My Forbidden Duchess

by Minger, Miriam

  He stared at her, too, and bent his dark head to kiss her fingers and then once more met her eyes.

  “A messenger brought news from Cornwall…” he began only to have Marguerite gasp, though he shook his head as if to reassure her. “No, no, good news from your brother-in-law, Donovan. The tinners were found and are safe and sound with their families. All is well there.”

  Her relief so immense that she lowered her head for a moment, tears blurring her vision, Marguerite could only think then of why she’d jumped from the bed to find him. She looked up to see that Walker watched her silently, giving her time she guessed to take in such welcome news—though she was no longer thinking of Cornwall but of him. Only him!

  “Walker, I beg you…find another way than a duel. Please find another way!” Tears spilled down her cheeks now, and he let go of her hands to reach up to brush the wetness tenderly away.

  “There is no other way, Marguerite. We’ve no witnesses to verify our charge to a magistrate that my cousin paid those cutthroats to murder us.”

  “But the constable in Gretna Green agreed as well that they had clearly attempted to do us grave harm. The one came at you from behind with a knife and you had to defend yourself, while the other…oh, God, if he hadn’t slipped on that soap—”

  “No more!” Walker’s anguished demand silenced her, and he rose from his knees to pull her from the bed into his arms. She couldn’t see his face as he hugged her, holding her so tightly against his chest that she could hear his pounding heartbeat.

  “Woman, I’ve thought almost every moment since I kicked in that door of what might have happened if you hadn’t fought him—fought for your life! Those men earned their just reward and Russell’s treachery will not go unpunished. By God, I swear it!”

  Marguerite said nothing, could say nothing, even as Walker’s shirt against her cheek had grown wet from her tears.

  He would not be swayed. She knew that now, just as she must face whatever the outcome in the morning. Yet now they were together for the precious hours they might have left to them…

  Marguerite lifted her head and reached up her hands to touch his face, only to find his cheeks wet, too, beneath her trembling fingers.

  His eyes, midnight black, stared into hers, his voice grown so hoarse that he spoke in no more than a whisper.

  “Marguerite, whatever happens…know that I love you. Love you…”

  He pressed his lips to hers before she could speak. Her hands fell from his face to clutch at his shirt as his kiss, so impassioned, yet so tender, echoed the words she had longed to hear.

  Yes, they had these precious hours left to them…whatever might happen, and she would think of the morning no more. Only of this moment. Only of him.

  She curled her fingers into the tear-dampened fabric of his shirt as if she could rend it from him, but she didn’t need to. She heard him groan. She felt him lift her from her feet and lay her upon the bed in the time it took for her to draw a breath.

  Then she watched, spellbound, as he kicked off his boots, laid his pistol upon the side table, and stripped off his clothes as quickly as if he, too, wanted to tear them from his body.

  Oh, his body. Bared to her now and so powerful, so magnificent in the muted sunlight that illuminated the room.

  All hard muscles and lean masculine lines that she could but stare at while he joined her on the bed to straddle her. The ripping sound of her chemise from bodice to hem made her gasp.

  “You’re so beautiful, Marguerite,” he breathed, his thighs pressing against her hips as he stared, too, at her naked body. “My wife, my love. So beautiful…”

  Her gaze dropped to his thick shaft grown hard and heavy for her. She began to tremble again, flushing with heat from her swollen nipples to the apex of her thighs where she felt wet for him. Aching for him.

  If he had meant to enter her then, swiftly, ravenously like the morning they’d wed, Marguerite gasped in surprise when instead he shifted his weight and parted her legs to kneel between them. Then he bent over her to kiss the base of her throat, her breastbone, and the rounded curves of her breasts until she sighed beneath him, his hands braced upon either side of her.

  Only for a breathtaking moment did he tease her rigid nipples with his kisses, his tongue, nibbling at her, flicking at her…until she arched her back, moaning. Desperate to hold him closer, she reached up to tunnel her fingers in his hair to find only air.

  He’d suddenly moved lower, dipping his tongue into her navel as the quivering between her legs grew more intense. His hands caressed her breasts now, his thumbs encircling her nipples while his tongue traced a fiery path down her lower abdomen to the woman’s hair at the heart of her thighs.

  She was so lost to his touch, so aroused by his fingers easing open her slick inner lips to find what he sought. When he pressed his mouth to that quivering spot, dipping his tongue deep inside her, she cried out his name in shock.

  Never before that moment had he kissed her so intimately, his tongue plying the nub that ached and throbbed now…the sensation so intense that she cried out again and lifted her hips to his mouth.

  She felt him shove his hands beneath her to clutch her bottom, Marguerite bucking now though he held her fast and suckled her, his tongue thrusting in and out of her.

  Her moaning seemed a deafening roar in her ears until she felt a scream welling in her throat. Only then did Walker rise up above her to plunge his turgid shaft into her and silence her with his kiss, his groans.

  Marguerite went rigid beneath him, overcome by her blinding climax while he drove his hips against hers and shuddered, his hot seed spilling inside her.

  When she had wrapped her legs tightly around his taut buttocks, she could not say, or when she had gripped his broad shoulders to hold him as closely against her.

  All she knew when she opened her eyes moments later to find Walker collapsed upon her, his shaft still hard and deep inside her, was that she felt utterly claimed by him.

  The scent of her sex upon her, upon him.

  Their sweat-dampened bodies fused together.

  Her last conscious thought as sweet satiation claimed Walker, whose breathing had grown slow and steady, and then her, too, “Whatever happens…know that I love you. Love you…”

  ***

  “What of Marguerite, Walker? Does she know you’re going to call out Russell tonight instead of waiting until morning?”

  “She still sleeps,” Walker said tightly to Jared, who followed after him down the hallway to the back of the town house. “You don’t have to go with me. It’s your turn to rest after all and you have Lindsay to think about, and Justin—”

  “I’m your second, remember?”

  Walker didn’t reply as Jared gave a sharp command to the footman at the door leading out to the carriage house to not let anyone enter until he and Walker returned, just as he’d directed Sims at the front door. Both young men had been provided with a loaded pistol and Jared had told them not to hesitate to shoot if they felt threatened.

  Thankfully, Walker found himself encouraged that the footmen had seemed enlivened by a directive holding so much more interest than answering doors and carrying messages. He could not deny, either, that he was glad Jared had chosen to come with him as they made their way through the dark garden toward the stable.

  He had no idea what he would find at the town house he’d shared with Russell. More of his cousin’s henchmen?

  He’d decided the moment he had woken up with Marguerite sleeping so peacefully in his arms that he wouldn’t wait until sunrise to confront his cousin.

  Why stay barricaded here waiting to see if Russell knew they had returned to London and was fool enough to bring danger to their doorstep? The man must sense by now that something was amiss with the riders he’d sent to Gretna Green, since they had not yet shown up with news of an evil mission accomplished.

  Instead, Walker had quickly bathed and dressed and quietly left the room, not even allowing himself a last gla
nce at Marguerite’s still form beneath the covers.

  Damnation, he wanted this thing done and come to a conclusion, no matter that he prayed it wasn’t him that would not live to see another morning!

  ***

  “Easy, Walker, easy…” Jared hissed as they dismounted from their horses and approached the door to the leased town house that appeared ablaze with light.

  It wasn’t late, perhaps no more than nine o’clock, but the street with its fashionable houses was dark except for an occasional lantern, most of the windows dark as well. Everyone else had retired for the night, clearly, but not Russell. Was the bastard already celebrating his imagined inheritance even though his two hired cutthroats hadn’t returned yet to London?

  That thought made Walker grit his teeth, hatred filling him—yes, hatred!—for the man who had engineered a plot that had nearly cost him his bride. In spite of Jared’s warning, he wanted to beat down the door and call out Russell to a duel with pistols right there on the street, the authorities be damned!

  And it might come to that, too, the lanterns here and there offering more light than Hyde Park at this time of night in spite of the waning full moon.

  Or any other out-of-doors location Russell might name in London, for Walker at least would grant him the choice of where they would face each other. But it would be tonight or by God, he would call upon the nearest constable in spite of having no proof to back up his charge.

  Word against word, who would the authorities believe? Alexander Scott, the future Duke of Summerlin, or a baronet with enough motive to see himself hang?

  A constable… Walker almost hesitated as the image of Marguerite’s face flashed in his mind’s eye, but no, the intensity of his enmity for what Russell had done compelled him to stay the course. He had all he could do not to pound upon the door. Instead he knocked firmly as Jared came up close behind him.

  Almost at once the door was thrown open by a pair of bewigged and liveried footmen of matched height that Walker didn’t recognize from before, or perhaps it was because they were dressed so formally.

  Silk stockings? Powdered wigs? Fancy red velvet coats? Was the bloody Prince Regent coming to call? He thought of Sims and the other footman at Jared’s town house in plainer livery, which made Walker believe then that Russell was indeed entertaining. Well, this was one assembly he couldn’t wait to disrupt.

  “Walker Burke and Lord Dovercourt to see Sir Russell Scott at once!” Walker demanded, which made Jared utter a low curse.

  A sideways glance told Walker that Jared held a pistol at the ready beneath his coat, just in case. It was all he could do not to draw his own pistols as Russell, dressed in formal evening attire, walked from the library into the foyer. If the baronet had been surprised at first to hear Walker’s voice, his expression nonetheless appeared carefully composed though Walker noted the stark displeasure in his gaze.

  “Cousin, I’ve been wondering when you might return. Did you accomplish the business you set out to do?”

  Walker opened his mouth to spew some of the animosity churning inside him when a burly, dark-haired man suddenly careened out of the library and fled down the hall.

  “Jared, go after him! That’s the same man I told you was watching us on the street!”

  Walker’s pistols drawn now as Jared lunged after his quarry, Walker wasn’t surprised to see that his cousin’s face had blanched white. Russell spun half around and jutted out an arm to try and stop Jared, but Jared tore right past him, knocking him down.

  At once Russell tried to scramble to his feet, but Walker thrust a boot onto his chest and shoved him back to the marble floor.

  “Strange how your man looks so similar to the one that tried to knife me in Gretna Green,” he grated, pointing his pistols at Russell’s chest. “Brothers, perhaps?”

  Russell said nothing, but hatred shone in his eyes.

  Yet he stiffened beneath the pressure of Walker’s boot holding him down when the clip-clop of horses’ hooves and the rumble of an approaching carriage sounded from the street. Out of the corner of his eye, Walker saw that the front door was still wide open, the liveried footmen staring from him to Russell and looking as if they wanted to flee, too.

  “Ah, your father has arrived from Devonshire,” Russell said tightly, still glaring at Walker. “Will you have him see us like this or will you allow me at least to rise to my feet?”

  Chapter 14

  “My father?” Stunned even more when Russell nodded, a twisted smile curving his thin lips, Walker considered shooting his cousin dead right then and there.

  Who would fault him? Clearly Russell had arranged something nefarious for the duke, too, and why not? Until Walker had showed up so unexpectedly at his door, his cousin must have believed his plot intact and Walker and Marguerite murdered.

  “You bastard,” Walker growled as he heard the carriage come to a stop on the street. “Was that why your man was here? You thought me dead, Marguerite dead, so you were going to have him hasten along my father’s death and find yourself suddenly become a duke?”

  Russell stared at him with that same perverse smile, and he laughed dryly no matter the pistols pointed at his face. “I sent Charles word that I suspected you’d run off to Gretna Green with a common parson’s daughter—and look! He accepted my invitation and left his sickbed so he could be here to await your return. A messenger came earlier today saying he would arrive this evening. Not to congratulate you, I’m sure, but to berate you for the bloody American fool that you are!”

  Sickened, Walker ground the heel of his boot into Russell’s chest, making his cousin grimace though he didn’t cry out. “So you did lure my father here to murder him—”

  “I’ve got him, Walker!” Jared shouted from the hall, a kick from behind sending the man he’d chased after pitching headlong into the foyer. “Seems his name is Jack. I’d wager he’ll have a fine story to tell the magistrate, won’t you, Jack?”

  “Damn you…” Russell muttered, not taking his eyes off Walker even when another violent kick from Jared sent his surly-looking prisoner sprawling to the floor beside him. “You stole everything from me! Everything!”

  “Alexander?”

  It took only a split second, Walker glancing behind him to see his father in the doorway leaning heavily upon his longtime valet when Russell’s fist caught him squarely in the groin. He doubled over, gasping, too much in agony to fend off a vicious blow to the side of his head.

  White light blinding him, Walker fell to his knees, one of his pistols spinning across the floor behind him while the other was snatched up by Russell. He heard Jared shouting for his prisoner to get back down on the floor even as Walker felt the barrel of the pistol thrust against the middle of his forehead—oh, God, Marguerite…

  The explosive report of a pistol firing at close range rang in his ears. His eyes squeezed shut, his lower body still throbbing fiercely, Walker knew then he wasn’t dead. He sank back on his haunches, trying to catch his breath even as he opened his eyes to see a pool of blood forming beneath the twitching body upon the floor.

  Russell’s body.

  “Dammit, Walker, you know better than to take your eyes off your enemy!” came Jared’s raised voice, Walker looking up to find his friend shaking his head though his face looked deadly pale. “Serves you right if you’ll have to abstain from your conjugal duties for a week or better!”

  Walker gave a short laugh, which made him gasp in pain.

  Yet there was nothing humorous about what might have happened if Jared hadn’t managed to shoot Russell. He glanced at the corpse lying sprawled upon the floor next to him…at the gaping hole in his cousin’s chest—

  “It wasn’t me,” Jared murmured, bending down to help Walker struggle to his feet. Wincing with discomfort, he met Jared’s eyes, yet he’d already discerned who must have saved his life.

  Slowly, Walker turned around to find his father staring at him from the doorway with a face even paler than Jared’s and a pistol in
his lowered hand. His valet, Hodges, too, looked as white as death.

  “Are you all right, my son?”

  Walker nodded, gritting his teeth from the throbbing ache in his loins as he went to his father, the duke’s eyes welled with tears, his too thin frame visibly shaking.

  “Well enough, Father, thanks to you.”

  As if Walker’s words had been all the duke needed to hear, his knees suddenly gave way beneath him. If not for the ashen-faced valet still supporting him, and Walker rushing forward to take the pistol and grab his other arm, he would have crumpled to the floor.

  “Here, let me take him,” Walker insisted, quickly sliding the weapon still hot from recent firing into his belt. Then he lifted his father into his arms—God help him, his illness wasting him away even more than when last Walker had seen him!—so he might carry him toward the stairs.

  He thought no more of the pain gripping him or Russell’s blood-soaked body lying in the foyer.

  He scarcely heard Jared ordering the footmen to take their horses and summon a constable, to summon a physician, while keeping his pistol leveled at Jack’s head.

  As the duke’s valet followed close upon his heels, Walker could only think of getting his father upstairs to a bed.

  Had he come all the way from Devonshire to berate him, as Russell had said? Yet hell, what did it matter? He was alive and breathing thanks to his father. Thanks to his father!

  Emotion tightening his throat, Walker headed for the room he had occupied while residing at the town house, his father groaning in his arms. He kicked open the door, fearing the worst now from the terrible shock his father had just suffered, and laid him as gently as possible upon the bed.

  To his surprise, the duke stared at him just as when Walker had first arrived at Summerlin Hall, as if he couldn’t believe his long-lost son had returned home to England. For long moments, too, while Walker kept silent, not wanting to overtax his father if he didn’t feel like conversing. Finally Charles turned his head feebly and glanced around the room.