Always the Rival (Never the Bride Book 7)

by Emily E K Murdoch

  A little dramatic, he would admit, but it was impossible not to consider the fourteenth of October as the end of his life.

  It would certainly never be the same again. Instead of going upstairs to an empty bed, he would find within it…

  Charles closed his eyes for a moment and tried not to think. Miss Lloyd. Well, he knew his duty. She would, as well. They would create heirs for the dukedom of Orrinshire, and once their duty was done, he would not trouble her again.

  Something was trying to get his attention, and it was not until he had closed his eyes that he realized what it was. There was a noise in the hallway, quiet, soft noises, but a disturbance, nonetheless.

  Charles opened his eyes. Someone was speaking with Hodges. It was a voice he knew, but so muffled that he could barely make out a single word.

  “I implore you to come in,” the butler was saying in a hushed voice. “The weather outside, it is simply –”

  His voice broke off as more muttering crept under the study door. Charles moved over to it, his heart starting to beat. Who could be outside at this hour? A vagrant, someone who should have gone begging to the servants’ entrance? A tenant, hurt and unable to make their way back to their cottage?

  But no. As he calmed his breathing down and pricked up his ears, he heard the murmuring again. It was a woman’s voice.

  “…leave a message…”

  Those three words were enough. He knew that inflection, would know it anywhere. Priscilla.

  Almost tripping over himself to open the door and fling himself through it, his feet managed to steady themselves as he stumbled into the hallway.

  Hodges turned, the front door wide open, and there, a silhouette in the doorway thanks to the lanterns on either side of the door, was Priscilla.

  She was absolutely drenched. Her bonnet had collapsed under the weight of the water, her hair straggled down her back, utterly undone from its pins, and her gown and jacket were sodden.

  “Priscilla,” he said weakly.

  The hallway echoed the word, amplifying it. She started, eyes darting between him and the butler.

  “Ah, Your Grace,” Hodges said smoothly. “I was just encouraging Miss Seton to step inside and dry off before she returned –”

  “And I said no, thank you,” Priscilla interjected. Her eyes were wild, her cheeks pink.

  Charles swallowed. She evidently did not consider herself welcome here, though what she was doing at his door in the middle of the night…

  This was it. Charles had heard about these moments: those instances when a decision, one way or another, would transform the rest of your life. There were two directions he could go in, and each would give him an entirely different life.

  He knew what he should do. It was on the tip of his tongue to wish her well on her walk home and instruct Hodges to shut the door and lock up for the night.

  But he hesitated. How could he do that to Priscilla? Something pulled him to her. Just because he did not understand the tide, that did not mean it did not tug him. They were two ships pulled in a current, moving faster and faster toward each other no matter what they did.

  Whether or not he agreed with her that his engagement to Miss Lloyd should end, he would not have left a dog outside in this weather.

  “You are being ridiculous, Priscilla,” he said stiffly. “You must come inside, look at that weather. The rain will be gone soon, I dare say, and you can change into some of my mother’s things before you depart again, if you really insist on returning home. If not, there are plenty of spare chambers at Orrinspire Park.”

  “Let me show you to a guest bedroom,” said Hodges smoothly, stepping aside to invite Priscilla in.

  She stood, still dripping water on the step, and bit her lip. It was clear she had absolutely no wish to step inside, but the state she was in left her very little choice.

  “Under protest,” she said darkly as she stepped inside.

  Charles saw the butler wince as she started to drip on the Axminster rug.

  “Come on upstairs, Miss Seton,” said the servant hurriedly. “I will instruct a maid to bring towels and a change of clothes for you, along with some…some bedclothes, if you decide to stay the night.”

  Hodges placed an arm around Priscilla and herded her toward the stairs. The pair of them walked past Charles, who stepped aside. Priscilla’s eyes were downcast. She did not look up.

  Their echoing footsteps soon died. Only then did Charles let out the breath he had not known he had been holding.

  Priscilla. What in God’s name did she think she was doing here? Well, he could not allow himself to be distracted. He had the study to tidy, papers to put away before he went to bed. Whenever he left it untidy, he received a disapproving sigh from Hodges.

  His fingers made light work of the paperwork scattered across the desk, but as he turned to the documents box, they fumbled. Cascades of paper and parchment fell to the carpet in a scattered mess.

  Charles sighed, dropping into his armchair. Concentration had utterly abandoned him the moment that Priscilla had entered his house. His mind was not here, in the study, attempting to file away papers. It was upstairs, with Priscilla.

  A Priscilla who was undressing at this very moment.

  Charles moved quickly, anything to take his mind off the delectable hidden delight just a few feet away, and knocked over a bottle of ink in the process.

  “Damn and blast it!”

  A quick attempt to wipe up the ink with his handkerchief merely spread the ink further, and he cursed again.

  What was he doing here, cleaning up like a footman in the butler’s bad graces, when he could be where he wanted to be: upstairs, with Priscilla?

  Within seconds he had reached the study door, and he flung it open and marched through it without a second thought.

  He was always trying to keep everyone else happy, but what about his own happiness? When was the last time he had done something that was selfish for his own enjoyment?

  Hodges was walking sedately down the sweeping staircase. Charles ran past him, taking the steps two at a time.

  “Miss Seton is in the Blue Room, Your Grace.”

  Charles did not reply. Did the butler guess? Perhaps he did, perhaps not. It ceased to matter when he reached the landing.

  The Blue Room was only six doors down on the left, and he thrust open the door and stepped inside without even considering a knock.

  Priscilla screamed as he shut the door behind him. She was holding up her sodden gown around her breasts, the ribbon ties trailing along the floor. She was evidently just about to strip off the wet gown to dry herself off.

  Every part of him stiffened, and he forced himself to not feel but to think as he leaned against the door. He had to get this right.

  “Why are you here?”

  In the silence that followed, all that could be heard was the gentle drip of water from her soaking wet gown.

  Priscilla stared. “This – this is the room that Hodges showed me. If you would prefer me to change in another, I can –”

  “No,” Charles said, waving away her words impatiently. “Not here, in this bedchamber. Here, in my home.”

  He watched her swallow, saw the panic in her eyes, and had to force his attention away from the rising and falling of her breasts.

  “I-I intended to leave a note with you,” she began.

  “And you did not wish to speak with me?” Charles could hardly keep the bitterness from his voice. “After almost two decades of friendship, it comes to this? Notes left in the dead of night?”

  But Priscilla did not attend to his words, nor give any reason for her actions. “Your mother will not be best pleased if she finds me here,” she warned in a low voice, avoiding his gaze. “And will be even less pleased if she finds you here. With me.”

  Charles took a step forward. The instinct to be close to her was impossible to ignore. She retreated, the back of her legs hitting the large, four-poster bed.

  “My mother is not h
ere,” he said shortly. “She is in London for the weekend. What was in the note?”

  She was but a few feet away. If he moved forward again, he could pull her into his arms and…

  No. He must be strong. He had to force down those thoughts, ignore those desires. It would not do to lose control, not when Priscilla was barely clothed.

  She finally lifted her eyes to his, and he was astonished to see that they were full of tears.

  “I have decided,” she said quietly, “not to rival Frances – Miss Lloyd – any longer. It was wrong of me to do so, wrong of me to think I could just step in and claim you for myself. I have no wish to hurt you, Charles, and so I…I will leave you alone from now on.”

  Leave him alone? What did that mean?

  “I am not that sort of woman,” Priscilla said, more strongly now. “I am not a lady who takes pleasure in making another’s life miserable, and…and that is all I am doing. So no more.”

  Charles shook his head, as though that could remove the words. “You speak as though you are abdicating your very existence from my life.”

  What was life if Priscilla was not in it?

  She did not reply. Seeing her standing there, defiant, angry, and utterly defeated in her hopes, a new certainty washed over Charles’s mind.

  He did not want to marry Miss Lloyd. More than that, he wanted to marry Priscilla.

  It was a certainty he had never felt before. He could not apologize for it, just as he could not apologize for being the Duke of Orrinshire, or for having blue eyes.

  It was who he was.

  “Why are you deciding to give up your…your rivalry now?” He spoke quietly, with no resentment. There was no need to be bitter when the way forward seemed so clear.

  Priscilla laughed wryly. “Well, I have hardly been succeeding up until now! I had thought our…our encounter last week would tempt you. Would make you see…but you are too good for that, Charles. You honor your commitments, and it is time that I honored them, too.”

  “I am not too good for that.” The words came out almost as a croak. He took another step closer, and Priscilla could not back away. “Priscilla, all I have been able to do in the last seven days is think of you.”

  Her eyes widened, her fingers still clutching at the sodden gown held up under her arms.

  “I have been able to concentrate on nothing else,” he continued, “since you stepped out of that drawing room shouting that you wished you’d never spoken to me about…about this.” Charles swallowed. He had never said this to anyone before, but if not now… “Priscilla, I love you.”

  She gasped. “You love me?”

  He nodded. “I cannot believe I did not know it before, or I would have told you far sooner – but Priscilla. I cannot go ahead with this marriage without telling you. I-I love you. More than my own flesh. More than anything. More than anyone.”

  This time it was she who stepped forward, her cheeks flushed. “We – we should not speak this way. You are engaged to be married.”

  Charles lifted a hand and caressed her cheek. Priscilla flinched away from his touch, but he did not remove his hand. After a heart-stopping moment, she tilted her head and allowed the caress.

  “Engagements are made to be broken,” he whispered.

  It happened so quickly that Charles did not know whether he had leaned forward or if Priscilla had, or if they had both moved.

  Whichever it was, they were kissing, Priscilla abandoning all attempts at restraint. Her hands were in his hair, and Charles had both hands on her buttocks, cupping her toward him as he clung to her, the only real thing left in the world.

  This was precisely where he was supposed to be, with the person who was supposed to be there alongside him.

  It was Priscilla. It had always been Priscilla.

  Eventually, she pulled away, and with blushing cheeks, said, “My gown is getting you all wet.”

  Charles grinned. “Wet, I can handle. I would like nothing more than to take all your clothes off and make love to you.”

  Chapter Ten

  Her heart was beating so fast, for a moment, Priscilla was sure she had misheard Charles.

  “I would like nothing more than to take all your clothes off and make love to you.”

  Her fingers almost slipped on the gown she was still attempting to keep above her breasts, but she maintained her grip as her mind spiraled.

  She swallowed, staring into his tumultuous eyes. It was everything she wanted – everything she had hoped for – when she had first suggested the rivalry with Miss Lloyd.

  Was it possible that all her dreams were coming true? It felt more like a fairytale than real life.

  She licked her lips, playing for time, hoping that her mind would catch up with her, and Charles gave a groan and tightened his grip on her, which did not help her concentrate any better.

  He said he would break off his engagement. He said he wanted to make love to her – did this really happen to people?

  Her body reacted quicker than her mind did. Desire to be touched, to be teased, to be caressed… Those passions overwhelmed her, putting her mind in a heady state not exactly conducive to making decisions.

  But as she looked at him, all sense of decorum, of dignity, of what was expected of a lady of the ton disappeared from her mind.

  She wanted him. She would never be able to say it aloud, so scandalous a thought it was, but she could know it in her soul, nonetheless.

  They could be together now.

  “I…” she started to say.

  Her mind did not permit her to continue.

  What if they did not marry? What if she fell with a child?

  Could she ever regret taking this leap with Charles, a gentleman she trusted beyond any other?

  She swallowed and saw Charles was still smiling.

  As though he could read her mind and see the concerned thoughts mulling in her brain, he said gently, “Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me? I need you to trust me now. Priscilla, I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  It was exactly what she needed to hear in that moment, and she leaned forward and kissed him hard on the mouth as she had done in the drawing room a week ago.

  Now she knew. After weeks of wondering whether she would have to sit in church and watch the man she loved marry another, she would never have to worry about it again.

  He was going to marry her.

  As he tugged her close, safe in his arms, Priscilla knew she could trust him. Charles would never say anything unless he meant it. He was going to end his engagement with Miss Lloyd.

  She pulled away to say the one word she knew he needed to hear. “Yes.”

  Without any fuss, he gently pushed her back, so she was lying on the bed.

  Charles joined her on the bed, immediately bringing her into his arms and kissing her passionately. She allowed herself to ignore all those voices telling her to stop, shouting that this was not what young ladies did.

  She did not care. Young ladies did not have nearly enough fun.

  She gasped as Charles placed his hand on her stomach. Even through the wet gown, she could feel the heat of his touch. It was like a brand, like she was marked by him and would never belong to another again.

  “God, Priscilla,” Charles moaned as he kissed her neck.

  Everywhere he touched tingled, every time his lips moved, she quivered. This was unlike anything she had known, but she was eager to learn more.

  “More,” she panted, unable to put the entire thought into words. “I want more.”

  Charles grinned. He leaned forward to kiss her on the mouth, his tongue ravishing, teasing, tempting, and as his lips drove her wild, she felt his hand move again.

  It came down onto her breast, squeezing it gently, and a spark of intense pleasure jolted across her body.

  Priscilla broke the kiss and stared at Charles in wide-eyed surprise. “Oh, that – that was…”

  “I know,” said Charles softly. “Do you want it again?”
>
  Priscilla nodded. She did not know what to ask for, but she wanted it so badly.

  He lowered his head, and his hand teased and twisted her breast, Priscilla crying out in his mouth, her legs moving to entwine around him. She wanted him closer, far closer than he was, and there was only one way she could think of to make that a reality.

  “Stop,” she moaned.

  At once, Charles pulled away, breaking their physical connection by rolling onto the other side of the bed.

  “I am sorry,” he said quickly. “Did I hurt you? Do you want to slow down – to stop?”

  But Priscilla did not reply. She was too busy, her scrabbling fingers pulling at the wet gown that was doing nothing but preventing her from feeling Charles.

  His eyes widened as she dropped the wet gown off the side of the bed, and his mouth fell open as her damp underslip followed it.

  “Christ, Priscilla,” he croaked.

  Priscilla felt her cheeks pink a little as she laid back down on the bed. She could not remember ever being so vulnerable with another. Her instincts made her speak the words she would never have countenance to in any other circumstance.

  “Now, you.”

  Charles stood up on the other side of the bed. First his jacket, then waistcoat, then shirt, and then breeches…

  Priscilla gasped, unable to look away.

  “Are – are you sure this will work?” she said aloud, hardly believing she was being so forward. “You are so…so large.”

  Charles shuddered slightly, and for a moment, she thought she had offended him, but then he joined her on the bed, keeping a respectful distance.

  “If we go slowly, and I make sure you enjoy every single minute of it,” he said jerkily in a voice that was barely contained. “Then, yes, this will work.”

  Priscilla nodded, her heart thumping. Without saying another word, she reached out and touched his chest.

  Charles closed his eyes and moaned. “How about…how about I just lie here, and you touch me as you want? Explore me, Priscilla. I am yours.”

  He rolled onto his back, and Priscilla moved to be close to him. As her side touched his, Charles moaned again, and she drew back.