by Reid, Stacy
She looped her hands around his neck and held on. And he made love with her, rough and also gentle, peppering her with praises. His Pippa responded wantonly to every touch, and illicit praises of the things he would eventually do with her—erotic spanking of her lush buttocks, nipples, and quim, mounting her from behind and fucking her deep and long, tying her to his bed with his cravat as he enslaved them to pleasure. Christopher did not hold back. Sharing his dark lustful heart with the woman he loved. And Pippa responded with burning flames of sensuality, screaming her release, dragging his seed from him long before he was ready.
Trembling from the shocking aftermath of such delirious pleasure, he twisted, so she tumbled atop him. Without a doubt, that had been the most spectacular climax of his life. She rested against his chest, panting heavily, desperately trying to catch her breath. He dragged her up until she was lying in the crook of his arm and lowered his mouth to hers, tasting her deeply, and thoroughly.
When they broke apart, she giggled, and the pure joy in the sound pulled a smile to his lips. She curled into him to get comfortable, and a few moments later gentle snoring sounded. He held her to him, tighter than necessary. Christopher must remember to inform her she snored. He grinned, thinking how adorable her outrage would be, and then he too succumbed to the pull of sleep.
A couple of hours later, Christopher stretched, sliding his hand across the cushions and pillows searching for his Pippa. He snapped his eyes open when he did not encounter her curvy body. Scanning the semi-dark library, for the sun was valiantly peeking through the heavy drapes, he accepted that she had somehow slipped away while he slept.
Impressive. For their activities for the night had damn near killed him. They ate, they laughed, they even had some meaningful conversation other times silly and filled with laughter. But then they had made love three times, and he’d reminded himself of her innocence several times to slow the pangs of hunger which had claimed his soul. He had been insatiable with her, and she had matched his passion. Never had he thought he would be this happy at the thought of marriage and starting a family. But he could see a future with Pippa, one bright and beautiful, filled with laughter, loving, and children. A rueful smile curved his lips before it spread into a full grin. She had said yes. Pippa Cavanaugh would be his duchess.
He pushed from the mound of cushions he had made into their bed some time through the night and tugged on his trousers. A quick glance at the clock perched on the mantle revealed it to be eight in the morning. The household would already be awake. How Pippa had snuck away without waking him, he had no damn idea.
A knock sounded on the door, and the handle was tested. Christopher walked over and turned the key, so the door could be open. His butler, Jenkins, entered, a look of comical dismay entering his eyes at the disarray before he masked his reaction like a properly trained butler should.
“Beg pardon, Your Grace. Your mother and sisters are here,” Jenkins said with grave dignity.
Christopher frowned. While he was close with his sisters and mother, it was not their way to descend upon him without advance notice. To do otherwise would be too improper.
"A pot of tea and toast, Jenkins. Inform them I will see them in the drawing room in about thirty minutes. Also, have one of the maids tend to the library immediately.”
The butler bowed and withdrew.
Christopher wasted no time heading to his chamber and calling for a quick bath. When he entered the drawing room, he was impeccably dressed in a tan-colored riding breeches with knee-high boots, a matching tan jacket, a navy blue waistcoat, and an expertly tied cravat. He'd already predicted an invigorating ride was what he'd need in Hyde Park after facing his meddlesome family.
He paused at the somber atmosphere in the drawing room. His mother had evidently been crying, and Dear God, even his unflappable Selina appeared out of sorts. Amelia was seated on the sofa by the window tapping her foot quite anxiously. Even more telling, the pot of tea and morning edibles remained untouched.
“What has happened?” he asked, silently vowing to crush whoever had dared.
His mother gently set a newssheet atop the walnut table in the center of the drawing room.
“There is a dreadful scandal about town,” Amelia said tearily.
“At eight in the morning?”
She shot him a wrathful look. “It does not matter if you are Carlyle! No one respectable will have us in their drawing rooms after this!”
Swallowing his sigh, he walked over to the table and took up the newssheet, snapping it open.
The Duke of C is a jaded libertine, and not all society believes him to be. A rake of the first order, a man scandalous in his musings and deeds hides amongst society, a dangerous wolf…a jackal in sheep’s clothing. This author has it on the first most authority he is not to be trusted, he is a man with little honor and no regard for the innocent and shamelessly seduced a fine, wonderful girl at a particular garden party a few weeks ago and then refused to marry her.
He is a wicked, unprincipled libertine…a dangerous wretch. All young ladies of virtue should steer clear! And one any mother of delicate and refined sensibilities would protect their daughter from! Not a duke of saints, I fear. But one of wicked proclivities and a man that must not be trusted.
Sincerely,
Lady W
.
Christopher read the article…if it could be called such, three times before he slowly lowered the paper. Pippa had submitted this to her editor, and the foolish man printed it. In Christopher’s heart there was a heavy press, and not just because of the terrible scrutiny this piece of scurrilous gossip would bring to his reputation, though that was decidedly unpleasant.
A man that must not be trusted.
How could he marry a woman who believed these things of him? Who had written these things about him? He could feel the passionate disdain in each word, and they struck forcibly at his heart like bullets. Had he foolishly trusted the wrong woman? Had it all been a ploy?
He tried to recall the wild, loving moments of several hours before, but the soft, sweet lust could not be remembered, only the cold mistrust with which she had still stared at him. The intensity at which he had fallen in love with her—quick, passionate, and all-consuming— dictated that the pain rending through him was just as fierce and encompassing.
“Oh, Christopher,” Selina murmured.
She had always been the sibling to understand his emotional moods best. And from the worry and pain in her voice, she sensed the turmoil churning beneath the calm façade he presented.
“Christopher,” his mother said with a notable quiver in her tone. “Who is this innocent person this preposterous lady claimed you seduced and abandoned? That is a serious accusation against your character and reputation.”
A thought seemed to occur to her; she added, “This Lady W would not have dared print something so inflammatory and libelous unless…unless there was some truth to it?”
He flinched, a different kind of pain worming through him. Of course, that is what society would perceive. It must be true. It was printed in a damn scandal rag, but it would be true, for who would dare print such falsehood. Who would dare scandalize the duke of C falsely? His honor had been attacked, but for his mother to question it?
He dropped the newssheet uncaring it fell to the ground. “If you will excuse me, I have a meeting to attend.”
His mother’s gasp of shock did not move him, nor would he defend himself against these lies, not to his family. That thought was unbearable. He spun and walked away.
"I know it is not true," Selina said softly, arresting his movements. "Forgive mamma, she spoke from a place of pain and worry. We know of your honor and your true character, and we stand by you."
He nodded and continued. Miss Pippa Cavanaugh had to be confronted. What he would say he hardly knew. What he would do he could not imagine. But he needed to peer into her eyes and asked if these were her words.
If yes…then he would have nothing to say, for then he
would never have possessed even a small bit of her heart and affections.
Chapter 15
“The Duke of Carlyle," Thompson announced, his weather-beaten faced creased in a smile. It seemed the entire household was aware of her expectations.
Pippa smoothed her peach muslin dress down her waist, despite there were no wrinkles. He had shown. She hadn't really believed it, and she felt such awful regret she had doubted him. The duke was about to make an offer for her.
Good heavens, this is happening! She lowered dazedly into the sofa a laugh rippling from her. Her, Pippa Cavanaugh, a duchess to a man she had fallen in love with. How remarkable, when only a few months ago no one in society had thought her acceptable.
“Would you like me to see him first, my dear?” her mother asked with a smile, her eyes sparkling her happiness.
Pippa had reached home this morning, only a few minutes before her mother, and right before the breaking dawn. Everyone had just gotten a few hours' sleep before they had risen to break their fast. While they had eaten, she had told her mother of the duke's intention. How mamma had stuttered when Pippa had informed her of the duke’s promise to pay a visit. Her mother had announced Pippa’s expectation to the countess, and Lady Leighton had seemed quite shocked by the news. Miranda had not been down to breakfast, and Pippa was glad, for she would like to speak to her privately before any sort of public announcement was made.
“Pippa dearest, you are woolgathering.”
“I would speak with him alone, mamma, just a few words. You can leave the door open,” she said, vexed that a blush was rising to her face. For with every delightfully wicked thing he had done to her a few hours ago, leaving a door open seemed beyond silly.
She needed to reassure herself this was still all real. Her mother understood for she said, “I will check on tea.”
Then she departed. A minute later the duke was escorted inside. Pippa stood and smiled. He was dashingly handsome and quite commanding in his bearing. There was an air of indifference around him. His lips were flat and unsmiling, and no warmth showed in his eyes. "Christopher…?"
Every instinct she possessed warned her that something was wrong—or about to go terribly wrong. A heavy feeling settled against her heart. “Is…is everything well?” Did he regret his hasty words last night? Had his family objected as she anticipated?
The eyes that peered at her were chillingly distant. “Miss Cavanaugh, have you seen this?” he asked with icy civility.
She stared at him helplessly. Miss Cavanaugh? The lover who had taken her last night with such burning passion no longer existed. This man was a stranger. And Pippa was inordinately glad her mother was not present to witness her humiliation. “What is it?” she asked, clearing the hoarseness from her throat.
“Is this truly the manner of man you believe me to be?” he asked gently, placing the newssheet onto the small table before her. "A creature who's given over to every form of vice?"
“What? Of course not. Why would you think such a thing?”
“Then enlighten me as to what this is, please.”
She took the paper and stared at it in blank shock. The angry words she had written a few weeks ago. A sick dread curled through her. “I do not understand…how is this possible?” And with a dreadful flash of insight, she knew Miranda had something to do with it.
“Did you write this?” he asked softly.
“I…I did not submit this to Mr. Bell. I swear it on my honor.”
The duke’s mien was cold, aloof, indifferent and it pierced her heart. She hurried over to him. “Christopher, if you’ll allow me to—”
“I warned you what would happen should you slander my name,” he slung with raw fury. His tone was so cutting she flinched.
“You have called my honor into question. You have brought down scrutiny on my family though I warned you of the consequences. You wantonly published filthy lies, besmirching my character, and you did not have the nerve or courage to do it as yourself, but hide behind a pseudonym while you willfully ruined another!”
“I did not post this!” she said, a desperate pain worming through her heart. Pain and doubt gripped her by the throat at the chilling indifference in his eyes and tone. “I would never have posted this, you must believe me.”
He took a few steps closer, and it was then she saw that pain also glowed in his eyes. Her words had hurt him. She had offended his pride and his honor. And in doing so, she might have lost the respect and love that had been brewing in his heart for her.
* * *
The heaviness against Christopher’s heart was an unbearable weight. Her lovely eyes glowed with pain and guilt. “You do think this of me. Every word.” He hadn’t thought the pain in his heart could grow. He had been hoping someone else had written it, that she had passed the mantle of Lady W to another.
“No! Of course not.” She closed her eyes before opening them. “I was not the person who published it,” she admitted hoarsely.
He narrowed in on the distinction. “But you wrote it?” Please say no.
She flinched. “Yes, but before I knew you, before I knew the kind, wonderful man you are, before when I thought you had callously seduced Miranda and abandoned her. I had been hurt and angry on her behalf, hurt and angry at all the cads in the world. And that hurt went into my words.”
“So you wrote all those vile things about me weeks ago?”
“Yes!”
Instead of feeling lighter, his heart became even more burdensome. “But as you came to know me…your opinion changed?”
Her eyes were wide with pain and anxiety. “Yes.”
He stepped closer to her, refusing to unbend at the tears pooling in her eyes. To know she had vilified him in such a manner gutted him and had wounded him in a way he hadn't thought possible. How foolish he had been in the powers he granted her over his emotions. “Then why did you still have the letter?”
A delicate hand covered her lips, and she stared at him without answering. "Would you like me to inform you, Miss Cavanaugh?"
She shook her head wordlessly, but he swore he saw the truth of it reflected in her injured eyes.
“You did not trust in the manner of man that I am. You kept that letter because you believed one day, I would show my true character as the other men in your life who had hurt and disappointed you. Despite our connection and our experiences, you did not trust me and judged me unworthy of your respect and love despite everything. That is why you kept the letter still, Miss Cavanaugh, I dare you to deny it.”
“I…I…love you…I fell in love with you,” she breathed roughly. “I forgot about the letter.”
He stilled. “Do you trust that I would care and treasure that love. That I would never betray you with another, and that at all time your worries and cares will always be precious to me, Pippa?”
* * *
Do you trust me?
An odd, painful feeling was continuing to grow in Pippa’s heart. “That level of trust will eventually come,” she said, clasping her trembling hands before her. Evasiveness seemed the most logical defense to a question that made her heart tremble with a panic she did not understand.
He flinched, and a flare of pain brightened the silver in his eyes before his expression shuttered. “Ah…so in your mind and heart I am simply a man like any other. Like your father and that bounder Nigel Williamsfield.”
I do not want to lose you, her heart cried out. "I…I…what does that have to do with the letter? I did not post it, and I suspect who did, and I am so terribly sorry. I will do all in my powers to make amends."
The duke bowed. “Good day to you, Miss Cavanaugh.”
Confusion and pain rushed through her. Was he saying goodbye? "Christopher…" Pippa took a shallow breath, refusing to give in to frustrated tears. “You do not trust me either,” she said hoarsely. “You believe the worst of me when I simply forgot…forgot I had written that dreadful letter. I did not keep it as insurance, but that is what you believe of me, yet you pr
ofess to love and want to marry me."
A piercing pain clutched her heart in a fierce grip, and then her heart shattered into a thousand pieces when he turned and walked away without another word. Pippa stood frozen, watching him go, sensing their understanding was at an end. “I’ll not chase you,” she whispered fiercely, recalling her mamma abandoning her pride to run after her husband. “I’ll not chase you!”
It was not the first time her expectations and hopes had been dashed. I will be quite fine. Yet never had the vow felt so hollow and empty. Because what she felt with the duke, she had never experienced with another and refused to believe such intensity of emotions happened more than once in a lifetime.
Last night she had hoped. And she had believed. This morning…now…everything felt dark and lonely. The pain was so great it was numbing.
Her mother appeared in the doorway of the drawing room. “Is everything well, my dear?” her mother asked with a worried frown. “I…the duke is leaving?”
Pippa was afraid of speaking, afraid her voice would break. She pressed two fingers to her lips, shook her head wordlessly, and hurried from the drawing room.
In the hallway, she spied Miranda. Pippa slowed her pace. "Why did you do it?" she asked.
“I regretted it as soon as I did,” she said, genuine regret in her tone. "We argued, and I was angry. I knew you were Lady W…I saw a few of the articles in your desk drawer. I saw that one tucked away and when we argued I hated that the duke could drive a wedge between us. I selfishly admit I wanted…I wanted to cause you and the duke pain. He'd singled you out, and all society whispered of was a possible match between you two. I am so sorry Pippa! For a moment, I hated you, and I hated him for wanting you over me.”
The bonds of their friendship broke, and Pippa doubted it would ever be pieced back together. Unable to speak over the emotions tearing at her, she rushed pass Miranda up the stairs. She grabbed onto Pippa.