My Forbidden Duchess

by Minger, Miriam

  True enough, a pair of dark-clad riders were whipping their mounts to drive them faster toward the carriage. Walker cursed vehemently and slid down the glass to yell at the driver, “Keep on, man! Don’t dare stop no matter how close they come!”

  Cursing again, Walker turned around to find Marguerite fully awake now and staring at him wide-eyed. He said nothing but looked out the back window once more to find the accursed riders were gaining upon them. He jumped up to douse the lantern light, plunging the interior of the carriage into darkness lit only by moonlight.

  “Highwaymen! Get onto the floor, Marguerite!”

  He’d had to shout above the thundering hooves and near-deafening clatter of the carriage wheels, which made him say another prayer that none of them came loose to send them crashing into the trees. Marguerite had thankfully heeded him, huddling at his feet as Walker drew his other pistol and prepared to fire if either rider came alongside the speeding carriage.

  Another quick glance out the back window made him certain they had only another few moments before the highwaymen would reach them.

  Walker was an expert shot, but if the two riders split up and attacked from both sides, he’d need all of his skill to engage them at the same time. And if their purpose was to try and disable the driver, who yelled even now to the horses and cracked his whip to drive them harder—

  “Walker, your right side!”

  He twisted round at Marguerite’s outcry as one of the riders appeared at the window, the highwayman’s mount snorting with exertion and glistening with sweat.

  Walker heard Marguerite scream and he knew then that the other rider had reached them, too, on the opposite side of the carriage just as he’d feared. He didn’t wait any longer but fired his pistol at the attacker nearest him at the same moment the carriage seemed to swerve.

  Good God, had the driver lost his grip on the reins? Walker knew he’d missed his shot and aimed the second pistol even as another pistol fired from what sounded like right beneath him.

  Walker heard an agonized scream, not female at all but that of a man as the rider outside the opposite window pitched from his mount and fell onto the road. Only then did Walker see that Marguerite knelt at the carriage door with a smoking pistol in her hand.

  Incredulous, Walker wheeled around to see that the second highwayman had fallen back. A quick glance out the rear window confirmed to him the man had pulled up his mount to see to his comrade, who lay sprawled in the dirt at the side of the road. Then the carriage rounded a curve and Walker saw them no more, though he wasn’t looking out the window any longer.

  Instead he stared at Marguerite, her face as pale as death in the bright moonlight, her eyes shimmering with tears.

  “Do…do you think I killed him?”

  Walker had barely heard her over the near-deafening rumble of the carriage, relief flooding him that the driver clearly still had the racing vehicle well in hand. Yet it was nothing to the emotion he felt as he retrieved the pistol from Marguerite’s trembling hand.

  Amazement.

  Anger that she’d opened herself up to such danger kneeling at that window. She could have been the one who was shot!

  And pure unbridled admiration as he continued to stare at her, hardly believing what had just happened.

  He saw it then, the opened compartment near his feet where she’d grabbed one of the pistols. How quickly she had reacted while he’d been looking the other way! He shoved his own pistols into his belt and bent down to gather her into his arms, while she threw her arms around his neck.

  She trembled still, from head to toe, holding onto him fiercely as he sat down with her upon his lap and yelled to the driver, “No more stops! Ride on to Gretna Green!”

  “Aye, milord!”

  Walker heard the crack of the whip, the carriage continuing its breakneck pace, though Walker knew the driver would have to slow the horses soon. Yet even a fast trot would keep the highwaymen well behind them, especially with one of them wounded.

  Or dead.

  Still Marguerite clung to him, her head buried in his shoulder, though Walker found himself starting to laugh. He couldn’t help it, he still felt more astounded than he’d ever known in his life.

  “Good God, woman!” Tears bit his eyes, too, but only because he was laughing so hard. He heard it then, a giggle from Marguerite, though she hadn’t lifted her head.

  He knew he’d said nothing to comfort her, but then again, he should be congratulating her! Yet when she giggled some more, no longer trembling, he was glad she appeared over the shock of saving their lives.

  For that’s exactly what she’d done…saved their bloody lives! With one shot!

  His laughter at last subsiding, he lifted her chin with the crook of his finger so that she stared up at him now, thankfully no longer so pale but looking more than a little amazed herself. She wasn’t giggling anymore, either, both of them gazing at each other as Walker raised his voice so she could hear him.

  “That wasn’t luck, was it?”

  She shook her head, and smiled up at him somewhat self-consciously. It looked like she wanted to tell him something—damn, he’d be so grateful once they were free for a few hours from the noisy clatter of the road!

  He bent down close to her ear, curiosity overcoming him. “Who taught you to shoot so well?”

  She shrugged as if it were a simple thing, what she’d just done, and moved her soft lips to his ear. “Donovan. After my sisters and I were abducted…well, he insisted that we learn how to protect ourselves. Pistols…a knife. A blow to the nose and a kick to the groin if anyone ever tried to grab us again—”

  “God help me.” Walker shook his head, as incredulous as before though he planned one day to thank Lord Donovan. “Remind me never to touch you without your permission, agreed?”

  She giggled again. Her eyes shone in the moonlight, her hands drifting up to cradle his face. At her sweet touch he couldn’t help himself and lowered his head, though he stopped a hair’s breadth from her mouth.

  “May I kiss you, Miss Easton?”

  A sudden bump in the road brought their lips together before she could answer, Walker groaning to himself that Gretna Green could not come fast enough!

  Chapter 10

  Marguerite glanced around the lamplit shop while the bleary-eyed blacksmith took his place across from her and Walker at the anvil.

  In truth she had never imagined her wedding day with no church, no altar, and no family around her, but that reality did not dim the happiness swelling in her breast.

  Nor did the early hour, Walker surprising her with his request that they marry first thing and not wait for daylight.

  After what had happened with the highwaymen, he’d said he wanted to get her back safe and sound to London as soon as they were wed and had rested for a couple hours. Now he stood beside her, so dark and tall and handsome, and soon to be her husband! What else could she possibly need?

  As soon as they had arrived in Gretna Green before dawn, he’d secured them a room at a comfortable inn across the street and had the trunk brought up, and then left her to bathe and change. Not a proper tub bath but a sponge bath from a basin of tepid water that had nonetheless made Marguerite feel so much better after almost two days on the road.

  Then she’d dressed in the pale lilac-colored gown with sprigs of delicate white flowers that Lindsay had helped her to choose, the garment so pretty and flowing that Marguerite truly felt like a bride. Last she’d brushed her hair until it shone, and left it cascading down her back rather than pinned in her usual upswept style.

  Walker’s only remark upon seeing her when she’d gone downstairs to the inn’s parlor was one low-spoken word, “Beautiful,” his gaze feeling like heat upon her.

  He’d gone upstairs then, reluctantly, she could tell, and had his turn to bathe and change his clothes, too, a navy blue coat and matching breeches borrowed from Jared that fit him perfectly. Lindsay had packed a waistcoat for him, but Walker had opted for wear
ing only a clean white shirt beneath his coat, the open collar revealing a hint of raven-black hair upon his chest.

  Oh, Lord. Marguerite blushed hotly when Walker caught her looking there and he smiled at her, which made her smile at him with some embarrassment and fix her gaze once more upon the rumpled-looking blacksmith.

  “Hold hands over the anvil, if ye will.”

  At once Walker sobered and took her hand, his fingers so strong and steady while Marguerite knew she trembled.

  As the blacksmith’s plump wife and a yawning young man still in his nightshift, clearly their son, drew closer as witnesses, Marguerite felt suddenly so flustered that everything became a blur. She heard Walker declare after the blacksmith’s query that he’d come to wed of his own free will and she murmured the same, and then familiar words followed that she’d heard when her father had performed marriages in their parish church.

  Walker’s voice sounded so resonant and clear when he said, “I will,” while her “I will,” sounded so breathless—truly, she’d never felt her heart pounding so madly! Then a filigreed gold band was slipped upon the fourth finger of her left hand. She glanced up with surprise at Walker, realizing Lindsay must have given him the ring for her to wear.

  He stared back at her intently, his voice grown husky as he repeated the solemn words after the blacksmith, “With this ring I thee wed…” Before Marguerite knew it, she heard the man say, “I declare ye to be man and wife before God and these witnesses in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen,” and their wedding was done.

  She felt Walker squeeze her hand and she tremulously returned his smile, but she jumped when the blacksmith brought a hammer down upon the anvil with a jarring clang. Walker only chuckled and drew her into his arms to kiss her soundly right in front of their witnesses, while Marguerite was certain her racing heart would leap from her breast.

  His lips were so warm and so insistent that she forgot all else around them, her fingers twisting in his shirt…until a gruff cough from the blacksmith made her flutter open her eyes. With evident reluctance Walker released her to accept their certificate of marriage, and then he entwined the fingers of his free hand with hers and drew her with him toward the door.

  Her gaze was so fixed upon him that she scarcely realized they had stepped outside until she heard birdsong heralding the sunrise, the sky brightening to the east in fiery hues of orange and gold. No one else was up and about yet, just them. Again Walker pulled her into his arms, but he didn’t kiss her. Instead he looked down at her as if memorizing how she looked in that moment, his hand cradling her face as his thumb caressed her cheek.

  “My forbidden duchess…”

  She memorized his beloved face, too—yes, she knew then how much she loved him!—while breathing in the sweetness of the cool morning air. But when his expression hardened suddenly, she grew alarmed and stiffened in his arms.

  “Walker?”

  He didn’t say a word, but hugged her more tightly against him. Then he swept her so unexpectedly into his arms that she cried out, but as he strode across the street toward the inn, he nuzzled her cheek as if to reassure her.

  Only when he carried her inside into the small foyer did he press his lips to her ear to whisper vehemently, “Before God and man, you are my wife and we’ll not hide it, that I swear.”

  She didn’t speak, her heart beating faster when he took the steps leading upstairs two at a time as if she weighed nothing to him. The inn was so quiet, everyone still sleeping. Even the kindly proprietor and his sweet-faced wife must have gone back to bed after Walker had roused them so early. He didn’t stop until he’d reached their room at the end of the hall, where he used his elbow to press down the handle and push open the door.

  Marguerite sucked in her breath. When last she’d seen this modest chamber with its four-poster bed, mirrored dresser, and small coal-burning stove, she’d been an unmarried woman and Walker had kept his distance as was proper to do. Now he couldn’t have held her more closely as he set her down upon the floor, her breasts swelled against his chest. She met his eyes, saying nothing, waiting.

  “Woman, are you hungry?”

  She shook her head, his low query the last thing she would have expected from him at that moment. He looked hungry, but not for food, a breathlessness seizing her as he stared at her.

  “Good.”

  He released her and left her so abruptly to bolt the door, and deposit the pistols he still bore atop the dresser, that Marguerite could but stand there trembling…knowing what was to come.

  Corie had explained to her years ago about what transpired physically between a man and a woman when wedded, but nothing could have prepared her for Walker striding back to her so lithely as if intent upon claiming her. Like a panther she’d seen illustrated in a book and she was his mate, waiting expectantly for him.

  Suddenly it seemed her senses had come alive and she smelled him, all masculine with the barest hint of sweat. Her breath caught when he took her hand and drew her toward the bed. Not quickly, but with a determined purpose that thrilled her, she couldn’t deny it. Did he smell her scent, too? Was his heart thundering like hers?

  He stopped with her at the side of the bed and turned her slowly around so that her back was to him, and then he began to lift her gown from her body.

  Not quickly, either, but with agonizing slowness as his hands slid the muslin up the length of her…her calves, her thighs, her waist, the sides of her breasts. She could hardly breathe, she was so conscious of his fingers skimming over her, grazing her skin here and there…

  Heaven help her, did he think her less disconcerted to have her not looking at him as he undressed her? Nothing could be further from the truth!

  She was dying inside, and closed her eyes as he slipped her gown over her head and tossed it onto a footstool beside the bed. She had nothing left upon her but her short corset and chemise, both of which could also be slipped over her head. Yet he paused to pull her close against him and nuzzled her neck, and then he lifted her hair and gently kissed her nape.

  “Oh, Walker…” Marguerite leaned her head to one side as shivers plummeted to her toes.

  The sensation of his breath warming her and his lips barely touching her was almost more than she could bear. As if realizing that her knees had begun to grow weak, it seemed that within a moment he had divested her of all clothing but her white silk stockings to her knees and her kid leather slippers.

  Instinctively, she crossed her forearms over her bare breasts, and only then did he turn her around and hold her at arm’s length so he might look at her.

  Stare at her. His dark midnight eyes drinking in the sight of her as his gaze swept her from head to toe and back again. She felt a slight trembling in his hands where he held her upper arms, but she was trembling, too! So much so that she dropped her arms to her sides and heard his sharp intake of breath when his gaze fell to her breasts.

  She dropped her eyes, too, and flushed with such heat to find her nipples hard and rigid, the areolas a deep blushing pink. As if inviting Walker to touch her there…kiss her there, Marguerite glancing up when he suddenly sat down upon the bed and pulled her to him.

  She gasped when his mouth covered a nipple, his large hands cupping both of her breasts…the stirring sensation of his lips teasing her, suckling her, unlike anything she could have ever imagined. She closed her eyes and moaned from deep in her throat, so primal a sound she had never heard herself make before.

  Now she was certain her knees would buckle, her trembling become a quivering that seemed to come from deep between her inner thighs.

  Dazed that his tongue flicking at her, his mouth hungrily nibbling at her could elicit such a response from her, she leaned into him even as he groaned and rose abruptly from the bed. She had no more opened her eyes in surprise when she found herself lying upon the bed and Walker pulling off his coat and near ripping the shirt from his body.

  She could but stare at the magnificence of his chest and th
e midnight mat of hair that trailed down his powerfully defined abdomen to where he worked at his belt, flinging it to the floor, and then kicked off his boots. An instant more and his breeches were gone and he climbed onto the bed to straddle her.

  His breathing hard now as if something animal had unleashed within him, he parted her legs with his knee. She could but stare into his eyes, mesmerized by the heat reflected there.

  She knew what was to come…and yet she didn’t know, just as she hadn’t known how wondrous his tongue could feel licking at her nipples. Suspended above her on his arms bulging with muscle, he swept his burning gaze over her again as if claiming what he saw lying beneath him with her legs spread wide.

  Her breathing quickened, too, when she saw the turgid shaft between his thighs plunging toward the very heart of her.

  She arched her back at his first thrust, so deep that whatever pain she’d felt disappeared at once as he filled her, a roar bursting from his throat that made her cry aloud, too.

  In pleasure. In wonder. In heat and fire as he thrust into her again…and then again, and without knowing it she wrapped her legs tightly around his hips to draw him closer, deeper.

  He kissed her face, her neck with each powerful lunge until, his entire body shaking, he captured her mouth with his and groaned his release into her.

  She shuddered, too, her legs around him gone rigid as something white and blinding burst before her eyes, her climax so intense that all conscious thought fled.

  She could not have said how long she lay there limp and satiated beneath him, their jagged breathing gradually slowing…when finally Walker rose up on his elbows to look down at her.

  A familiar wry smile upon his lips.

  His fingers lazily swiping strands of hair from her face as he actually began to chuckle. Chuckle!

  She smiled up at him, too, their bodies still joined so completely that she felt his laughter deep inside of her. She reached up to wipe a trickle of sweat from his brow, marveling at the muscular weight of him atop her though he bore much of it upon his arms.