The Hazards of Hunting a Duke

by Julia London

  She flinched when he slowly slipped one finger inside her, then two, and gently forced her body to open. But when he moved over her, pushing her legs apart with his knee and leaning over her until his manhood brushed against the swell of her sex, she flinched again.

  “Relax,” he muttered, and guided the velvet tip to brush her sheath. She wrenched beneath him, reflexively looking for an escape from the invasion. “Relax,” he whispered again, and slowly, gently, he entered her, pushing a little farther, and then a little farther again, before settling down around her to begin a delicate dance inside her.

  He kissed her tenderly, catching her bottom lip between his teeth, swirling his tongue inside her mouth as he continued his exquisite assault. Her body opened to him so naturally, so instinctively, that she was astounded both physically and emotionally by nature’s joining of a man and woman. His breathing, she noticed, was hard, as if he struggled to maintain control.

  He lowered himself to her completely and carefully slid deeper into her.

  And then he paused. His hand stretched out to where hers clutched the bedcovers, and covered it. With a soft groan, he lifted his hips and suddenly thrust forward.

  The sharpness of the pain caught her by surprise, and she unconsciously cried out as her whole body tensed in anticipation of more pain. She heard Jared’s hiss of breath and felt his grip on her shoulder tighten as he stilled inside her. “Dear God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he muttered, tenderly stroking her cheek. “God forgive me, I never meant to hurt you.”

  Ava barely heard him; she had no idea what to expect now, and was afraid that more pain would come. Even though the initial pain was slowly subsiding, she feared what he might do next.

  She shifted uncomfortably beneath him—but his lips brushed across hers, touching her cheek and temple while his hand stroked her hair. He began to move again, easy and slow, sliding into her depths and out again, moving with her until his hand tightened around her wrist. “Easy,” he breathed into her neck, and repeated the movement, filling her with pain and pleasure all at once.

  It was a magnificent sensation—the pleasure was overtaking the pain as he continued his even course of stroking her with his body, lengthening inside her. When his hand slipped between their joined bodies and began to stroke her, Ava choked on a cry of pleasure. As every muscle strained to surround him, his strokes took on a new urgency, and he gathered her in his arms.

  “Hold me,” he whispered. Ava put her arms around him and lifted her legs, wrapping them around him, too.

  She felt as if she were soaring high above their bodies, the pleasure seeping into the space around them. And when she thought she could bear no more, she climaxed again, heard his low groan as he thrust into her one last time and shuddered.

  He lay panting for several seconds before he lifted his head and brushed the hair from her eyes. “Are you all right? Are you in pain?”

  All right? She was glowing. She had not known that the joining of a man and woman could be so physically liberating. She smiled tenderly and put her hand to his chin. “I am fine.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, his expression full of desire. He kissed her lightly as he eased out of her body and rolled onto his back, propping one arm behind his head as his breathing returned to normal. One hand tangled with hers, stroking her palm and twining with her fingers. He said nothing, but looked toward the fire. Ava rolled into his side, nuzzling her face in his neck, smiling contentedly when he gripped her hand.

  Beside her, Jared was feeling very strange. That had been a truly moving experience—to take a woman’s virginity sparked something deep and primal within him. It wasn’t just sex, but something much more profound. It had left him feeling oddly possessive of her, and worse, oddly vulnerable, as if he’d opened a door on himself he’d never known existed and didn’t know where it led.

  He squeezed her hand, thought of the morrow, and the day after that, and the day after that—and slowly began to remember why he was in her bed at all. “When will you next see your courses?” he asked with all the finesse of a goat.

  His question obviously startled her; she looked up, wide-eyed, and blushing. “I…I don’t know in all certainty. A week. Maybe longer.”

  He said nothing more, just closed his eyes, holding her hand. Next to him, Ava shivered and pulled the bedcovers around her shoulders, then settled onto his chest, her eyes closed. He listened to the sound of her breathing, listened to it deepen as she fell asleep.

  He couldn’t sleep—he couldn’t allow such tender feelings to stew. His thoughts were warring with his emotions, his common sense trying to convince him it had been an unremarkable coupling while his heart told him something different.

  He glanced down, saw that Ava was asleep, and carefully extracted himself from the arm thrown across his middle, the shapely leg on top of his. As he eased out of bed, Ava rolled to the middle; he couldn’t help but smile.

  He donned a dressing gown, walked to the window, and looked out at the early summer night. Jesus, but he felt at sea. He’d always bedded whom he pleased without feelings of guilt or remorse. But with Ava, he was feeling so many things at once that he found it all rather daunting.

  So daunting that he hardly slept that night, and when he rose with the dawn the next morning, clinging to the edge of the bed where Ava had pushed him in her sleep abandon, he was determined that he’d not let another moment of raw sentimentality cloud his thoughts.

  He had done what was required of him. Now he need only wait and see if he’d planted the necessary seed. Yet he could not shake the grip of something unnatural budding inside of him.

  Before the sun was even in the sky, Jared Broderick had dressed and taken a horse from a sleepy stableboy.

  When Ava awoke the next morning, she was alone in the bed. She sat up, using a sheet to cover herself, and blinked the sleep from her eyes as she looked around the room.

  “Jared?” she called, but the name sounded foreign on her lips. She cleared her throat. “My lord?” she called out again, and rolled her eyes. That sounded entirely too formal after what had happened between them. Something profound had happened to her—something greater than the loss of her virginity. She felt sticky and sore, but she also felt incredibly…alive. That act, as painful as it had been, was also perhaps the most defining moment in her life. It was as if she had crossed some sort of invisible threshold, and the thought occurred to her that she might actually come to love Middleton.

  She got out of the bed, taking the sheet with her and wrapping it around her body.

  He was not in the dressing room. Nor was he in his private study. With a sigh, Ava returned to the bedroom and glanced around. She saw a pin box on his dresser and walked over to have a look. The pin lay on the top of the dresser, and in the box, she noticed, was a small, folded piece of vellum.

  Ava picked up the vellum and opened it, expecting to see something like the bill of sale. But what she saw was flourished handwriting that made her heart twist in her chest.

  My darling, the note started, and Ava’s breath caught in her throat. She lifted her hand to her mouth.

  Please accept this token of my love. It is a Celtic love knot, one that symbolizes everlasting love between two people. My hope is that you will wear it today and think of our future, and know when you hold it in your hand that my heart shall always be yours to hold.

  M.

  Ava’s mouth suddenly went dry. She dropped the vellum like it was fire, then quickly folded it and put it back in the box where she’d found it and backed away. Yet she could not take her eyes from the pin, the love knot tied so intricately that it could never come undone.

  The knowledge that Lady Waterstone had sent it to him to wear on his wedding day, had asked him to wear it and think of her, made her feel quite ill.

  She stumbled away from the dresser, to the bed and the bloodstained sheets, and collapsed onto it as she tried to catch her breath.

  Eighteen

  J ared was i
n London by late morning. He bathed, met with Mr. Bean about settling a suitable allowance for Ava on her family, to be given at once, and then repaired to White’s by late afternoon.

  With the exception of the early morning, when he’d left his bride sleeping peacefully in his bed, her lips curled into a beguiling little smile in her sleep, Jared hadn’t thought of Ava very much. As soon as he knew he had put a child in her belly, he would return to London permanently and that would be the end to these uncharacteristically soft and tender feelings he was having for her.

  At White’s, he was met by several curious looks, but none more curious than that of Harrison, who stared at Jared as if he’d seen a ghost when he joined him at their usual table. “Has something happened?” Harrison asked anxiously.

  “No,” Jared said with a laugh. “There were matters here that required my attention.”

  “Here?” Harrison asked, peering at him skeptically. “None that could wait, or be given your attention at Broderick Abbey? You just married yesterday, after all.”

  “Are you my bloody conscience?” Jared snapped.

  Harrison smiled wryly. “No…I’d be a better conscience to you than the one you’ve apparently got.”

  He didn’t need to be lectured about his duty by his old friend—he’d done his duty. But Jared didn’t respond, just turned and ordered a round of whiskey. And Harrison’s initial scorn didn’t keep him from drinking or indulging in a few high-stakes rounds of cards with him, either.

  Jared returned to Broderick Abbey the next afternoon, arriving only an hour or so before the supper hour. “Please tell Lady Middleton I am returned,” Jared said as he handed Dawson his hat and coat. He could hardly avoid Ava, and he didn’t want to avoid her. Quite the contrary—he actually enjoyed her company. He just didn’t want to feel a deep bond to her.

  “Her ladyship has asked that, if you arrived, you join her for supper at eight,” Dawson replied.

  “I shall, but I should like to wash and change my clothing before I meet her. Have a bath prepared, will you?” he said, and strode past his butler, taking the post a footman offered him on his way up to his suite.

  In his suite, he went through the various letters. Most were from well-wishers on the occasion of his marriage. There were a few pieces of business correspondence as well, and an invitation to join Harrison’s annual inauguration of the hunting season in two months’ time.

  Last, there was a letter from Miranda. That one Jared put aside without reading.

  He strode to the bellpull and yanked it; a few moments later, a footman appeared. “Bring some clothing for my supper with the marchioness,” he said, and poured himself a whiskey—which he seemed to be doing quite a lot these last two weeks, he thought numbly—and sat in one of the wingback chairs at the hearth.

  As the footman disappeared through an adjoining door, Jared removed his boots and leaned back, propped his feet on the ottoman, his mind wandering to thoughts of how he might rotate the crops to bring a better yield.

  But when the door to the dressing room opened, he caught the faint scent of perfume and glanced up; it was Ava standing there, holding his clothing in her arms. “What a pleasant surprise, Lady Middleton,” he said, slightly taken aback that she would appear without introduction.

  She said nothing, just walked to where he sat and put his clothes on the ottoman next to his foot. Then she folded her arms across her middle in a way Jared recognized as the universal symbol of feminine ire. No matter how sweet the smile, the devilish gleam in the eye and the fold of the arms spoke volumes.

  He slowly gained his feet, standing a good six inches taller than his wife. “You are frowning, Lady Middleton. Is there something not to your liking at Broderick Abbey?” he asked. “Tell me and I shall have it repaired at once.”

  She looked quite surprised by that. She leaned toward him, chin up, and said, “You disappeared without a word.”

  He leaned forward so that they were looking each other in the eye and said softly, “It is not true I left without word, madam. I informed Dawson where I would be.” With that he picked up his tot and walked to the sideboard to pour another whiskey.

  “But you didn’t leave word with me.”

  “You were sleeping. I did not want to disturb you.”

  “I can understand if you’d gone to Broderick, but London?”

  He shrugged insouciantly. “I had business there. I often have business in London.”

  “Of course, but we were married only two days past.”

  “I am quite aware of when we married,” he said irritably. He tossed the whiskey down his throat and turned to face her. “Commerce does not cease for weddings, births, or funerals.”

  “Oh…then it was something that couldn’t wait?” she asked hopefully, and waited for him to confirm that yes, it had been something so terribly important it could not have possibly waited another moment—something so important that it would cause a man to leave the woman he’d wedded only the day before.

  As that was very far from the truth, her question made him extremely uncomfortable and he sighed impatiently. “I will indulge your questions on this occasion, Lady Middleton, as we are fairly new to one another, but I do not like to be questioned so closely. I went to London so that I could set up an allowance for you and your family. I have now returned from London. But I often travel as business and obligations dictate. In fact, in a few days, I shall travel to Marshbridge to see about some cattle.”

  “To Marshbridge?” she echoed incredulously.

  “Your lady’s maid will arrive in a few days,” he reminded her. “I am certain you will have much to keep you occupied, what with all that you must learn about Broderick Abbey. You will hardly notice my absence at all.”

  “But I will,” she said bleakly, as if he’d just announced he was leaving for the Continent for an indefinite amount of time. “How long shall you be away?”

  As long as is required to rid myself of these unnatural feelings. “I am uncertain,” he said. “Two days. Perhaps longer.”

  She blinked, and looked at her hands.

  He felt, of a sudden, rather tired and cross. “Shall I see you at supper?” he asked curtly.

  Ava lifted her head, and the mildly irked look in her green eyes agitated him. Why did she look at him like that? They’d made their bargain—would she pretend now that she didn’t know exactly what they’d agreed? Her womb for his name, nothing more than that. She seemed to have already forgotten it, was intent on shackling him from the very outset. He abruptly turned away from her. “I shall join you downstairs.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation, then the sound of her leaving his room.

  An hour later, Jared joined Ava in the salon. She had changed her clothes, and was wearing a cream-colored silk gown embroidered with dark green leaves that made her look a bit like an angel. Around her throat was a triple strand of pearls that matched those clipped to her ears and strung in her hair. He had thought her pretty once, but the more he saw of her, the more he found her to be uniquely beautiful.

  She was pacing a little when he walked into the salon, oblivious to the two footmen who attended her. She jerked her gaze to him when the door closed behind him, her eyes quickly taking him in as she walked across the room to him. She dropped a very quick curtsy, and just as quickly, rose up on her toes to peck him on the cheek.

  He smiled wryly. “Been in the whiskey again, have you?” he teased her.

  “Not as yet. Should I begin?” she asked sarcastically.

  He hated that look on her face; he wanted to see her sunny smile again. “You may do as you like. You won’t mind if I have one, will you?” Indeed, one of the footmen was moving toward the sideboard as he spoke. He motioned for Ava to take a seat on the settee, and sat beside her.

  When the footman had presented him with the whiskey, he held it up to her in silent toast. “A very lovely gown,” he said, taking it in. “Quite fetching.”

  She smiled thinly and sat rather stiffly
next to him. Neither of them spoke. His bride, always so exuberant, was very subdued.

  “Does the abbey meet with your approval?” he asked idly, hardly caring of her answer, wanting only to break the cold silence that was enveloping them.

  But she looked at him as if he were mad. “Very much, my lord.”

  He glanced at the arm of the settee. “Did Dawson look after you while I was away?” he asked as he plucked absently at the seam in the fabric.

  “He did, indeed. Miss Hillier, too. She’s very fond of you.”

  “And I of her,” he admitted. “She was my nursemaid.”

  “Yes,” Ava said, glancing away. “She said as much. She told me how you were five years before you could pronounce the letter s.”

  He shook his head. Miss Hillier could drive him quite round the bend on occasion. “Did you have a nursemaid?” he asked for sake of conversation.

  “Several. My mother couldn’t seem to keep them employed for very long. I suppose we were so terribly spoiled that no one could bear us.”

  He could well imagine the three of them torturing some poor nursemaid. “Spoiled?”

  “Oh, dreadfully!” she exclaimed, and seemed to relax as she began to tell him tales, in great animation, of her life at Bingley Hall. It was odd, he thought, that a person could swear his devotion to a woman and know so little about her. The years at Bingley Hall were obviously her fondest memory, and he wasn’t even certain where it was.

  But at least the memory of it animated her, and he enjoyed watching her talk, her hands moving expressively, her green eyes glimmering with tales of what seemed a happy childhood. When Dawson announced supper, and he escorted his wife to her seat, she told him again of her mother’s death and how suddenly it had come. His heart went out to her—his own mother had been gone a long time now, but he remembered that deep sense of loss, the hole in him that his mother’s love had once filled.