The duke wins a bride, p.10
The Duke Wins a Bride, page 10
“I wish you all the best, Annabel. I did plan to treat you well, and I hope you find what you are seeking.” With that, the man walked over and took up Annabel’s hand to place his lips on her fingers. As the moment extended too long for Philip’s liking, he emitted a low growl. Saunton dropped her hand and stepped away as he snorted his disgust and threw up his arms. “All right, my dear ducal cousin, but I do not believe for a moment that this is not revenge for Jane. You win this round, but you will come to rue this day. And I do care for Annabel. I would have made her happy if I had been given a chance!”
“Nay, cousin, you had your chance. You blew it on a housemaid named Caroline.”
With that, Richard stormed out like a petulant child denied his dessert, slamming the door in his wake. Philip found he fostered no regrets for thwarting his plans.
As he turned back to Annabel, he noticed she looked a little dazed. Philip quelled his victory in order to distract her. He did not want her wondering about his cousin’s allegations regarding Jane. No need for Annabel to discover that Philip had driven his late wife into despair and isolation with his aggressive attentions. Which Richard more than compensated for with his easy manners and good cheer. His attentions had always been more popular than Philip’s sterner countenance.
He grimaced. He had never envied his cousin’s amiable character that the ladies found so alluring—not until Jane. Now Philip second-guessed his own temperament at every instance and preferred the solace of his country seat in favor of time spent in London’s polite society. The constant compulsion to compare himself to his younger cousin made for uncomfortable evenings out.
Stepping forward, he brought his hands up to take hold of Annabel’s dainty gloved fingers. “My sweet, do not let this unpleasantness ruin our special day. What say you to getting married so we can leave for Avonmead?”
Annabel looked up at him and nodded. Her face was pale, and Philip felt a surge of protectiveness rise within his chest. He leaned over and planted a swift kiss on her full pink lips. “I have been looking forward to this day since we parted. I can’t wait to take the carriage home with you.”
She briefly smiled at this as they made their way to the library where her father, Stedman, and Mrs. Harris were waiting for them with the vicar. Philip was worried, hoping she would not pay heed to the hints regarding Jane’s betrayal. The betrayal you drove her to, whispered his treacherous conscience.
The ceremony passed by Annabel in a haze. The strange comments that Richard had made about Jane Markham occupied her thoughts. Why had Richard and Philip not spoken in three years? Had the late duchess not died approximately three years earlier? Were the two events connected? Was there something important, some undercurrent, that she should be aware of? Was there some hidden reason that the duke was determined to marry her?
The vicar intoned, “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
As the vicar paused, the duke looked into her eyes and spoke in his deep baritone voice that thrilled her down to her very toes each time she heard it. “I will.”
She took a deep, calming breath and smiled back. She trusted this man. Her faith in him was more profound than anything she had ever felt for Richard. Unlike his rakish cousin, this man was famous for his generosity, and she would not doubt him because of bitter accusations.
He seemed like a forthright and honorable man, but the earlier argument implied something underhanded in his motives. As her frantic thoughts darted back and forth over their quarrel, Annabel’s concerns grew to a clamoring roar inside her head. She feared what the future held, reminding herself this was a marriage of convenience, so she must not have any expectations of a deeper relationship. She could not allow her feelings to become engaged, as this might never grow into a love match. The duke had already loved and lost his love match with the late duchess.
The room had grown silent. Returning to the moment, she found all eyes on her. Mrs. Harris raised a quizzical eyebrow as Stedman looked on sternly. The vicar cleared his throat, and the duke was looking down at her with concern.
She had missed her cue. Irritated that she had not maintained her focus, Annabel took a leap and hoped she had guessed what everyone was waiting for.
“I will.”
The duke’s face flashed relief for a fleeting moment. He gazed down into Annabel’s face with a warm smile.
As their vows resumed, Philip clasped Annabel’s hand while he slipped the ring onto her finger. A wave of contentment passed through her body when Philip gave her hand an encouraging squeeze.
Damn that Richard, she would not allow his pettiness to intrude on her wedding day. He was just sour to have lost their battle of wills and was attempting to sow the seeds of mistrust. She stood by her decision to marry Philip in his stead. There were no damning secrets to be revealed.
Philip ate his cake in a mild state of euphoria, the taste inconsequential, as he took in that he was now married to the daring Miss Ridley. Or, rather, the new Duchess of Halmesbury. Days of hasty planning had culminated in this momentous occasion, securing Annabel as his wife. He was pleased as he contemplated being alone with her as soon as they completed this meal and her trunks were packed away. Then he would have hours alone with her—the anticipation had been killing him since the moment she had agreed to marry him. Three years of celibacy were ending, and his body and mind were taunting him with vivid images of bedding his bride.
Richard’s arrival had been unfortunate, but the situation had been resolved. Annabel was no wiser over the excruciating shared history of himself, Richard, and the late Jane.
He felt Annabel touch his free hand, and he turned to gaze into her enchanting brandy eyes, which he could happily stare into for hours. They were a glorious blend of warm browns and golds, and she was luminous in her muslin day dress with sweet, little embroidered flowers that he planned to peel off her golden skin at the first opportunity. She was all his. He was so grateful for the outcome of the past few days. He would do anything to keep his beautiful bride happy.
“Philip,” she said in a low voice as the baron conversed with the vicar. “I am not sure this is the right time, but I wish to speak with you about Mrs. Harris before we leave after the meal.”
“Mrs. Harris?” He was befuddled, attempting to focus on her words despite his excited imaginings of how his new duchess would taste later this afternoon, when he slid his tongue up her slender neck to suckle her delicate earlobe.
“The baron’s housekeeper.”
That gave him pause. It did not speak to an especially loving familial relationship that Annabel constantly referred to Filminster as ‘the baron.’ It left him cold to think of her living isolated as she had been before she found him. Her isolation, however, should come as no surprise, given his conversation with the reprobate father earlier that week. His thoughts caught up with Annabel’s words, and his face cleared as he recalled the rotund, cheerful-looking woman at their ceremony who had been dabbing a handkerchief to her teary eyes. It cheered him that someone in this empty household had loved and taken care of his darling bride.
Annabel continued, as his face displayed his dawning recognition. “We are quite close. I know this is very forward, but I wish to offer her the position at Avonmead, if that would be acceptable? This seemed the best time to address it, so that I could ask her to make arrangements to join us soon.”
Philip grinned at her pensive expression. She could have asked him to hire a household milliner, a personal French modiste, and a retinue of attendants to follow her around, and he would have agreed on this fine morning. If she wanted her favorite housekeeper, he could give that to her. Anything to please his adorable new wife. Especially anything that made her forget the quarrel he had with Saunton before the ceremony. Distraction was key, as he had no wish to dredge up his corrupted past. Checking to see that the baron and the vicar were otherwise engaged, he leaned down and gave her a quick peck on the lips. “For you, my lovely wife, anything. Anything at all.”
CHAPTER 9
Mrs. Harris and Annabel stood wrapped in a hug. They had stolen a moment in the study to say their goodbyes, and both were struggling to speak without crying. “You will make arrangements to join me at Avonmead?”
“Yes, Your Grace. I will join you as soon as possible. I wish I was leaving with you now. I’m going to be lonely here without you.”
Annabel snorted in dissent. “What happened to ‘my girl’? Or ‘child’? What is this ‘Your Grace’ nonsense?”
The housekeeper’s warm, hazel eyes glistened with unshed tears as she chuckled and released Annabel. “You are no longer a child. It is time to recognize you as a fully grown woman. A duchess of consequence now. You will have to hire tutors or a governess and whatnot to learn all the new airs you will have to put on in polite society. I will have to learn to curtsy to you.”
“No airs with you, Mrs. Harris. And no curtsies … unless we are in company. Is that how it works? Do upper servants curtsy to duchesses? Oh my, I have so much to learn before I attempt to venture out into polite society!”
The older woman’s wide face broke into a wide smile, her rosy cheeks plumping up. “I cannot tell you anything about polite society. I am a country housekeeper for a reclusive baron who never travels anywhere. Best I can tell you is to take care of yourself until I get to Avonmead. You hear me, my girl? And take care of that handsome husband of yours.”
Annabel thrilled at the mention of her husband. She was married and beginning her new life. The future held endless possibilities as she learned to be a wife and duchess. She felt invincible, able to conquer the world, and nothing would get in her way with a steady man like Halmesbury at her side.
“Mrs. Harris, I can’t wait for you to join me! Let me hide you in one of my trunks. No one will know you are in there. Say yes, and we will sneak you into the second carriage!”
Mrs. Harris chuckled. “These old bones won’t fit into a trunk. We will have to wait. Perhaps His Grace will make the arrangements before Christmas, and we will be together for the holidays.”
Annabel sighed in pretended frustration. “There you go, being practical. No sense of adventure …” she complained good-naturedly. She took a step back and bent her knees into a deep curtsy to the widow who had become her replacement mother. “Until we meet again, Mrs. Harris.”
“Until we meet again, Your Grace, the Duchess of Halmesbury.” With a curtsy in reply and a cheeky grin, the housekeeper left the room.
As the carriage drew forward with a light bump, Annabel drew a shaky breath. It was done. She was married. Not to the faithless Richard, but to the stranger seated across from her—to the Duke of Halmesbury. She could only hope she had made the right decision, while taking a moment to ponder why he was so angry with Richard that he would—possibly—marry a stranger to thwart him over some unknown quarrel. Was he truly doing her a kindness, or was this an act of vengeance? Either way, she trusted he was a good man, and she would make the best of this wonderful opportunity.
Squaring her shoulders to gain fortitude, Annabel looked up to find her new husband staring at her.
He quirked an eyebrow at her. He looked … mischievous?
“Come here, wife.” Her heart fluttered in her chest at his commanding tone. She had to admit that she wished to join him, but she did not want to seem too eager to obey his every command, despite any wording contained within their marriage vows. It would set an unacceptable precedent for their marriage.
He noted her reticence. “Please?” he insisted gently.
She moved with a huff onto the seat next to him.
Philip picked her up and placed her on his knees. His show of strength sent delighted shivers down her spine. “When we get back to the estate, I would like to work on begetting an heir. Would you like that?” he whispered into her ear before taking her lobe between his lips to suck gently. Annabel thrust up and against him in surprise as desire coursed through her body, her breast brushing against his chest and sending yet another unfamiliar sensation to settle between her thighs. She shifted to relieve the warmth building up between her legs, and Philip groaned as her buttocks wiggled in his lap.
“I was not—I was not sure you would want to spend our wedding night together? I mean, this is not a love match, and you have been traveling for several days …” She moaned as he pressed tingling kisses along her jaw.
“Oh, I want. I definitely want,” Philip groaned, his hot breath tickling her ear as he ran his hand from her knee, grazing upward over her hip, and bringing it to rest on her ribs, his fingers brushing against her breast. “Do you understand what that means?”
“Y-yes. Mrs. Harris felt it her duty to come to my room last night and explain. She said it was not her place, but she felt my mother would have wanted her to address it, as there were no female relations in residence for the wedding.” Annabel was panting as Philip raised his hand to her breast, caressing over her bosom to either side through her bodice. “Ohhh nooo … it was meant to be a secret!” she lamented as she arched into his hand.
“Hush, my sweet, I can keep a secret.” Philip’s blood was running hot with desire. Tugging at the fastenings of her blue pelisse, he swiftly removed it to reveal the carriage dress beneath. He tongued her from the edge of the bodice, up her sweet-tasting neck, and back to the delicate rim of her ear, soaking in her passionate moans and moving his hand a little higher to cup her breast through the thick fabric as he nuzzled her neck. Her heated breath warmed the side of his face as he licked at her earlobe. She was so enticing, and she was all his. Thank the Lord his cousin was such an idiot as to waste a glorious treasure like Annabel so that he may claim her. And he was going to claim her at the first opportunity.
Gentleman of honor, be damned. Today he was more an untried youth, contemplating his first carnal relations, than a gentleman with the restraint that experience brought. It was going to challenge him to hold himself back, to take care of her needs first, but he would take care of her. Her first time was going to be perfect, and she was going to be happy to receive him in her bed.
Working her fastenings loose, his hand edged to the front to work into her bodice, his finger grazed a turgid nipple, causing her to buck in his lap and his shaft to leap in response. Withdrawing his hand, he worked at the bodice of her dress to pull it down. He needed to reveal her full breasts. He had imagined her pertness every night. Sleep had been challenging for the past few days as his mind kept playing images of bedding his bride.
She writhed in his lap as he gently revealed her full left breast and cupped it in his hand. Adjusting her position, he lowered his lips and swiped the swollen nipple with his tongue. She cried out and gyrated against him. He could have wept tears of joy at her passionate responses against his lustful body. God, she was a glorious vixen. His dreams of a faithful but passion-filled marriage were now attained, and he would let nothing ruin this emerging relationship. Sensation coursed through his loins and heated his blood. He gently tugged her nipple with his teeth, eliciting a cry of desire from her swollen lips. With devilish fervor, he released her other breast from her dress and chemise, swirling her areola with his fingertip before moving his tongue to her right breast. He teased mercilessly, flicking her turgid nipple as his hand swept down her length to the hem of her dress.
Gently, he skimmed his hand under her skirts and grazed her ankle. She barely noticed as she moaned and bucked against his suckling of her pink, pebbled tip. Advancing up her leg, he caressed behind her knee before skimming a path up to her thigh.
He extracted his hand and lifted her up. She cried in protest as he lowered her down on her back on the opposite seat. He looked down at her exposed breasts and disarranged gown, his loins throbbing in response to the seductive display. He grabbed her skirts with urgency to raise them up around her waist, too impatient to draw them slowly.
She gave a squeak of protest when she must have felt the breeze against her lower limbs and opened her eyes to look down, shrieking in embarrassment. His heart jumped as he reminded himself to slow down.
“Shhh,” he cajoled as he ran his hand up her smooth leg. “I promise you will like this next part, my darling.” She looked at him with a mixture of desire and embarrassment as he lowered his head down to kiss her inner thigh. He positioned one of her legs so her foot braced against the side of the carriage and the other lowered to rest on the carpeted floor. Philip raised his head and looked down at her slick, welcoming sex spread before him, moist with desire, and slowly lowered his head to run his tongue along the seam of her thigh. As he brushed against her sex, she cried out in delight and bucked up. He pushed her against her belly, back against the squabs, and treated the opposite juncture of her thigh to the same lush lick. She cried out again.
“What are you doing?”
“Bringing you pleasure, my dear wife. We have a long ride home, and I have been imagining doing this since we met. It is time I got to taste you.”
“Taste me? You don’t mean …”
Philip shifted his mouth to run his tongue lightly along the seam of her sex.
“Bloody hell,” Annabel cursed.
“Annabel, you are a duchess now. You must behave with decorum.” He chuckled as he finally slid his tongue into her wet seam and tasted her salty-sweet nectar. He groaned in appreciation as he licked up to her nub and swirled it with the tip of his tongue. Annabel shrieked and tried to buck against his hand, but he held her down with tender firmness as he flicked her.
“Shhh, duchess. You don’t want the driver to hear.”
She gave a muffled moan as she pressed an arm against her mouth. He grinned at her garbled accusation of devilry as he brought his tongue back to penetrate her tight channel, flicking in and out before returning to lap at the crest. She moved in rhythm against his tongue, and he knew she was getting close. He nudged a blunt fingertip into her channel as he continued to lap at her and felt a fresh rush of honeyed warmth running down his knuckle before she gave a muffled cry and pushed her nub up against his mouth, her tight virginal channel spasming against his finger. He was so stimulated by her sweet reactions, he thought he might spend.
