Wicked Christmas (Regency Sinners 8)

by Carole Mortimer

She shook her head from side to side. “I do not care.”

  “I do.”

  “I know you will not hurt me any more than you need to.”

  Martin continued to look at her for several long seconds before nodding. “Place your hands on my arms and squeeze tightly. If it hurts too much—”

  “It will not,” she stated with certainty. “You will not,” she assured as she placed her palms lightly on his forearms.

  Something expanded and grew inside Martin’s chest at the utter trust he could see shining in Monique’s eyes.

  A trust he had no intention of damaging, his movements slow but determined as he once again took his cock in hand and began to press forward. Monique gave a gasp as his cockhead pierced her virginity, before sighing her satisfaction as Martin continued to slowly fill her cunny until his cock was seated to the hilt, his balls pressing beneath her stretched cunny lips.

  “Everything all right?” he prompted gruffly.

  Monique felt so much more than “all right.” With Martin’s cock buried deep inside her, she felt completely whole for the first time in her life. As if she had been born to belong to Martin. The other half of him. As he was the other half of her.

  “Perfect,” she assured huskily. “Absolutely perfect.” She pulled him down so that she could kiss him. She wasn’t ready to speak words of love to him, any more than she thought he was ready to hear them, but hopefully, she could convey a little of that emotion as they kissed.

  It felt like perfection to Martin too. Being inside Monique was so much more than he had ever felt or known before. There was a rightness to it. A completion that had been missing from his life until this moment and he hadn’t even realized it.

  He kept his thrusts slow and measured at first, allowing the natural lubrication of Monique’s cunny to ease his way until he was sure her body could accommodate deeper and fiercer thrusts.

  He meant to pull out at the last moment, but in the end, he found it an impossibility with the heat of Monique’s cunny surrounding his cock and the heat of those walls contracting and relaxing, squeezing.

  They tightened even more as Monique was claimed by her second orgasm of the night, sending Martin over the edge too. His balls tightened as the heat of his seed pumped deep inside her, the pressure against her cervix sending Monique into yet another earth-shaking climax, one that prolonged Martin’s release. On and on it went, their bodies slick together, the thrusting of his cock becoming noisier with each release of his seed.

  Finally, when he knew himself to be completely drained, Martin collapsed weakly against the dampness of Monique’s breasts, while still managing to take most of his weight on his elbows.

  The only sound in the room became the ragged tenure of their joint breathing.

  The aftermath of lovemaking, Monique decided as she snuggled in Martin’s arms, was almost as pleasurable as the lovemaking itself.

  The physical closeness.

  The feeling of utter contentment.

  The rightness.

  It was like nothing Monique had ever experienced before, and she—

  “Dr. Easton!” The calling of Martin’s name was accompanied by the thundering of a fist on the bedchamber door before that door was thrown open and a disheveled Viscount Romney stood in the doorway. He had the appearance of a man who had hastily pulled on a loose white shirt over a pair of buff-colored pantaloons, his dark hair standing on end.

  Monique gave a squeak of distress at the sight of the other man before hastily disappearing beneath the bedcovers.

  “What the hell…?” Martin glared at the viscount as he threw back his side of the bedcovers to sit on the side on the bed, glaring across the room at the other man. “It’s usual to wait for an answer after knocking on a door.”

  “Not when my wife is in labor,” Romney snapped.

  Martin’s brows rose. “Are you sure? I thought the viscountess’s due date was not for another month?”

  The viscount’s eyes glittered a deep blue. “Is waking up to find your bed afloat because your wife’s waters have broken certainty enough for you?”

  “Yes,” Martin confirmed calmly. “I will join you both in a moment,” he added pointedly when the other man showed no sign of leaving.

  “Oh. Right.” Romney nodded abruptly. “Please convey my apologies to Miss Dupre for having interrupted the two of you.” He turned abruptly on his heel and left, closing the door decisively behind him.

  “It is safe to come out now,” Martin encouraged gently.

  Monique’s face was pale when she emerged from beneath the bedcovers. “Is it possible to die of embarrassment?” she groaned.

  “No,” Martin assured dryly, his hand gentle against one of those pale cheeks. “I must go. But we will talk again later.”

  “If I am still here.” Monique closed her eyes briefly. “The duke is likely to throw me out into the snow once the viscount tells him what I have done.”

  “What we have done,” Martin corrected firmly. “You do not work for the duke and duchess anymore and are a guest here, as am I. We are adults and both at liberty to do exactly as we wish.”

  She grimaced. “I doubt they will see it that way.”

  “Whatever the opinion of the duke and duchess regarding our behavior, you will go nowhere until the two of us have had a chance to talk again. Do you promise me?” Martin pressed urgently.

  “If the duke allows it, yes.” She attempted a smile and failed. “Go, Martin,” she encouraged. “The viscount looked ready to resort to physical violence if you do not attend his wife immediately.”

  Even so, Martin took the time to kiss Monique for long enjoyable seconds before standing to move behind the screen in the corner of the room, quickly washing and dressing himself. “I will see you soon,” he told Monique firmly once he had opened the bedchamber door.

  Monique hoped he would too, but she could not promise it with any degree of certainty.

  “What are you doing wandering about the hallways in the middle of the night?”

  Monique froze as the Duke of Stonewell stepped forward from the shadows of the hallway.

  She had lingered in Martin’s bedchamber for a good half an hour after he left, waiting until the flurry of chatter and activity outside in the hallways, no doubt in response to the viscountess being about to give birth, had abated enough for her to dare to attempt to return to her own bedchamber.

  Her feeling of contentment, already shaken, had evaporated completely during that time. She had spent that half hour worrying over what Viscount Romney would tell his host in regard to finding her in bed with Martin. Luckily, the viscount was fully occupied at the moment with the birth of his child, but that would not remain the case once his wife had given birth.

  The last thing Monique had expected as she moved stealthily down the hallway was to be confronted by the Duke of Stonewell himself.

  She drew in a deep breath before raising her gaze to meet his. Instantly wishing she had not as she saw the cold anger in those icy blue eyes and etched into the grim sternness of his face.

  Monique moistened her lips before speaking. “I wondered what all the noise was about and came to investigate.” She wished the statement did not sound so much like a question.

  Those pale eyes narrowed even more. “You are walking in the wrong direction, if that is the case.”

  Yes, she was. The Romneys’ bedchamber was at the back and on the other side of the house.

  “Perhaps you thought to take advantage of the noise and distraction of the rest of the household,” the duke continued before Monique had a chance to formulate an acceptable answer.

  A puzzled frown creased her brow. “To do what?”

  His mouth thinned. “That is a question I should like an answer to.”

  Monique was totally bewildered by the accusation in the duke’s tone. “I have explained—”

  “And I have called you out on that explanation. I now wish for you to tell me the truth,” he rasped. “What are yo
u doing creeping about the hallways in the dead of night?”

  “I am not creeping—”

  “Would you prefer that I refer to it as moving stealthily?” he derided in a hard voice.

  Monique was becoming more and more alarmed as the duke glowered at her. “I am sure you will hear all about it from the viscount soon enough.” Her chin rose. “I was in Dr. Easton’s bedchamber with him earlier when the viscount came for him, and I am only now returning to my own bedchamber.”

  “Why were you there?”

  Her cheeks burned with humiliation. “For the usual purpose of being in a man’s bedchamber.”

  Those pale eyes narrowed to icy slits. “You and the doctor are lovers?”

  “I— Yes.” She could no longer look at the duke. “I am sure both he and the viscount will confirm what I have told you.”

  His mouth twisted. “Unfortunately, both those gentlemen are currently fully occupied with the viscountess.”

  “Once they are able to confirm my claim, I will, of course, remove myself from Stonewell Park.” Maybe she could stay with Martin at Rochester House until she was able to organize her transport back to London.

  “You will leave Stonewell Park when I say you will,” the duke bit out harshly.

  Monique gave him a startled glance. “But—”

  “You are hiding something. I have been convinced of that since you chose to send for me to assist you in leaving Newgate.”

  Monique’s gaze lowered from his accusation. “There was no one else powerful enough for me to ask for help.”

  “But over a week later, you are still here.”

  “At the duchess’s insistence.”

  He nodded. “My wife is far more trusting than I.”

  She gave a bewildered shake of her head. “In regard to what?”

  “You were lady’s maid not only to my wife but to my mother-in-law.”

  “I have not seen Lady Jacqueline in the year since you sent her away from here, and she dismissed me as soon as we reached London.”

  “She dismissed you?”

  “Yes. Did she not tell you as much?”

  “That would have been extremely difficult for her to do as she has been dead for almost that same amount of time,” the duke stated without emotion.

  Monique’s eyes widened. “I had no idea…” The older woman had not been kind; indeed, she had been deliberately cruel at times. She had also caused Monique great hardship by dismissing her so callously and without references, but that did not mean—

  “Were you fond of my mother-in-law?”

  Monique’s frown was pained. “She… She was not the sort of woman of whom it was easy to become fond.”

  The duke gave a bitter laugh. “No, she most certainly was not.”

  “How did she die? Was she ill?”

  “You do not know?”

  “I told you, I did not see her again after we arrived in London and she told me she had no further use for me.”

  “The manner of her death and your dismissal are something the two of us shall discuss in depth at a more convenient time,” Stonewell dismissed. “Until then, you will confine yourself to your bedchamber.”

  “I do not understand.” Monique gave a bewildered shake of her head. “What is it you suspect me of doing? Does it have something to do with Lady Jacqueline’s death? Because I assure you, I had nothing to do with that.” She swallowed. “Perhaps if I were to speak with the duchess?”

  Stonewell’s mouth twisted. “On the basis my wife might be more receptive to believing anything you might choose to tell her?”

  Monique bristled. “On the basis I would only tell her the truth. As I have done already by admitting I was with Martin—Dr. Easton—in his bedchamber earlier, when the viscount came to get him to attend his wife.”

  “Then perhaps Easton is as much of a fool as you are trying to take me for. You will go to your room and stay there until I tell you otherwise,” the duke bit out coldly as Monique would have made another protest. “I will place a footman outside your door so you do not try to escape.”

  One look at Stonewell’s harsh and unrelenting expression and Monique fled as if the devil himself were at her heels.

  At the moment, the duke gave every appearance of being him.

  Chapter 14

  “What the hell…!”

  Martin paid absolutely no heed to Dominik Sinclair’s angry exclamation as Martin strode uninvited into the duchess’s private parlor late the following morning. “Where is Monique?” he demanded without preamble.

  Stonewell rose to his feet from where he and his wife had been sitting on the rug before the fire playing with their baby son, Joshua. “How dare you burst in here without so much as showing us the politeness of knocking?”

  Having spent most of the night and morning attending to Viscountess Romney, the moment he was free to do so, Martin had gone downstairs in search of Monique. Only to learn that none of the other of Stonewell’s guests had seen her this morning.

  Martin’s mood, already brusque through lack of sleep, had led him to instantly seek out the duke. The butler had reluctantly informed him the duke was with the duchess in her private sitting room. “I ask again, where is Monique?”

  “You will not take that tone with me—”

  “I shall take whatever tone I wish,” Martin scorned.

  “Nik—”

  “Stay out of this, Angel.” The duke’s tone softened slightly before that pale blue gaze was once again leveled on Martin. “You are lucky my wife is present. Otherwise, I should take delight in punching you firmly on the nose for your impertinence.”

  “You might try,” Martin challenged. “Instead, you will immediately tell me what you have done with Monique, or I shall be forced to punch you on the nose.”

  A nerve pulsed in Stonewell’s tightly clenched jaw. “Monique is…currently under investigation.”

  Martin stilled. “Under investigation for what?”

  The duke’s nostrils flared. “It is a personal matter.”

  “My own…friendship with Monique means it is also personal to me.”

  “Because the two of you are lovers?” Stonewell taunted.

  “Nik—”

  “Do not upset yourself, love.” Stonewell bestowed a loving smile on his wife, that expression once again turning stony as he returned his attention to Martin. “I am grateful for what you have done for my wife in the past, and the Romneys last night, but that does not excuse you from having abused our hospitality by seducing another of our guests.”

  Martin tensed. “The nature of my relationship with Monique is none of your concern.”

  “It is very much so when it takes place under my own roof.”

  “I disagree.”

  “You arrogant bastard—”

  “I am arrogant?” Martin eyed the older man contemptuously. “You, sir, give every appearance of being bloody arrogance personified as you rule over your little fiefdom here. Well, I am not in the least intimidated, by you or your title.” He was too worried as to Monique’s whereabouts and if she had already left Stonewell Park without leaving word where he could find her to care anymore if he mortally offended the duke. “Indeed, I do not give that”—he gave a dismissive click of his fingers—“for your arrogant dictates.”

  Stonewell grabbed hold of the front of Martin’s waistcoat so that he might thrust his face in close to his. “Monique is currently confined to her bedchamber and will remain there until I say otherwise.”

  “Monique will leave this house when I do, which God willing will be later today.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “You impertinent puppy!”

  “Arrogant arse!”

  “Good God…” The duchess’s gasp drew the attention of both men. She appeared totally distracted as she picked up her baby son before rising to her feet. “I do not know how I have never seen it before! Nik, Dr. Easton is… He is—”

  “I mean you no disrespect,
Your Grace, indeed I hold you in great regard, if only because of your forbearance in your marriage to him.” Martin glared at the other man. “But I really would prefer it, Your Grace, if you did not finish that sentence.”

  “I really should have made the connection sooner.” The duchess paid him absolutely no heed as she continued to stare at the two men incredulously. “The likeness is… You have the same dark hair. A similarity in countenance and build. Most definitely the same arrogant certainty you are in the right of it,” she added affectionately.

  Stonewell scowled. “What the deuce are you talking about?”

  “Nik, I have no idea how it came about, but I believe Martin to be your brother,” his wife told him gently.

  “They will not break if you pick them up, Titus,” Pru teased her husband as he stared into the two basinets beside the bed where she lay.

  Titus continued to stare at the two small—God, they were so small!—but perfect human beings. “We have been blessed with a son and a daughter,” he spoke incredulously.

  He was totally in awe still, not only at the early arrival of their two children but also his wife’s strength and fortitude in having given birth to them. The labor had been long and hard, but Pru had never faltered, not once. Whereas he… Titus had almost choked the life out of Easton when the doctor suggested he might like to take himself off elsewhere until after the babies were born. There was no possibility of Titus abandoning Pru when he had only to look at his wife’s face to know how much she was suffering. An expression of pain that had so wondrously transformed into one of euphoria once the babies were placed into her waiting arms.

  Titus had watched in fascination when Pru placed those babies to her breasts and fed them both before the twins fell asleep from their exertions.

  “Priscilla and Patrick,” Pru now stated with satisfaction.

  The choosing of a girl’s name, if they should have one, had never been in question. Pru was a twin herself, but her beloved sister, Priscilla, had died unexpectedly the previous year. They had chosen Patrick for Titus’s grandfather, a man he had admired and respected.

  “I said you should not have been outside building a snowman yesterday.” Titus was still too unsettled inside as yet to completely accept any danger to his wife and children had now passed.