Duchess for a Day

by Peggy Waide

  "Or what?" She challenged him as her finger jabbed his chest to punctuate each spoken word.

  He grabbed her hand, brought her tightly against his chest, and lifted her onto her toes. "Do not press your luck. I am not in the mood. Heed my warning."

  As far as he was concerned the discussion was over. If so inclined, he would offer a detailed explanation tomorrow. For now, she would obey him, for he would take no chances where she was concerned. Rodney Sithall, cousin or no, had earned his title of bastard over and over, lacking honor, loyalty and one bit of responsible behavior. He'd been kicked out of Eton. At eighteen, he'd compromised a young maid who supposedly killed herself when he refused to accept responsibility. Given a hard-earned commission in the navy, he was forced to resign six months later for cowardice and blackmail. No decent club allowed him admittance, for he cheated and ignored his bills. By the age of twenty-four, he'd squandered what little inheritance he had, his only acquaintances petty thieves, whores and smugglers. The final blow came five months before, when he was suspected of raping and murdering a young working girl from the docks. Reyn gave him a draft for five hundred pounds, informed him he could freeze in hell hereafter but he needn't bother returning to the Wilcott fold for any reason. Rodney's bitterness could lead him to extremes in retaliation, and Reyn vehemently believed that Jocelyn now held the whoreson's attention. The fact that Rodney had spent time with Jocelyn sent his shattered nerves wild with worry and anger. The little fool had no concept of the monster she dealt with.

  "You are behaving like a backyard bully. You seem to forget I'm not your wife. Not really. I will do as I please."

  Wrenching free, she ducked beneath his arms with no more regard for him or his words.

  He followed her into the pantry and pressed her against the wooden shelving. "A minor detail that can easily be remedied. In the eyes of the law, you are my wife. You chose to make it so, and I have allowed you to remain as Lady Wilcott, although you continue to give nothing in return. Not the truth, not a name, not a glimpse into your danger. Not even the common courtesies owed to a husband. Although I thought we had established this the other night, I obviously need to remind you to whom you belong. You are mine, and you will do as I say."

  Unaccustomed to giving explanations, he opted for action, pulling her into his arms. Lips, bent on mastery, descended with purpose, as if her submission to his kisses would bring about her agreement.

  The moment his tongue touched hers, the urge to fight flew away on gilded wings of pleasure. Her body ached for the pleasure his caresses promised, her acquiescence complete as she pressed her arms possessively to the firm contours of his buttocks. She urged him closer, eager to cradle the rock-hard evidence of his desire between her thighs.

  A growl accompanied the frenzied battle taking place as Reyn lifted Jocelyn to bring the tips of her breasts level with his mouth. Deep breaths, moist from passion, floated across her nipple as she waited for the pleasure to deepen. He held her body at bay. One nip with his teeth and she shuddered.

  "Is this what you want, Jocelyn?"

  Lost in her delirium of wanting, she was speechless.

  "Say it. Do you want this?" he prodded, teasing the tiny bud with his tongue.

  His restraint brought her desire to a fevered pitch and she supplied his answer with a cry. "Yes, oh Sweet Agnes, yes."

  Thankful she wore no buttons or ties, he easily leaned her over his arm, tugged at her bodice with his teeth and bared two rose-tipped nipples eager for pleasure. The sweet torture seemed endless. The throbbing between her legs increased, almost painfully. As if sensing her need, Reyn shifted her back against the sacks of flour, ignorant of the bits of white dust that drifted over them. He raised her skirt above her waist to shift his attention to the downy nest, sweetened by her body's own moisture. As he dipped into the warmth, her hips greedily thrust against his hand, straining, climbing, to reach the summit. His tongue plundered her mouth, matching the rhythm of his hand until she conquered the peak with a shattering climax that left her breathless.

  When the wild pounding of his heart began to slow, Reyn lifted his chin from the top of Jocelyn's head to find himself at eye level with a myriad of bottled jams, fruits and vegetables. He grimaced as realization struck full force. He had practically made love to his wife in the pantry of his own kitchen. But no matter how badly he wanted to unleash his anger, one look at her swollen lips, her stunned expression of satisfaction, and he simply restored her clothes to their proper place. He said, "Our relationship is far from typical, but if you have any doubts about who you are and to whom you belong tonight, remember this." With a tenderness greater than the oceans were wide, he kissed her once again.

  A rainbow of colors floated past Jocelyn as the lords and ladies of the ton danced, laughed and consumed food and wine. Jocelyn clung tightly to her husband as he twirled her with gentle ease, joining the others in the belated wedding celebration. The few times they danced were the only private moments they shared since their encounter in the pantry. That tempest this morning had accomplished nothing, other than provide more titillating gossip for their staff, and establish Reyn's ability to reduce her to a quivering ball of wanton flesh. Although she knew Reyn considered the problem with Rodney resolved, she had never relented. Feeling bullied and ignored, she lashed out, purposely flaunting a fondness for his cousin Rodney all evening. She knew it was foolish, for she held the one man she would ever want in her arms. Her good sense had been overcome by her pride. If only Reyn would apologize or explain. The thread of their unspoken truce was near breaking.

  "Enjoying yourself?" Reyn asked indifferently.

  She kept her response polite, yet strained. "The evening seems to be a success."

  He glanced around the ocean of silks and satins, searching for someone. "Have any long-lost relatives asked for a dance or two?"

  Clenching her teeth, restraining the insult on the tip of her tongue, she smiled angelically.

  He raised his eyebrows in question. "It would appear that you, duchess, are the new crown jewel. Even my dear cousin continues to dote on you."

  His eyes held no malice, but neither were they warm and welcoming. Although she longed for any reason to end the bickering-a simple apology, a brief explanation-none was forthcoming. "I will not ignore the man. It would not be right."

  "Jocelyn, all I ask is that you trust me and stay away from him."

  "Why?"

  "He is a worthless piece of garbage. That's why."

  "And that should explain everything?"

  "Yes! I do not feel that I am asking for the moon. My request should not matter so greatly to you unless you care more for him than you say."

  Furiously, she stared at him. How could he possibly think that, especially after her uninhibited response that very morning? He asked for her trust, yet yielded nothing. If he expected the worse, so be it. "Yes," she lied, oblivious to the physical warnings of his body, the trembling of the crescent-shaped scar beneath his eye, the rigidity of his muscles. "I enjoy Rodney's company immensely. He does not question my every action, or call me silly names that mean nothing. Nor does he attempt to trick falsehoods from me. In fact, I wish I could spend more time with him."

  "Be careful what you wish for, my dear."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Simply what you want. Have a splendid evening, wife." He hissed his final words and abandoned Jocelyn halfway through the waltz in the middle of the dance floor.

  Barely finding her footing, she smiled outwardly, as if nothing had happened. Without so much as a back ward glance, her husband fled to the card room, where he remained for the balance of the evening. She saw him once more after the guests had left. With his hat in his left hand, a bottle in his right and a sneer on his face, he left the house in the company of Walter Hathaway, who could only shrug his shoulders. She hoped he meant to take care of Reyn.

  When Reyn didn't return, she went to bed and drifted into a fitful sleep. In her dreams, wishing he we
re there with her, she smelled fetid brandy and the pungent odor of a cigar.

  Reyn had returned.

  As she sat up, the shadowed face leered from the foot of her bed. Instinctively, she pulled the bedclothes tightly to her chest. "You!"

  Rodney's thin lips curled into a snarl of a smile, void of humor, saying nothing, speaking volumes.

  She shuddered. "What do you want?"

  Deliriously trapped within himself, Rodney swayed against the bedpost to mutter incoherently, "Hates me, he does. Bloody nob. So high and mighty. Tells me what to do and all. Whatever he wants, he takes, he wins. Never makes a mistake. But no more."

  Although she had a fair notion, she asked, "Who, Rodney?"

  "Blackburn the righteous. My bloody noble cousin." A demonic smile sent a trickle of panic down her spine. "He's still gone, you know. He made a mistake, and tonight I'll be the one doing the taking." He seemed to really notice her for the first time. "You should have been mine, Jocelyn. He doesn't love you like I do."

  "You're right. He doesn't love me and I don't love him." The man teetered briefly toward Jocelyn as she attempted to calm her trembling voice. "Let me call Briggs. He can show you to your room."

  With the agility of an alley cat, he swept around to the end of the bed, pinning her arms high above her head. "Oh, no, my pet. We'll have no need for anyone this night."

  "Wait!" she cried as she struggled to loosen her arms from his painful grip.

  "I've waited long enough. I need to be a part of you, make us one, just like him. Each and every night, when he lies beside you, he'll remember that I kissed your lips, caressed your body and gave you my seed. If only fate would intervene and make you with child. He'd hate that, you know."

  Knowing what he planned, she had to do something, and sought the words that might appease him. "Reyn and I don't share a bed. We never have. He won't care, not really. Would he have left tonight if he did?" His resolve seemed to falter. Desperate to get help, she sweetly said, "I had no idea you cared for me, Rodney. You and I could go downstairs and talk."

  "You've never consummated the marriage?"

  "No. Let's go down-"

  He started to laugh. Maliciously. "That's even better."

  His rapid breaths fell closer to her face, and realizing he was beyond rational thought, she started to scream. A clammy hand descended to trap her plea for help. As she began to struggle in earnest, he continued to laugh, a thin, reedy sound that sent shivers down her spine. With his free hand, he pulled a scarf from his coat pocket to stuff into her mouth. "We wouldn't want to be interrupted, now would we?"

  A paralyzing terror swept through her body. She listened to his idle ramblings, watched his trance-like moves and pleaded with her eyes. Somehow, she had to make him stop, even though she knew his mind had closeted itself within the darkness of demented reasoning.

  Saint Dywn, please help me.

  "You're going to like this, my sweet," he babbled as he secured her arms to the bedpost. "From the moment I first met you, I knew you wanted me, knew it would be like this." Traveling to the foot of the bed, he wrenched her legs apart only to pull two additional scarves from his coat, applying to her legs the same treatment as her arms. "You were meant for me. We were meant to be together. My cousin will regret everything he has ever done to me." The rending of fabric alerted her to impending doom as he bared her from head to toe. With dilated pupils, he assessed her body with a diabolical thoroughness.

  To escape Bedlam and now this. She tried to fling herself from the bed, but the ties held fast. Reyn, why didn't I listen to you? You warned me, and now I will pay a horrible price.

  Slowly, his hand slid up her legs, between her thighs, across her belly, to fasten onto a breast. The bile rose in her throat.

  Don't let this happen.

  Panting now, his mouth descended to suckle.

  Reyn!

  Her body buckled from the bed, but his madness was oblivious to her futile attempts to escape. She thrashed from side to side, fighting with all her strength until one hand eased from its binding. Breathing deeply, fighting a scream, she forced herself to relax and accept his vile invasion.

  Lost in his own twisted self-satisfaction, Rodney moaned. "Yes, my darling. I knew you would welcome me. I cannot wait. I must have you." His hands dropped to the buttons of his breeches. "Tonight you'll be mine."

  When his manhood leaped from confinement, Rodney closed his eyes with a shudder and an expansive sigh, and stroked his hands repeatedly over his own heated flesh. Filled with revulsion, Jocelyn turned away and saw the one thing that might save her. So as not to be noticed, she slowly edged her hand toward the small pair of embroidery scissors lying on her bedside table. Rodney dropped to cover her completely. She grasped the scissors firmly, raised her freed arm above her attacker, and plunged them into his back.

  "You damned little bitch," he said, jerking from the bed. "Do you think this will stop me? I will still take you!" With venom in his eyes, he reached to free the small weapon from her hand. "I'll teach you to try those whore tricks on me." His hand, red with blood, descended with the power of an anvil. Pain exploded in her head. Again and again, he slammed her body with excruciating accuracy. A final thought crossed her mind as she succumbed to the pain.

  Reyn. Where are you?

  Disheveled and blurry-eyed from a night of drinking, Reyn ascended the stairs. Caesar howled a high-pitched whine as he paced in a frenzied circle outside Jocelyn's bedroom door. Noting the cat's erratic behavior, Reyn suppressed the prickling sensation at the nape of his neck. "I see you have fallen from her good graces as well."

  When Reyn knelt down to absently stroke the cat, Caesar wriggled between his legs. "If she had listened to me and stayed away from Sithall, all would be very different right now. I only wanted to protect her." As if confessing his sins to a priest, he continued. "I'm not am ogre. I had my reasons. She only needed to accept my better judgment and trust me." He laughed at himself. What a dunce. Trust. He had expected hers, but had yielded nothing of his own. Abandoning Jocelyn on the night of their very own marriage ball was more than stupid. Brilliant strategy, he thought, for a man bent on seducing his wife.

  "Blast, I'll likely have to apologize and begin this courting business all over again." Caesar interrupted, mewling furiously. Reyn frowned at the cat. "Splendid. I have been reduced to talking to a bloody feline."

  When Reyn attempted to pass by, Caesar, his black tail whipping from side to side, clawed at his trouser leg. "Have a care, cat. If she wanted you with her, you would have been admitted by the lady herself."

  As if Caesar understood, he turned tail and ran back to paw the closed door. "Fine, you black devil. It is your furry backside that will suffer if you wake the sleeping princess. I will pretend complete ignorance."

  Quietly opening the door a small fraction to admit the cat, Reyn hesitated when he heard a muffled sound. Curious, he widened the opening, stunned by the scene before him.

  "Sweet mercy," he whispered before thundering a tortured cry for help.

  He ran to the bed and yanked the gag from Jocelyn's mouth, careful of the bruises and blood covering her face. "Darling, can you hear me?"

  Scanning her bare torso for additional injuries, he winced when he noticed the spattering of blood between her legs, and cursing himself for ten times a fool, he gently draped the covers over her naked body. "Dear God, forgive me."

  A ragged word escaped her lips. "Rodney."

  Sitting by the window in her room, leaning her forehead against the cold panes of glass, Jocelyn felt as miserable as the day promised to be. After eight days of rain, she felt the depression swell once again. Along with it came guilt and shame. What a fool she had been. So close to happiness, only to throw it away. And for what? Her stubborn pride.

  The painful memory, that tortured morning, flashed before her eyes. Reyn hovered above her, and she easily recognized the undiluted revulsion etched on his handsome face when he realized the extent of her injuries.
Her face, swollen from Rodney's punches, suffered a great deal of pain, as did her ribs. What alarmed her most was her naked state and the bruises on her legs. When she sat up, witnessing the blood that marred the insides of her thighs, she knew the source of Reyn's disgust. After two days and Dr. Dilby's approval, claiming her wounds mostly superficial, Reyn banished her to Wilcott Keep to recover.

  With her retreat from London, Reyn had stayed behind to search for Rodney. Upon his arrival at the Keep six days later, he'd informed her that his cousin hid somewhere in the city. When found, word would be immediately sent. No other discussion about the events in London, save a perfunctory question regarding her health, ever took place.

  "Good morning, madam."

  Jocelyn pushed the gloomy images from her mind, and having grown accustomed to the motherly attentions Dora offered, she weakly smiled at the sound of the servant's shuffling entrance. A rotund bundle of love and joy, Dora had coddled and cooed over the new duchess for two weeks. As a member of the staff since before Reyn's birth, she also brooked no nonsense in the running of the Keep, or its residents.

  "Show a leg, mum. Enough of this sulking. Go downstairs for a bite to eat. It ain't healthy to be hiding up here."

  "Dora, I hate this rain. I want to go outside."

  "Not today, luv. Not with this nasty bit of weather and you still on the mend."

  Jocelyn knew there was little point in discussing the matter. "I feel much better. Surely, a short walk would be beneficial, even restorative."

  Clucking her tongue as she often did, glancing out the window, Dora said gently, "Not with those clouds gathered over the high ridge of the Pennines. The weather can change as quickly as a cat trapping a mouse. You'll just have to be happy to catch a glimpse of the outdoors from the turrets. Off with you. Breakfast is waiting."

  Dejectedly, Jocelyn stood above the great hall that still revealed a large portion of the original castle design. Over one hundred feet in length, the room boasted massive rafters twenty feet in the air with four fireplaces to provide heat to the divided sections of the room. The sitting area, separated into cozy groupings of chairs, tables, rugs and screens, occupied over half the room. Another portion hosted tall oak bookshelves and a billiard table framed by gas lamps, which left the section utilized for dining where her husband happened to be sitting.