Never a Bride

by Megan Frampton

  “Do you want me to touch you, Griff?” she said, an echo of what he’d asked a few minutes before.

  He grunted in response, unable to utter a word because of how hard and fast she was stroking him. It seemed as though she knew just how to touch him, and he appreciated that she had clearly done this before. She would be an equal in their bed, and he couldn’t wait to thrust into her as she begged him for more. He’d give it to her, and she would reciprocate, as she was doing now.

  “Fuck, Della,” he groaned, and her smile grew wider.

  “That’s not what we’re doing, my lord,” she teased. “I’m touching your cock.”

  God, hearing her say the words increased the pleasure that much more, and suddenly Griff realized he wanted her to say the filthiest things to him as she stroked him.

  “Tell me how it feels,” he asked, his voice ragged in desperation.

  “Hard,” she said immediately. “And like velvet. I am thinking about how it’ll feel when you’re inside me. If you’ll fit, or if you’ll have to push hard into me.”

  “Uhn,” Griff said.

  “And when you’re buried inside, I’ll wrap my legs around you. Tell me, Griff, how do you plan on having me?”

  Every way I can.

  He was so, so close, her hand gripping and stroking and sliding up and down, an inexorable rhythm that was propelling him toward his own climax.

  He shouted as he came, spilling into her hand, the rush of pleasure coursing through his body, every bit of him focused on how good he felt and that she’d brought him to this.

  She didn’t let go, though she did loosen her grip, holding him as his cock jerked in her hand. Only when his shudders had stopped did she release him, and he groaned, dropping his head down as the feeling flowed through him.

  “That was good,” she said in a husky voice. “It took my mind off the odor,” she added in an amused tone.

  He was impressed she was able to speak. He wasn’t certain he could ever make actual words again.

  “Here,” she said, handing him the handkerchief she’d had pressed to her nose. He took it, and cleaned himself up, grateful he’d be returning home before being seen in public again.

  They hadn’t been in the cab all that long—just long enough for him to pleasure her and vice versa—and he was surprised when the cab slowed, indicating they were nearing their destination.

  Actually, he was surprised he could think at all, but he wouldn’t question it.

  “I will meet you at the party? I believe Eleanor said she is going, and she can bring me.”

  “Hmph,” Griff replied. Still not able to utter words. Hopefully that would change when he had to make any kind of conversation. Or not; perhaps he could just go through life muttering and grunting. As long as he got to maintain his inarticulation through frequent bouts of sexual passion with her, he would accept the inability to make words.

  “Right,” she said, clearly amused.

  The cab stopped, and he opened the door, then leapt out to help her get out.

  She took his hand, looking up at him with a sly, mischievous gaze. “We’re going to have to resolve our bargain soon. I’m not certain I can wait much longer.” She leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I want your body, Griff. Naked and writhing on mine.”

  He groaned, and she chuckled, released his hand, and turned toward the door, throwing one last naughty glance at him.

  “Where to, milord?” the cabby asked.

  Damn. He hoped he could speak. “Uh—the Duke of Northam’s.” There. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?

  He got back into the carriage and leaned against the seat back, closing his eyes, replaying every moment of what had just happened.

  Chapter 15

  My goodness.

  All that in just the time it took them to get from the Naval Office to her house. Della walked slowly up the stairs, hoping what she’d been doing—and had done to her—wasn’t completely obvious.

  Look solemn, she warned herself.

  She opened the door and stepped inside, relieved that nobody was there.

  “You’re back!”

  Except that all of them were there: Sarah, the girls, Eleanor and her child, and a few of the girls they’d rescued.

  Standing looking at her.

  “Am I late for something?” Della asked. She was bursting to tell Sarah of what they’d discovered at the Naval Office, but she didn’t want to raise her friend’s hopes if there was nothing more to learn.

  “I came over to visit with Nora and Miss Emily,” Eleanor said with a smile. “I thought I’d mentioned I’d bring you to this evening’s party? Unless your Lord Stanbury plans to pick you up?”

  “Yes, of course.” Della took a deep breath. So far nobody had accused her of doing improper things in a carriage, so perhaps the day would continue well after all. “You look lovely, by the way.”

  Eleanor wore a deep blue gown with a darker blue velvet ribbon wrapped around her waist. The hem of her gown was edged in scalloped lace, and Della could see the toes of her blue velvet slippers peeking out from under the gown.

  “Thank you.” Eleanor glanced at the clock in the corner of the hallway. “We haven’t much time to get you looking lovely,” she said, walking toward Della, then halting suddenly, an odd expression on her face. “Where have you been?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

  “I’ve been—uh,” Della began.

  “Because you smell like a stable,” Eleanor continued.

  A rush of relief went through Della at her sister’s words. “Yes, I do. I’ll need a bath,” she said, directing her words toward the cluster of maids.

  A few of them scurried off toward the kitchen, and then she knelt down, gesturing to Nora to come closer.

  “Have you had fun today, love?” she asked.

  Her daughter gave a solemn nod. “Emily and Aunt Eleanor and I played. Because my cousin is too little to play yet,” she added in a scornful tone. As though it were the baby’s fault he was so young.

  “That sounds wonderful.” And it did. This was why she had returned after all. Not for everything she’d found and was doing with Lord Skilled with His Fingers; that was an unexpected bonus, but this was the real reason she was here, suffering possible ignominy and disdain as well as complete dismissal by her parents.

  Family was more important than anything, she’d long since realized. And family meant people who were related to you by blood, and people related to you by bond. She needed to remember that, even when in the throes of passion.

  She gathered Nora into her arms for a hug, feeling her eyes start to prickle.

  “You have to let me go, me and Emily are going to play,” Nora said in an exasperated voice.

  “Of course,” Della said, meeting Sarah’s amused gaze. A gaze that said that the daughter was very similar to the mother.

  She wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize her family. She had to do everything she could to protect them, and to make them complete again by finding Sarah’s husband.

  Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tomorrow we’ll go to the address and see if he’s still there.

  Meanwhile, she had a party to get ready for and a pretend betrothed to pretend to be betrothed to.

  “Lady Della Howlett,” the butler announced.

  The room hushed, as Della was accustomed to. She took a step forward, then hesitated when she saw them directly in front of her. Their backs turned to her—had they just turned around or was it coincidental?—and she felt a panicked moment of wanting to scurry out the door until she realized that was just what would please them.

  “Lady Eleanor Raybourn,” he continued.

  Eleanor took hold of her arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

  “We can leave now if you want,” she whispered. “You don’t have to do this.”

  Della lifted her chin. Their backs were still to her. Deliberate, then. They had to have heard Eleanor’s name being announced, even if they had somehow missed hers. They would have tur
ned around to greet their daughter if they hadn’t wanted to shun their other daughter.

  “It’s fine. Lord Stanbury will be here soon.” Not that she wanted to hide behind him—even though she did—but then she would have a purpose in being here beyond being visibly ostracized by her parents.

  “Let’s get some punch,” Eleanor said, walking down the few steps to the ballroom. A few people were nearby, glancing between the duke and duchess and them, clearly anticipating the evening’s best gossip.

  Della kept her gaze focused on the corner table where the punch bowl rested. She wouldn’t even give them the satisfaction of a look, much less an acknowledgment. But since they were likely thinking the same thing, her determined nonlooking at them would probably be overlooked.

  “Eleanor.”

  Della flinched at hearing her mother’s voice after so long. Eleanor froze, her hold on Della’s arm tightening.

  “Good evening, Mother,” Eleanor said, turning just barely away from Della.

  Della couldn’t help but look at them. Her mother’s mouth was pressed into a thin line, while her expression made it look as though she was on the verge of speaking, but couldn’t find the words.

  Unusual for her mother, who could usually find words—often the entirely wrong ones—at any given moment.

  Della tried to keep herself quiet also, but she found the words spilling out of her mouth before she realized it.

  “Good evening, Mother. Father.” She nodded at each of them in turn, watching as her father’s face began to turn a dark red.

  “Let’s get some punch,” Eleanor said, tugging on Della’s arm. Della shook her off, turning to face her parents directly.

  “We can at least be civil to one another,” she said, raising her voice so the people nearby could hear. She wouldn’t have anyone say she was unkind or that she had avoided the confrontation.

  The duchess glanced from her husband to Della and back again, her urge to speak clearly warring with her urge to keep her husband from exploding in public. “Is it true you are engaged to Viscount Stanbury?”

  Della hated to hide behind the false engagement as a way to mend things with her parents, but she did have to admit it was a lot better than having them pointedly snub her when they saw her out.

  “Yes.”

  “The heir to the Duke of Northam?” her father said, sounding skeptical.

  “The very same,” Della replied, taking petty satisfaction in how both her parents were clearly weighing what response would give them the best social standing.

  “That is lovely news! I am so happy you are back in London, you must come to tea some afternoon.”

  Della pulled her mouth into a semblance of a smile. “Thank you. Nora would love that.”

  Her mother’s eyes widened, and she glanced nervously back at the duke, who looked as though he were on the verge of saying no, but then he gave a brief nod. “We won’t keep you from getting something to drink,” he said in a clear dismissal.

  “Please send our best to your betrothed,” the duchess added. “Perhaps he would like to come to tea as well?”

  It was obvious that her parents would have continued to snub her if she had been just herself, not the recent betrothed of the heir to the Duke of Northam. It aggravated her, being so dependent on him for her good name, but then again, it would all change once their engagement was known to be broken.

  So she had that to look forward to.

  Ugh.

  “Della?” Eleanor said.

  “Yes, of course. Punch.”

  They walked quickly, Eleanor leaning in to speak in a low voice. “Are you all right? Should we leave?”

  “No. I am thirsty, and Lord Stanbury should be here any minute now.”

  “You are so brave, Della,” Eleanor replied in an admiring tone.

  “Brave or foolhardy, I’m not certain,” Della said ruefully.

  Seeing Lord Did Not Appear At The Party Last Night wasn’t necessarily why she decided to take Nora, Sarah, and Emily to the duke’s house for a visit. She had sent a note earlier that day, and had received a prompt reply saying today would be ideal, and that the duke was eagerly anticipating meeting Nora as well as Mrs. Wattings and Emily.

  That Lord Stanbury hadn’t been there the night before and she was livid about it played only a small part in her decision to go to the duke’s house. A furious part, but a small part nonetheless.

  They’d hailed a hackney outside their house, which thrilled Nora and Emily, who hadn’t taken a carriage yet since arriving in London. And seldom when they had been living in the country—they all walked, since they couldn’t afford and didn’t see a need to keep a horse.

  “Does the duke have a dog?” Nora demanded again. Right, she had forgotten about Nora’s canine obsession.

  “I don’t know. We’ll find out,” Della said. She hoped there was a dog somewhere about so that Nora wouldn’t loudly complain to the duke about his obvious lack.

  “Look out there,” Emily said in a quiet voice. She was far less exuberant than Nora, and definitely better behaved. Della wished she could blame Nora’s exuberant enthusiasm on anybody but herself, but she could not. Nora was like her at that age—fearless, determined, and outspoken.

  Rather like you are now, she heard a voice say in her head. The voice sounded an awful lot like Griffith, and he sounded amused. She grinned at the thought.

  Damn it. She didn’t want to think kindly about him now, not when she was still angry with him. And she could not develop any more complicated feelings for him beyond desire. That was a risk she could not take.

  “Mama, look,” Nora said, pointing out the window. “Look how fancy.”

  Della glanced out the window, her breath catching as she saw what Nora was pointing at.

  Her parents’ carriage, resplendent with the family crest, pulled by a perfectly matched team of horses. She turned away, meeting Sarah’s sympathetic gaze.

  “It’s pretty,” Emily said.

  “It is. Why isn’t ours like that?” Nora demanded.

  “We’re in a hackney cab,” Sarah explained. “That is a private carriage for a family.”

  “We’re a family,” Nora retorted. “Why don’t we have one?”

  Dear Lord, Della thought. Just once I wish Nora were a little less like me.

  “Look over there,” Sarah said, pointing out the other side. “Do you see the man with the big cart? I wonder what he’s selling.”

  The girls immediately pivoted their attention out the other window, allowing Della to catch her breath. Sarah gave her knee a discreet pat.

  “Apples!” Nora said, first as always.

  “Dolls,” Emily guessed.

  “I think it’s oatmeal,” Della said. Nora loathed oatmeal.

  “But how would he keep it?” Emily asked. She had an analytical mind and was constantly asking questions. Unlike Nora, who merely demanded answers.

  Yes, just like me, Della thought before any voice could pop up in her head to remind her of that fact.

  The carriage turned, and then slowed, finally coming to a stop in front of the duke’s house.

  “Ooh,” Emily said.

  “One person lives there?” Nora asked.

  “The duke lives there, but he has staff there too. And Lord Stanbury, he’s been to our house before.”

  “There’s enough room for a dog,” Nora pronounced as Della opened the hackney door.

  She got out, then helped the girls and Sarah descend. The four of them walked up the stairs to the mansion, a footman standing at attention at the door. Then the door swung open and the butler emerged. His expression was somber, but he definitely had a tiny smile when he looked at the girls.

  “Might I tell the duke who is calling?” the butler asked.

  “Lady Della, Mrs. Wattings, and Nora Howlett and Emily Wattings,” Della replied. “The duke is expecting us.”

  “Excellent. If you will step inside, I will see if the duke is at home.”

  The fo
ur of them crowded into the hallway, only the hallway was so enormous they could have each been in one corner and had to yell to one another.

  Della hadn’t noticed before, but this house was even larger than her parents’. She wondered if they knew that, and if it irked them. She hoped it did.

  It was petty, but it made her feel better.

  “Please come this way,” the butler said, gesturing for them to follow him. They walked down the hall toward where Della had seen the duke before, Nora and Emily talking in whispers, although Nora’s voice was clearly audible. Something involving a dog, of course.

  “The ladies are here, Your Grace,” the butler said as he ushered them into the room.

  The duke was in his chair, a throw on his legs, a warm smile on his face. Della couldn’t help but smile back.

  “Thank you for visiting, and for bringing your—”

  “Family,” Della supplied.

  “Of course. Family.” He held his hand out toward the girls. “I am the Duke of Northam. And you are?”

  “Nora Howlett,” Nora replied, taking his hand and shaking it vigorously.

  “Emily Wattings,” Emily said, dipping into a curtsey as Nora kept shaking the duke’s hand.

  “A pleasure to meet you both. Tea?” the duke said, addressing the butler. “And ask Cook if there are biscuits for my friends here.”

  “This is Mrs. Wattings,” Della said, drawing Sarah forward. Sarah curtseyed also, and the duke nodded to her, then gestured for them to be seated.

  “I do apologize for not getting up, but you see—” the duke said, indicating his chair.

  “Are you sick?”

  Della winced at Nora’s question.

  “I am not feeling as well as I could be, but I am feeling much better now that you are all visiting me,” he replied. “Do you like London? You’ve just arrived, haven’t you?” He addressed his question to the girls, since he already knew the answer.

  “We came with my aunt Ida,” Nora said. “In a carriage, and it was crowded.”