Redemption of the Duke

by Gayle Callen

  “Let me hold you, let me touch you,” she gasped, still constrained by her sleeves and the back of the sofa behind her.

  But as if he hadn’t heard, he bent and pressed light kisses along the bodice of her chemise, then went farther, taking her nipple into his mouth through the garment.

  She cried out at the exquisite pleasure. “Please, oh, please,” she begged, knowing exactly what she needed.

  At last her arm came free and she reached up to pull down her chemise, to rip the strap if she had to.

  He stopped her hand. “No, let me.”

  She had a momentary feeling of apprehension, as if she’d done something wrong, revealed her experience.

  “I need to do this,” he said against her throat. “I’ve been waiting so long.”

  She melted at those words, tried to put away her fears. He pulled her bodice down and the gown pooled at her feet, leaving just the sheer chemise. And then he caressed her body through it, as if delaying the reveal like a package at Christmas. But at last she was able to touch him, to run her hands up his arms, to sink her fingers into his thick, silky hair and hold him to her.

  She felt a draft on the backs of her thighs and knew he was fisting the chemise in both hands, pulling it slowly upward. She lifted her arms and it came right off.

  She was nude, and without thinking, she folded her arms at the top of her head, displaying herself provocatively. It didn’t matter that he was still fully clothed; her heavy breasts and rounded hips seemed to please him, and that excited her.

  “To think you once hid this magnificence behind shapeless gowns,” he said with fervor.

  For just a moment, her eyes stung at such generous praise. It was so hard to believe herself worthy of it.

  “You’re thinking again,” he said. “Don’t think.”

  And then he pulled his shirt over his head and she didn’t want to think about anything but him. She’d never seen a man whose body rivaled what she’d seen in museum statues—she’d almost thought they had to be exaggerated, but now she knew otherwise. He was perfectly proportioned, chest well muscled and scattered with light brown hair, which continued down over the ridges of his abdomen. There were puckered scars of course, the marks of war, but none that looked deep or nearly fatal. She let her hands roam over him, knowing he found as much pleasure in it as she did. And then he brought her up hard against him, bare flesh to bare flesh, her nipples teased by the hair on his chest. She put her hands on his trousers and unbuttoned with too much expertise, but she was beyond caring now. When his trousers and underclothes fell to the floor, she took his heavy cock in her hand and stroked.

  With a groan, he stopped her by lifting her off her feet and carrying her into his bedroom. He laid her back on the bed, and she let her hair fall all around her, reaching for him.

  He came down beside her and began a slow exploration that near drove her out of her mind with wanting. Every caress was so filled with tenderness and admiration, as if her pleasure were more important than his own. Much as she’d enjoyed the act before, this was a revelation, a true mark of his care for her.

  She rolled onto her side to face him, leaning in to kiss him even as his fingers slid between her thighs.

  “Oh,” she moaned, raising her knee, letting him explore, as she focused her own teasing touch on his erection.

  They kissed with hungry mouths, making love sounds that only heightened her arousal. She whimpered as he circled the most pleasure-sensitive part of her, then delved deep inside. She tightened her sheath around his fingers, and he met her eyes in shock.

  “Take me, Adam,” she breathed, eyes half closed in arousal. “Please. I’m ready.”

  He rolled her onto her back and settled between her thighs. She lifted her legs off the bed, clutched him with her knees, doing her best to guide him where she wanted.

  He laughed against her mouth. “Impatient, are you?”

  “Yes, yes, impatient for you.”

  And then he sank into her, and it was as if she’d been waiting for this joining from the moment they’d met. They were together, together forever, and he looked down into her eyes even as he moved against her forcefully. She moved her body with his, knowing what she wanted, feeling the spiraling rise of desire overwhelm her before she could even think to make it last. She shuddered beneath him, the pleasure expanding outward until every part of her body seemed a part of his.

  She opened her eyes and found him staring at her, intent, as he picked up speed, moving his body, changing the angle of his hips, as if he were trying to bring her to climax with him.

  And he succeeded, groaning as he released his seed, and they shuddered together in mutual passion.

  His weight was a pleasant heaviness, and she almost pouted when he rolled off. But he didn’t go far, pulling her up along his body and into the crook of his arm. Sighing with happiness, she let her hands trail through his chest hair.

  And then her stomach growled.

  Eyes wide, she looked up at him, and they both laughed.

  “Now I know what’s important to you,” he said. “I have to feed every one of your body’s demands.”

  “You fed the important one first,” she said. Then her smile faded, and so did his.

  “Tell me I made you happy,” he said softly.

  “You did,” she answered with the same quiet reflection. “I think I’m rather shocked by how much I enjoyed it.”

  He cupped her face. “He treated you poorly?”

  She was surprised that he’d openly spoken of her protector in their marriage bed—but then again, he was a man who did what he wanted, often not thinking first.

  “No, not that. He was good to me. I . . . made myself forget the enjoyment, I think. I’ve been so afraid that there was a part of me that was made for such wicked deeds, that I was . . . bad, because I liked how he made me feel. It worried me that in some way I was most suited to being a mistress, that I liked it. But you have made me see that it can be natural and right when two people—” She found herself stumbling then, adding, “when two people are married.”

  If he thought anything of the abrupt change in direction, he didn’t mention it, only said, “Faith, everything we do and feel and experience together is right. I don’t want you to think I feel like I’m in some kind of competition with your past. I am your present, your future, and it’s up to me to make them the best years of your life.”

  They kissed again, deeply, seriously, intently, before he led her naked to the table where she couldn’t help giggling as they fed each other. But she couldn’t forget her hesitation on “when two people”—had she been about to say “love each other”? That wasn’t true for them, not yet, maybe not ever. But she was thinking about it more and more. Maybe she did love him, but deep inside, she was worried that a man who felt he had to constantly save her—from poverty, from herself—could never respect her enough to truly love her as his equal.

  And she wanted to be loved, perhaps more than she wanted to be saved.

  Adam awoke to the most pleasant morning of his life. His bed was full of the warm softness of Faith—his wife. Forever she would be at his side.

  Stroking her hair as she slept, he thought about their wedding day, and his first glimpse of her in the fine gown with orange blossoms in her hair and a veil that made her mysterious. Her eyes had been large when she’d met him at the altar, as if she thought he planned to change his mind. Marrying her did not seem to make her fully trust him, but somehow he’d convince her.

  He was still relieved and amazed that the day had gone so well. Perhaps he’d secretly thought the blackguard would somehow interrupt, but no one had. He’d feared it during the ceremony, though, when he’d seen Timothy Gilpin at the back of the church. He’d wanted to throw him out, but anyone could be in a public church. And if he threw out Gilpin, he might have
to do the same to Shenstone, who’d glowered at him and his best men as if Adam had never asked him to stand up with him.

  But at least Shenstone had attended, which somehow made Adam feel better.

  He liked seeing Faith with Michael, Robert, and their wives. It was amazing that three friends had returned from war, scarred and grieving and trying to atone, and somehow managed to find happiness. And the two couples had love, too, which was obvious just being near them. Would he and Faith someday inspire people with the same emotions?

  As if his thoughts disturbed her, she suddenly stirred. He was able to see her dark lashes fan her cheeks, then slowly rise to meet his, revealing eyes as gorgeous gray as clouds heralding a storm. He liked to think no day would ever be the same with her, as if her mood and temper could change with every thought. Right now she still held herself back, though, as if afraid to reveal herself.

  But not the previous night.

  He was hard just remembering how she’d met him equally, not a shy bride afraid or ignorant on her wedding night. It obviously bothered her to be that way, but not him. He appreciated her lusty qualities, and hoped she would never again think she was “bad” for enjoying their marriage bed.

  She arched and stretched, and the blanket fell down to her waist. He stared at her breasts as if he’d never seen a woman before. She rose up on her elbow, her dark hair falling about her shoulders, her smile languid and knowing, even as she slid her hand beneath the sheets until she felt the rigid length of him.

  He inhaled sharply. “Faith,” he said on a groan.

  And then she rose up and straddled him, sliding along his cock with the warm wet depths of herself. Before he could do more than gasp, he was inside her, and she sat back on his hips until he was fully sheathed.

  “My God,” he said hoarsely, then reached up and took her breasts in his hands.

  She sat still for an achingly long time, eyes half closed as she enjoyed his caresses. He could feel the spasms inside her when she reacted to each touch, and he thought he’d go mad staying so still. As if reading his mind—or perhaps his cock—she began to move, strong thighs lifting her up and down, breasts bouncing into his palms. He sat up to take one breast deep into his mouth, and she moaned and held him to her. They strained into each other, gasping, aching, and when he felt her come, he arched up inside her and gave her everything he had.

  It was her turn to roll to the side and collapse, and they looked at each other, wearing silly grins.

  “Words . . . fail me,” he said long minutes later, still breathing heavily.

  Her grin turned wicked, her hair wild from their exertions. My God, he could have taken her again, she so roused every part of him.

  And then she covered her red face with her hand. “How am I supposed to face your family like this? No wonder people take wedding trips, just so everyone can become used to the changed circumstances.”

  “Should I whisk you away?”

  She dropped her hand, and her smile faded. “No, I wasn’t suggesting that. I should be here.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Will it always be so easy?” she teased. “Or perhaps this morning was a good example of why you’re trying to keep me happy.”

  “I have more plans to keep you happy. But today, let’s just stay here and be together. We’ll have all our meals sent up.”

  “No! That would be so . . . obvious.”

  “So?”

  She winced even as she looked intrigued. “Are you certain?”

  “I’m certain.”

  So that’s what they did. And when they finally emerged from their apartments, they spent a few days doing things together: horseback riding along Rotten Row in Hyde Park, to reacquaint Faith with horses after years without them; walks in the conservatory on rainy days, and they even had a picnic there, which Frances joined, giggling the whole time at the novelty of it all.

  At last they emerged back into Society together, first attending the opera in the Rothford box. Faith told him it was like letting everyone ogle them all at once, and getting it out of the way. Privately, he thought his anonymous blackguard needed to see that none of his threats mattered.

  At intermission they hosted many visitors, and he found himself separated from her, but still watching.

  Shenstone made an appearance, which surprised him, smiling his way through the dozen guests, and then that smile fading when his gaze met Adam’s.

  “Rothford,” he said, still in that measured tone so unlike him. “You seem besotted with your bride.”

  “I am. Marriage is a happy state. Perhaps someday you’ll try it.”

  And somehow that was the wrong thing to say, for his brows lowered in a frown, and he soon made his excuses. Adam sighed—when would he figure out how to repair his relationship with his old friend? Or if he even should, considering Shenstone was under suspicion for being the anonymous blackguard just by his behavior alone. And perhaps that was a mistake. Would someone hiding his identity be so openly antagonistic? That actually gave him a brief moment of hope.

  That night, alone in their suite, he watched Faith brush out her hair after her lady’s maid left. This simple, peaceful moment always brought him a quiet joy at the end of the day.

  “Adam, did you see Lady Emmeline and Lord Shenstone together tonight? It is . . . a strange friendship. She seems so unhappy about losing the dream of marrying you—even despondent, according to Sophia. I cannot decide if Lord Shenstone is trying to cheer her up or—I hate to say it—take advantage of her weakened state to benefit his own interests.”

  Adam sighed. “He’s never been one to abuse an innocent. But lately, I don’t feel like I know what he’s thinking anymore.”

  Faith paused, eyes downcast, her manner far too hesitant.

  “What is it?” he asked. “You know you can tell me anything.”

  “Do you think Lady Emmeline would sink so low that she might try to become your mistress? She seems focused on you.”

  Adam blinked at her. “You cannot be serious.”

  “I know something of desperation,” she reminded him.

  “But she is not desperate the same way you were, sweetheart.”

  But the forlorn expression wouldn’t leave her face, as if Emmeline’s plight were her own.

  “She will forget about me,” Adam said, coming to stand behind her and resting his hands on her shoulders. “She has a fortune, beauty, and the beginnings of a caring nature.”

  He said the last as a joke, but Faith didn’t laugh, only continued to look troubled.

  “Put this out of your mind, Faith. I want you to be happy. You’re my duchess now. I did my best to make you happy, and I think I was right.”

  She met his eyes again and frowned. “Why did you emphasize making me happy?”

  He paused for only the briefest moment. “I don’t understand what you mean. I wanted you to be happy as my bride.”

  Her frown grew somber and suspicious. “Adam, what is the ‘right thing’ you’re happy we did? We were found alone together, kissing. Is that?”

  “I know it started out precariously, but I always knew we suited, and that our marriage would be good. Are we not happy?”

  And now her mouth fell open before she whispered. “Did you—did you deliberately compromise me, Adam? Is that how you made me happy?”

  Chapter 22

  Faith’s unease blossomed into a cold sensation of fear as she looked into Adam’s eyes through the mirror. She was almost afraid to turn around, afraid to see that the mirror wasn’t distorting what she saw with her own eyes. He clenched his jaw, and it was like the clean thrust of a knife through her ribs.

  “Oh Adam, what did you do?” she whispered hoarsely.

  He’d asked her to marry him, over and over again, and she’d refused every proposal.
Had he taken the matter into his own hands?

  “Did you know your family’s exact schedule that night?” she demanded.

  When he still said nothing, she jumped up to face him, but put distance between them, because if he touched her, she might scream. Every dream of happiness, of feeling respected and cherished, was slowly burning into ashes.

  “Then I’ll go to Sophia and find out!”

  “No, there is no need.”

  He spoke impassively, but there was a light of righteousness in his eyes.

  “Then answer my question!” Her voice sounded shrill, but she didn’t care.

  “I knew they would be coming in—not all of them. I thought only Sophia and Aunt Theodosia, who could be trusted.”

  “You—you deliberately humiliated me,” she whispered, hand to her throat as the lump there grew and grew, demanding to be cried out with angry, painful tears.

  “I didn’t want you to feel that way. I knew we’d be embarrassed, but don’t you see? We need each other, we want each other. I wanted you as my duchess and no other.”

  “You wanted to save me from my sins,” she said bitterly.

  “I want to protect you, to keep you safe and happy and give you children!”

  She saw the incomprehension and frustration on his face, which only made her angrier.

  “No—you wanted to save yourself from your sins,” she countered. “This is about your guilt, and your need to be in control. You had all the power over me. Do you know how I blamed myself for besmirching your honorable reputation? How I thought my own unseemly lust forced you into this marriage?”

  “That’s not true, none of it!”

  “I cried myself to sleep, thinking I was every kind of sinner my mother called me—”

  “Faith, no.” His eyes went somber and sad. “I wanted to make things better for both of us.”

  “You can tell yourself you were trying to help me, but it wasn’t about me—it was about you and the guilt you cannot let go of.” She gave a harsh laugh. “And to think I hoped we could someday actually love each other.”