Project Duchess

by Jeffries, Sabrina

  He nodded. “And that’s why she and I could never marry. In many respects, she’s as much a sister to me as Gwyn. More, in fact, since I only really knew Gwyn until she was six, and I’ve known Vanessa her whole life.”

  “But your aunt didn’t care that neither of you wanted to marry each other.”

  “No. Since my uncle never succeeded in gaining all the property they wanted from me, the next best thing for her was to have me wed Vanessa and thus have her become a duchess with access to all the wealth of the dukedom anyway.”

  Beatrice stared up at him. “So how did you resolve the matter without making it look publicly as if you’d changed your mind about marrying Vanessa?”

  “Before I tell you that, I need to ask you something.” He halted in the middle of the path to glance around. “And here seems an excellent place to do it.”

  She followed his gaze to the huge log where they’d first kissed, and her pulse jumped.

  He took her hands. “My previous proposals of marriage left much to be desired, so I’m going to try again.” His tone turned solemn. “Dearest Beatrice, I cannot live without you. I’m in love with you. Please do me the honor of making you my bride.”

  She would swear her heart stopped. “You . . . you love me?”

  His eyes sparkled. “More than life, sweetheart. I’ve been afraid to love for so long that I didn’t recognize the feeling until I was in the middle of it. Then I panicked a bit. Loving someone means risking heartbreak. And I’ve always feared heartbreak more than anything.”

  “With good reason, I suppose, given how your wretched aunt and uncle treated you.” She covered his hands with hers. “But without risk, there’s no reward. Surely a man famous for shrewd dealings like yourself can see that.”

  “It took me a while, but yes, I see it now. I see you now, more perfectly than ever.”

  She couldn’t breathe for fear this moment would vanish. “And what do you see?”

  “The only woman who can match me word for word and deed for deed. The only woman who understands what it’s like to lose family at a young age and yet has managed not to be damaged by it. And certainly the only woman I ever want to share a bed with.” He brushed a kiss to her lips. “For as long as we both shall live.”

  That vow was enough to have her pulling him back for a more thorough kiss, which went on quite a while.

  Then he broke it off to ask, in his usual peremptory tone, “Well? What’s your answer, minx?”

  The scoundrel was so sure of her. She would cure him of that. Touching a finger to her chin, she said coyly, “I don’t know. I still haven’t had my debut. It’s possible I might find a better husband there.”

  “No,” he said firmly. “I won’t allow it.”

  “The debut? Or my finding a better husband?”

  His eyes gleamed at her. “You can have all the debuts you want. But you accepted my marriage proposal once, and I will hold you to it.”

  “That’s not a very persuasive argument,” she teased.

  “Perhaps not. But this is.”

  He kissed her again, only this time he also hoisted her up and carried her over to the ancient oak trunk where they’d kissed the first time.

  “Your Grace!” she cried in mock disapproval. “Do you mean to ravish me?”

  “If you don’t ravish me first,” he said roughly. “I won’t mind if that’s your preference.”

  “Women can’t ravish.” They couldn’t, could they?

  “Of course they can.” Setting her down by the fallen tree, he sat down on it and tugged her toward him.

  “Grey!” she cried, thoroughly scandalized now that she realized he was serious about the ravishment. “It’s one thing to kiss in public, but to do that . . . What if someone comes by?”

  “When have we ever seen anyone come by on this path?” He arranged her cloak back over her shoulders until only the tie at the top showed in front. “Sheridan and the constable are sure to take the road in a carriage.”

  “Just our luck they will decide—Grey!”

  He’d lifted her skirts and was sliding his hands up under them to cup her bare bottom. “Yes?”

  She squirmed a little. “You are very naughty to ravish me in the outdoors.”

  “Nonsense. You’re going to ravish me. And I’m going to let you.” Grinning up at her, he unbuttoned his greatcoat with one hand while the other slipped up between her legs to fondle her, silkily and much too briefly.

  “Hold these,” he said, shoving her bunched-up skirts into her hands.

  Like a fool, she did. She expected to feel embarrassed and painfully exposed with her entire bottom half laid bare for his perusal, but instead his gaze on her down there excited her.

  While still staring at her exposed thighs and privates, he spread the bottom of his coat out over the tree trunk. As she stood shivering in anticipation, he unbuttoned the fall of his trousers and drawers and shimmied them down past his hips so he could sit on his coattails, allowing his rather prominent erection to push through into the air.

  This time she got a good look at the impudent thing thrust up at her as if inviting her to envelop it. To mount it. Ohhh. So that was what he meant about having her ravish him.

  When her gaze flew to his, she found him watching her face with a wicked glint in his eyes that sent a hot thrill straight through her. He slid one booted foot between her legs, then used his knee to open her. Once she realized what he was about, she parted her legs willingly.

  This time when he reached back for her bottom, it was to pull her astride him so that her knees were planted on his open coat, and she was hovering over his aroused member. As she let go of her skirts to catch his shoulders for balance, he smoothed his hands up her thighs and said, “Ravish me, my love.”

  Delighted by the delicious prospect of being in charge, she let him guide her until she could slide down on him. “Whatever Your Grace wishes.”

  “Ah . . . my sweet Beatrice . . . this is precisely . . . what I wish.”

  He settled her more comfortably on him until she felt filled up with him, body and soul. It was a most glorious sensation, to have him beneath her, waiting on her to take control. No one had ever given her control in anything, and this generally high-handed duke of the realm was giving it to her in this. What a heady feeling!

  “I’m mad for you, you know,” she whispered as she rose up and came down on him again. “Out of my mind for you.”

  “So you love me at least a little?” he murmured.

  She heard the faint uncertainty in his voice and drew back to stare at him. In that moment, she realized how deeply his mother’s seeming abandonment and his aunt and uncle’s changeable treatment had wounded him, made him afraid he couldn’t be loved. That was at the root of his fear, if anyone dug deep enough to find it.

  It made her heart bleed for him. “More than a little,” she said earnestly. “I love you until death do us part and beyond.”

  “And you’ll marry me.”

  He spoke it like a command, but she could indulge him in that. “Yes,” she said. “Yes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  In that moment, Grey could feel the very air between them shift. She loved him. Beatrice, truly his Beatrice now, loved him. Joy rose in him like a mist of perfume, surrounding him in such a richness of feeling that he could hardly bear his own happiness.

  She was smiling at him and riding him like the glorious goddess she was, and he thought he could die content right here in her arms.

  “Now that I have . . . what I wish,” he murmured. “What do you wish, my love? How can I improve your pleasure?”

  Her pretty blush brought him to the edge of release, and he fought to hold it back.

  “You could . . . touch me down there like . . . you did before.” After choking out the words, she added hastily, “But only if you want.”

  He would have laughed if he hadn’t been struggling not to come. “Like this?” he managed as he fingered her sweet little button.
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  “Oh, yes,” she breathed. “You’re . . . very good at that.”

  With a surge of satisfaction, he kissed whatever exposed part of her he could reach—her chin, her throat, the lovely curve of her clavicle. He sank into the rosewater scent of her, so delicate, so feminine for a woman Sheridan had described as a hoyden. Grey wished he dared remove her clothes so he could fondle her pert breasts, but even he had no wish to tempt fate so blatantly.

  After a moment, seeing her fully naked didn’t even matter. She was writhing atop him with her head thrown back and her eyes closed, making him insane, and he was fighting to resist the pull of nature. Just as he thought he couldn’t bear any more, she dropped down on him and cried, “Oh. My. Heavens!”

  He came. How could he not? The feel of her engulfing him was pure ecstasy. As he poured his seed into her like the reckless fellow he was, she murmured, “You’re mine now, Grey. Mine.”

  The possessive note in her voice delighted him. “So are you,” he choked out, his cock spasming and his body alert to every contraction of her quim. “Mine forever.” When she collapsed against him, obviously replete, he nuzzled her throat. “And don’t you forget it.”

  Even half-clothed and draped casually all over him, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And his, all his.

  It took some moments before they came fully to their senses. He began to notice dusk setting in, and the forest growing quiet in anticipation of the night. They should go. But he was loath to leave just yet.

  “Mmm,” she whispered. “That was wonderful.”

  He chuckled. “You are very easy to please.”

  She drew back to eye him askance. “Are you saying your lovemaking is inferior to that of other men?”

  “And if it is? Would you still marry me?”

  She looped her arms about his neck. “I would marry you if you were a complete incompetent at it. Which, by the way, you are not.” She kissed his nose. “You make me happy. You understand me. I need nothing else, Grey.”

  That sent his heart soaring, an unfamiliar sensation for him. “Then perhaps you should call me by my Christian name.”

  “Fletcher? I prefer Grey. It suits you better.”

  He blinked. “You know my Christian name?”

  “Of course I know it, silly. Sometimes your mother even calls you by it. Besides, it’s written out in full with your titles whenever you appear in the scandal sheets.” She adopted a pompous tone: “‘Fletcher Pryde, the Duke of Greycourt, was seen with opera dancer Whatever-Her-Name-Is. They were clearly quite intimate.’”

  He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be absurd. I have never had my name associated with an opera dancer.”

  “Are you sure?” She tapped her chin. “I could swear you have.”

  “Enough.” He gave her a quick kiss. “You’re teasing me again. Which, by the way, no one else, other than my family, dares to do.”

  “Only because everyone else is cowed by you.”

  “Except you, my love.”

  “Which is why you like me.”

  He laughed. “Also true.” Then he sobered. “But as much as I’m enjoying this—”

  “I know.” She sighed. “We need to get to Armitage Hall, in case Sheridan is there.”

  “Precisely.”

  She slipped off his lap and worked to repair her clothing. “Are you ever going to tell me how you resolved the Vanessa issue?”

  “Oh. Right.” He rose and buttoned everything up. “I forgot.” He explained what he’d had the Times print as an errata. “Will that do?”

  A beautiful smile broke over her face. “That sounds perfect. Leave it to you to come up with such a brilliant solution.”

  The compliment pleased him ridiculously. “I’m glad you’re happy. I wasn’t sure you would be.”

  “It was rather arrogant of you to assume I would accept your proposal before I actually did,” she said, though her teasing tone relieved him.

  “I know. Why do you think I didn’t tell you until I’d secured you?”

  “I suppose I shall let it pass this time.” She was clearly fighting a smile. “As long as you don’t do it again.”

  “I can promise that easily. Although I must say Vanessa was very happy with my solution, especially since I promised her mother I would double Vanessa’s dowry.”

  She frowned. “So you’re rewarding your aunt for being despicable?”

  “No. I’m ensuring Vanessa is unaffected by her mother’s bad behavior.”

  “Oh. Well, that sounds wise.”

  He stared at her. Only Beatrice could see this as a practical way out, without jealousy or bias. Apparently, she loved him for his cleverness and wisdom. For his depth of feeling. For his character.

  Considering that she’d turned him down when she thought her character was in question, he knew she loved him for himself, not for his dukedom. That meant more to him than he could possibly say. “I love you. Do you know that?”

  She cocked her head. “I’m beginning to believe it.”

  He tried to take her back into his arms, but she wouldn’t let him. “We must go. We have to convince Sheridan that Joshua is innocent.”

  “Right.” He eyed her closely. “Is your brother always going to be a problem for us?”

  “Dear Lord, I hope not.” She cast him a minxish smile as she headed for the path. “I’m praying that your sister makes him less so.”

  “Keep praying,” he muttered as he followed her. “Because that would require a miracle.” He might not know his sister well, but he somehow suspected she wouldn’t fall for the likes of Joshua Wolfe very easily, no matter how much she might flirt with him.

  Once they weren’t purposely dawdling, it didn’t take them long to reach the house. But to Grey’s alarm, Sheridan and the constable were already there.

  “Where is Joshua?” Sheridan asked without preamble. “I went to the dower house, but he wasn’t there.”

  Ignoring the constable, who stood solemnly watching the interaction, Grey shrugged. “He wasn’t there when I arrived either. Beatrice said Joshua had gone to Leicester on business, so I brought her back here. I suppose that’s where he is still.”

  “If you’re lying to protect him—” Sheridan began.

  Their mother entered the room. “Careful, Son. You’re mistaken about your cousin. And accusing your brother isn’t going to help matters.”

  Sheridan regarded her coldly. “Stay out of this, Mother. You may have forgotten, but Joshua summoned Father to the dower house on the night Father died.”

  “I’m sorry, Son, but you’re wrong,” she said. “Joshua didn’t summon anyone. Or at least I don’t think he did.”

  That gave all of them pause. “What do you mean?” Grey ventured.

  She pulled out a piece of paper and an accounting ledger. “This is the summons Joshua supposedly sent to Maurice. When you spoke to me earlier about it, Grey, I thought perhaps I still had it, so I dug through my chest of drawers and found the note where I’d shoved it that night. Then I compared it to what Joshua listed as his expenses in his post as gamekeeper. The writing doesn’t appear to match, at least to me.”

  “Let me see that.” Sheridan glanced at the summons signature and then at the known signature of Joshua. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath. He handed the note and the ledger to the constable.

  After a moment’s perusal, the constable lifted his head to stare at Sheridan. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I agree with your mother. They clearly don’t match.”

  “Perhaps Joshua got someone else to write it for him,” Sheridan said.

  “Who?” Grey asked. “The maidservant, who probably can’t even read? Beatrice, whose handwriting could also be easily compared to the note? And wouldn’t this person have reported him the moment Father turned up dead in the river?”

  Sheridan scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’re right. Even I can’t accept such a farfetched idea.”

  When Beatrice sagged in relief, Grey looped his arm
about her waist. At last, Sheridan realized he’d been wrong about Wolfe. Beatrice’s brother might be a cantankerous son-of-a-bitch, but he hadn’t killed anyone. Grey was certain of that.

  So Grey had been right to trust Beatrice and her brother. Now he felt vindicated in his choice.

  “I told you,” she whispered in his ear.

  “You did.” He pulled her close. “And you were right.”

  She let Grey hold her a moment, then slipped away from him to face the constable. “Sir, I think you should know my brother was with me the night of Uncle Maurice’s death. He couldn’t have committed the murder even if he’d wanted to.”

  The constable nodded. “I will take that into consideration.” He turned to Sheridan. “Your Grace? Are you satisfied that your cousin is not involved in your father’s death?”

  Sheridan huffed out a breath. “I suppose.”

  Then Wolfe himself sauntered in. “I’m here to profess my innocence.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I haven’t murdered anyone, and certainly not Uncle Maurice.”

  Grey shook his head. Clearly, Wolfe had decided against following Grey’s advice. Not that it mattered now.

  Though it seemed to matter to Sheridan, for he narrowed his gaze on Grey. “You told me you hadn’t seen him. So how did he know about my suspicions?”

  Before Grey could answer, Wolfe said, “I heard you’d been asking about me in town, that you’d talked to the man who constructed the bridge, and that you’d brought the constable here to arrest someone for murder. It didn’t take much to figure out whom you wanted to accuse.”

  When Sheridan eyed Wolfe askance over what truly was an outlandish claim, Grey said, “Don’t listen to him. I told him to leave.” He nodded to Wolfe, his soon-to-be brother-in-law. “Thank you for trying to help, Wolfe, but I don’t want the smallest hint of suspicion hanging over your head. It’s not fair to you.”

  Then Grey smiled at his brother. “I knew he was innocent, so I helped him. I wasn’t sure you’d listen to reason about his alibi.”

  Sheridan crossed his arms over his chest. “I still think that someone murdered Father. Perhaps not Joshua, but someone else.”