by Darcy Burke
With a soft moan, she put her hand on his head to steady herself. Anticipation pulsed through her as sensation rioted within her body. Then he kissed her there, his lips teasing and gently sucking. Pleasure bloomed, and she shoved the covers away, baring his head between her thighs. She thrust her hands into his hair. His touch was light and caressing with his mouth and fingers teasing her flesh.
And then he stopped playing.
He gripped her hip and licked along her crease, and the addition of his tongue changed everything. What had been decadently wonderful was now darkly erotic, and the desire she felt became a deep and desperate lust for everything this man would give her.
She clutched at his head as he speared his tongue inside her. His thumb pressed and stroked her flesh while his fingertips dug deliciously into her backside.
Relentless in his pursuit of her pleasure, he replaced his tongue with his fingers, driving into her while he sucked on that nub at the top of her sex. She cried out as a wave of ecstasy slammed into her, but she wasn’t ready for release. Not quite yet. Not when everything he was doing felt so good.
Alternating his mouth and fingers, he tormented her flesh, holding her hard and fast as her hips began to move. She felt utterly shameless, arching against his mouth and pleading for more.
He caressed her backside, urging her to move and working furiously to coax her release. Pleasure spiraled through her, moving up and pressing on her chest as her muscles began to contract. The control she barely held slipped and splintered, exploding in a torrent as she came around his fingers, his tongue bathing her heated flesh.
He rose and came over her. She slid her hands up around his neck, gliding her palms over his warm skin. He ducked his head down and kissed her, his mouth open and wet, his tongue seeking hers. She tasted herself and reveled in this new intimacy.
He pulled back, and she opened her eyes to find him staring down at her with that same intensity with which he’d looked up at her before. “You are my wife. In every way, Verity. I would fight for you at any cost.”
The declaration stole her breath, and emotion clogged her throat. Swallowing, she caressed his nape and drew his head down to hers. “You don’t have to fight—I’m yours.”
Chapter 15
Kit claimed her mouth once more, pouring his heart and his soul into their kiss. Now that there were no secrets between them, he felt freer than he had in ages. Maybe in his entire life.
Because love could do that, he realized. It could make you hurt and seethe one moment and fairly burst with joy the next. It was a tumult, and he wanted it every damn day of his life with her.
Her hand curled around his stiff cock, and he groaned into her mouth. His hips moved forward of their own accord, desperate to find her heat. She knew and guided him to her sheath. He slid inside, his shaft slickened by her wet channel.
He wanted to go slow, to savor their joining, but he couldn’t. He was too overwhelmed with emotion and need. He cupped the underside of her jaw, his fingers tucking behind her ear as he drew his mouth from hers.
“I can’t,” he rasped. “Can’t go slow.”
Her eyes fluttered open, and he saw his own desire reflected in their earthy depths. “Don’t.”
He gripped her firmly but with great care as he drove into her. She wrapped her legs around him and raked her nails down his back, never breaking the lock of their eyes. Her lids slitted, but she watched him with her lips parted.
He couldn’t look away. This moment between them was too powerful. “God, you feel so—” He couldn’t come up with an accurate word to describe everything he was experiencing.
Her hands clasped his backside as she arched her hips and met his thrusts. “Harder. Please. Faster. It’s just—” She interrupted herself with a low moan, and her eyelids fluttered.
Kit let himself go, slamming into her with strength and speed. Her muscles contracted around him, and he knew her orgasm was right there. He dragged his thumb over her lips and pushed it into her mouth, sliding the pad over her lower teeth.
She snagged his flesh then sucked on him as she bore down around his cock. She cried out, and he moved his hand back, cupping her nape as he came with astonishing force.
Kit pumped into her, and she rose up against him, their bodies moving in glorious concert as they crested the peak of pleasure together. He didn’t remember a more satisfying—or humbling—moment in his entire life.
They eventually slowed and came to a stop, their breaths coming in loud gasps before settling to near normal. He collapsed on top of her, but when he made to slide to the side, she clutched him against her. “Don’t move. Please.”
He dragged his lips across her forehead. “Move. Don’t move. You’re a bit of an autocrat.”
She gave him a saucy smile. “And don’t you forget it.”
He laughed against her temple. Her hair was loose, which she knew he loved. Had she left it that way on purpose? He hoped so.
Her fingertips traced circles on his lower back. “Now you can move. But not too far.”
With a low chuckle, he slid to her side. Grabbing two pillows, he stuffed them behind his head and scooted up to a partial sitting position. She nestled against his side and put her hand on his chest, again drawing circles over his flesh.
He brushed his lips across her forehead. “When did you know I wasn’t Rufus?”
“Almost immediately, I think. I didn’t know for certain, but you were just too different. He was…barbarous, and I suspect you don’t have a cruel bone in your body.”
He stiffened when she said barbarous. “How?” He realized she could interpret that question a number of ways, but she answered how he hoped she would—with what he needed to know.
“It started small—he would belittle me in act and deed. The physical intimidation started on our wedding night. He was a brute in the bedroom, but often drank himself to a degree of, er, nonperformance. Eventually, that became my fault too.” Her hand pressed flat against his chest, and he could feel her pulse in her wrist. Steady and strong, as she’d had to be living with that monster.
“Did he hurt you?”
“Physically?” She nodded slightly. “Sometimes. But he preferred to torture me in other ways—making me stand in the corner all night and watch him sleep. I would ponder all the ways in which he might die.” Her hand balled into a fist on his chest, and Kit covered it with his, squeezing her.
“He can’t ever hurt you again.”
She relaxed, her hand flattening once more against his chest. “Then he went to London, and shortly thereafter, I found I was expecting Beau. I was terrified for the child and thought of running away.”
Kit’s heart squeezed, and he longed to find Rufus Beaumont and kill him if he wasn’t already dead. He hoped for the man’s sake he was, because Kit would not make it quick or pleasant.
“But then he disappeared,” she said, exhaling. “It was like a reprieve. For months, maybe even years, I was afraid he’d come back, but eventually we—Beau and I—settled into a comfortable routine.”
She had to have been horrified when he’d arrived. “I’m so sorry for the anguish I caused you when I showed up,” he said, stroking her back and shoulder. “If I’d known the truth, I wouldn’t have tried to be him.”
“Now you see why it was difficult to believe you were Rufus. You were so different in every way. Everyone noticed.”
“Does anyone else at Beaumont Tower know—definitively, I mean?”
She looked up at him. “Not that I’m aware. I didn’t tell anyone you’re Kit. Did someone say something?”
“No, but I have to wonder who Cuddy was talking about when he said someone else knew my secret.”
She pushed up to a full sitting position, her face creased with concern. “That’s a problem. As is the constable. What are we going to tell him?”
Kit blew out a breath. He’d cocked that up for certain. “I should just have told the truth.” Surely the constable would have believed a duke’s account of what had
happened. Kit needed to remember he was the duke and start bloody acting like it. “It was incredibly selfish.”
She cupped his face, her touch gentle against him. “It’s hard not to be selfish when we both just want to keep this happiness we’ve found.” God, she understood. “I don’t want to lose this either.”
He turned his head and kissed her palm. “We won’t. If the constable comes, I’ll think of something.” He didn’t want her to worry about it.
She gave him a reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’ll be on our way to London in a couple of hours anyway. I doubt we’ll have to speak with him.”
She was, of course, wrong.
Despite working hard on preparations the day before, it was past midmorning before the two coaches were ready to depart for London. Beau was beyond excited as they packed things into the coach for him to do along the way. Verity tried not to think about when he grew tired of the confines of the vehicle. Just as she helped him inside, her heart leapt into her throat as an unexpected visitor rode into the courtyard.
The constable.
He brought his horse to a stop near the coaches and dismounted. A groom rushed to take his reins, and the constable offered a nod.
Verity sidled closer to Kit, who stood beside her. “That’s the constable. Mr. Jeffers.”
Kit touched her arm. “Don’t worry. And definitely don’t let him see you worry. Do I know him?” He kept his voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes, but not well. Just act as if you do.”
“Should I act…normal?” They’d discussed earlier whether he ought to behave differently in London. Though Rufus had visited for only a short time, he might have left an impression, given his general behavior of aloofness and scorn. They’d decided that he had to be who he was—which wasn’t Rufus. To that end, he would likely find himself apologizing for quite some time.
“Act as you’ve been. Like we talked about earlier.”
“Right.” He took a deep breath and smiled as the constable approached. “Good morning, Mr. Jeffers. I would say I’m glad to see you, but I believe you’re here because of a distressing matter.”
Jeffers, a pock-faced man of at least fifty with a genial smile, bowed. “Good morning, Your Grace.” He performed the same for Verity. “Your Grace.”
“We were sorry to hear of Cuddy’s death,” Verity said.
“Yes, yes, such a shock for Blackburn,” Jeffers said. “I know Mr. Strader was employed here until recently. Have you any idea as to who might have wanted to harm him?” He looked between Verity and Kit, but his gaze settled on Kit.
“None, I’m afraid, but then I’ve only been home a month or so.”
“Rumor has it you were conscripted, but I can’t see how that’s possible.” He chuckled, but there was a note of unease in the tone of it.
“In this case, the rumor is accurate,” Kit said evenly. “I spent the last six and a half years at sea, and I’m glad to finally have my legs on land.”
Verity knew that wasn’t true. In fact, she suspected he missed his ship and sailing more than he realized. It wasn’t being a captain—at least she didn’t think that was it. She thought being duke and running an estate rather fulfilled his desire to lead. And he was so very good at it. Pride pushed at her chest as she slid a glance at him.
“I bet you are,” Jeffers said. “And I’m sure everyone here is…glad to have you back.” His slight hesitation before saying “glad” wasn’t lost on Verity.
“Actually, we are more than glad,” she said, tucking her arm through Kit’s. “His Grace has returned quite changed.”
Jeffers now looked mildly uncomfortable, but he summoned a smile just the same. “How splendid. Well, if you think of anything regarding Mr. Strader, I hope you’ll let me know.”
“Actually, I should tell you that we believe he was embezzling from the estate,” Kit said, shocking Verity with his forthrightness. “That’s why I dismissed him. A review of the accounts revealed discrepancies.”
The constable’s gray eyes narrowed, and his brow puckered. He nodded several times. “I see. I see. I must say I’m not entirely surprised to hear this. Mr. Strader’s reputation in town was less than savory, particularly since he left your employ. I’ve learned he regularly met with a pair of miscreants at the Sheep’s Head.”
Kit leaned forward slightly with interest. “May I ask who? I should dearly like to recover at least a portion of the funds Cuddy stole. Perhaps these men could help.”
“I doubt that—they seemed to be of a lower class. Or so Thompson—the barkeep at the Sheep’s Head—said. He said they met Strader in the pub once a quarter or so. Oh, and they aren’t from here, so good luck finding them.”
“Did Thompson know where they were from?”
“He thinks London, based on their accents.” Jeffers let out a soft chuckle. “Can’t imagine you’d find them there, however.”
Kit’s answering smile was mild and brief. “No, I can’t imagine I would. Thank you for the information, just the same. Do you think it’s possible these men had anything to do with Cuddy’s death?”
Jeffers stroked his chin. “It’s possible, I suppose, but Thompson said they were in town a week or so ago. He doubted they’d be back so soon—he was adamant they showed up once a quarter or thereabouts.”
Beau stuck his head out the window of the coach. “Are we going or not?” He glanced toward the constable but didn’t seem to care that they had a visitor.
Jeffers chuckled again. “Someone’s ready to be on his way.”
Verity narrowed her eyes toward Beau but then smiled. “Yes, we’re going to London. He’s never been.”
Beau grinned. “I’m going to the museum and to have ices and to the Tower of London!”
The constable looked toward the coach. “Sounds like a wonderful trip. Have a grand time.” He returned his attention to Verity and Kit. “I’ll be on my way, then. Thank you for speaking with me. Safe travels to you.”
“Thank you, Jeffers.” Kit reached out and shook the man’s hand, which elicited a flash of surprise in the constable’s eyes.
Jeffers gripped his hand with a nod. “Thank you, Your Grace.” He bowed to Verity once more before turning and going to his horse.
Verity waited until he was on his way through the gate before taking her arm from Kit’s and turning to him. “Why did you tell him about the embezzlement?” she asked quietly.
“Because he could easily find out from Thomas.” His gaze locked on hers. “I would have told him the truth about killing Cuddy, but I know how badly you want to get to London.”
She leaned into him. “So you will be the duke and our family will be safe.”
He bent his head and kissed her.
“Now you kiss too much,” Beau whined. “Can we go?”
Verity felt Kit smile against her mouth as laughter broke them apart. “Yes, we can go.” She looked up at Kit with a surplus of emotion—some of which she wasn’t sure she wanted to define, so she didn’t. “To London, where everyone will welcome the returned Duke of Blackburn.”
“To London,” Kit agreed softly before helping her into the coach.
She could hardly wait to get there.
Chapter 16
It was a week that felt like a month, and Kit wasn’t looking forward to the return—at least not right away. Traveling such a long distance with an energetic six-year-old boy had proven taxing, but also endearing. Every night, Beau curled up between Kit and Verity and fell immediately to sleep, and though Kit wasn’t able to share any intimacy with his wife, he couldn’t be annoyed by the lack of it when the resulting sense of family and connection were a different kind of intimacy that was both unexpected and incredibly satisfying.
And he supposed he couldn’t say there hadn’t been any intimacy of the sexual kind. They’d managed a rather brief coupling in a dark, shadowed corner of the stable while Beau had been inside the inn with his nurse. Kit smiled at the memory and looked very forwar
d to having Verity alone that night. Hopefully, Beau wouldn’t mind sleeping in his own chamber at Aunt Diana and Uncle Simon’s.
It was just past noon on their eighth day of travel as the coach rolled to a halt on Upper Brook Street. Kit tried not to gape at the grand town houses lining the road. He knew Simon was particularly wealthy, but this was a level of elegance and prestige Kit had never seen.
Welcome to your world.
Beau tapped his foot impatiently as they waited for the groom to open the door. They’d long since abandoned trying to coax him to wait for his mother to depart first. On the contrary, they wanted him out of the coach as soon as possible.
He bounded forth the moment the steps were in place. Kit followed him and helped Verity descend. She looked at him with a heat that seemed to indicate her mind had maybe taken the same direction as his. He drew her hand close to his chest after she stepped down. “Soon,” he murmured.
She grinned, then turned her head to the town house, where the door was already open and Simon and Diana were now stepping outside.
They exchanged hugs and greetings, and soon Beau was off with their butler, exploring the house. Randolph was a younger fellow and had explained he had four younger brothers and was up to the task of managing Lord Preston. He had, in fact, seemed eager for it.
Simon and Diana escorted Kit and Verity into the drawing room where the housekeeper delivered refreshments.
“Would you mind if we closed the door?” Verity asked.
Kit tensed. They’d discussed the need to have this conversation, but he was still nervous. Verity didn’t want to lie to her cousin, her best friend, her confidant about who Kit really was. And Kit simply couldn’t deny her a thing. He was, in a word, besotted.
“Not at all,” Simon said, rising and closing the door. He retook his seat with a look of eager curiosity. “Though now my interest is quite piqued.”
Verity sat beside her cousin on the settee while Kit and Simon faced them over a low table in a pair of chairs. She angled herself toward Diana. “We wanted to tell you something—something very important and very secret. We don’t wish to put you in an awkward position, but this isn’t something I could keep from you.” She looked over to Simon. “And I know Diana would need to share it with you.”