Duke of Thorns (Heiress Games 1)

by Sara Ramsey

  He’d made no hint that he would give her anything in return.

  She shook her head. “It only hurts a little bit. It already feels better.”

  He brushed his lips over her forehead. “We were made for this, my dear.”

  He could have been talking about humans generally — or he could have meant it about the two of them, and this moment that they seemed destined for. But she didn’t ask.

  He withdrew, slowly, and pressed forward, even more slowly. But as she began to move underneath him — wrapping her legs around his hips, urging him on — his pace quickened. And then he finally, roughly, stroked that hidden nub with renewed intent, thrusting into her at the same time, rocking her back against the bed.

  “Gavin,” she gasped.

  “Give in,” he said, with another thrust. “Come for me.”

  She wasn’t the obedient sort, but she couldn’t resist — he was too overwhelming, and her body refused to fight. She hung suspended for a moment longer, until another thrust pushed her over the edge. Her whole body shuddered; her head flung itself back as she choked on something that might have been a scream. Her nails dug into his back, just as he’d said they would.

  The intensity of it was too much. He was the sea breaking over her, drowning her. He thrust into her again. She felt him pulsing within her, and his low groan matched the scream she’d done her best to dampen.

  He collapsed on top of her. This, perhaps even more than the physical act they had shared, was too sharp in its wonder. She felt safe, secure — not just sated from lovemaking, but completely connected to him in a way she’d never felt before.

  In a way she would never feel again.

  She turned her face away from him, staring sightlessly at the grand, velvet-hung headboard. He rolled off of her eventually, onto his side next to her, pulling her into his arms so that her back was pressed against his chest. He kissed her hair, but he made no move to touch her inappropriately — instead, he curled his hand over hers, holding it against her heart.

  They stayed there for minutes, or hours — Callie couldn’t tell the time, preoccupied as she was with how her heart was slowly breaking like an infinite number of cracks spreading across a frozen pond. It was long enough for their breaths to return to normal. Long enough that she thought she could trust her voice when it was time to speak.

  Finally, she could take no more. She left the bed and found her chemise, slipping it over her head. Thorington must have fallen asleep, because it took him longer than she expected to sit up and look at her.

  “Thank you for the lesson,” she said brightly.

  He frowned. “Are you feeling well? Did I hurt you?”

  “No, you were splendid.”

  She was overdoing it. She fastened her stays. Thorington’s frown deepened. “You are remarkably calm.”

  Callie shrugged. “As you said, I wasn’t ruined. And you were good. More than good. Quite satisfactory. But I should go to bed before I’m caught with you. Wouldn’t want to have to explain this, would we?”

  She was babbling. He stood up and pulled on his trousers, but he didn’t bother with the buttons. He grabbed her shoulders instead, stopping her before she could put on her dress. “Callista. What’s wrong?”

  She waved a hand. “Oh, nothing at all. I see your concern about business arrangements and love matches now — truly, I do. But I must sleep if I’m to find a new match in the morning. Shall we discuss the possibilities during the day, when we’re both less overwrought?”

  “Overwrought?” he repeated. He stared at her as though she had sprouted another head. “Are you upset because I haven’t offered to marry you?”

  Trust Thorington to cut to the heart. He was definitely Thorington again — ready to assess and conquer.

  She laughed, even though it cost her everything. “Don’t trouble yourself over marriage. I didn’t let you seduce me because I planned to trap you at the end of it. This was just a bit of fun between two adults. Wasn’t it?”

  The question hung in the air — flippantly given, but demanding a real answer, one that would determine both their lives.

  He weighed the options in silence. But she knew him well enough now to know that his head would always overrule his heart.

  “It was fun, wasn’t it?” he said coolly, as she knew he would.

  She patted him on the chest, over his heart — the heart she could never win, because he could never give it. If she’d thought she could win it, perhaps she would have acted differently.

  But she had traveled half the world while her mother had tried, and failed, to change Tiberius. Thorington would never change unless Thorington wanted to change. And there was no sense in dashing her own life upon the rocks in an effort to save him from himself.

  “Thank you,” she said, stroking over his heart one last time.

  If Gavin was trapped inside somewhere, he didn’t acknowledge her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  She had made it back to her room the night before without being caught. She’d slept a bit, still wearing her evening dress — Thorington had done up her buttons to make her look presentable before she’d left the Tudor wing, and she couldn’t unbutton them again without summoning Mrs. Jennings. Her maid would have guessed immediately what she had done.

  But Mrs. Jennings had probably guessed anyway. She didn’t lecture. She merely sighed, then brought Callie a compress for her tired eyes and strong coffee instead of her usual tea.

  She had thought of telling Mrs. Jennings everything. But for all that they’d shared over the last two decades, Mrs. Jennings was her servant, not her confidante. Callie wasn’t accustomed to sharing everything with her, just as she knew nothing about Mrs. Jennings’ private thoughts.

  For perhaps the first time in her life, she wished she had someone she could confide in. Her heart, after spending the small hours of the night trying to cope alone, felt like it would burst if she didn’t scream out how she felt.

  But there was no one to tell. The only person at Maidenstone she trusted was Thorington — the architect of her heartbreak.

  And she couldn’t tell him that she’d made the mistake of falling in love with him.

  So when a footman arrived with a summons to join Lucretia after breakfast, Callie had accepted. Not that talking to Lucretia was a desirable task, but it was better than staring at the walls and remembering every excruciating detail of the night before.

  She made her way to Lucretia’s private sitting room — a small, secluded sanctuary attached to Lucretia’s bedchamber. She was surprised to have been invited there. Lucretia had barely spoken to her after Callie had spurned Lucretia’s offer to give up her chance at the inheritance. This was far more intimate than Callie would have guessed.

  But Callie wasn’t the only person invited to this little tête-à-tête. Octavia stood by the window, looking out over the lawns. And Lady Maidenstone sat next to a tea service, preparing to pour.

  “Thank you for attending to us, Miss Briarley,” Lucretia said stiffly.

  Callie started to respond, but she was interrupted by Octavia, who laughed a little without turning away from the window. “Still so formal, Lucy?”

  “Miss Briarley hasn’t given me leave to call her by her Christian name,” Lucretia said. “One of us must observe proprieties if the rest of you won’t.”

  “When has propriety ever served you?” Octavia asked.

  “When has scandal ever served you?” Lucretia shot back.

  There was a vast gulf of hatred between them that Callie didn’t understand and couldn’t navigate. She sat, rather gingerly, next to Lady Maidenstone. “Are they always like this?” she whispered.

  Lady Maidenstone smiled grimly as she poured Callie’s tea and offered her a cake. “No. Usually they don’t speak to each other at all.”

  Octavia came over to Callie and offered her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, cousin,” she said, with a smile that very nearly seemed genuine. “I am sorry I wasn’t more atten
tive when we met in the hall last night, but I was preoccupied with thoughts of murder.”

  Callie grinned as she shook Octavia’s hand. “Briarley contra mundum, cousin. I’ve thought of murdering Lucretia myself.”

  Octavia’s smile grew. “Then we shall get along famously. At least until we must turn our wrath on each other. But until then, you must call me Ava.”

  Ava was a softer name than Octavia. If they had always been Ava, Lucy, and Callie, rather than names meant for empresses and goddesses, would they have been softer women?

  It didn’t matter. They still would have been Briarleys. And Briarleys weren’t made for soft, simple lives.

  “Then until we destroy each other, you must call me Callie,” she said.

  “There,” Octavia said, turning to Lucretia. “I can call her Callie. If you ask nicely, perhaps she’ll let you call her that as well.”

  Lucretia looked entirely chagrined by how quickly Octavia and Callie had aligned with each other. “I’m sure that’s not necessary.”

  But there was something about her voice that sounded unhappy rather than officious. She’d drawn away from them slightly, as though this was a scene she’d played before — and played with a result that hadn’t brought her any happiness.

  “I don’t see why we shouldn’t be informal with each other,” Callie said carefully. “We are the last of the Briarleys, after all. And I should like to know you better.”

  Lucretia sniffed. “You are remarkably forward.”

  Octavia dropped into a chair. “Live dangerously, Lucy.”

  Lucretia shot her a look brimming with hate.

  Callie tried to redirect the conversation. “Please, call me Callie. And if I may ask, was there something you invited us here to discuss? We may do so more comfortably if we focus on the task at hand rather than whatever happened in the past.”

  It wasn’t the most elegant attempt at peacemaking. But Lucretia sighed. “Call me Lucy,” she said, sounding more surly than such an offer should have warranted. “And I didn’t invite you. That was our grandmother’s doing.”

  Lady Maidenstone snorted as she handed Octavia a cup of tea. “I thank you for the insult, Lucy.”

  “Step-grandmother,” Octavia clarified cheerfully.

  Callie turned to Lady Maidenstone. “Then shall I ask you what you meant by the invitation, my lady?”

  “All of you Briarleys are the same,” she said, sounding philosophical as she poured Lucretia’s tea. “So determined to follow through with your plans, however dark and convoluted, that you can’t see the easier path ahead of you.”

  Lucretia frowned. “What are you going on about, Emma?”

  “Maidenstone Abbey is big enough to house an army of Briarleys,” Lady Maidenstone said. “Particularly now that there’s no one left to fight over the title.”

  If Lady Maidenstone had given Lord Maidenstone a son, he would have inherited it all, down to the final shilling and the last blade of grass. Instead, she’d failed to produce and had been left with the merest pittance. But her countenance was entirely serene as she poured her tea and contemplated the fate of an estate she might have won for her own bloodline.

  Octavia leaned forward as though she’d heard the most delicious bit of gossip. “Emma, are you suggesting that we share?”

  Lady Maidenstone nodded. “I know that word isn’t in the Briarley vocabulary. But it’s a thought, isn’t it?”

  Lucretia set aside her tea without taking a single sip. “Out of the question. Grandfather clearly intended for one of us to be the sole inheritor.”

  “Your grandfather was many things. Some of them were even wonderful. But he was not the sanest man in Devon, was he?”

  Lady Maidenstone sounded cheerful as she said this. More cheerful than Callie would have been if she’d been seventeen when she was sold into marriage to an octogenarian. But Lucretia stared at her as though she’d committed the basest blasphemy. “Maidenstone has always gone to the strongest Briarley of the generation. It has never been shared.”

  Octavia was looking at Lucretia, not Lady Maidenstone. “You should consider it, Lucy. This competition is a farce. And you’re not likely to win it.”

  “Because you think I’m incapable of finding a match?” Lucretia’s voice rose on the words, and Callie heard pain caused by the prodding of an old, badly-healed wound. “This isn’t our debut season, you know. And I have proven competent at managing houses and hosting parties.”

  “From what I’ve heard of Ferguson, he’s too eccentric to give Maidenstone to the least eccentric of the three of us. Competence doesn’t interest him. You were bound to lose before the party even started.”

  It was a frank assessment, bordering on unkind. Lucretia flushed. “The contest hasn’t been decided yet, Ava. And if you convince anyone other than the basest villain to marry you after you ruined yourself, I’ll expire from shock.”

  Silence reigned. Octavia looked down into her teacup. Lucretia’s flush deepened. Lady Maidenstone fidgeted, crumbling her cake into dust.

  Finally, Callie couldn’t tolerate the silence any longer. “I would be willing to share if you were,” she said.

  She knew enough of business to know she shouldn’t have offered such a large concession at the beginning of a negotiation. It put her at an immediate disadvantage — an unusual position for her, since she was accustomed to seeking every bit of advantage over her foes.

  But she suddenly found it sad that Briarley contra mundum still applied to them, generations after the first Briarley had killed another for his own gain. It should have been Briarley against the world — but it was every Briarley against all the others, destroying each other over the centuries.

  And Lady Maidenstone was right — there was enough of Maidenstone Abbey to sustain all three of them, if they agreed to share it.

  Lucretia and Octavia, though, had been raised by fathers who never escaped Maidenstone’s poisonous air. They shook their heads at the same time.

  “I will never share a house with Lucretia again,” Octavia said.

  “I would rather die than see Octavia inherit,” Lucretia said.

  Callie frowned. “But both your chances of winning are one in three. Shouldn’t you take the security of inheriting a third of the estate?”

  Lucretia shook her head. “Neither of you deserve it. As I said, I would rather die than spend my life watching either of you destroy this place.”

  “I wouldn’t destroy Maidenstone if I won it,” Callie said.

  It was a small lie, since Callie had already redone the entire house in her head to better fit the modern conveniences. But Lucretia was concerned about more than just the kitchens. “You’ve no interest at all in the concerns of a landowner. And you don’t know the first thing about hosting the local gentry. The first time a harvest fails and you’re expected to do something about it, you’ll run away just like Uncle Tiberius did.”

  Callie frowned. “I can learn how to host. And I know how to run businesses to make a profit. Maidenstone might benefit more from my stewardship than it would from yours.”

  “And how do your businesses make those profits?” Lucretia asked.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Lady Maidenstone leaned over and nudged Lucretia’s cup toward her. “Calm yourself, Lucy,” she said gently. “It isn’t your business what Callie does.”

  The woman was younger than the rest of them, barely twenty, and completely out of place with her blonde hair and wistful blue eyes. But Lucretia took a breath as though she was used to Lady Maidenstone giving her guidance. “It is, though. No one else seems to care at all about our legacy. Ava destroyed as much of it as she could. And Callista is entirely too American. She’s almost a traitor, in my mind.”

  If they were men, Callie would have called her out for that. She flushed as something unpleasant unfurled in her stomach. “I’m not a traitor. I’m a merchant.”

  “A merchant making the best profit no matter which side you are supporting?
” Lucretia snorted. “Briarleys have always stood for something. If you had stayed in America to support their ill-conceived cause, I would have understood. Or if you had come here to throw your ships behind the British, so much the better. But you came here seeking profit, didn’t you?”

  Octavia had stayed mostly silent — she hadn’t even taken exception to Lucretia’s comment that she’d destroyed Maidenstone’s legacy, whatever that meant. But here, she interrupted. “Lucy, you’d be better served trying to win for yourself than convincing either of us to abandon the hunt. After you intercepted all of my invitations, did you really think I would give up once I learned of it?”

  That explained why Octavia had been so angry the night before. Lucretia shrugged. “I’ll do what I have to to save this place. Emma, thank you for the tea, but sharing Maidenstone is an impossibility.”

  Lucretia stood. It was a clear signal that the conversation was over, particularly since it was her sitting room. But Lady Maidenstone didn’t stand — she sighed instead. “Lucy, dear, I only wanted to help. We’ve tried your ways already — perhaps it’s time to try mine.”

  Lucretia’s mouth twisted. “It’s too late. Ava said it already — I can’t win, can I? Unless my cousins remove themselves from the competition. And it wouldn’t be too hard to ruin either of them.”

  That was a turn Callie didn’t expect. She had managed not to think of Thorington for at least five minutes. But the word ruin reminded her, immediately, intimately, of what they had done.

  She didn’t feel ruined.

  She felt glorious. Confused, hurt, heartbroken — but glorious.

  Still, had a servant found evidence of their presence? Had they somehow guessed who had made illicit, comprehensive use of the State Bedchamber? And would Lucretia be bold enough to announce it?

  “What are you planning?” she asked Lucretia, trying to sound as innocent as possible.

  Lucretia walked over to her writing desk and picked up a broadsheet. “The papers are all screaming for American blood. It seems several Baltimore shipping companies have turned into pirates. It wouldn’t be too difficult to whisper a few words about your investments, would it? No one would care whether it was true — the story would be too good for anyone to ignore.”