A Duke by Default: Dangerous Dukes Vol 3 Page 13

  That Harriet seemed less than enamoured at the prospect of being his wife both amused and irritated him. The wretched child might at least display a little gratitude. She had just entered into a most advantageous union. He was being magnanimous in allowing her to continue with her precious work and was asking very little from her in return.

  His mind naturally turned to the forthcoming consummation of their marriage, and he felt himself stirring in anticipation. He had wanted to bed Harriet since first laying eyes on her. She must be apprehensive about what lay ahead and probably assumed he would force himself upon her without concern for her feelings. Marc had never forced himself on a woman in his entire life, and it would be an unwise manner in which to commence married life. Arousing her passions rather than attempting to tame his headstrong wife by emphasising his domination over her would be the more prudent way to proceed.

  While he waited for Harriet, Marc turned his mind to the dowager duchess. Her easy capitulation in respect to his marriage made him deeply suspicious. After their confrontation, she had made none of the additional efforts he anticipated to change his mind, and the only communication between them had been a curt note confirming that she would remain for the wedding. Marc, not trusting her to stay away from Harriet, had placed a discreet watch upon her movements. But she hadn’t left the dower house since her arrival, and her only visitor had been Sanderson. That made him suspicious too, but he could hardly object to his steward paying his respects to his own mother.

  Hearing his wife descending the stairs, Marc shook off his feeling of disquiet and moved into the hall to greet her. Looking up, his heart skipped a beat. She looked a picture in pale blue muslin, complete with matching pelisse and bonnet. True to his earlier resolve, he made no comment about her appearance. Compliments and flattery would give her the wrong idea. Instead, he offered her his arm and wordlessly escorted her to his waiting curricle.

  She made no effort to lighten the tension between them with idle conversation, and they travelled at a leisurely pace without speaking. He sensed that the fresh air and passing scenery helped her to relax. She exclaimed once or twice when an especially pleasing vista opened up before them. Marc watched her closely in the periphery of his vision and knew exactly when to turn the curricle in the direction of their first destination, pulling it to a halt at a pretty spot close to the lake.

  ‘Come.’

  He jumped down and took her hand to assist her, keeping it enfolded within his own as he steered her towards the path that skirted the lake. He pointed out various landmarks as they walked, using the geography of his estate as an excuse to fill the heavy silences between them.

  They reached the far side of the lake and he directed her towards a bench. When all his efforts at conversation were met with monosyllabic replies, Marc started to lose patience. Having become accustomed to her intelligence and lively rejoinders, he found her silence oddly jarring and her skittishness was starting to rankle.

  ‘Is this better?’ he asked her.

  Her head shot up. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Harriet, you’ve been as taut as a bow this whole morning. I’m not a monster, and you have no reason to be afraid of me.’

  ‘I know.’ She turned doleful eyes upon him. ‘I am sorry to be such dull company but everything has happened too quickly for me to feel at ease. Two weeks ago I was concerned only with keeping the business going and now I am a duchess with more servants at my beck and call than I will ever have need for.’

  ‘You’ll soon get accustomed and not even notice all the people around you.’

  ‘I hope I never become that callous.’

  ‘Is that your only concern?’ She looked up at him again, her eyes luminous with a very different sort of fear. ‘Harriet, just trust me.’

  ‘I want to, really I do, but…oh!’

  Thinking about it afterwards, Marc couldn’t account for his actions. Even though he knew it was the worst thing he could possibly do, even though he knew she needed to be handled with kid gloves, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her firmly, crushing her lips with reckless disregard for her sensibilities. There was just something about her that made him lose control. He shouldn’t have been surprised when his clumsy overture prompted no reaction, but he was beyond thinking rationally. When she remained rigidly upright in his arms, her passivity only stoked his anger.

  ‘I am your husband, Harriet,’ he reminded her through tightly clenched teeth.

  ‘A circumstance I am hardly likely to overlook.’

  Her disdainful tone pushed him over the edge. He pulled her towards him again and forced his lips against hers for a second time, breathing heavily as he sought to contain his temper. She remained unresponsive. Had he been a fool to force her into this marriage against her will? When he had first kissed her in that damned apple store, he had judged from her response that she was a woman of spirit and passion. How could he have got it so wrong? He thrust his wife aside and fixed her with a frustrated scowl.

  ‘Is it too much to ask you to dredge up a little enthusiasm for my advances? We do, after all, have an agreement.’

  ‘I am fully aware of my obligations. But we are in the open, anyone might come upon us.’ She tossed her head and looked away from him. ‘Surely, this should wait until a more suitable juncture?’

  He was so angered by her feeble attempts to repulse him that he pulled her towards him again, intent upon taking what was lawfully his. The small portion of his brain still capable of rational thought was appalled by his actions, but he was aroused, angered and quite incapable of stopping. He had given her everything, saved her ungrateful family from an uncertain future and given her leave to continue working in her wretched cider mill. How many husbands would even countenance such action? She should be overjoyed but couldn’t even dredge up a pretence of affection.

  The sight of two fat tears trickling down her face brought him to his senses. He released her, taking a moment to get his ragged breathing under control. He was disgusted with himself for having been within a heartbeat of taking his wife’s virginity right here in the open air.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, looking away from her. ‘I should not have done that.’

  She made no reply, and so he drove her back to the house at a rapid pace, and didn’t attempt to engage her in conversation. That way he didn’t have to acknowledge she had every right to ignore him.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon apart and only met again at dinner, where the tension between them was again palpable. They ate slowly, making desultory conversation for the benefit of the servants, but as soon as the meal was finished Harriet excused herself and escaped to her chamber.

  When Marc opened the door that connected their two rooms half-an-hour later he found Martha, the maid appointed to attend Harriet, vigorously brushing her glorious hair.

  ‘One hundred strokes a day, Your Grace, will ensure your hair never loses its sheen,’ he heard her say.

  Neither of them noticed him enter and so Marc leaned against the door jamb, watching the scene of domesticity unfold before him. Harriet’s lovely hair was one of the many things that had attracted him to her. He had never seen it look better than it did rippling down her back in a riot of gleaming curls that ended at her waist. His wife was dressed only in a silk nightgown, a shawl draped around her shoulders. She appeared distracted, and Marc would have given a great deal to know what thoughts were going through her mind, wishing now that he hadn’t behaved like an oaf and frightened her so badly. It would make matters so much harder for him now. Fortunately, he enjoyed challenges.

  He stepped forward and with a gesture dismissed the giggling Martha, took over the brush and continued her duties in her stead.

  ‘That will do, Martha.’ Harriet looked up and saw him standing behind her in his shirt sleeves. She gasped. ‘You! I didn’t hear you enter.’

  ‘I know.’ He placed the brush aside. ‘I have something for you.’

  ‘What is it?’

 
; ‘A peace offering.’

  Marc disappeared through the connecting door and returned a few minutes later with a squirming bundle in his arms.

  ‘What do you have there?’ Her wary expression gave way to one of curiosity.

  Wordlessly, he passed a mongrel puppy into her outstretched arms and watched her features flush with pleasure as she cooed over his soft, furry head. The creature was a mixture of black and white splodges, with one ear that appeared to be permanently cocked and a tail that never stopped wagging.

  ‘You required a romantic gesture,’ he reminded her. ‘I observed how attached you are to your father’s dog and thought you might enjoy having one of your own.’

  ‘Thank you!’ She offered him a glittering, uncontrived smile of pleasure that heated the air between them. ‘Is that where you disappeared to this afternoon?’

  He raised a brow. ‘You were sufficiently interested to notice I had gone?’

  ‘Yes. I was curious.’

  ‘I knew there was a new litter at home farm.’

  ‘That was very thoughtful of you.’ She laughed as the puppy attempted to bite her nose with his needle-sharp teeth. ‘You couldn’t have chosen a wedding gift that would give me more pleasure.’

  ‘You’re a strange wife, Harri. Most women in your position would expect diamonds.’

  She offered him a droll glance. ‘I am not most women.’

  ‘What shall you call this sorry excuse for a dog?’

  ‘Frederick, I think,’ she said, laughing as the puppy enthusiastically washed her face. ‘And he is not an excuse for a dog. It is hardly his fault if his pedigree is not up to scratch. He can’t be held responsible for his accident of birth.’

  She blushed when she realised what she had alluded to and buried her face in the puppy’s soft fur. Marc judged the time was now right. He took the puppy from her and placed him on the rug in front of the fire, where he obliged by curling up and falling asleep. He then offered Harriet his hand.

  ‘Come.’

  She hesitated, her hand trembling as she reluctantly placed it in his. ‘I am not in the least bit tired,’ she said in an unsteady voice.

  ‘Then we shall not sleep.’ He treated her to a soft smile.

  ‘You smiled at me.’ He sensed some of the tension leave her body.

  ‘Being with you makes me want to smile. A lot.’

  ‘Then you should. Everyone should smile when they are happy.’

  ‘If it makes you relax, then I shall smile until my jaw aches.’ He led her towards the bed. ‘I want you, Harri. Very much, as it happens. I have wanted you since the first moment I laid eyes upon you.’

  ‘You were not nice to me when we first met.’

  ‘I am not always a nice person.’

  ‘That is certainly true, but you are usually nice to me now.’

  ‘I try to be.’ He squeezed the hand he held in his. ‘There’s no need to be afraid. Trust me, the rogue who behaved so badly this afternoon was not really me. I hesitate to admit it, but I am nervous too.’

  She elevated both brows. ‘You are? But why? I am sure you have done this before.’

  He chuckled. ‘I have not been married before. Nor has there ever been a lady I have wanted to please more.’

  She bit her lower lip, as though attempting not to smile. ‘Be careful, Marc. You almost sound as though you care.’

  ‘I have never pretended otherwise.’

  But Marc knew she wanted him to admit to more than caring for her, and that he could not do. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her into his lap. With a featherlike touch he framed her jaw with his hand, staring intently into wide emerald eyes that reflected fear of the unknown. He was encouraged to notice a modicum of curiosity and desire, too. Emboldened, he traced the outline of her lips with his thumb, breathing her name softly as he lowered his head towards them. He was slow and gentle this time, giving her the opportunity to become accustomed to the taste of him, and the very obvious extent of his passion.

  Harriet had worked herself into such a state of anxiety since the events of the afternoon that Marc’s change of mood took her completely by surprise. She felt the pressure of his lips upon hers increasing with an urgency she was starting to comprehend. A pleasurable sensation cascaded through her as her lips instinctively parted, allowing his marauding tongue access to her mouth. So far things were not so very bad. In fact, by the time Marc finally broke the kiss she had no wish for it to end. Horrified when a gasp of protest slipped past her guard, she clamped a hand over her mouth and looked away from him. Marc actually chuckled as he observed her reaction, causing the grip of winter to completely leave his frosty grey eyes.

  ‘What is so funny?’

  ‘You are, sweetheart. We are completely alone, we are husband and wife and we may do anything we please without embarrassment.’

  She wrinkled her nose. ‘That is what frightens me.’

  ‘There is absolutely nothing to be afraid of.’

  ‘You have done this sort of thing with enough innocent women to know that for a fact, I suppose.’

  He snorted. ‘I wouldn’t describe any of the women I have previously known as being innocent precisely, but I can assure you that I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘I never doubted that.’ She tried to look offended because he had been ill-mannered enough to mention other women. Then she recalled it was she who had brought the subject up, and curiosity overcame dignity. ‘I sincerely hope you no longer feel the need to consort with such women, now that you are a married man.’

  ‘Why, Your Grace, I do believe you’re jealous.’

  ‘Not in the least. But I prefer not to share, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Not in the least.’

  Quite without warning Harriet found herself being lifted into a pair of strong arms and laid on the bed. Her hair, unbraided, spilled across the pillow and appeared to fascinate her husband. He picked up a strand and ran it through his fingers repeatedly, his eyes never once leaving her face. Harriet felt her burgeoning passion desert her once more in favour of embarrassment. She was wearing only a thin silk nightgown, whereas he was still almost fully clothed. As if reading her thoughts, he bent to remove his hessians and then stretched out beside her on the bed, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her again. She was becoming familiar to his penchant for kissing, and could easily get accustomed to it. His free hand was no longer resting innocently on her back. Instead it travelled down the length of her body, heralding the return of her panic.

  ‘Shush!’ He brushed the hair away from her face and kissed her brow. ‘Just relax.’

  Slowly he soothed her with gentle strokes of his large hands. The silk of her nightgown warmed to his touch, as the skin beneath it did. There was something hypnotic about his gestures that reassured Harriet, something empowering about the expression in his unusually mellow eyes, and something exquisite about the way his hand brushed at the outside of her breast. She opened her eyes and looked directly at him, asking a question without words.

  ‘Patience!’ He actually chuckled and looked disgustingly pleased with himself.

  Harriet reminded herself that millions of women had undergone this before her and survived the experience. Marc had lost patience that afternoon and could have forced himself upon her, but he hadn’t done so. And now he was being incredibly gentle, taking her skittishness in his stride, and doing everything he could to make her less anxious. She inhaled his intoxicating masculine scent and suddenly had an overwhelming urge to touch him…but not through his clothes. She felt another frisson of pleasure cascade through her as he gently brushed his hand against her naked breast. What had happened to the bodice of her nightgown? She felt ashamed as pleasure continued to spark through her. Surely she wasn’t supposed to enjoy this?

  ‘Harri, look at me.’

  She looked up into her husband’s eyes and gasped. They had darkened by several shades. Heavy-lidded and seductive, they burned with an unfathomable emotion. Instinctively she kne
w he was gripped by the passion she had engendered in him. It was a heady, powerful feeling that caused her femininity to flower and her nascent pleasure to intensify.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘what is it?’

  ‘You must tell me,’ he said, his voice hypnotic as he continued to caress her body with slow, deliberate strokes of his hands, ‘where you most like me to touch you.’

  She gasped. ‘Am I supposed to like it?’

  He laughed, actually laughed, a low, rumbling sound she sensed reverberating through his entire body. ‘That is the general idea.’

  ‘Is that respectable?’

  ‘Do you care about being respectable?’ His words were a throaty challenge, accompanied by a flick of his hand across her stomach—a flick so expertly executed as to make any reservations she might otherwise have voiced melt away.

  ‘I like it when you laugh.’

  ‘Let us see if there is anything else you like. What about this?’

  She squirmed beneath his teasing touch. ‘That is rather agreeable.’

  ‘Rather agreeable? I shall have to see if I can do any better than that.’ He lowered his head and shocked her by sucking one of her nipples into his mouth. ‘How about that?’

  She wanted to tell him it was the most exquisite experience of her admittedly limited…well, experience. ‘Very pleasant,’ she said, determined to play him at his own game.

  ‘We make progress, then.’

  Harriet abandoned all reserve as her husband ruthlessly aroused her passions to the point where she could think about nothing other than the profoundly sensual thrills that coursed through her body. Stunned by the intensity of her feelings she cried out, opening her eyes wide in surprise as wave after wave of the most unimaginable pleasure consumed her. And all the time she was aware of Marc, watching her and actually smiling.