The Virgin at Goodrich Hall

by Danielle Lisle

  “Would you like an introduction?”

  Victor snapped his gaze to the man who so many feared, but whom he had always got along with. Still, he sensed danger from Belfort at that moment.

  “What do you know of last night?”

  Belfort shrugged. “Only what my wife has told me, and I think she left out a great deal,” he muttered. “Your only saving grace is that you didn’t bed her.”

  “Did you not bed your wife before your marriage?” Victor snapped, irritated.

  Belfort turned to him. His expression held restraint, but his jaw was clenched and there was a look in his eyes that could send several men running. “Yes, but I declared my intention. You have not.”

  “And therefore I have not bedded her,” he snapped back.

  Belfort arched an eyebrow, then took a deep breath. “Are you planning to claim her as your wife? If not, leave and we will not speak of this again. She may know your face, but she does not know your name. I will ensure that stays the case until she marries.”

  Victor sighed. Belfort was protecting Maggie. How could he be angry with the man for doing what he wished he himself could? Belfort was the husband of her friend, whereas Victor and Maggie had never been formally introduced.

  “No, I do not want an introduction.”

  Belfort’s features hardened once more.

  “But I would like a favour.”

  Chapter Six

  The clatter of hooves stopped as his carriage came to rest outside the Park Street house. It was a grand home, he had noted while his carriage had been parked down the street, the driver waiting for the opportune moment to descend upon it. The time had now come. Maggie had gone shopping with Lady Belfort, as he’d expected.

  A footman opened the door to the carriage. Victor nodded and descended the step, removing his hat as he stopped at the door to the residence. The knock of his cane was quickly met by a butler.

  “Duke of Rothbury to see Lord Carrieton,” Victor said, handing over his card.

  The startled expression of the butler came and went in a fleeting moment as he stepped aside, allowing Victor to enter.

  Victor was led into the library, a quaint and homey little room. He stood by the fireplace, his hand resting on the polished marble as he waited, his mind a muddle of thoughts and worries. She did not know his identity—Belfort had assured him of it. While he would not normally concern himself with his own worries of a woman disapproving of him owing to his rank, it concerned him now. Maggie was no ordinary woman. Would she resent him because of his wealth and stature? She had hinted at her desire to be normal, able to seek love. He could not offer her normality.

  The doors opened and he looked up to see a startled lord pause at the door before hurrying forward in greeting. It seemed Victor would need to do little to win over her father. What man would not want a duke for a son-in-law? The question that concerned him was, would Lady Margaret want a duke for a husband?

  * * * *

  As Margaret’s shoes touched the stone that lined the walk outside the impressive home, surprise washed over her.

  “Do you have the correct location? This is not Belfort House.”

  “No, it is not Belfort House, my Lady, but the location Lord Belfort asked that you be delivered to,” the young footman said, with a bow.

  “Oh? Well, thank you.”

  She moved forward as the door to what looked to be an even grander home opened. She was not even sure where she was, but it certainly was not her friend’s new home. No moon shone tonight, and even with the lanterns lit in the street she could not recognise where she stood. The fog rolled thick this eve.

  The butler bowed as she approached. He closed the door behind her and took her coat, then handed it to a footman, who also bowed before he departed.

  “Good evening, Lady Margaret. I hope your journey to us was a pleasant one,” the older man said. “My name is O’Brian and I am the butler here.”

  “Where exactly is ‘here’, O’Brian?” she asked suspiciously, and the man pursed his lips slightly.

  “Forgive me, my Lady, but if you would follow me all can be revealed.”

  Margaret took a deep breath. She was not in the mood for games. She was tired and wanted nothing better than to curl up in bed and cry her lonely tears. She was in no mood to dine with others. Margaret had only accepted Claire’s invitation because she missed her friend and had been assured it would be a quiet evening at Belfort House. This was certainly not Belfort House. While the house was grand, the foyer that she now moved through was more opulent than any other residence she had visited during her life.

  O’Brian led her through a large archway into the most startling library she had ever seen. Books lined the walls on several levels, and paintings and sculptures had been lovingly displayed around the room. It was superb.

  As the soft click behind her sounded, she turned sharply to look at the now closed doors she had walked through moments ago. Gooseflesh suddenly rose on her neck, prickles sending shivers down her spine.

  Slowly, she turned to face the centre of the library again. A shadow of a man she had not noticed before stood at the end of the long room. It was not Lord Belfort. She could tell by the build of the man. While large, he did not carry the height and build the way her friend’s husband did. She focused on the figure, where he stood cloaked in the darkness.

  Only as he stepped forward into the light did the breath in her lungs escape her. It could not be, yet it was. The man she had run from in the early hours of yesterday morning now walked towards her. His face was a blank mask.

  Margaret closed her eyes, willing his face not to haunt her memory, but she knew it always would. Right now it felt like a curse, though later it may not. No, later she would wish for his face to fill her dreams, dreams that would remind her of their marvellous night together. The night she had felt loved.

  She felt a tear escape and roll down her cheek. The touch of his finger, wiping away the wetness, startled a sob from her.

  “What makes you cry, my Maggie?”

  Another sob left her lips as she opened her eyes, gazing into his stormy ones. Victor. The man who had unknowingly taken her heart. He could not know how much his presence now hurt her.

  “You do,” she whispered.

  “I make you cry?”

  She took a deep breath, shuddering as she inhaled, emotion thick in her tone. “I should not be here.”

  “I can think of nowhere else I would rather you be.” A cunning smile graced his lips. “Well, perhaps I can.”

  She shivered at his sexual undertone, though not with displeasure—far from it. Heat prickled her skin and arousal slowly dampened her cunt. Oh dear, being here only drew out her torment, but she could not force herself to turn around and depart. Every moment in his presence was something she would cherish, even while it came covered in future torment.

  “You may be wondering why you are not at Belfort House,” he said softly. “Damon—Lord Belfort—was kind enough to allow me the use of his carriage this evening. I did not think you would accept my invitation without a chaperone to accompany you.”

  “You have brought me here tonight for a further folly?”

  He quickly reached out with warm hands, grasping hers where they wound together at her front. “No, nothing of the sort.”

  Margaret looked up into his face. His features held the confirmation of his words. “Then why am I here? And how did you know who I was? Did Lord Belfort tell you?” she asked, feeling both anger and thankfulness towards Claire for abusing her confidence.

  “No,” Victor said with a shake of his head, as he led her to a settee. He sat beside her, her hands still clutched in his, the roughness of his fingers caressing hers in a reassuring manner, though it did little to settle her. She tried to ignore his touch, but she could not. Margaret willed her body not to react, but it did not heed her pleas. Desire flowed through her blood—a need to explore this man the way she had done two nights past was heavy on her thoug
hts, but so were many other things.

  “Smith, the butler at Goodrich Hall, learned of your identity from the driver of your hired hack. Your identity would have remained with him if I had not sought it out,” Victor reassured her. “I had to know, Maggie. Did you not wonder who I was?”

  “I did not,” she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from his as sudden hurt crossed his features. “I do not live in a land of dreams, Victor. I know nothing can ever happen between us. You have given me a night I will never forget and you cannot know how much you mean to me.” Tears flowed freely from her eyes. She made no move to brush them away. There was little point—more would surely follow.

  “Yet you left in the dead of night,” he stated, his grip growing tight around her hands.

  “Because I-I could not f-face you,” she sobbed.

  “Why?”

  She cried harder and tried to look away, but he refused to allow it, his gaze intent on her. “Why could you not face me?”

  The truth sat on the edge of Margaret’s tongue, but to speak it would ensure he never came near her again. Perhaps voicing her foolish, but no less strong, emotions would finally make him see. What man cared to have a girl declare her feelings? None.

  “Because I love you.”

  His eyes softened, his lips curving into a smile, lighting up his features in the candlelit room.

  “You make light of my feelings?” she snapped.

  His smile did not diminish. “You cannot know how pleased I am to hear you speak those words,” he said, and removed one of his hands from around hers to pull a small box from his waistcoat.

  “This was my grandmother’s. She gave it to me when I turned fifteen, two weeks before she died,” Victor said, placing the box in her hands. “I want you to wear it, always.”

  Margaret’s hands shook as she opened the box, the soft fabric smooth under her fingertips. The groan of the hinges was the only sound in the room until her breath caught.

  Settled in white fabric sat a grand ruby, surrounded by several diamonds. She had never seen such a striking piece of jewellery. “It is stunning,” she whispered.

  “Not as stunning as you,” he said as he picked up the ring and took her left hand, sliding it on to the second finger from the end. He rolled her fingers down, closing her hand into a fist, and ran his thumb over the ring. “I never thought I would find a woman to whom I wanted to give this. I cared for my grandmother dearly, and she told me only to give it to a woman I could envision spending the rest of my life with.”

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  “You are that woman, Maggie.”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. She could not stop them, though she did not try.

  “Will you become my wife?” he asked, dropping her hands and raising his to her face, where he cradled her cheeks in his palms. “Will you spend the rest of your life with me?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “But we must leave now.”

  His grin of pleasure narrowed slightly as she added her final words. “Leave?”

  “Yes. Father will not understand, but he will be able to do nothing if we go to Scotland and marry before he discovers us.”

  Victor pulled her close, settling her over his lap before he wiped away the tears on her cheeks. “I have already spoken with your father. He gave his blessing this afternoon.”

  She sat there stunned for a moment, thinking back to her father’s carefree and joyous manner when she had returned from shopping. “He said nothing of it.”

  Victor’s lips twitched. “I asked him not to. I told him I was going to ask you this evening when we dined with Lord and Lady Belfort.”

  “Where are they?”

  He shrugged and smiled devilishly. “I do not know. Belfort House, perhaps?”

  She blushed slightly at the thought of his rakish behaviour, but leant forward, finally doing what she wished. She caressed his lips with hers, his groan urging her on as he pulled her closer to him.

  “Where is your chamber, my betrothed?” Margaret whispered as she moved her mouth to the softer skin of his ear.

  She squealed, then followed it up with giggles as he lifted her off the settee, carrying her at a fast clip out of the room, through the foyer and up the stairs. Within moments, the click of a closing door signalled their privacy before he settled her onto the softness of a bed, his weight coming down on top of her.

  “Your father requested a six-month engagement, but I quickly talked him out of that. In two months you will be my wife,” he murmured into the hollow of her throat before his lips kissed it.

  Pleasure coursed through her, her nipples beading in her corset, her need to become one with this man at the forefront of her mind. He wanted her for her, not for her money.

  “But we can wait, if you wish. Holding you in my arms now is enough to get me through the long nights till then.”

  She snorted. “I wanted you to take me at Goodrich Hall, just as I want you to take me now,” she groaned as he bit into the softness at her neck.

  Victor instantly slid off her and the bed, ripping at his clothes and cursing as his hands became caught in the sleeves of his shirt, thanks to his cufflinks. Margaret’s amusement bubbled forth in a laugh as she joined him, sliding off the bed and assisting him to undress. She freed one hand and started on the other but Victor seemed impatient to have her. She did not mind in the slightest, moaning as he pressed his palm against her breast through the fabric of her gown.

  “That’s it, my love. I adore the sounds you make,” he whispered as she slid his other arm through the fabric that had constricted him.

  Another squeal escaped her lips as he spun her around, his lips touching the soft skin of her neck as his warm, solid presence came up behind her. The sharp sting of pain as his teeth nipped her flesh made her groan. A shiver of pleasure raked her body, starting from the bite and travelling down, sending sparks in the direction of both her nipples and her cunt. She felt the moisture pooling there as her internal muscles clenched. Her breasts felt heavy and her breathing deepened—her corset needed to go.

  “Victor,” she moaned.

  It appeared he was a man of many talents. Not only could he send her body melting wherever she stood, it seemed he could also read her mind.

  He found the ties of her dress and quickly undid them, and fabric pooled around her feet. He turned her around, his eyes deep and stormy in the candlelit room as he lifted her shift over her head.

  The gentle touch of his fingers as they ran down her raised hands sent her arousal to new heights. His eyes were dark, his breathing as deep as hers. Margaret had never felt so special or loved.

  Stepping out of her slippers, she allowed herself to break eye contact to move her gaze down his body, pausing on his proud, defiantly aroused cock. The bulbous head wept with excitement for her. She licked her lips, unable to control the action.

  Victor growled, low and deep. Before she had the chance to look up at him, she was tumbling down onto the bed, his body following.

  His demanding lips found hers, his kisses needy and severe on her tender flesh, but she would not have wished for them in any other way. She wanted this man, all of him, without any restraint.

  Her legs wrapped around him of their own accord. She had inwardly applauded his restraint back at Goodrich Hall, but now he need not. He was to be her husband. She would have loved him all her life even if he had not wanted to wed her, but the knowledge that he wanted her as much as she did him only made her heart swell more.

  Victor moved his body until she felt the intense heat of his cock come to rest against her cunt. She moaned and pulled him closer with her legs. He nipped at her lips and growled. His body, too, seemed to shake with anticipation.

  “I cannot wait. I am sorry, my love,” Victor mumbled against her lips. A moment later, he plunged into her with a single thrust.

  Air whooshed out of her lungs at the force behind the move. Her eyes drifted closed as she felt him fill her, stretch her. He didn’t m
ove, though—instead, he remained still, barely breathing.

  Margaret prised her eyes open. Victor held himself above her, focused on her.

  “Are you in pain?” he ground out, his teeth clenched.

  She let her lips curve upward. “I feel wonderful.”

  He growled again and left her body. She was about to protest, only to gasp as he thrust his cock back into her. He pummelled her into the mattress, and Margaret loved the rough pleasure she experienced as he pounded into her. Unable and unwilling to control herself, she dug her fingernails into the skin of his back and screeched, biting into him further as his speed increased. She pulled her legs tighter around him, bringing Victor’s cock deeper within her. Her world quickly shattered.

  Victor’s war cry pierced her clouded brain and she felt her mouth open as she came hard around his cock, but she heard no sound. All she was aware of was the profound pleasure flowing through her blood, and the welcome weight of her betrothed as he settled upon her.

  * * * *

  The bang of the door as it hit the wall woke Victor within an instant. He pulled Maggie under him, ensuring she was covered. Her eyes gazed up sleepily into his.

  “Son! What is this I hear of you bringing a woman into this house? I will not have it! Do you hear me, Victor? This house is only for women of breeding!” his mother’s voice screeched from the doorway.

  Maggie gasped, wiggled as if to escape from under him. He did not allow it.

  “Mother. Get out,” he said, his voice calm, yet deadly.

  “I will not! I am the woman of this house until you wed and that day, by your own esteem, is a century or two away. I shall be dead before you give me grandchildren!” she bellowed back.

  Victor, holding down Maggie, worried she still may try to flee, raised his head slightly and turned to look at his mother over his shoulder. “Mother, I proposed to Lady Margaret, daughter of Lord Carrieton, tonight. She has accepted and your grandchild could well be growing within her as we speak. So kindly get out!”

  His mother looked at him blankly for a moment, then to the sheets that hid Maggie. Anger quickly turned to elation.