Celeste Bradley - [Heiress Brides 03]

by Duke Most Wanted

  He was gasping. “Sophie, please—let me go!”

  “No!” she cried, and held on with all her might. “I need—I have to—”

  With a roar, he pulled away from her, his desperate strength too much. Then he was back, driving into her powerfully, fully, hard and fast. Something gave, sending a fiery bolt of agony through her. She shrieked, but still clung to him.

  Then it was gone. He’d torn through the last resistance. Now it was only pleasure, slick and sweet and darkly hot as he drove helplessly into her again and again, his male growls of untrammeled lust drowning out her own trilling sighs.

  His dominance and his heat and his very loss of control thrilled her. She exulted in her feminine power to excite him, in being beautiful and desirable to him. Each hot, powerful thrust and each dragging, exquisite withdrawal swept her away with tidal strength.

  He cried out her name when he sank into her one last time, his orgasm ripping the breath from him.

  It was only too bad it was the wrong name.

  She ignored that flicker of pain, reaching instead for the pleasure of his release throbbing inside her. Ecstasy spiked again, mingling her cries with his groans, melding their hot breath and pounding hearts until she could not tell where she ended and where he began.

  It was absolutely perfect. Though the manor might be crumbling about them, it might as well have been heaven.

  He fell upon her then, dropping his face into her hair, easing himself to one side as his fading erection slipped from her body. She whimpered.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, breathless but full of remorse. “I should have been more careful. I shouldn’t have—”

  She lifted a weary hand to press her fingertips to his lips. “Shut it, Gray. It was splendid. You were splendid.” She thought about it for a moment. “I’m fairly sure I was splendid, as well.”

  He laughed damply and pulled her into his embrace. “You were indeed splendid. You were splendidest.”

  She sighed happily. “I expect I was.” She snuggled into his arms and lay her head upon his chest. “You’re mine now,” she whispered sleepily.

  Just as she faded into exhausted sleep, she thought she heard him murmur in response.

  “Always.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Sophie roused slowly, gradually becoming aware of every throbbing ache in her body. Make that her hard-ridden, hard-walked, hard-loved body. She stretched beneath the covers, sliding her hands over her nakedness, testing her limbs. Nothing seemed permanently damaged. She opened her eyes.

  The chamber was dark but for the fire. The room’s grimy shabbiness was hidden in shadow, leaving only the gracious proportions and lovely ornate details to please the eye. With a bit of love and work, such a room could be a work of art—a room fit for a duke.

  This duke. Her duke. The one she’d most wanted.

  He was awake, looking out the bedchamber window at the moonlit estate outside.

  He was naked and beautiful. No renaissance sculptor could have brought forth a finer creation.

  “Gray?”

  He turned to her with a smile, but the desolation in his eyes alarmed her.

  “What is wrong?” Although she rather thought she knew.

  He shook his head, still smiling. “Nothing.”

  “Horseapples,” she declared firmly. Rising to her knees, she sat back on her heels with the sheet absently clasped to her bosom. His gaze warmed with desire and she was glad to see it—always!—but she held up a restraining hand when he came toward her.

  “Gray, do you trust me?”

  His eyebrows went up wickedly. “Implicitly. Are you going to tie me up again?” His smile slid to a comical leer. “Will you wear your corset this time?”

  So arrested was she by a wave of lustful curiosity that she almost let him change the subject. She shook off the distraction just in time. “Wait.” She scrambled back, away from his open hands. “I want to know: do you trust me?”

  He stopped his forward rush and drew back a little. “I trust you, Sophie. I’ve always trusted you. You’re the truest person I’ve ever known.”

  Oh. Well . . . best perhaps not to venture there, at least not quite yet. I’ll tell you the truth soon, my love, I promise. Or would she? Graham thought he was a terrible rogue, but in truth he was the only man in his family who took honor and responsibility seriously at all. Would he even accept the money if he knew she’d stolen it by trickery?

  Little faces, sunken and mournful . . .

  Right. If it was wrong, then it was wickedness in good cause. She took a deep breath. “I want you to believe in me, Gray. I can—we can save Edencourt. I know it seems hopeless now, but you’ll see. We’ll have everything that we need.”

  His smile took on a curious twist and he tilted his head as he gazed at her. “Sophie, I know you’re exceptionally clever—”

  She took his hand and brought it to her heart, pressing it there. “I promise you, Gray.” She tried to convey it with her eyes and her entire being. “Everything will be perfectly fine.”

  He frowned slightly over his smile. “Everything will be perfectly fine? How can anyone promise that? Life is never perfectly fine.”

  She squeezed the hand she held. “Believe. If you can’t believe in the future, can you at least believe in me?”

  As he gazed at her, his brow cleared and his eyes brightened for the first time. “I believe in very little,” he said slowly. He brought her hands, still clinging to his, to the warmth of his lips. Then he smiled at her so unguardedly that it took her breath away.

  “But I absolutely believe in you, Sophie Blake.”

  You’re never going to be able to tell him. The secret will lie between you always.

  So be it.

  They made love again, softly and slowly this time. He was careful with her bruised flesh, so sweet with his gentle touch and his easy, cautious thrusts that it brought tears to her eyes to be so cherished.

  “Don’t cry, Sophie,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll make sure you never need to cry again.”

  The tears came in a flood then and she clung to him, not sobbing but not able to stem the steady leaking from her eyes. Alarmed, he tried to slide from inside her, but she locked her legs about his waist and held him there.

  “Love me,” she whispered. “Please, I need you.”

  So he loved her, slowly and carefully, until her orgasm lifted her effortlessly into a shimmering sky and overwhelmed her there, turning her into a mindless scattering of stars. Her cries echoed throughout the empty halls, followed shortly by his harsher, deeper one.

  Afterward, as he lay breathless upon her, his face tucked into her neck, she confessed one of her many secrets. “I love you,” she told him. “I have loved you since the first time I beat you at cards, or perhaps even before . . . but I never believed in you. I am sorry for that. You deserve better.”

  He made a sound, then lifted his head. “No, I really don’t—”

  She stroked her fingers into his hair, then pulled gently. “Shut up, Gray. I’m proposing.”

  “Oh.” He shut up, a grin forming.

  She shook her head. “Stop smiling. This is serious.”

  “Right.” The grin widened.

  Her own smile tried to fight forth, then she sobered. “I always knew there was a good man inside you—the one who spent time with a lonely girl, the one who put her at her ease when she was doing her best to rid the house of breakables.”

  Graham winced, thinking of how he put her at ease, by making her realize his indifference.

  “I believed that if someday you had the chance to prove that man, you would,” she went on. “You took your bloody sweet time doing it, but you have indeed proven yourself to me. I, on the other hand, behaved very badly indeed. I thought that if I became Sofia, that I could change my destiny with the shallow tools of allure and seduction. I—how shall I put this?—I turned into you.”

  “Oh,” he said faintly. “Ouch.”

  “
Precisely. However, I am happy to inform you that I am no longer you. I am no longer Sophie the Stick, either.”

  He gazed at her, his brow furrowed. “I never called you that.”

  “To my face.”

  He put his hands over his face. “Right.”

  She laughed. “Don’t despair, Gray. You are no longer Graham Cavendish, layabout dandy. We are both changed.”

  “I like the new Sophie. I especially liked the new Sophie in nothing but my shirt.”

  She smiled. “I like the new Graham. I especially liked the new Graham in nothing at all.”

  He smiled back, slowly. “So are you going to propose, or shall I have my way with you again first?”

  She rolled away from him and sat up on her knees. She held out one hand. He took it and knelt on the bed facing her. “I propose that we both propose again,” she said.

  He kissed her nose, for they were nearly of a height. “I propose that we accept that proposal.”

  She pushed him back slightly so she could gaze into his eyes. “I love you. I believe in you. I trust you. I want to be your duchess and help your people and have lots of tall, skinny fair-haired, green-eyed children and love them as fiercely as I love you.”

  He swallowed, for his throat had become tight. “I love you. I believe in you. I trust you. I want to be the finest duke I am able, with you at my side, and I want to father lots of tall, skinny reddish-haired, gray-eyed children and love them as fiercely as I love you . . . and I want you to believe that.”

  She smiled. “I believe, Graham. I will always believe in you.”

  THE TRIP BACK into London that morning was uneventful, if one didn’t include spending a good half an hour persuading S.H. to allow two riders on his back once more.

  “He used to be such a nice horse,” Graham said, shaking his head. “I can’t understand what’s happened to him.”

  They mostly rode in silence, unwilling to let go of each other even for a moment. Despite the fact that Sophie found herself on horseback again so soon, for the first time in her life she allowed happiness to sweep her away, unguarded and unwary. After all, just as she’d assured Graham, everything was going to be perfectly fine.

  All too soon, the dirty horizon of London came into view. Then they were riding into the city itself. Cartwheels clattered on cobbles. Shouts of laughter and anger rose above the clamor of rubbish bins and the calls of sellers. After the eerie quiet of Edencourt, the assault on Sophie’s ears reminded her of that long ago day—only three short months ago!—when she’d arrived in London with two gowns and a trunk of stolen . . . er, unwanted books from Acton.

  So much had changed since then. She had changed the most. Never again would she allow anyone to oppress her. Never again would anyone try! She would be the Duchess of Edencourt, rich and influential, with powerful friends and family!

  Edencourt was not the only entity to be saved this day.

  They came upon Brook House all too quickly. “I’m sorry to even stop here,” she told Graham, “but Fortescue must be going out of his mind with worry. I only hope he hasn’t sent word to Deirdre yet.” And then there was the matter of her clothing. She could hardly get married in boys’ trousers and shirt!

  She kissed Graham good-bye and ran into the house. At the door, which promptly opened to a very relieved-looking butler, she turned to wave at him once more.

  “I’ll meet you at Eden House!”

  Then she was inside, feeling half-naked without Graham at her side, reassuring Fortescue that of course she was all right and no, she hadn’t been robbed by bandits, she’d been just fine, she’d been with His Grace the whole time, etc.

  Fortescue only nodded at that. “Yes, miss. I knew he’d gone missing as well.”

  Sophie smiled. “The valet grapevine?”

  He raised a brow. “Indeed, miss.” Then he looked worried once more. “However, when I didn’t hear from you yesterday, I did send a rider to their ladyships to see if you were possibly with them.”

  Sophie bit her lip. Oh, dear. Deirdre and Phoebe would be so worried. “We had best send more riders at once. Hopefully we can catch them before they panic.”

  Fortescue nodded. “Yes, miss.”

  Time was ticking away. “I must change quickly,” she said, heading for the stairs. She flashed a smile over her shoulder. “I’m getting married today. Will you send Patricia up?”

  At that, Fortescue turned to stone. “Patricia O’Malley is no longer employed at Brook House, miss. However, I hope you will accept my congratulations.”

  Sophie turned, alarmed. “Is she all right? Where did she go?”

  Fortescue lifted his chin. “I’m sure I don’t know, miss. I shall send a housemaid up to you, if that meets with your approval?”

  He was certainly not happy about the situation, but Sophie hadn’t the time to delve further. After the ceremony, though, she was determined to get some answers. The last time she’d seen Fortescue, he’d been a quivering pile of love-struck livery with perfect hair. Now he was a stiff, rigid poker of a man whose hair looked as though he’d been running his hands through it for days.

  On her way up the stairs, she prayed that Patricia was all right and that Deirdre and Phoebe were not rushing home to save her.

  GRAHAM LEFT THE bishop’s office with a light heart and a special license in his hand. With his mother’s ring still residing safely in his waistcoat pocket, he was one highly prepared bridegroom. Obtaining the license had been even easier than he’d thought.

  He laughed to himself, thinking of what Sophie said when he told her where he was going.

  Her eyes had widened. “Doesn’t that require an enormous bribe?”

  “For other people, perhaps.” He’d grinned. “For me, only a tiny bit of blackmail. Himself happens to visit a certain girl at Mrs. Blythe’s Palace of Pleasure—and I happen to play the occasional card game with that girl’s rather indiscreet secret lover.”

  Sophie had smiled slowly. “Bad bishop. Good Graham.”

  S.H.—whom Graham was tempted to rename “Savage Horse”—stood outside the gates, sullenly submitting to his reins being held by a wary junior acolyte. “Take care, Your Grace. He bites.”

  Graham tried to defend the beast. “He’s really very tired, you see.”

  The young man only stared at him uncomprehendingly and rubbed furtively at his robed arse.

  “Right.” He’d better return the thing to Somers.

  Somers wasn’t pleased. “What did you to do my horse?” He walked around the beast as the three of them stood in the mews behind the house where Somers kept rooms. The horse put his ears back and bared its teeth at its owner, who stepped back in dismay and looked at Graham in horror. “Did you beat him?”

  “Of course not!” Graham was truly offended. “I only rode him double out to Edencourt and then around the countryside for four hours yesterday and then double back to London this morning!” He thought for a moment. “He hasn’t had anything but grass, though.”

  Somers looked as though he were about to cry. “Oh, you poor baby,” he whispered to his horse. “It’s all right now. Papa’s here.”

  S.H. let go a long shudder and then planted his forehead wearily in Somers’s chest, who then proceeded to murmur rather sickening endearments as he shot scathing looks at Graham.

  “Ah . . . I’ll just leave you two alone.” Graham retreated swiftly. Really, he’d only borrowed a horse, for pity’s sake!

  The walk to Eden House wasn’t terribly long. Graham cut through a few of the alleys to speed his way, whistling happily and thinking of plunking Sophie into yet another giant copper tub this evening after the simple ceremony was over. This time he’d feed her himself!

  When he heard footsteps behind him, he paid no attention, distracted as he was by thoughts of soap and water and simply miles of long, elegant legs . . .

  Abruptly he became aware that the footsteps were running at him! He turned just in time to throw his arm up to deflect a blow.


  “What the hell!” Without thinking, he reacted by throwing a fist wildly in the direction of his assailant’s head. The fellow dropped the plank he wielded—dear God, the thing had nails sticking out of it!—and pressed his hands over his nose.

  “Bloody hell!”

  Graham saw then that the fellow had a cap pulled low over his brow and a black cloth tied over the lower half of his face. All that was visible were a pair of furious, pain-maddened eyes.

  This wasn’t good. Graham quickly glanced about. They were in an alley, far back behind several great houses. The grounds were extensive and the occupants and their servants weren’t likely to respond to cries from the alley.

  He should run. Of course, the fellow could simply run after him. He looked like a strong enough lout.

  Graham balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to take action as soon as he knew the best course. Damn his father’s excesses! If his wedding was interfered with by those damn creditors, Graham was quite prepared to bury the old duke’s body in a pink silk gown as revenge!

  “Tell your bastard employer that I’ll pay what I owe someday,” he told his attacker furiously. “Killing me won’t make it happen any sooner!”

  The man’s eyes widened in surprise, then he shook it off. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a long, gleaming knife.

  Graham couldn’t believe it. “I said, not now!” In a swift motion given added speed by the absolute end of his patience with money troubles, he bent to retrieve the dropped plank and swung a single mighty blow at the damned thug’s knees.

  The man went down with a heavy thud, then began rolling around the filthy alley clutching his shins. “Aiii!”

  “I’ll bet those nails stung,” Graham said without sympathy. He threw the plank down in disgust. “So by God, leave me alone!”

  With that, he turned his back on the writhing minion and strode back to the street and on to Eden House.

  On to Sophie.

  Chapter Twenty-seven