A Wicked Duke's Prize: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Henrietta Harding

  Rebecca’s eyes flashed. She took another step towards him, so that their lips were no more than a few inches apart. His smell swirled through the air between them, thick and masculine, sandalwood and air and trees and the open road, over which he’d ridden his horse.

  “I love you, Rebecca,” Owen finally uttered. He stretched his hands out through the air between them. “And I admit. I recently heard the story between yourself and Augustus…”

  Rebecca’s lips turned to a round ‘O’. “How on earth…”

  “You know just as well as I how swiftly gossip whirls around this town,” he returned.

  He reached towards her hand and gripped it, and bullets seemed to pop up and down her spine.

  “When I learnt that Augustus had asked for your hand in marriage, I realised that I couldn't allow you to marry anyone else. But also, if I didn’t act as swiftly as possible, someone else would take you. I imagined it. Every single night, someone else falling asleep beside you. Every single night, someone else telling you they loved you, to sleep well. I knew it wouldn’t be Augustus – knew you wouldn’t allow yourself to marry someone you didn’t love. But perhaps someone else would fit you. Someone else would offer banter – never as good as mine, of course – and take you away with him, to a future of laughter and children and… and Rebecca, I simply couldn’t take it.”

  He squeezed her hand still harder, then dropped to one knee. His eyes were the size of saucers.

  “Rebecca, at this moment, we are two individuals, outside the bounds of our original contract. But I’ve already spoken with your father. And he told me that if you agree to my proposal, we have his blessing. Don’t you see? It’s up to us, now. Our fathers have relinquished our set-upon duty. We can either follow this immense feeling of love – or say goodbye forever.”

  Rebecca could hardly draw breath. Her eyes glittered with tears.

  “Say you’ll marry me, Rebecca. Allow me to be this man I speak of – this man who will laugh with you and raise children with you. This man who will tell you how much you’re loved every night of your life,” Owen whispered. “Rebecca, I’ve always been the darkest soul. A man unwilling to bend for the wills of anyone else. Yet here I am, on one knee before you – bending in every capacity. Because I want to.”

  A single tear dripped down Rebecca’s cheek. She nodded, first slightly, then manically, and whispered, “Yes. Yes. Forever and a million times, yes.”

  Owen erupted back to his feet and kissed her softly on the lips, drawing her tightly against him. Her breasts bulged against his broad chest, and tears flowed down from her closed eyes. Her hands stretched over his cheeks, claiming him, wanting as much of him as he could give. Suddenly, Owen pressed her against the garden gate, his massive hands on her shoulders, straining them back. He looked hungrily, passionate, his eyes searching hers.

  “What would you have done if I’d said no?” Rebecca said, cutting him a light smile.

  “I would have appeared here every day for the rest of my life to ask again,” Owen said.

  His hand found the milky skin of her breast, teasing the nipple out. He cradled it with his thumb and forefinger, squeezing harder by the moment, and burrowed his lips across her neck. Lust shimmied from her heart, through her stomach, to drop between the juncture of her thighs. His other hand traced her thin waist, then swept beneath her skirts to find the soft wetness between her legs. A slight gasped escaped her lips, one she halted with a bite of her teeth over her lower lip.

  “I know your body now,” Owen whispered, kissing her again – his tongue ripping through her lips and finding hers, even as his finger slipped up within her, separating her, making her feel dizzy and lost. She gripped his shoulders hard to steady herself, and she gasped as she felt the crest take over her. It happened quickly this time – a powerful wave of feeling, drummed up from between her legs to overtake her mind.

  She whispered his name into his ear.

  “I love the way you say my name,” he murmured. He bit her ear and laughed as she continued to shake against him, her breast spilling even more from the top of her dress. He kissed her cheek, her chin, her lips again.

  “Owen? Rebecca?” Tabitha’s voice flowed over the tops of the garden trees and gates, dropping low to find their ears.

  Rebecca’s eyes widened. Suppose Tabitha burst out to find them like this – touching, their lips wet, their bodies aching to press naked together beneath the blue sky. Hurriedly, as Tabitha called again, Rebecca stuffed herself back in her dress, and Owen busied himself with his hair, which had become tousled in their manic kissing.

  By the time Tabitha appeared before them, they stood like two affectionate, very ordinary and upstanding people, their hands latched together. Tabitha tilted her head, her smile widening.

  “Have you asked her?”

  Rebecca’s jaw dropped. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Tabitha’s eyes flickered with light. She looked utterly conspiratorial.

  “You must not mean that you… you had a hand in this…” Rebecca said.

  Her eyes shot up towards Owen, who gave her a sheepish smile.

  “You went behind my back!” Rebecca blared at Tabitha.

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” Tabitha said. “It’s precisely the sort of thing you might have done for me. Owen simply arrived at my home a few days ago. absolutely miserable, I might add. And asked for some information.”

  “This must be how you discovered the story about Augustus…” Rebecca said.

  “Don’t be angry, Rebecca!” Tabitha said, her brow furrowed. “You’ve said yes, haven’t you? There’s to be a wedding?”

  Rebecca fell against Owen and wrapped her thin arms around his chest. “Darling, of course there is. And I suppose I have you to thank.”

  Tabitha clapped her little hands together and rushed towards them. She flung her arms around Rebecca’s neck and covered her cheek with kisses. Rebecca burst into laughter, her entire body seizing. She left Tabitha’s hug and said, “I can never trust you again, you know!”

  “As if I could ever trust you back!” Tabitha replied, her smile enormous.

  Tabitha turned to Owen. “I couldn’t envision a better husband for my best friend. The moment she told me about you – there was this intensity in her eyes. I just…”

  “Don’t give away too much, Tabitha,” Rebecca said. “He’s apt to leave me at any point. You know the sorts of people we are.”

  “Yes. We’re always on the verge of collapse. Always looking for a way out,” Owen said, although his hand wrapped around Rebecca’s waist – an assurance that this was only a joke.

  Together the three of them entered the rose garden once more to find Molly atop the bench, her face in her hands. She’d fallen into a fit of sobs, it seemed. Rebecca rubbed her back and asked her, again and again, to tell her what was wrong. But when Molly brought her face up, tear-soaked and blotchy, she admitted she felt overwhelmed with emotion, and could hardly contain her own happiness over the engagement.

  Rebecca sensed their own round of celebration was in order. Molly was far too gone to fetch anything, allowing for Rebecca to lift her skirts and bustle down the stone path, back to the house. When she reached the shadowy hallway, the house seemed remarkably quiet to her – ghost-like, almost eerie. She tapped softly towards her father’s study, where the door remained cracked open, as though he lay in wait for her.

  When she rapped at the door, her father cleared his throat slightly, then said, “Come in.”

  The door creaked open. Rebecca stood there, peering down at the older man, who’d collected himself strangely over his desk, his elbows far out and his hands at his chin. His eyes looked fatigued, almost sombre. Rebecca inhaled sharply.

  “Father. Are you all right?”

  Slowly, her father dropped his hands to the desk. After a long pause, he said, “When he asked for your hand again, I wasn’t sure what to say.”

  Rebecca furrowed her brow. “Whatever do you mean?”

&nb
sp; “I seemed to go against your every wish. He tried to explain it to me. That he’d made you believe he didn’t wish for the marriage, when, in actuality, it was all he wanted. That he’d enraged you, causing you to force me to call it off. But I… I know how much I’ve hurt you over these weeks, Rebecca. If I hadn’t arranged this marriage…”

  He poured his face back into his hands and glared at the desk before him. Rebecca rushed to his side and placed a hand on his familiar shoulder.

  “Father, you mustn’t worry. With your arranged marriage, you allowed me to meet one of the most remarkable men I’ve ever known. I can’t imagine my life without him.”

  Her father tilted his head back to look at her. “You’re saying that you’ve agreed to his proposal?”

  Rebecca nodded. “And I’m terribly sorry I’ve put you through such torment, Father. Know that this wasn’t my wish. I have this youthful will to have this picture-perfect existence, the sort that upholds my own happiness above all things. It’s selfish and it…”

  But her father interrupted her. He erupted from his chair, forcing it to fall back behind him, and he gripped her hands and whispered, “This isn’t selfish, Rebecca. This is the only life you’re allowed to live. You must do precisely as you please.”

  “I will. I am.”

  There was a shadow at the door. Rebecca turned swiftly to find Owen standing, watching them. Her smile broke wide as her father walked towards Owen, his movements slow. He stretched out a hand, which Owen shook. The men regarded one another in a way they never had before.

  “My new son-in-law,” her father said, sounding almost incredulous.

  “And my new father-in-law,” Owen returned, his voice a powerful boom. “I’m grateful to soon belong to your incredible family. I’m honoured that your daughter agreed to marry me.”

  Mr. Frampton dropped his hands to his sides and faltered for a moment. Finally, he flung his arms out on either side and said, “What are we doing, standing here, wasting time? We must celebrate!” He snapped his head towards a passing maid, who nearly doubled over in fear. “Diana, please. Go to the cellar and fetch two – nay – three bottles of champagne. Bring it to the garden with three…”

  “Five,” Rebecca cut in.

  “Five glasses! Five?”

  “Molly and Tabitha are with us,” Rebecca replied.

  “Molly?” her father asked, his brow high.

  “She can hardly rise from the bench,” Owen said, his grin widening. “Can’t stop crying.”

  “Goodness,” Mr. Frampton said. “Well. Shall we?”

  He shot towards the back door with far more spring in his step than Rebecca had ever seen. In the wake of his quick departure, Owen slipped his elbow out for Rebecca to take. He escorted her towards the garden, his smile stretching wider. Rebecca matched it.

  Once outside, Mr. Frampton seemed in a state. The maid brought several glasses and passed the champagne to Mr. Frampton, who busied himself with popping the cork – an act, he said, he hadn’t done since his last daughter’s marriage. It seemed every new minute brought a new exclamation from Mr. Frampton.

  “I cannot believe my darling youngest daughter is getting married! What will your sisters say? I suppose they’ll say – finally. Especially Evelyn. Goodness, Owen, you should hear the way she speaks to Rebecca. She practically raised her, of course, and has this sort of… Oh, drat, this cork is particularly stuck… You know I’ll be alone in this big house… What on earth will I get up to by myself?”

  “We’ll be around far too often for you to grow bored,” Rebecca said, collecting the opened champagne bottle and pouring out five glasses. The moment she poured the fifth, of course, Tabitha shook her head and said she had to abstain. “Of course!” Rebecca cried.

  “Not to worry, girls. I’ll drink both,” her father boomed. He then lifted two glasses into the air, whilst the others grabbed their own. “A toast! To the freshly engaged Owen Crauford and Rebecca Frampton. A more handsome pair I’ve never seen in my life. Neither of them yearned for this day to come – which makes the beauty of their soon-to-be union all the more spectacular.”

  They clinked glasses and drank. Molly seemed genuinely unable to halt her crying. Mr. Frampton offered her a handkerchief, which she gladly accepted, sneezing and blowing her nose into the thing until it grew soggy. Owen’s hand maintained its position on Rebecca’s lower back, and her body ached to be beside his again, stretched out naked, their skin glowing in the moonlight. When she glanced up to gaze into his eyes, she felt that image reflected back. They needed one another.

  An hour or so later, Anthony arrived. His appearance was a surprise to both Tabitha and Rebecca.

  Tabitha said, “You really cannot allow me out of your sight for a few hours at a time…”

  Rebecca chimed in with, “The more the merrier! But I believe we’ll need another bottle of champagne soon.”

  Anthony beamed at this welcome and dotted a kiss on Tabitha’s forehead. He slotted his hand out for Owen to shake, saying, “I don’t believe we’ve met properly.”

  “No. We haven’t. Although I have a feeling that the two of us will spend a great deal of time together over the years,” Owen returned.

  “I do hope so,” Anthony said.

  “You’ve got a bit of a head start on us,” Owen said, beaming at Tabitha. “If only I could have met Rebecca a tiny bit earlier… Our first children might have been the same age!”

  “Oh, no!” Tabitha cried. “If you’d have met her any earlier, she wouldn’t have been ready for you. I know that for a fact. She would have worked herself even harder to get away from you. No, I believe this all happened at precisely the right time.”

  The afternoon stretched out before them, glossy with champagne and summertime sunlight, bright with bouncing conversation and hope for the future. After a while, Molly finally collected herself enough to enter the kitchen and start dinner, insisting that everyone must remain for whatever she cooked.

  Anthony and Tabitha agreed heartily, as did Owen. Rebecca had a suspicion that Owen hadn’t eaten properly in several weeks, due to his father’s lack of funds – and she made up her mind to ensure that Owen’s father and mother came to her estate in the following days for a large meal and worthwhile conversation. There was to be a great deal to go over.

  And beyond that, she hadn’t yet met Owen’s mother, a woman who seemed in the midst of her own shadows, unable to see the light. She so hoped that this union with Owen would ignite something within her. Give her reason to go on.

  Chapter 29

  It was difficult for Owen to leave the Frampton estate that night. He yearned to remain at Rebecca’s side, to have full access of her hand, to inhale the soft fragrance of her floral perfume. But continually throughout the evening, he felt the urge to return home. He hadn’t yet informed his father of his plans, as he and Neil Crauford had had very little communication over the past few days. He hadn’t wanted to ignite any hope within his father, only to dash it away the moment Rebecca said no.

  Now, grateful, with a burning desire to make things work, Owen shook Kenneth Frampton’s hand a final time and dotted a kiss on Rebecca’s cheek, before rushing out towards the stables to collect his horse. Before long, he leaned forward, his black hair whipping in the wind, his horse sweeping back towards his empty and echoing estate.

  When he arrived at the stables, he returned the horse and tidied up a little, lagging some, wondering what sort of scene he might enter into. When he re-appeared outside the stables, he spotted a candle flickering in the window of his father’s study.

  His knuckles found the old wood of the study door minutes later. The sound echoed through the room, answered with the gruff, “Come in,” from Neil Crauford himself.