The Wolf Duke

by K. J. Jackson

  “I had to cut my gown away.” She stretched backward against his arms, her limp fingers going to her stomach and rubbing at the thin fabric. Her eyes closed with a wince. “I got it mostly off, but then I had to saw it away from my legs. I started kicking, but then everything went black.”

  “It was enough.” He kissed her forehead, her skin far too cold from the sea for his liking.

  Her eyes popped open. “You saved me naked. Why did you save me naked?”

  “My trousers were slowing me down.”

  She nodded, her eyes squinting at him in confusion for a long moment. Then a smile found its way to her lips. “That makes sense. But now we are both near to naked in a desolate cove.”

  “I’m positive Lord Falsted will scurry with haste to the cottage on the inland ridge and retrieve us proper enough clothes for the journey back to Wolfbridge.”

  “Falsted?” Her head swiveled to look at the back of Falsted.

  To the man’s credit, he kept his eyes forward, his pulls of the oars steady.

  She looked up at Reiner. “You have some explaining to do.”

  A smile he couldn’t quite control came to his face. “As do you.”

  { Chapter 22 }

  Reiner lifted her out of the boat after pulling it ashore. Off to fetch clothing, Falsted was already to the high edge of the cove, scrambling up the shifting sands that led from the beach.

  Reiner held her for a moment in midair, clasping his warm body to hers as though the effort it took to leave her in the skiff at the water’s edge as he pulled the boat in had crushed his very soul.

  She didn’t mind.

  He’d put on his boots and his lawn shirt, and it hung low enough onto his thighs that it mostly covered what needed to be covered. He’d draped his waistcoat about her, which covered mostly what needed to be covered under her wet, transparent chemise.

  Not that she minded him naked. Not at all. Not when she had just lived through moments where she’d thought she’d never see him again—and most certainly not in the nude.

  He let her slide down his body, her toes burying into the sand.

  “Ouch.” Pain shot up her legs when her weight settled on her feet and she started to fall. “My feet.”

  He immediately picked her up again, his brow furrowed as he bent and set her backside onto the sand. “Both of your feet?”

  “Yes.” The sharp pangs shifted into swelling throbs rolling from her toes to her heels, one after another. She leaned back, her fingers curling into the sand. Her gloves had come off in the sea, and the tiny rough rocks of the shore rubbed into her left hand, a cool, odd relief against the itch of her scars.

  Reiner dropped to his knees and lifted her right foot, examining it. Then he picked up her left, his fingers gentle across the skin.

  “You went feet first into the water, you may have fractured them, but hopefully only bruised them.” His low voice took on a hard edge. “Though if you hadn’t, you could have died, Sloane—your body slamming into the water like that. It was too far a fall and you never should have jumped. You should have waited for me.”

  “I wasn’t about to wait, Reiner.” She stared at her feet, swallowing the sharp pangs of pain making her nauseous. “There wasn’t any way I was going to let you board that ship. Not for me. You were headed for certain death.”

  “So your death was a better choice?” His voice notched up into a yell. “A damn idiotic idea.”

  Her look whipped up to him, her voice echoing his. “My death was preferable to your death, yes. So not so idiotic. But I also planned on living. I slit my dress on the deck—it was supposed to come off directly so I could swim.”

  His lip curled and he heaved in a breath. “Still a bloody foolish move.”

  Her fingers pointed to her chest, then to his. “I’m alive. You’re alive. That is what matters.”

  He grunted a sigh. Not willing to agree with her, but not about to argue the point.

  She’d take it.

  He set her left foot gently down into the sand, then moved to sit next to her, pulling his bare knees upward and resting his forearms atop.

  Sloane stared at his profile for a long moment. At the distinctive line of his jaw still flickering in anger, the slight dark scruff of a beard starting, his golden brown eyes staring out at the ship that was quickly disappearing from sight.

  Her husband.

  The man she never knew she wanted, but now needed like nothing else.

  Her hand went to his cheek, her palm dragging across the dark scruff, pinpricks teasing her skin. “You believed in me. You came. You only knew where I was because you found Vicky. And she would have told you what I said.”

  His head dropped forward, his eyes closing for five long breaths. Her hand fell away from his jawline.

  He lifted his forehead, his gaze pinning her. “I’ve always believed in you, Sloane. It’s been my problem from the first.”

  She jerked back. “Your problem?”

  “Yes. Absolutely and unequivocally. I believe in you over common sense and sanity. And it has taken a complete loss of control to keep you in my life. To keep you safe—alive. To trust.”

  “Oh.” The blood drained from her face. “I didn’t realize. I—I only said those vile things to Bockton because he was going to take Vicky. I had to make him take me and leave her and I was willing to do anything—to say anything to make that happen.”

  He nodded. “I suspected as much—no—I knew as much. You love her just as much as I do—probably more.”

  She nodded. “I do. I would do anything for her—for you. I protect my people. Vicky is my people. You are my people.”

  “Exactly—you know no bounds, Sloane. And I…I…” He paused, looking out to the sea, his head shaking slowly. “I had order—sanity before you fell into my life. And you are none of those things.”

  Her head dropped, the air rushing out of her, deflating her from scalp to throbbing toes.

  His right hand slid under her chin and he lifted her head to look at him. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love you and you are worth it. Every second my heart has stopped because you were in danger. Every moment I wanted to throttle you for being so stubborn, so cantankerous. Every time you left me and I had to wrestle with the devil possibility of never seeing you again.”

  He clasped his left hand against her cheek, capturing her face in his palms. “Yet all of that is nothing compared to the moments I can hold you in my arms. Hear your laughter. Press my body into yours. Talk to you about nothing but the thickness of the vines growing on the castle. Bask in the light you bring into my world—into Vicky’s world. You are the sun I—we—always needed.”

  Her body, her world slowed in that moment. Her heart shattering and building itself anew—stronger, without doubt of the past, without anger over what could never be changed. A heart never again to be haunted by demons of distrust.

  An aching smile spread across her face. “If I am the sun, then you are my earth, Reiner. And you will always be so.”

  He pulled her close into a kiss so soft, so gentle from his lips it proved that for all the love in the world, they only needed the slightest touch. Something she’d always known, but never truly understood until that moment.

  A cough from behind them interrupted their kiss.

  Both of them craned their heads backward.

  Falsted stood, holding a bundle of clothes in his arms, his face red with splotches and a sheen of perspiration glistening across his forehead. Apparently, the man didn’t run very often.

  “This clothing should do you well for the journey back to Wolfbridge.”

  Sloane’s arm went across her breasts. She was covered enough by Reiner’s waistcoat, but she wasn’t about to take any chances where Falsted was concerned.

  Reiner flicked a finger toward him. “Set it there and go. My horse is still on the other side of the cove?”

  “It is.”

  “Have my men caught up with us yet?” He looked to Sloan
e. “Two horses went down in the salt marshes leading out here, so they were riding double.”

  Falsted shook his head. “Not as of yet.” He set the pile of clothing on the ground, quickly turning to leave.

  “Falsted, before you think to exit.”

  He turned back to them, his eyebrows lifting.

  Reiner inclined his head toward Sloane. “Tell her.”

  Falsted’s mouth opened and closed several times, looking at Reiner before his gaze shifted to Sloane. “I keep multiple copies of every contract I make with partners.”

  Her eyebrows drew together and she looked at Reiner.

  Reiner’s voice went hard. “The rest.”

  Falsted sighed. “The additional contracts are altered to cover any eventuality—reflect what I actually do. It appears as though my partners sign off on everything I do to fulfill the contracts.”

  “You mean…” She glanced from Falsted to Reiner.

  “I never signed off on clearing the Swallowford lands,” Reiner said. “Neither did my man. I had him triple check my copies with his staff.”

  Falsted nodded and quickly turned and started a retreat.

  “Falsted.” Reiner’s voice echoed, bouncing along the sand dunes surrounding them.

  Falsted slowed and half turned back to Reiner.

  “You are not clear of this.”

  “No.” Falsted shook his head. “But I do expect leniency, as you have your wife sitting, healthy and alive next to you.”

  No. Hell no.

  In one quick motion, Sloane grabbed the dagger secured around Reiner’s calf and twisted, scrambling to her toes even though the instant, vicious pain from her feet threatened to send her to her knees. “No, you bloody bastard. You don’t get away that easily. Reiner may not see fit to gut you, but I am another matter.”

  Reiner chuckled and grabbed her wrist just before she was out of reach. He pulled her back, tugging her downward onto her knees.

  The chuckle left his lips as he impaled Falsted with a fatal stare. “You’ve been warned, Falsted. Your next choices in life will determine what happens next. And that threat extends to any of the clearings you may have planned on Scottish soil. Halt them now, for you don’t want to make either my wife, or me, come after you looking for blood.”

  Falsted’s jaw dropped. For a second, bitter chagrin overtook his face, but then he shook his head, a tight smile coming to his lips. He inclined his head to them. “Your grace.” He turned and hastily started up the back edge of the sand.

  On her knees, Sloane stared at the sniveling coward until he disappeared over the top line of the cove. She stuck the blade into the sand next to her and shifted onto her backside, facing her husband. “How could you let him go?”

  Reiner shrugged. “I’m feeling generous?”

  “But for all the blackguard set into motion.”

  “Plus I’m nearly naked—as are you.” A grin on his face, his hand went along her shoulder, his fingers sliding under the loose locks of her wet hair as all the pins had long since been lost to the sea. “He sent you to me, even if the goal of it was my downfall. But were it not for him, I never would have met you.”

  She took a deep breath, filling her lungs, and then seethed it out. “That does not seem enough to wipe his sins clean.”

  “Don’t worry, love, he will get his due.” Reiner glanced to the rear of the cove. “Maybe not today, but a man like that will get his due. It is coming.” He looked to her. “I thought you had given up vengeance.”

  “The man made me hate you—hate you, Reiner.” She shook her head. “I am rethinking the thought that vengeance does have its place.”

  His hand curled around the back of her neck. “No, you were right.”

  “I was?”

  “I’m sorry—it was my blasted need for vengeance that put you in danger. Vengeance that fed my bloody arrogance in that you and Vicky would be safe no matter what twisted minds were at Wolfbridge. And I was wrong. Vengeance obscured what I should have easily seen in front of me—the threat to you and Vicky.”

  “You couldn’t have known Bockton was a lunatic.”

  “I should have.” His head lowered between them.

  She lifted her hands, sinking her fingers into his hair, tugging his look up to her. “You didn’t fail me, Reiner. I wanted you to catch him. I wanted to help to unhinge the terror he and his partners have spread across the land. I wanted that peace for you.”

  His head leaned into her left hand, the scars brushing his cheek. “Vengeance is not a game I am willing to play any longer—not when I have the world sitting in front of me.”

  She inhaled, relief sinking into her lungs. “But what of Bockton?” She pointed out to the now empty sea, the waves lapping lazily on the shore.

  “Falsted told me the name of the ship before we left Wolfbridge. I already sent word to the Royal Navy to pursue the Minerva. Wherever Bockton goes, the navy will be after him. And they are under direct orders to drag him back to England to stand for his crimes.”

  Her bottom lip jutted up in a frown. “Then let it be soon.”

  “Exactly.” He leaned toward her, his lips brushing against hers. “But until then, it is not worth our worry. Not worth another breath of our time. Especially when I have a twice-made duchess to bed.”

  She laughed, pulling away for a second as she looked about them. Emptiness. Her gaze travelled back to him, a wicked smile on her lips. “Then what is stopping you?”

  He gave a strangled groan, setting the length of her backward into the sand and hovering above her for a long breath, as though he were imprinting the picture of her body against the sand into his mind. “Absolutely nothing, my duchess. Absolutely nothing.”

  { Epilogue }

  The Wolf Duke was alone no more.

  Far from it.

  Especially not with his three-year-old son, Jacob, dangling from his neck, wedged onto the left side of his lap and making faces at his younger sister, Penelope, cradled in Reiner’s right arm.

  His body hadn’t been his own since his son had started walking. The boy was always climbing atop him. Clearly born with his mother’s love for scaling precariously tall objects.

  But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

  From the settee, Reiner looked across the library at Sloane lifting their other twin girl, Priscilla, in her arms and set the babe’s cherub face just above her shoulder. Priscilla gurgled up air, then smiled at him, her chubby cheeks expanding impossibly wide.

  Both of his girls smiled far too much for their six months on earth. So much so, it was unnerving at times. Also a trait from their mother.

  But he’d take that too.

  Happily so.

  Sloane leaned over the table, her look studying the seating chart Vicky had just created for the upcoming house party that would descend upon Wolfbridge in a few days. She shifted Priscilla tight into her bare left arm.

  His look paused for a second on Sloane’s scars. To see them now, he had to truly stare, for they had become just a part of her—just as her eyes and her nose and her smile and her hair were.

  She hadn’t worn the glove in years—only out in public. She’d decided it was far too bothersome—and too often stained—after Jacob was born. And then the twins came, and there was no going back. Their lives were far too full for her to bother with constantly pulling the dratted glove on and off.

  Sloane pointed with her right forefinger to a spot on the chart. “So well done, Vicky. It’s perfect—and I never would have thought to seat Lady Harring next to Lady Thorew, but that is brilliant. Those two will feed off each other in a splendid way. You do have a knack for seeing how personalities play off one another.”

  Vicky beamed. She was looking more and more like her mother every day. “Thank you. Those two were the most difficult—what with how many people Lady Harring dislikes, and how Lady Thorew likes to talk endlessly about bee pollination.”

  Sloane’s finger moved about the paper. “I just have one small c
hange I would like to make. If we could maybe scoot Lord Apton to this location?”

  Vicky’s dark eyebrows lifted. “By Torrie?”

  A mischievous smile curled onto Sloane’s lips and she nodded.

  “She’s sat through a number of these dinners in the comfort of kind old dowagers cradling her. I think it is time she expand her conversation circle.”

  “But with Lord Apton?” Vicky asked.

  “Yes. Lord Apton is harmless.”

  Reiner coughed a snort.

  Sloane glanced back at him, shaking her head. She turned back to Vicky. “He’s a very kind gentleman, quick witted, and he has a wide breadth of knowledge. He’s older, but that has made him compassionate—he’s no longer in the throes of the pomposity of youth. If any male can draw Torrie into conversation, it will be him.”

  Reiner heard the footsteps before Torrie walked into the room. The slight odd cadence of her boots on the floor. Torrie stepped into the library.

  As he was the only one that noticed her arrival, Reiner cleared his throat pointedly, covering his wife’s last words.

  Sloane spun around, caught.

  Torrie looked at Sloane’s guilty face and her gaze went to Reiner, looking for the truth, as she knew she wouldn’t get it from her cousin. “What did I interrupt?”

  For all that Torrie was still bitter, still mad at the world, Reiner liked Torrie immensely. In the year she’d come to live with them at Wolfbridge, he could see how happy her presence made Sloane. They were as sisters, as Sloane had always said, and having Torrie back in her life had completed Sloane in a way he never could have imagined.

  Anything—anyone—that made his wife happy, made him happy.

  “Just your cousin’s plotting for the upcoming house party,” Reiner said as he wrapped an arm around Jacob’s waist, tickling him. His boy squealed, giggling, falling away from Reiner on the cushions.

  “Ah.” Torrie looked to Sloane. “Matchmaking are we again? After your coup last time with Miss Dainers and Lord Newrun you are feeling confident?”