Secrets of an Accidental Duchess

by Jennifer Haymore

  As he pulled her into his arms again, her hands moved to his front, and he realized that she was unbuttoning his coat. He reciprocated, working the buttons on the back of her gown and pushing it down, baring her pale shoulder to him.

  He moved his lips over the curve of her shoulder, then thrust the dress lower. The chemise caught on her stays but her dress and petticoat fell to the floor, and he went to work on the ties of her stays, reveling in how tiny her waist was compared to the largeness of his hands.

  She pushed at his shoulder. “Off,” she commanded, and he saw that she’d unbuttoned both layers of coats. He shrugged them off, then pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his torso. While he’d done that, she’d loosened her stays and was lifting them away.

  He kicked off his shoes, then unbuttoned his trousers and pushed them over his hips while he watched her shimmy out of her silky drawers.

  “You’re so damn perfect,” he groaned. He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed, dropping her with a little bounce that made her gasp. He crawled over her, and bent down to rake his teeth over her neck. She squirmed, wrapped her hands around his neck, and whispered, “Yes, Max. Yes.”

  He slid his fingers between her legs. She was already wet, already ready for him. His cock was pulsing. He couldn’t wait another second.

  He pushed inside of her. She was tight and warm, her body gripping him, caressing him, so sweet and hot. There was nothing better than the feel of his Olivia around him.

  He’d never let this go. Never let her go. He was so damned in love with her. Fenwicke was going to rot, and Max was going to marry Olivia and spend his life with her.

  Burying his face in her neck, he thrust again and again into the warm heat of his woman. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and her body squeezed around his cock, tightening like a vise until she seemed to press all around him, exquisite pressure that he couldn’t control.

  Suddenly, she cried out, rippling over him and around him, and the pressure built until every one of his muscles shook with it. Then, in a sharp explosion, the tension released, starting at the base of his spine and spreading through his ballocks and cock and into her.

  Into the woman he loved.

  He’d never come inside a woman before. And the significance of it, combined with the urgency of this moment, and the bursting sensation of his love for her—it all combined to create the most explosive orgasm of his life. Bright spots erupted in his vision, and he shook and undulated, yanking her against him and bringing her along. He came and came until it seemed like it would never end.

  But eventually, the tremors of his body and the pulsing of his sex receded and finally stopped altogether. Distractedly, Max noticed that their bodies were covered with a sheen of sweat, and Olivia’s usually pale cheeks were flushed such a pretty pink he had no choice but to bend down and press kisses to them, one by one.

  She looked up at him, with those beautiful, long-lashed blue eyes. “I love you so much, Max.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Neither of them mentioned the fact that he’d come inside her for the first time. He knew they’d discuss it later. There wasn’t time now. It was almost dusk. Time to find Fenwicke and the ladies.

  He pressed a kiss to her lips and then with a sigh, rolled off her and rifled around for his scattered clothing, tugging it on quickly.

  She pulled the blankets to her chin, watching him in silence. Finally, he sat on the edge of the bed and slipped on his shoes, then looked down at her one last time, committing her pretty oval face to memory.

  “You look like a woman who’s just been well loved.”

  “I have,” she murmured.

  “Good.” He bent down and gave her a final, lingering kiss. “Good-bye, sweetheart.”

  Max would have preferred to go on horseback to Fenwicke’s house, but he had two ladies he was hopefully going to be taking away from the house, so he took the traveling carriage instead. When the coachman pulled up to the front of the house, Max took a moment to survey the scene.

  The place was older and smaller than Fenwicke’s Palladian home in Sussex. It was a dark-timbered Tudor-style mansion, with small diamond-paned windows and a tall turret rising from one end.

  Max climbed down from the carriage, feeling the weight of his pistol in his coat pocket. He hadn’t had his pistol on hand the last time he’d met with Fenwicke. This time he was prepared. He instructed the coachman to be ready to drive as soon as he emerged from the house.

  He walked up to the front door and knocked as if he were a regular visitor.

  A tall, weasel-faced man answered. “Good evening.”

  Damn. This was the man who’d answered the door when he, Olivia, Stratford, and Jessica had been searching for Lady Fenwicke, only to discover that Fenwicke had arrived in Sussex that day. Max pulled his hat lower over his eyes and cast his gaze downward. He had remained in the background protecting Olivia that day, so he could only hope this man didn’t recognize him.

  “Mr. Smith,” Max said gruffly. He handed over the card he’d swiped from someone at the hotel’s dining room. “I’m here to see the Marquis of Fenwicke.” He hesitated before continuing. “Fenwicke and I were old school friends. I heard he recently arrived, and I wished to welcome him to town.”

  They had known a youth by the name of John Smith at Eton, though Max doubted the man had made his home in Manchester.

  “Yes, sir.” The servant gestured Max inside the entry hall. “Please excuse me while I see if the marquis is at home.”

  “Of course.”

  When the servant stepped away, Max quickly hurried down the three separate corridors leading from the entry hall, looking in open doorways and listening for odd sounds. The first corridor led him to what were obviously the kitchens and dining room, along with the servants’ quarters, which were eerily dark and motionless. He hurried back and went down the long corridor leading in the opposite direction. Nothing but a series of closed doors and utter quiet. The corridor was lined with ancient-looking life-sized portraits of men and women whose eyes seemed to follow Max as he hurried along.

  Going back to the entry hall, he took the third corridor, which was very short and led to a large ballroom and a curving staircase. As he entered, he heard the sounds of the servant’s shoes tapping on the stairs, so he retreated to the entry hall, managing to look like he’d been waiting indolently for the servant to return.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the man said stiffly, “but the marquis is not at home.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Max said with brittle politeness. “Have you any idea when he’ll return?”

  “No, I’m sorry, sir. In fact, I’m not certain he will return at all. We were given to believe he might have left to attend a pressing matter in London.”

  “Ah.” Max gave an understanding nod. “That’s very good, then. I was on my way to London myself. I hope I shall have the opportunity to meet him there.”

  “Yes, sir.” The man opened the front door in obvious dismissal, and bowed as Max turned to leave.

  Max walked outside, murmured, “Drive out of sight of the house and then stop,” to his coachman, and mounted the step, closing the door behind him. He rapped on the ceiling and the carriage jolted into movement.

  A few moments later, after turning a sharp curve and traveling a little farther, it stopped. Max climbed out and hesitated, looking at the sky. It wasn’t quite dark, but it would be in a short time. “Keep the carriage here until I return,” he said to the coachman, “but check the road between here and Fenwicke’s house every half hour. I might require your help when I bring the ladies out.”

  The coachman, who was familiar with the bare bones of Max’s plan, nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  He looked a bit nervous, so Max clapped his hand over the man’s shoulder. “Everything will be all right. I just need to retrieve the ladies, and we’ll be on our way.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Max left him and returned to Fenwicke’
s house at a slow jog. He didn’t go the way of the road this time but instead went into the woods backing the house, emerging behind the structure on the side he’d surmised housed the kitchens and the servants’ quarters.

  He slipped from tree to tree, keeping himself well hidden behind the trunks of old chestnuts, and studied the back door.

  He hoped it would be unlocked. Along with a stable, there was a barn in the back of the house, probably where they kept the henhouse. If the servants often walked between the barn and the kitchen, it seemed reasonable to think that the door wouldn’t be kept locked. Although, he hadn’t seen any servants besides the dour-faced man. If Fenwicke had dismissed most of his servants while he kept two women imprisoned, it was more likely the door would be locked.

  After a few moments searching the environs for any sign of human movement, Max strode to the door and tried the handle.

  Locked. Damn it.

  But Max hadn’t heard the sound of a lock turning when the servant had closed the front door behind him. Perhaps that door was kept unlocked during the day.

  Pressing his back against the outside wall, Max inched around the house, stopping to peer into each window as he passed. Heavy draperies at every window blocked his view of the inside of the house, but he heard no sounds and sensed no movement from within.

  That worried him. If Fenwicke and the gaunt servant were inside this house, where were the women? If they were upstairs, he imagined he’d hear some sound filtering through the windows. But he heard nothing. Only an uncanny silence.

  He reached the front stoop. Scanning his environment and seeing no one, he edged along the exterior wall. He listened for a long moment before turning to face the door and trying the handle.

  Unlocked. The door swung open on silent, well-oiled hinges, and Max stepped into the darkened entry hall.

  After Max left the hotel room, Olivia had lain in bed for a while before rising and dressing herself. Her dinner came, and she managed to choke down a few bites. After that, there was nothing, really, for her to do but worry. So she paced the small room, and she worried, and then she paced some more.

  She went to the small, square window and pushed open the draperies. The sun was struggling to cast its final rays of sunlight on the land before it gave up and slipped completely away. It would be full dark within half an hour.

  She snapped the curtains closed, turned, and leaned against the window.

  Olivia could help Max. She must help him, somehow. She’d go mad trapped in this room all alone while he was out there in danger. First, she needed to see Fenwicke’s house to determine how she could be of help. Then she’d find something to do, something to make herself useful.

  “You’ll forgive me for this, Max, I know you will,” she muttered under her breath as she pulled on her cloak. If she’d asked him outright, Max would never have allowed her to follow him to Fenwicke’s house. It wasn’t because he didn’t trust her or that he thought she would do something stupid. It was because he wanted to keep her safe. Well, the feeling was entirely mutual: She would do whatever she could to keep him safe, too.

  Leaving her dinner to grow cold on the table, she lifted her skirts and swung open the door. Mr. Peebles was there, slouched against the wall beside her door, and he jumped up when she peered into the corridor. She raised a brow at him. “What are you doing, Mr. Peebles?”

  “Er… His Grace requested I watch over you, miss.”

  “Very well, then. I’m going out. I suppose you’ll insist upon coming with me.”

  “His Grace didn’t say you was going out, though, miss.”

  “That’s probably because he didn’t know,” she pointed out.

  That only seemed to confuse the man. He gave a feeble nod.

  She passed him and went downstairs, hearing the dull thud of his feet behind her, and approached the hotelier to ask for the use of a carriage. Within a quarter of an hour, they were in a hackney coach on their way to Lord Fenwicke’s house—a landmark everyone in Manchester seemed to know the location of.

  The driver stopped on the darkened road—she’d instructed him to let her out a good distance from the house. When he came around to help her out, she frowned at a flickering light in the road behind them as Mr. Peebles descended from the servant’s seat to stand beside her. “What is that?”

  “We passed a carriage on the side of the road a ways back, ma’am.” the driver said.

  It was likely Max’s carriage. She nodded, then looked ahead. “How far is Lord Fenwicke’s house from here?”

  “About a half mile or so.”

  “And where is his closest neighbor?”

  “That’d be the Turleys, miss. That house would be another quarter-mile down the road past Lord Fenwicke’s.”

  She smiled and nodded. “Thank you. Stay here until I return, if you please.”

  He nodded and didn’t ask her any uncomfortable questions. She’d requested that before they’d set out, and she’d paid him well for his discretion.

  She glanced at Mr. Peebles, gave a curt nod, and then set off, picking her way carefully down the road in the semidarkness. It wasn’t too difficult to see, for it was a clear, crisp, late-winter evening. Stars lit the night sky, and the moon was up, casting a dim silvery light over the landscape.

  They turned down a sharp curve in the road, and the house came into view. Light spilled from four small upstairs windows, but it appeared that there were no other lights on in the house.

  “Max, are you in there?” she murmured.

  “What’s that, miss?” Mr. Peebles’s too-loud voice seemed to reverberate through the night.

  She jerked to a stop and turned to him, pressing her finger against her lips. “Shh. They can’t know we’re here, do you understand?”

  The man’s head bobbed up and down. “Oh. Yes, miss. Sorry, miss.”

  “It’s all right.”

  Peebles wasn’t a very bright man and he wasn’t much bigger than Olivia herself, but she agreed with Max’s assessment that he was generally a good man, and had quickly become a loyal servant to them both. She’d grown quite fond of him.

  “All right,” she murmured. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to search the exterior of the house. Once we approach, you go to the left, and I’ll go to the right. We’ll meet around the back. Tell me whether you hear or see anything. Any movement, any voices. Anything, understand?”

  Peebles nodded gravely. “Yes, miss.”

  “All right. Let’s go.”

  They approached the house, and Peebles didn’t make a sound. He’d even miraculously managed to mask the sound of his feet on the gravel road. Olivia’s feet were making far more noise than his were.

  When they were within a few feet of the silent front door, Olivia glanced up at Peebles and nodded. Peebles turned away and slowly began to make his way around the perimeter of the house. Her heart beating like a caged rabbit’s, Olivia turned to the right.

  She lifted her dress so the dew-dampened grass wouldn’t soak her hem, and picked her way over the grounds, keeping her eyes and ears attuned to any sound or sight that might be out of place. After a moment, a muffled sound came from the house. Hesitating, she glanced up at the window above where she was standing. Golden lamplight filtered through the closed curtain and lit a small square of grass on the ground.

  Was Max in there? What was happening?

  He could manage it, whatever it was. She had to believe in that. Fenwicke was in there. If she went into the house, she’d distract Max from his goal, increase his danger. She had to trust that he could deal with Fenwicke without her.

  Her goal was to assess the exterior of the house and ensure that Jessica and Beatrice weren’t imprisoned outside.

  She dragged her gaze away from the window and searched the surrounding area. The house rose to her left—this part of it was built with wood, but there was a stone turret jutting out from the corner just ahead. There were windows in the turret but no lights. Could Beatrice and Jes
sica be trapped inside?

  Possibly. If they were, Max would find them. Yet, why would Fenwicke keep two ladies prisoner inside his house? Surely, when people heard he’d come to town, he’d have visitors. Then there were the servants.

  Olivia knew Jessica well enough to predict with some measure of certainty how her sister would react in this situation. She’d be outraged, and she’d let her voice be heard. If Jessica were in the tower, she’d probably be screaming her lungs out. Even the Turleys, a quarter of a mile down the road, would hear.

  Unless he’d done something to her. Drugged her. Killed her.

  Olivia swallowed the lump in her throat. No, she wouldn’t think that way. Her sister was alive, and she was going to find her, because chances were that Fenwicke wasn’t foolish enough to keep her in the house.

  She turned again toward the house, squinting at it in the night. It looked like an older house—built during Elizabethan times, or maybe even earlier, considering the stone tower. Such houses often had secret corridors, priest holes, and the like. If there was such a place, she thought that might be the likeliest location for Fenwicke to have imprisoned his captives.

  Olivia tiptoed around the tower, watching and listening for anything out of the ordinary in the still, cold night.

  She turned down the side of the house. There was a door centered between the front and back corners, the exterior shape of a brick fireplace, and a dark, high window below the gable. She walked to the door and held her ear against it. Total silence.

  Pressing her lips together, she moved to the back of the house. Her heart jerked and then pounded unsteadily when she saw a dark figure hovering a few yards away, but then she realized it was Peebles, waiting for her.

  She walked slowly toward him, taking in her surroundings. The windows on the ground floor were dark, but there were two lit windows on the first floor above. Two dark silhouettes of outbuildings stood several yards’ distance from the back of the house—probably a barn and a stable, or possibly a cottage for the groundskeeper or steward.