The Wolf Duke

by K. J. Jackson

  His lips parted and the inhale of breath into his chest slammed into him, shaking him to his core. It took three heartbeats before he could form the realization of why she’d dragged him here into words. “You want me to be a better man.”

  She nodded. “I do.” Her look dipped to his chest for a breath before lifting to his face. “And not only that, I want you to give up your own insatiable need for vengeance. I worshipped at that altar and almost lost you. My hatred not letting me see what was in front of me. And I don’t want the hatred twisting you into something you cannot control.”

  He stared into her eyes. The cool blue he could lose himself in forever, the drop of amber a buoy in the depths. For as much as he knew what she was asking of him was what he needed to do, he could not bring himself to it. His voice came into the air rough, breaking. “I cannot. I’m not ready.”

  Her eyes closed for a long moment, her chest lifting in a heavy breath.

  One, two, three seconds passed.

  She opened her eyes to him. “Then I will walk beside you until you are.”

  { Chapter 17 }

  Sloane glanced over her shoulder at the rough grey stones lining the entrance to the empty circular staircase she’d just escaped up through. For how Wolfbridge Castle had been crawling with people the last three days—guests and servants alike—she could scarcely believe she’d managed to escape the throngs for a spell. The guests had given her very few moments alone with Vicky, much less Reiner.

  At breakfast before he went out with the hunting party, Reiner had whispered to her that a solar at the top of the east tower should be empty, as it was one of the few rooms in the castle that hadn’t been renovated.

  But he hadn’t had time to tell her how to get up to the room before they were interrupted by Lord Langton inquiring about the stretch of land they would be hunting on for the day.

  So she’d had to search for it. After a solid half hour of wandering halls and dodging conversations, she’d only minutes ago stumbled upon an inconspicuous door in the passageway to the great hall that hid a circular stone staircase winding its way upward. For all of Wolfbridge’s grandeur, its heart still held fast to the medieval bones of stone.

  She stood in silence for a breath, shocked she could hear her own thoughts for a change. A short hallway sat before her, five steps deep at most, with two opposite closed doors. She chose the right door first. A simple black iron latch held the door closed, and she lifted it, pushing on the heavy oak planks. The hinges creaked, filling the hallway as she shoved the door open. If anyone needed to find her, all they would have to do was follow the echoing wail of metal scraping against metal.

  She peeked her head into the room. Small and dark with only three arrowslits letting light into the room. Definitely not a solar.

  A hand snaked around her waist and dragged her backward.

  With a scream sputtering from her throat, her feet left the ground. Another hand clamped across her mouth, cutting her scream.

  “It took you far too long to make it up here.” Reiner’s voice, low, whispered in her ear.

  She twisted in his arm, a screech on her lips. “You’re supposed to be hunting. You scared me half to Hades.”

  Still holding her in the air, he walked backward into the room across the hall. “And you have driven me as mad as the devil the past three days.”

  He set her on her feet, his lips quick to her neck, warm heat instantly prickling her skin. She couldn’t keep the smile from her lips. “Mad, you say?”

  “Utter bedlam.” His lips worked down her neck to the bare of her shoulder next to her cap sleeve. “Having to sleep in another room than you. Every blasted second we are awake being commandeered by the insufferable masses below.”

  She laughed, her fingers squeezing his shoulders as she angled her neck to allow him better access to her skin. “You were the one that wanted the appearance of the utmost respectability—to obtain the special license. I am more than happy to acknowledge that we’ve already been married in a very proper Scottish wedding by a very proper Scottish baker.”

  He chuckled into her skin, a low hearty rumble. “But that gains us nothing as far as the smugglers are concerned. I need Falsted to make his move. He’s already nervous as all hell, watching you, wondering what game it is you’re playing. I need him to break and give up the man above him. And for that, he needs to think we are about to marry and he will soon go down in flames. So no. No acknowledging our very proper Scottish wedding or he will think the game is already over. As of now, he still believes he has a chance of continuing forth with his treacherous activities without anything befalling him.”

  “Does he still think I am his puppet?”

  “I believe so. I have painted myself to be a besotted fool when it comes to you.”

  She twisted away from his lips. “You’re not?”

  He chuckled, jerking her body back into him, his mouth ravenous on her skin. “It is not a hard role to play.”

  His head lifted from her skin and he met her gaze. “Plus—beyond all of that—I want you to become my wife with the utmost propriety. I don’t want a single haughty nose ever to be turned up when it comes to you. And there are far too many supercilious wives here with their doors cracked at night waiting to witness the slightest slip of impropriety.”

  “So all here are not part of the smuggling ring?”

  He shook his head. “Most aren’t. Most are here for the free food and hunting and lodging.” He leaned down, his lips capturing hers and kissing her thoroughly. He pulled slightly up. “But many of the smugglers like to mix amongst the upper crust of society, so my house parties bode well for them.”

  She looked at him blankly.

  “What?”

  “I’ve lost any and all thoughts of smuggler schemes and can now only think on raiding one thing.” A wicked smile curved her lips as her hands dropped between them and she worked the buttons on the front flap of his riding breeches.

  “Please tell me you mean my member.”

  “I do.” She pushed him backward toward the settee sitting below a leaded glass window on the far side of the room as she shoved his britches down over the strong muscles of his backside.

  The back of his calves hit the front of the faded, but once splendid blue silk upholstery. She nudged him downward and slipped onto his lap, straddling his legs.

  “This is the best hunting I’ve had in years.”

  She caught his face between her hands. “You mean the best hunting ever.”

  “I do.” He leaned forward, nipping her chin and then his lips dropped to the bare expanse of her chest above her bodice. “I stand corrected, again.”

  She didn’t wait for his hands to bare her breasts, instead, dragging down the front of her muslin dress, stays and chemise, her thumbs gliding over her own nipples, readying herself for him.

  She’d learned during the past days it drove him mad when she touched herself. Slow. Torturous.

  A groan rumbled from his chest and he wrapped his hands around her backside, yanking her into him, his engorged cock grinding though her skirts.

  “Luckily, I’m prey that wants to be caught.” Her thumb circled her nipple. “And devoured.”

  His groan shifted into a visceral growl and his hands twisted through the fabric of her skirts, finding way to her bare thighs. His mouth dove forward, clamping onto her nipple, his tongue swirling over the sensitive nub.

  Under her skirts, his right thumb slid inward, dipping into her folds, finding her nubbin. Slowly circling, just the same as she’d just tortured him. She swiveled her hips against his hand, speeding his strokes. It sent a rush of tingling heat outward though her limbs.

  His left hand tightened on her backside, halting her motion. He looked up at her with a carnal gleam in his eyes, his lips not leaving her nipple. “I want you begging. The moans from deep in your chest.”

  She tried to move her hips against his hold on her body. Nothing.

  “Damn you.”

>   He smiled, his teeth nipping the tip of her nipple as he flicked his thumb deep into her folds, his forefinger sliding into her body.

  Her head fell backward, arching her body to him. Her left breast. Her right. Her thighs parting wide above him. Giving herself over to him. Over to everything he needed to do to her body.

  His hand, his mouth, plied her body, pulling her into throes she couldn’t control. The intensity turning her inside out.

  She broke.

  A guttural moan bubbled from deep in her chest. Breathless. Demanding. “Please.”

  “Please what?”

  “I want you inside me.” She could barely form the words, her voice sinking into an uncontrollable mewl.

  Her skirts bunched around her, and he lifted her. With one swift motion, he drove up into her.

  She gasped, looking down at him. Heaven to hell. She didn’t think she’d ever grow accustomed to the glorious size of him deep within when he first entered her, stretching her body in ways she craved with every speck of her being.

  His tongue flickered over her nipple, but he didn’t lift her hips.

  She was done waiting. Done with slow.

  Her knees digging into the settee, she lifted herself and descended, her hips swiveling along his shaft.

  Yes. All of it, yes.

  Up and down. The full slick length of him sliding along the core of her, pushing her body into writhing she couldn’t control. Tormenting her ever higher with every thrust.

  He’d had enough, his hands locking onto her hips and taking over all movement, slamming her body deep onto him.

  “Harder…harder…harder…har…” she repeated, until the ability to form words left her.

  He obliged. Again and again, until a brutal breath left his lips and he expanded, deep within her. A swell that filled her and sent her own body into brutal deliverance.

  Surge after surge rushed up from him into her. Her core clamping around him in matching waves, taking his breath, his very soul from him.

  His arms tightened around her, his lips burying into her neck. “Another day and I can take you properly in my bed.”

  Her breath still hadn’t fully come back to her. “I don’t mind the settee.”

  “I mind you not naked. All these bloody clothes.” His head lifted and he kissed her lips. “It can’t come fast enough. One more blasted dinner. One more blasted morning and then you’ll be mine again and if I disappear with you for the next year straight not one can say a word about it.”

  She laughed. “I’d like that.”

  “Hell.” His head cocked to the side and he fell silent. “Do you hear that?”

  She listened, then nodded, her voice a whisper. “Footsteps up the stairs.”

  “Dammit. They’re light. Women, probably three.” He lifted her off his lap and set her down next to him, jumping to his feet as he tugged her skirts down her legs.

  Her right cheek lifted in a cringe as she pulled up her stays and dress. “You still think to attempt propriety? For I am ready to forgo it.”

  “I waited an hour up here for you for that very thing. So for your reputation, yes.” He kissed her forehead as he haphazardly yanked his breeches into place. “I’ll go next door. Sit here and leave the door open—they’ll come right in and I’ll sneak out and down the staircase behind them.”

  A groan rumbled from her throat. “Maybe I can be the one sneaking away?”

  He smirked. “Not plausible. I’m supposed to be out riding with the hunting party at the moment.”

  With a quick squeeze of her thigh, he moved out the doorway. At the room across the way, he lifted the heavy oak door as he opened it, minimizing the squeaking hinges to a low grind. He disappeared behind the door with the most mischievous grin she’d ever seen on his face.

  He’d said he was never one for mischief, but her husband was certainly prone to it. Mischief she would much prefer to be basking in, fully naked, under his hands at the moment.

  With a heavy sigh she plastered her most benign smile on her face and smoothed out her skirts as she looked out the leaded glass window.

  She caught her breath just as the troop of giggling ladies cleared the top step of the staircase and tumbled into the hall. The smile on her face widened and she hoped the flush in her cheeks didn’t speak volumes of where her mind truly was.

  ~~~

  The dancing that evening was a mild affair, nothing compared to the previously planned harvest ball that was to take place the next evening after their wedding in the morning. Reiner had coordinated it months ago to coincide with the full moon—long before Sloane had ever stumbled into his life. But now the ball, along with announcing their impending wedding to guests as they arrived, made the perfect opportunity to spook Falsted. Spook him into doing something stupid—like search for the book himself or in a panic, bring Reiner straight to the last unknown man at the helm of the smuggling scheme.

  Sloane rounded the corner in the last steps of the dance, and her look caught Lord Falsted just outside the billiards room, staring at her. The bastard.

  His glare would unnerve her if she didn’t know Reiner had been watching every step Falsted took since he’d arrived at Wolfbridge. At their last meeting, two months prior, Falsted had indicated there was one last man that Reiner should meet, and that the gentleman would be present at the ball. The last one Reiner needed to know before he dismantled the whole smuggling scheme.

  It couldn’t come soon enough.

  Stepping off the dance floor as she caught her breath, Sloane wiggled her toes in her satin slippers. Reiner had said the evening would be mild. She shook her head to herself. Mild, if having enough people in the castle that she could have danced with only a quarter of the men before the night’s end could be considered mild.

  She’d perfected her steps under the tutelage of her governesses and could physically match the most ambitious of the dancers, but her toes were aching as the evening drew to a close and she had yet to dance with Reiner.

  The first strains of a waltz filtered down to her ears from the string ensemble seated high in the minstrels’ gallery of the ballroom. The space identical to the great hall and positioned opposite to it, the ballroom had been finished, whereas the great hall had been left in the splendor of the stone walls and floors. With its polished inlaid walnut floor, the artful plaster reliefs on the tall white walls, and the rows of pillars lining the length of the room, it rivaled any of England’s finest ballrooms.

  Couples paired off, moving in front of Sloane onto the dance floor. Perfect. A moment of respite where she could quench her thirst.

  As she walked along the border of the dance floor, she ran the tips of her fingers across the front of her lavender satin gown—split in the center front with artful draping of fine white India muslin. Just as she’d reached the nearest footman standing with a tray of madeira and took a glass, setting it to her lips, Lord Apton stepped in front of her.

  “Lady Sloane, may I steal you away to the dance floor?” Sweet and far more spry than his aging years should have allowed, Lord Apton was one of the kindest men she’d met during her one season in London. He’d known her mother in her spirited youth and was full of stories of her. Sloane had already danced with him once this eve, but the London rules of limiting dances was eased considerably as they were far from town and she was to be married in the morning.

  She finished a long sip of the wine and nodded, setting the glass back on the tray. “My steps with the waltz are suspect, at best.”

  He smiled, a twinkle in his grey, aging eyes. “I am willing to chance it.” He held out his hand.

  Just as she was reaching for it, Reiner stepped in front of her, half blocking Lord Apton. “Pardon me, Apton, as I have yet to dance with my intended this evening, I would kindly appreciate indulgence on that very score for this dance.”

  The twinkle in Lord Apton’s eyes brightened. A man who understood the passions of youth. “Of course, your grace. She is yours.” He leaned to the right to
catch Sloane’s gaze. “Do be sure to save a dance for me during tomorrow’s ball, my lady.”

  “Of course, Lord Apton.”

  With an incline of his head, he walked away.

  Reiner turned to her. His brown eyes heated into liquid gold as he took her hand in his and settled his other fingers lightly along her back. “Imagine that—the man thinking he could descend upon you for a second dance—and a waltz, nonetheless.”

  He took the first steps forward and her look dipped to his chest as she had to concentrate on the steps he’d taught her weeks ago in the library.

  “Eyes up.”

  A grin cocked her cheek and her gaze lifted to meet his. Ridiculous that he expected her feet to move with any sense of grace when his golden brown eyes were that voracious on her.

  Several turns passed and the steps finally felt natural enough that she could talk while he moved her about the ballroom. “Lord Apton is harmless. He was a dear friend of my mother’s when she was young and he’s old enough to be my father.”

  His mouth twisted half in disgust and half in a tease. “Which makes him young enough that all his parts still work and that lets him imagine he could sweep you away from me.”

  “Sweep me away from you?” She chuckled. “I didn’t ken you were capable of jealousy.”

  “Watching you dance with every man in this ballroom has irked me to the pale.” He shook his head, a mutter at his lips. “The waltz. Of all things. What was the man thinking? You reminded each and every gentleman you were to wed me on the morrow, didn’t you?”

  She shook her head, the grin not leaving her face. “There has not been a one that I’ve danced with that has not congratulated me on our upcoming nuptials. The people that are here consider it quite the triumph to be present for the Wolf Duke’s wedding.” The smile on her face widened. “Will that make me the Wolf Duchess? I rather like the epithet. Who would dare to cross me?”