The Duke's Stolen Bride

by Sophie Jordan

Nora carefully set the hat down on the escritoire. “If you think it best.” With a shrug, she turned and faced Marian, her expression rather thoughtful.

  It was that curious, thoughtful look that unnerved her. Marian feared Nora was close to realizing just what she had interrupted, and how could she ever explain that to her sister? True, at age sixteen she was precocious, but Marian would like to shelter her a bit more. Was that not her role as elder sibling?

  Marian smiled brightly and then pulled back a fraction, fearing she was flashing too much teeth. She did not wish to appear like a grinning madwoman. “Don’t you have some sewing to do?” she asked, hoping to distract her sister.

  Nora pulled a face. “As always. Yes. Very well.”

  “And perhaps you could pick from the garden today. One of the cabbages looked ready.”

  “Cabbage soup then. Splendid.” With a roll of her eyes she turned and exited the room, calling out behind her, “See you this evening, Mari!”

  Alone in her room, Marian sank down on the edge of her bed.

  That had been close. Too close.

  She lowered her face into her hands and released a ragged breath.

  And also amazing. The things the duke had made her feel . . .

  It was simply astounding. Beyond pleasant. Mrs. Ramsey had been right. It’s always better when you enjoy it.

  She knew she should get dressed and moving, but she needed a minute to compose herself. Or five.

  Her limbs trembled, unsteady after all that had transpired.

  As far as lessons went, she felt particularly shattered.

  Even so, she could not wait for their next one.

  Chapter 15

  “Miss Langley! You-hoooo! Miss Langley!”

  Marian cringed, and stopped. She lifted her face skyward, sucking in a breath and hoping she was mistaken, hoping it was not Mrs. Pratt hailing her.

  Slowly, Marian turned and feasted her gaze on the woman charging toward her at a brisk pace. Of course, it was her neighbor. So much for enjoying her walk in solitude, lost in her thoughts of Warrington—Nate—and his impromptu visit.

  The sun was out and the day almost qualified as warm. She’d been contemplating when she and the duke might meet again. Was he waiting for her to reach out to him? Or was he planning to connect with her again? They hadn’t had time to discuss the particulars in his hasty departure from her bedchamber. Blast it. Mrs. Ramsey really needed to return so that Marian could gain her professional opinion on how an individual conducted lessons in seduction.

  Mrs. Pratt arrived at Marian’s side.

  “Good day to you, Mrs. Pratt.” Marian pasted a smile to her face.

  Mrs. Pratt pressed a hand to her side, breathing heavily from her efforts to catch up with Marian. “Heading to town? Splendid! We shall walk together.”

  “Splendid,” Marian echoed. Turning, they continued on their course.

  Mrs. Pratt eyed the empty basket swinging at Marian’s elbow. “Doing some shopping?”

  “I’m calling on the baker.”

  “The baker?” Mrs. Pratt arched one eyebrow. “For a hot loaf?”

  “Yes, I’m getting two actually.”

  “Two?”

  Marian nodded, trying not to take offense at the woman’s incredulity. “Then I need to visit the subscription library.”

  “Two loaves of bread and you’re visiting the subscription library?” Her eyebrows arched even higher, practically disappearing into her hairline. “Have your finances improved then?”

  Trust Mrs. Pratt to be ever direct.

  “The baker’s baby is suffering from gripe. He promised me a couple loaves in exchange for some of my sister’s cordial water. As for the library, I’m collecting some books for my charge, Miss Walker.”

  Indeed, she could not afford the annual fee for the subscription library, but the Walkers could. She often collected books on their behalf.

  “Ah. That makes sense.” Mrs. Pratt nodded, seemingly appeased. “Clever of you to utilize the assets the good Lord has seen fit to bless you and your sisters with.”

  Marian suppressed a smile. Indeed. She supposed she was doing that very thing in her arrangement with the duke. Wouldn’t Mrs. Pratt be so very scandalized to hear of it?

  Mrs. Pratt wrenched Marian from her musings and snatched hold of her arm. “Look, there!”

  Marian followed her gaze to the horse and rider approaching.

  Mrs. Pratt’s vise on her arm tightened. “’Tis the duke! He’s coming this way.” She bounced in place, her cheeks jiggling with anticipation.

  “Yes, I can see that.” Marian’s heart started to thump faster as he drew close. His hat shadowed his features, but she felt his stare as acutely as a touch on her face.

  Mrs. Pratt stopped her bouncing, but her grip still clung to Marian. “Stay close to me. It’s doubtful he would harm both of us.”

  Marian nodded mutely, scarcely listening to the woman as the duke pulled his mount up before them.

  He touched his hat and nodded to both of them. “Ladies.”

  “Your Grace. Lovely day for a ride,” Mrs. Pratt greeted.

  “Indeed, and for a stroll,” he returned.

  “We’re heading into town,” Mrs. Pratt volunteered as though he had inquired. “I’m calling on the vicar’s wife and Miss Langley here is going to the baker’s and the library.”

  Mrs. Pratt was the one talking, but the duke’s eyes remained fixed on Marian with an intensity she hoped the lady did not notice.

  Marian glanced down, suddenly self-conscious of her plain day dress. The faded brown would not flatter anyone. He must think her a frump.

  “Don’t let me keep you from your errands. Enjoy your day, ladies.” With another touch to his hat, he turned about and rode away.

  “Well,” Mrs. Pratt announced as they resumed their walk. “He was civil enough. One would never guess at his ungodly activities.” She tsked.

  Marian sent Mrs. Pratt a wry look. “We know nothing of his activities. It is all rumor.”

  The woman chuckled and patted Marian’s arm. “Oh, dear, sweet naïve Miss Langley.” She shook her head ruefully. “Did you not see him? He looks as though he hasn’t seen a razor in a fortnight. And how very big, is he? He’s virile like a . . . a dock worker. Not at all as a duke ought to be. And those devilish eyes?” She tsked again. “The way he sat astride his horse was fairly indecent.” Mrs. Pratt’s eyes took on a dreamy glint as she finished rattling off the duke’s negative attributes, which truthfully didn’t sound very negative when aired out loud.

  “Mrs. Pratt?” Marian prodded. “You were saying?”

  The woman blinked and focused again on Marian. “He is all things wicked, that is to be certain.” Mrs. Pratt linked arms with Marian. “Fortunately for you, he only seems to favor females of ill repute. You and your sisters should be quite safe from him. Especially that pretty Charlotte. You’re all handsome girls, mind you, but that Charlotte is the beauty of your household, as I’m sure you know.”

  “Yes, I’m aware,” Marian said drolly.

  Mrs. Pratt smiled and nodded, giving Marian’s arm another reassuring pat. “Such fine girls, you are. You are quite safe from that wicked duke.”

  Marian couldn’t help herself. She snuck a glance over her shoulder, seeking a glimpse of the wicked Duke of Warrington—a man from whom she was decidedly not safe, contrary to what Mrs. Pratt said.

  Unfortunately, he was already out of sight, and she frowned as she faced forward again. She should not even look back at him. Not in the company of the shire’s biggest gossip. What if Mrs. Pratt noted her unseemly interest? Marian needed to get in the habit of practicing discretion in his sphere and that meant disguising her interest.

  She endured the rest of the walk into town, contributing very little to the conversation. It wasn’t necessary, after all. Mrs. Pratt did most of the talking.

  They parted ways at the vicar’s house and Marian continued on to the baker’s shop, delivering the cordial a
nd tucking the two loaves of bread into her basket. The fresh golden loaves would be delicious with their soup tonight.

  The subscription library was one of her favorite places. When Papa was alive and had paid their annual fees, she’d spent many an afternoon walking the narrow aisles and browsing books.

  “Mr. Wallace,” she greeted to the elderly gentleman sitting at the cluttered desk near the front door.

  He jolted awake where he dozed, sitting upright in his chair with a sputter. “Miss Langley,” he returned, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose.

  “I’m here for some books for the Walkers.”

  He nodded distractedly, gesturing her inside with one old, gnarled hand before he crossed his arms over his narrow chest and closed his eyes again.

  She shook her head. It was no wonder people didn’t simply stroll inside the place and take whatever they wanted.

  Marian moved deeper into the shop, enjoying the musty smell of parchment and leather.

  The bells on the front door jingled and she heard the murmur of voices. She smiled slightly. Apparently someone else had dared to disturb old Mr. Wallace.

  Marian strolled to the back of the shop where she knew The Count of Monte Cristo was located. Not only was it a splendidly entertaining read, but useful for Annabel who needed to practice her French.

  Marian slid the book from the shelf and dropped it in her basket alongside the delicious smelling loaves. She then continued to browse, open to anything that popped out as potentially interesting.

  The back of the shop was dim and windowless, the only light that which streamed from the shop’s front windows. She had to peer closely to read the spines.

  She heard a creaking floorboard and turned, expecting to find another patron.

  Her breath caught. Nate was not who she expected to see. The last time she saw him he was riding away from town. Away from her.

  Now he was here.

  He was here and advancing down the aisle, moving unhurriedly, one arm stretched out, his fingers brushing along the spines.

  “Your Grace?” Was that squeaking her voice? She tried again. “Your Grace?” Much better.

  He didn’t respond.

  She looked up and down the narrow aisle, confirming they were alone.

  She flexed her suddenly sweating palm around the handle of her basket. “Are you here to browse? Brambledon has a fine selection.”

  He stopped in front of her. She edged away a step, her back colliding with the spines of countless books.

  “I am here to browse,” he agreed, flipping open her cloak to reveal her dull dress. It was modestly cut, exposing very little. Not that it seemed to matter. He surveyed her, examining Marian in her frumpy brown dress as though she were attired in the most provocative of gowns. Or naked. He knew what she looked like without clothes, after all. Heat fired her face at the memory.

  He moved in, encroaching, his body flush with hers. His head dipped, nose and lips grazing her exposed throat. He inhaled as though pulling her scent inside himself and she gulped, swallowing down a whimper.

  He nuzzled at her throat, his lips finding her skin, nibbling and kissing. Her knees nearly gave out when she felt the velvet swipe of his tongue.

  Her basket dropped with a thunk beside her as she grabbed his shoulders, clinging for support. “Wh-what are you doing, Your Grace?”

  “What’s it look like, Miss Langley?” The heated puff of his words on her skin only added to the delicious sensations spinning through her.

  “We’re in public,” she protested weakly.

  He lightly bit her throat and she gasped.

  “That’s part of the thrill.” He spoke against her throat and the movement of his lips on her tender skin spiked sensation straight to her core. “Count this as one of your lessons. Spontaneity can be intoxicating and isn’t that what you want to be?” He lifted his face to gaze at her.

  “Oh. I see.” She inhaled deeply, overwhelmed. He looked at her as though she were the intoxicating creature he described.

  “Intoxicating,” he repeated softly. “A mistress no man can refuse. What was it you asked me to do that night you came to me? How did you phrase it? Show me how to be a good lover. You said you wanted to know everything there is to know about pleasing a man.”

  She nodded. He spoke true.

  She closed her eyes in a long blink, but that didn’t get rid of his voice in her head or the sensation of his body against hers. When she reopened her eyes, he was still there, compelling, beautiful, his eyes mesmerizing her.

  The way he made her feel, the ideas he put in her head . . .

  He completely unraveled her. Her. Was she doing the same to him?

  Unraveling was what she needed to learn, but what if she couldn’t do it? What if she couldn’t unravel a man . . . this man?

  Marian reached up to take his face between her hands. She studied him in the gloom of the library, peering into his eyes, searching, hoping she found even a fraction of the desire he stirred within her.

  He turned his face into her hand, kissing her palm leisurely, deeply, closing his eyes as though savoring her.

  Oh. My.

  It was only her palm, but she whimpered. His mouth slid down to the inside of her wrist, and she hissed out a breath as though in pain . . . because it felt that good. Incredible. Every nerve in her body hummed.

  His mouth opened as he kissed her there, his teeth lightly scoring the fragile skin and she swallowed a ragged cry as all those humming nerves went wild.

  She had no notion the inside of her wrist was such a sensitive area.

  He looked up, watching her with eyes hooded and dark.

  With a soft cry of surrender, she dove for his lips and kissed him, gripping his face between her hands as though he might suddenly vanish.

  He met her lips, returning her ravenous kiss. His arms delved inside her cloak and wrapped around her waist, hauling her in, as close as two people could get.

  Well, almost as close. They could never get that close. That was not part of the agreement. And the fact that they could not ever fully consummate this relationship—that he could never fill the hollow ache inside her with the hard ridge that rubbed against her belly—was just sheer disappointment.

  She slanted her head and deepened the kiss, her tongue dancing and twining with his. He growled in approval, his hands sliding down to grip her bottom and hike her higher against the shelves so that they matched perfectly, so that the hard ridge of him prodded directly where she wanted him most—where she ached and throbbed and could never have him.

  No, she would save that for the highest bidder. She would maintain control over her body and choose a benefactor who would properly compensate her.

  Marian would sell herself to a man who wasn’t him. To someone for whom she felt nothing. That’s the way she wanted it to be—the way it had to be.

  A sob swelled in her throat. The reminder hit her like a slap. She broke away. “I-I . . . we need to stop.”

  He stepped back, dropping his hands at his sides.

  His breathing was labored in a way that made her feel better. She wasn’t the only one affected. At least there was that.

  He dragged a hand through his hair. “A bit much for you? Changed your mind?” He held himself stiffly, as though waiting to hear her pronounce that their lessons were over.

  “Oh, no. The arrangement still stands.” She simply needed to remember the end goal. Security for herself and her family.

  “What’s wrong then?”

  She ran a shaky hand down her face and looked up and down the aisle. “We can’t do this now. Not here.”

  He looked at her hungrily, stepping forward and placing one hand on each side of her head, caging her in. “Then when can we meet again?” His thick growl turned her skin to gooseflesh.

  “I . . .” She stopped and swallowed, moistening her lips.

  He angled his head, watching her carefully, his gaze on her mouth, following the swipe of her tongue
.

  “I will come to you,” she finally said.

  “You’ll come to me?” His voice was amused. He was skeptical. He thought she’d lost her nerve and was being evasive.

  She lifted her chin. “I will.”

  “Very well then.” He lowered his hands and stepped back. “I look forward to our next engagement.”

  After a long moment, he turned and left her alone in the aisle. A few moments later, the bells on the door jingled, announcing his departure.

  She waited a few minutes until she regained her composure. Satisfied her hands had stopped shaking, she reclaimed her basket off the floor and departed the library without even a glance from Mr. Wallace where he napped in his chair.

  Once outside, she took a quick glance around. No sight of the duke. He was gone.

  She turned down the lane and set a brisk pace. Mrs. Walker would be expecting her. If Marian was even one minute late, she would never hear the end of it.

  “Miss Langley!”

  She spun around at the sound of her name, joy filling her at the sight of Mrs. Ramsey.

  The finely dressed lady crossed the street, holding her parasol very correctly to shield her face.

  “It’s lovely to see you, Mrs. Ramsey,” Marian exclaimed. “I called on you while you were away.”

  “Oh, dear, perhaps I should have sent word to you.” Her lips pursed in a frown as she considered this. “Oh, dear, dear. I should have considering our last discussion. Shame on me.”

  “Fret not. I’m glad you’ve returned now.” She expelled a happy breath.

  “Where are you off to?”

  “I’m on my way to tutor Annabel Walker.”

  “Come then. My carriage is just down the lane. I will drop you there.” She fell in step beside Marian, looping her arm through hers. “And you can tell me all the recent developments.” She winked and glanced around them as though to assure they had no audience—not that they had said anything indiscreet.

  Mrs. Ramsey’s driver was ready with the door open for them.

  “We’re letting Miss Langley out at the Walker residence, Giles.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied as he assisted first Mrs. Ramsey and then Marian up inside.