now, isn’t it?” he finally said. “Even if I tried to hire him back at this late date, I doubt he’d take the job. He didn’t think much of my Irish blood to begin with, and after I sent him packing, he probably despises me now. He’s not going to tell me anything.”

  “Except for one small detail,” she said. “You now have a secret weapon.”

  “I do? What’s that, pray tell?”

  “Me,” she replied. “I’m to be the lady of the house, and I’m not the mean one who sacked the poor fellow.” Maggie gave him a smile and then turned slowly, sauntering toward the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll get him to talk.”

  “I don’t know…”

  She paused, resting a hand on her hip. “You think I can’t do it?”

  He laughed, his eyes sparkling. “I’m sure you can do whatever you put your mind to, Lady Margaret Winthrop.”

  “Just watch me.”

  “Didn’t I say I don’t want you involved in this business anymore? For your own safety.”

  “You need me in this, duke. Besides, Aunt Florence said the old fellow’s trustworthy, and I’m sure that must be true. If he’s been with the family for decades, then he must be—”

  “Ancient as Stonehenge?”

  “Perhaps a bit decrepit,” she conceded, “but I was going to say that if anyone will know whether your cousin was having his way with a dragoon, it’ll be our Mr. Trumbull. Don’t worry, Your Grace, I’ll win him back for you.”

  “As long as he’s not a murderer!” he called after her, still trying to sound grumpy, but she detected the underlying note of playfulness in his voice.

  Maggie just waved a hand in the air as she strolled on toward the door. “War’s over, Major. Not everyone’s trying to kill you. Bring the household records tomorrow. They’ll have his address and those of any other servants we might need to speak to so you can hire them back.”

  “Maggie!”

  “You don’t expect me to run your household without servants, do you? If so, you’ll go hungry, because my cooking is even worse than my needlepoint. But I do have a way with the household staff. Trust me on this. Hiring back your old butler will be much easier than finding and training a new one. Especially when His Grace is paranoid.”

  “I have cause!” he said indignantly, but Maggie could feel him smiling behind her.

  “Yes, dear.”

  “What time do you want to go?”

  “Let’s make it eleven. I have to be back in time for morning calls; they start at one.”

 
“Morning calls…?” he echoed. “Last I checked, one o’clock was deemed the afternoon.”

  “You don’t expect the rules of the ton to be logical, do you? Get that silly notion right out of your Irish head.” She blew him a kiss, then went on her way, a giggle of pure happiness trailing out behind her.

  As she walked back out into the golden, sunny afternoon, Maggie felt like she was walking atop light breezes.

  She couldn’t believe it. As much as Connor himself exceeded her dreams, in truth, she’d found more than just her future husband.

  At last, she’d found a place to belong.

  A home… One that needed her just as much as she needed it.

  CHAPTER 22

  Trumbull

  Algernon Trumbull was not, in fact, as old as Stonehenge, it turned out, but, according to his records, a mere eighty-two, and surprisingly spry, as they found the next day. He lived north of London in a quaint little cottage with a garden, a thatched roof, and blue shutters. He was baldheaded and slight of build, but the old man had a spine of steel, and Lord, thought Connor, Trumbull was a butler down to his fingertips.

  Within the confines of the cozy residence Mr. Trumbull had procured for his forced retirement, nary a speck of dust could be found.

  Admiral Nelson himself could not have run a tighter ship.

  Connor, feeling too large and rough-mannered in the low-ceilinged space, was, admittedly, a little afraid of the tiny old man’s polite glare.

  Maggie was not.

  Upon answering his own door for a change, the former butler gave Connor an icy stare, though he bowed, seemingly in spite of himself. Ah, but when His Grace introduced his future duchess, Trumbull drew in his breath and gazed at her in wonder.

  His thoughts were all but written on his wrinkled old face: Now here is a proper lady! Then it was “Oh, do come in, come in, please… Tea, Lady Margaret? Cucumber sandwiches? Scones, Lady Margaret?”

  “Please,” she had said with a grateful smile, though Connor would’ve thought this was imposing.