Wedded in White: The Brothers Duke: Book Six

by Felicia Greene

  Hasty, forceful with hunger, he pushed her against the closed door. The wood rattled as he moved his hands lower, gripping the curves of her hips through her skirts with a hoarse moan of longing; Susan arched her back, bringing her body more firmly under his hands.

  How could he be slow now, or restrained? He couldn’t. All was haste, all was a feast after years of famine. He clutched at Susan’s bodice with hands that threatened to shake, pulling away the fabric with a strength he hadn’t known he possessed, before bringing his mouth to her bared breasts and kissing the milk-white skin he found there.

  ‘Ah!’ Susan’s gasp was music to his ears. He could linger here; he could take her nipple in his mouth, her swollen, rose-pink nipple, and he could suck until he felt her quiver. He followed his instincts, lavishing attention on each of her nipples in turn, unable to believe that she tasted quite so sweet. Susan’s hands shook as she gripped his shirt; he could feel her legs weakening, unable to bear the onslaught of new sensation.

  He could hold her up. He could be her support here, as well as everywhere else. Moving one hand beneath her thighs, he hoisted her up against the closed door as he redoubled his attentions on her breasts. Now he had the weight of her, the soft, delicious curves of her… and oh, God, if he moved his hand beneath that mass of skirts he could feel how wet she was.

  Susan’s moan broke over him as he caressed her mound, his mouth still tight on her nipple. Charles closed his eyes, his cock rigid and ready against his thigh, and knew at once what he had to do.

  He pulled away. Susan cried out, clearly startled. ‘Why are you stopping?’

  ‘I’m not stopping. I’m taking you to bed.’ Charles walked across the room, pushing open the small wooden door in the corner of the room A tiny, ramshackle array of pillows and blankets lay on top of a mattress in the minuscule space, along with a crackling fire. ‘I had this installed, in case I left it too late to return to the inn.’

  ‘You’re a practical man, Charles Weldon.’

  ‘And a sentimental one.’ Charles came back to her. He briefly rested his face against her hair, breathing in the scent of her. ‘Now come.’

  Come. Susan followed him obediently, her rumpled dress scuffing against the floorboards as she was led into the bedroom annex. There was no time for judgement, for caution–all she wanted was his body on hers, his passion feeding her own, the sheer vividness of the moment drowning out any feelings of caution. His mouth on her breasts again, his hand between her thighs again… when he did that, she could barely remember what sin was.

  She gasped as Charles reached for her, his hands tight around her bodice. It took a few confusing moments before she realised that she was undressing her; for a moment Susan paused, torn between eagerness and shame. Only when Charles briefly gestured to his own clothes, his face fraught with lust, did her fingers suddenly come to life; she smiled, taking his shirt and breeches in hand with unseemly haste.

  After a few clumsy minutes of undressing, of laughing and murmuring insults to stubborn buttons and creased linen, they looked at one another with a long, startling moment of recognition. Susan’s first instinct was to hide herself; nakedness was meant to be covered, after all. But under Charles’s gaze, Charles with his broad shoulders and bared chest, her body didn’t feel like an object of shame.

  ‘Look at you.’ Charles reached out a hand, touching the bare curve of her waist. The feel of his bare fingers on her skin was astonishing; a rich heat filled Susan from head to foot. ‘Look at us.’

  ‘Come closer.’

  ‘That sounded like an order.’ Charles stepped closer; his slow stroke thrilled along Susan’s nerves as his fingers moved to the underside of her breasts. ‘You’ve always been forthright.’

  ‘You’re–you’re not close enough.’

  ‘And now you sound frustrated.’ Charles smiled softly as he took hold of her waist with her other hand. Susan gasped as he moved even closer; now he was pressed to her, the maleness of him unmistakeable. ‘I don’t want to frustrate you anymore.’

  ‘You’ve spent far too much time frustrating me.’

  ‘Then let me endeavour to satisfy you instead.’ With those words murmured against her ear, Charles led her to the rumpled bed. Susan sat down, sinking with a small sigh of pleasure into the softness of the mattress. ‘I can certainly try to do that.’

  The makeshift bed was warmer and softer than Susan’s own bed at home. The realisation dimly filtered through to her as she lay back on it, the pillows cradling her head, her body mutely burning for the weight of Charles against her again.

  This was wrong. More wrong than anything she had ever done. But to Susan’s shock as Charles came to her, leaning against her, knowing that what she was doing was wrong only made the pleasure more intense.

  The wages of sin are death. She knew that phrase; she had said it to herself a thousand times. But as Charles’s hand moved along her thigh, touching the hot, damp triangle of curls that practically quivered at the feel of his fingers, Susan had never felt more alive. More open to every possibility that the universe offered.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

  ‘You won’t hurt me.’

  ‘You’re too sure about something you can’t know.’

  ‘I know you hurt me when you left.’ Susan stared at him, desperate for him to understand. To know that the worst had already happened. ‘I know that nothing can hurt more than that.’

  At first all he did was look at her. A deep, searching look that seemed to find her soul, pinning it fast with his stare. Then, with a slow, deep thrust that combined pain and pleasure in equal, dizzying amounts, he was inside her.

  ‘Ohhh.’ Susan could do nothing more than sigh–a low, shocked sound as sensation filled her body. It was too much, too soon, she would never grow accustomed to it–but no, she already was, her body was opening to him, welcoming him with a burst of sweet, intoxicating bliss as she shifted her hips. As if she were ushering him home after a long, dark period of absence, both of them aching for the other both inside and out.

  ‘Oh, you.’ Charles’s voice was low and tight with longing, more fervent than any prayer. ‘Oh, Susan.’

  ‘I know.’ If he said any more, she’d shatter into pieces beneath him. Every sense she had ever had of her own self, her identity, was frantically remaking itself now that she was one with Charles. ‘I know.’

  At first she could do nothing more than kiss him. He seemed to understand this; the slightest movement would be too much. For several silent, precious minutes they were still, accommodating one another, growing used to the singing pleasure moving through them both as they kissed one another. Soft, slow kisses mingled with murmurs that hovered on the border between words and mere sounds, sounds of need, sounds of forgiveness.

  Then, with a growl that sent thrills through Susan’s bones, Charles thrust. He was deep–deeper than she had ever imagined, and oh, how she had imagined it years ago. Hungry, clumsy lust shot through her; she gripped his back, his shoulders, urging him deeper still, and moaned in pure frustration when he moved away. ‘Don’t go.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘Don’t stop.’

  ‘I’m not stopping.’ Charles withdrew a little, just a little–enough for Susan to feel the absence of him, the lack of him almost a pain. Just as she was about to cry out, he thrust deeper still. ‘You–ah!–you see?’

  ‘I see.’ Susan struggled to speak as he thrust again. Her body was responding in ways her mind could not; her thighs moved upward, her back arching as she took everything he had to give. ‘I see.’

  ‘You feel like–’

  ‘–Like what?’

  ‘Like home.’

  Home. There was only time for the word to briefly shine in Susan’s mind before it was erased by sensation. Yes, she was home, he was home; they made a home together for one another here, with the convent of their bodies. Everything they did here, everything they said to one another, was the movement and speech of a s
ingle soul. Home.

  Soon Charles’s thrusts were familiar to her; her body eagerly welcomed each one, pushing back against him, a rhythm flowing through her core as she moaned wordlessly against his skin. There was such ardency in her voice, so much loose, full-blooded want in the sounds coming from her own mouth, that Susan wanted to hide her own face in shame–but Charles wouldn’t let her. One hand cradled her face, stroking her cheekbone, keeping her gaze fixed on his with almost uncanny hypnotic power.

  ‘That’s it.’ His voice washed over her like rain, keeping her fixed to the moment. He was an anchor in this storm; he would guide her towards the blissful, terrifying peak she felt building in her body, her centre an exquisite knot of tension. ‘That’s right. You’re close.’

  ‘I…’ Susan’s words trailed away into a gasp as Charles bent his head to her breasts. He drew her nipple into his mouth, the sudden vibrant pull of sensation almost too much for her to bear. ‘Charles, I…’

  But there was no point in speaking. He already knew exactly what she was going to say, as she did with him. They both knew one another so deeply, so completely even after long years of absence, that his pleasure was as intimate as her own. Whatever swift, savage explosion was about to break in her, the same would be in him; she knew that with more certainty than anything she had ever learned.

  She cried out with anger as Charles abruptly withdrew. ‘What are you–no!’

  ‘You know we can’t.’

  ‘But I–oh, no…’

  ‘I won’t leave you here, my darling.’ Charles’s hands entwined in hers, strong, safe. He wouldn’t abandon her on the peak of her pleasure, leaving her to languish. ‘I promise.’

  How could she trust him after what he’d done? How could she believe his words? Susan raised her head from the makeshift bed, ready to be furious, ready to attack before he left her… but no, Charles wasn’t leaving. All he was doing was moving further down the bed, his face full of purposeful seriousness as he came level with her mound.

  ‘I… ah!’ Susan threw her head back, suddenly short of air as he kissed the hot, yielding flesh between her thighs. No shyness, no caution–a deep, slow kiss, his tongue stoking the fire within her with skilled hunger. ‘Oh, God, Charles, I–’

  ‘That’s blasphemy.’ Another lick, this time against the tightly-furled bud of pleasure that made Susan’s toes curl with bliss. ‘You taste perfect.’

  Such craven words should shame her, but they only heightened the feelings flooding her. ‘I’m going to come apart.’

  ‘Come apart. That’s a beautiful way to say it.’ Charles briefly looked at her, his dark eyes inexpressibly wicked from between her legs. How strange to discover this stern, teasing side of him here and now. ‘Do it.’

  ‘I–’

  ‘Do it for me.’

  Was it an order, or a plea? Susan couldn’t tell. It could be both, or neither–it could be something larger than the two, a call to her very being. All she knew was at the sound of Charles’s voice, at the feel of his mouth on her, her body shivered in complete, obedient surrender.

  ‘Yes.’ The word was an abandoned, sighing gasp as she gave herself over to him. Her pleasure crashed over her like a wave, flooding Charles’s mouth, making her nerves sing. ‘Yes.’

  She had never slept so well. She lay as if drugged, barely breathing, her soul finally placated after years of cold denial. Only after many warm, dark hours of complete unconsciousness did she begin, with some reluctance, to make her way towards the light of day.

  She was warmer than usual too. For some months she had been attempting to sleep with the bare minimum of coverings–nuns wouldn’t be allowed to luxuriate on feather pillows and wrap themselves in heavy blankets, and Susan had deemed it best to prepare in order to avoid shock. But she hadn’t slept well, shivering in her freezing cottage–and as she blinked, slowly becoming accustomed to her surroundings, the unexpected warmth made her fingers and toes tingle.

  Charles. Charles’s arms were tight around her, better than any blanket or pillow. Susan closed her eyes tightly again, waiting for the panic to hit her–but nothing came.

  She was simply too relaxed. She hadn’t been relaxed in such a long time, not trusting the feeling… but it had crept up to her unawares, and brought her under its spell without the least effort. She was in Charles’s arms, in nothing but her bare skin, and… and she was relaxed.

  ‘Good morning.’ Charles’s gentle kiss on her neck sent slow, sleepy sparks through her. ‘At least, I think it’s morning.’

  ‘There’s sunlight. We may have slept a night, a day and another night…’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Another kiss, higher this time, tracing the lobe of her ear. ‘But I doubt it. We would have been interrupted.’

  Interrupted. What a horrible thought. But she was still so full of sleep, like honey in her veins–and his kisses were lighting a sweet, by now familiar fire at the base of her stomach. They could stay here just a little longer in this makeshift bed, curled around one another. Couldn’t they?

  As if the universe had heard her thoughts, footsteps sounded on the stairs. Susan’s breath caught in her throat, ice flooding her as Charles stiffened. ‘Who is that?’

  ‘Who is who? The footsteps?’

  ‘Does anyone know I’m here?’

  ‘No. Of course not. It’ll be the boy delivering tea and papers.’

  ‘The boy delivering tea and papers!’

  ‘Why not? If I’m going to have to sleep at the mill sometimes, it makes sense to have tea and papers delivered.’

  Susan couldn’t help but smile in disbelief. ‘Says the London gentleman.’

  ‘Says the gentleman with an ounce of good sense.’ Charles’s expression was torn between humour and frustration. ‘Damn it–what are we going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to have to hide.’

  ‘I don’t want to hide you.’

  He’d always had this stubborn streak. This insistence on remaking the universe on his own terms, no matter what the cost. Susan rolled her eyes, pulling the blankets over her head. ‘I disagree.’

  She held as still as she could as she heard the door open. Her shape wouldn’t be visible at all—and really, the lad wouldn’t be so foolish as to enter into the room where Charles was sleeping. He’d place the newspapers on the desk in the study, along with tea and whatever breakfast Charles had requested, and leave.

  This was what giving into one’s passions meant in the cold light of day, when all was said and done. Hiding under the bedclothes, shivering with shame and fear of being discovered, waiting to sneak away to one’s cottage and attempt to lead a respectable life…

  … but when she thought of what she and Charles had done, what they had shared, she couldn’t bring herself to feel the bone-deep guilt that she knew was appropriate. Instead, to her faint horror, all she felt when it came to the act itself was a deep bodily pleasure that refused to fade.

  Eventually, once the footsteps faded away to nothing, she gently ran her hand over Charles’s bare thigh. Strange that she should feel no guilt about doing this, either–his body had always been familiar to her, even if they had spent so much time apart. ‘Can I come out?’

  ‘Of course. Or I can come in with you.’

  ‘Not if you need your tea and newspapers.’

  ‘I don’t need them as much as I need you.’

  Susan couldn’t help but laugh. She slowly surfaced from amid the blankets, shaking her head as Charles wrapped his arms around her. ‘I don’t know. You’re a man of a certain age, now—you’ll need your tea if you want to make a success of anything.’

  ‘So insulting.’ Charles brushed the tip of his nose against hers. ‘All right. We’ll drink tea, read newspapers, and begin again.’

  A spear of doubt struck Susan. ‘Again?’

  'Did you really think that this would be the—the last time? The only time?’

  'I don't see how it could be anything else.' She had never imagined sadness to feel quite so soft�
�how was if possible to be so comforted and so desolate all at once? 'The boat leaves in two days, and I intend to be on it.'

  Charles's arms tightened around her. Not enough to hurt, just enough for him to feel his presence—and oh, what a presence. The presence that had remained a part of her throughout her life, growing into her bones. 'I think you're lying to yourself.'

  'I can't be.' Where had her anger gone? Her fierce determination to stick to the choice she had made, however uncomfortable it felt? Now it only felt like melancholy. 'I... I have already done so much.'

  'Undo it.’

  ‘You say it with such ease.’

  ‘I say it with such ease because I've done it. I've come here, and stayed here, to undo the wrong that I did by leaving this place. By leaving you.' Charles's murmur in her ear was low and urgent. 'You've seen me here over these past weeks. You've seen what I've accomplished—how much we've grown together. Haven't you thought about what could still be done?'

  'Here?'

  'Us. What could be done with us.'

  Us. The word was thrilling with possibility, practically burning the bedclothes. Susan closed her eyes for a long, swooning moment, allowing herself to consider it.

  'You see?' Charles whispered in her ear, followed by a kiss that sent sparks through her veins. 'I know you think about it as I do. As I have done for so very, very long.'

  Temptation was meant to feel good, but not as good as this. This felt like—like the day she had decided to write to the convents. No, not even that... it was better. She wasn't considering the matter with a sense of desperation. Of loneliness.

  No. This wasn’t the time to consider something of such tremendous import. She was beginning to reach a certain age now, much like Charles—she would need tea and breakfast before she could make any reasonable decisions. ‘Let’s think about tea before anything else.’

  ‘Quite right.’ Charles looked down at her, his eyes filled with a softness that lifted Susan’s soul. ‘Always a woman of good sense.’