And he wanted her.
He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his entire life. More than he’d wanted to walk. More than he’d wanted his father’s approval. More than he’d wanted the echoes of Lady Portia’s cruel laughter to disappear. And so with a savage growl that was more beast than man, he took what he wanted.
Chapter Nine
If their last kiss had set Hannah’s body on fire, then this one threatened to burn her to the ground. On a delighted gasp she parted her lips, allowing her husband’s tongue to sweep boldly into her mouth as she shoved her fingers into his hair.
Easily spanning her waist with both hands, Wycliffe turned her in his arms so they were face to face, chest to chest, groin to groin. She felt the throbbing pulse of his arousal through his trousers. Felt an answering dampness between her thighs that brought a warm blush to her cheeks.
After their passionate exchange in the goldenrod she thought she’d known what to expect the next time he kissed her.
But she was wrong.
So utterly, completely, delightfully wrong.
His hands slid up to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing across her nipples as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. She let go of his hair to clutch at his nape, fingernails digging furrows in his skin through the silk fabric of her gloves.
He bit down on her bottom lip and she whimpered.
He licked the tiny bite and she moaned.
Sensation after sensation washed over her until she was drowning in desire. Her entire body hummed with it, and when he backed her against the rough barn wall and shoved up her skirts to stroke the wettest part of her she clenched around his finger almost immediately, stars bursting behind her closed eyelids as he ruthlessly drove her to the pinnacle of wild abandon and shoved her over the edge.
He softened her fall with a kiss, murmuring quiet, unintelligible words of comfort against her swollen lips as she clung to his neck as if it were a sturdy mast in a deep, turbulent sea. When the waters began to calm she opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, his own gaze as dark as the sea she’d just lost – and found – herself in.
“Again,” he said simply, and before Hannah could fully comprehend what he meant he had slipped his finger back inside of her and captured her mouth in a long, drugging kiss that did not end until she was crying out his name.
“Wycliffe. Wycliffe.” It spilled from her lips like a chant as he brought her to the top of the mountain again and again, until her knees were weak and her body was trembling and she could barely remember her own name.
Then she was touching him, her fingers taking on a life of their own as she freed him from the front flap of his trousers. He spilled hot and heavy into her hands, the tip of his phallus damp with desire.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. In response he wrapped his hand around hers and guided her palm along his hard length until he’d established a rhythm that quickened with every stroke.
“Like that,” he rasped, and Hannah experienced a thrill of delight when she realized she was bringing him the same erotic pleasure he had brought her.
His head fell back, Adam’s apple bobbing as the muscles in his abdomen went rigid. When he found his release he groaned her name – the very first time he’d ever spoken it – and her heart filled with a cozy warmth that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with love.
Their heavy breaths intermingled with the quiet snorts and whickers of the horses as they both slowly descended back to earth. Removing a monogrammed handkerchief from the front pocket of his waistcoat Wycliffe offered it to her first but with a shy shake of her head she declined, unable to meet his gaze for fear of what she would see in the cool depths of his eyes.
Would he reject her, as he had before? Or would this time be different? Would this time he finally admit when she knew – or at least, she hoped – he felt in his heart? For surely he could not have kissed her like he had, touched her like he had, brought her pleasure like he had…if he didn’t feel something for her.
She had her answer after he was done cleaning himself up. Stuffing the handkerchief back into his pocket and buttoning his trousers he stepped back, and her heart sank all the way down to her toes when she saw the rigid line between his brows.
“I am sorry,” he said stiffly. “That should not have–”
“Devil take your apology!” She threw her hands in the air, spooking the nameless colt. He spun in a circle in his stall, but Hannah was too incensed to notice. “And devil take you! I – you – oh!” Unable to put her anger into words, she shoved past him and ran all the way back to the manor, her tears glistening like diamonds in the moonlight.
Hannah did not speak a word to Wycliffe for the next three days. She couldn’t. She was too furious with him.
Furious that he’d brought her so much pleasure…and furious that he’d brought her so much pain. How could he have filled her with fire one moment and treated her with such infuriating coldness the next? And his blasted apology! Her jaw still clenched whenever she thought of it. She didn’t want his apology. She wanted him. And more than ever before she wanted to know what had happened in his past to have left him with such horrific scars.
Not the ones on his face. Those had healed years ago and as much as he seemed to believe otherwise, they did not bother her in the slightest. No. It was the scars he carried on his frozen heart that concerned her. Scars that were still bleeding even after all this time.
Her marriage to Wycliffe may have saved her family from financial ruin and her father from debtor’s prison, but at what cost to herself? Was she destined to be forever trapped in a loveless union? One made all the worse because she feared she was falling in love with her husband…and, even though he would never admit it, he was falling in love with her as well.
He hadn’t said the words – hadn’t even come close – but she knew, she knew that he couldn’t kiss her such wicked abandon if he didn’t care deeply for her.
Some men could have. Men like Colebrook, who saw every woman they met as a conquest to be won. But not Wycliffe. If what he felt towards her was nothing more than lust then he would have no reason to apologize. After all, she was his wife. His property before God and country. If he wanted her in his bed he did not have to ask, and he certainly did not have to apologize. That he had done so – twice – gave her hope there was more to his feelings than what he showed on the surface.
But her hope was rapidly dwindling, and her mood was certainly not improved by her sister’s unexpected arrival.
“He’s called off the engagement!” Cadence wailed, her tearful voice echoing in the vast emptiness of the manor as she ran across the foyer and straight into Hannah’s arms. The footman who had admitted Cadence regarded the sister’s reunion with wide eyes before he promptly slipped out the door and shut it firmly behind him, leaving them alone.
“Who has?” Hannah said, caught off guard not only by Cadence’s sudden appearance but also her state of dishevelment. With her silky brown hair is wild disarray and her eyes red and swollen from crying, Cadence looked nothing like the calm, composed bride-to-be Hannah had left in London.
“Who?” her sister repeated shrilly. “Who do you think? Lord Benfield! Lord Benfield has called off our engagement!”
“Perhaps it would be best if you sat down. Come, over here.” Gently guiding Cadence into the parlor and over to a settee that was only moderately dusty, she sat down beside her and turned so they were facing one another. “Now take a deep breath,” she said firmly. “And tell me what happened. I thought you and Lord Benfield were not yet engaged? How could he call off your engagement?”
“We were practically engaged!” Cadence cried. “Everyone knew it was only a matter of time.”
Everyone, apparently, except for Lord Benfield, Hannah thought silently. Truth be told she’d never liked the earl, but Cadence had seemed quite smitten with him and so she’d bitten her tongue. Now, however, she saw no reason to continue hiding her
dislike.
“Good.” She patted her sister’s knee. “You are far better off without him.”
“Better off?” Cadence’s dark gray eyes widened in disbelief. “Better off? I’m ruined, Han! Completely ruined.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say–”
“He might as well left me at the a-altar. I will never love again.” And with that rather bold proclamation, Cadence abruptly buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.
“What the devil is going on in here?” Appearing in the doorway, Wycliffe took one look at Cadence and immediately stepped back into the hall. Her mouth settling in a mulish frown, Hannah sprang to her feet and followed him out, closing the door behind her so Cadence could not overhear their conversation.
“That is my sister. She’s going to be staying with us.” She lifted a challenging brow, daring her husband to contradict her. She was tired of being understanding and finished with being patient. If Wycliffe was going to a stubborn arse despite her best attempts to coax a bit of humanity out of him, then she was done trying.
Hadn’t she learned her lesson with her sisters and her dear father? No matter how many times she told them to stop wasting money, no matter how many different ways she pleaded with him to enforce stricter allowances, they never listened and they certainly never changed. Why had she expected Wycliffe to be any different? For better or worse, people were who they were. Unfortunately for her, she’d married someone who fell decidedly into the ‘worse’ category.
Which was why she was so utterly shocked when he looked at the parlor where Cadence’s loud sobs could be heard clearly through the door and then back at Hannah before he inclined his head and said, quite simply, “All right.”
Then he turned and walked away towards his study, leaving Hannah gaping after him.
“Wait!” she called, but he didn’t so much as pause. Running back into the parlor, she pressed a quick kiss to Cadence’s damp cheek and promised she’d return promptly before dashing after her husband.
She reached him just as he was about to close the door to his study, and quickly slipped into the dimly lit room before he could slam the door in her face. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness and when they did she discovered Wycliffe frowning at her from behind his desk, arms folded across his chest and a formidable line entrenched between his dark brows.
“Is there something I can help you with?” he growled.
“Why is every room in this house so very d-dark?” Just a little breathless from her impromptu sprint through the manor, Hannah turned in a slow circle, frowning when she saw the heavy drapes covering the windows.
She’d managed to replace the drapes in her bedchamber and drawing room with blue silk curtains Elsbeth had found in the attic and was waiting for a shipment to arrive from London before she moved on to the other rooms in the manor. She had also hired three new maids and was actively looking for a new housekeeper. Preferably one who did not take naps in the broom closet with a bottle of rum.
Slowly but surely the old house was emerging from the shadows, but she’d not yet dared to change so much as a piece of parchment in her husband’s study.
“It’s the middle of the day, yet being in here you would never know it.” Crossing to the nearest window she drew back the drape and squinted up at the bright autumn sun. Over the past few days the air had grown noticeably colder. There were now more leaves on the ground than there were on the trees, and the berries on the holly bushes had started to turn orange. By the end of the month they would be bright red and then it was only a matter of time before the winds began to howl and snow started to fall.
“Don’t you miss the light?” she asked, letting the drape fall back into place to glance at Wycliffe over her shoulder.
“I grew accustomed to the dark a long time ago,” he said, bracing his hands on the edge of the desk.
Hannah thought of the room she’d discovered in the forbidden east wing. The one without windows and the strange metal hooks in the ceiling. A shiver went down her spine. “How long did they keep you in there?”
She could tell by the narrowing of his eyes that he knew exactly what she was talking about, and he wasn’t pleased with the question.
“Long enough,” he said shortly.
“How long?” she pressed.
“Two years.”
“Two years!” Her horrified gaze flew to his as she whirled around. “You were only a child. That must have been–”
“Barbaric? Cruel? Inhumane?” His mouth twisted in a humorless smile. “It was all that and more. But in the end I walked again. I wasn’t a cripple. Or at least not a complete cripple. And that was all my father cared about.”
“He sounds like he was a horrible man,” Hannah whispered, unable to imagine her own father condemning her to such a fate. Lord Fairchild may have been absentminded and incapable of managing a budget, but he loved his family with all of his heart and he would never purposefully bring any harm to them. No wonder Wycliffe was capable of such callousness. He’d learned it at his sire’s knee.
“My father was a duke,” Wycliffe said, as if that explained everything.
“So are you,” Hannah pointed out. And as cold and abrasive as he’d been towards her, she refused to believe he would ever lock an innocent child away in a windowless room and force them to endure all manner of horrific treatments.
“Not by choice, or by practice. Why do you think I live all the way out here?”
“Because you don’t like anyone?” she guessed.
“I like you.” The unexpected admission caught them both by surprise. His face turning a dull ruddy color, Wycliffe made an awkward show of straightening a pile of letters. “What do you want?” he said without looking at her. “Why have you come in here?”
“My sister.” As if pulled by an invisible thread, Hannah slowly started to walk towards him, her soft-soled shoes sinking silently into the worn carpet. “Why would you allow her to stay here? I know how much you dislike visitors.”
“She is your sister,” he muttered. “I know how important family is to you.”
Three more steps and she would be at the desk.
One…
“How do you know that?” she asked.
Two…
He folded a letter into a tiny square. Unfolded it. Folded it again. “Because you were willing to marry a complete stranger to save them. There are not many daughters who would think to do that. Even fewer who would actually follow through with it.”
Three…
“Look at me, Evan.” She spoke so softly that she didn’t think he heard her until, with obvious reluctance, he lifted his chin. A lock of hair tumbled into his eyes. With an irritated shake of his head, he tossed it back.
“What?” he said roughly. “What the bloody hell do you want?”
Reaching across the desk, she placed her hand on top of his, fingers fitting perfectly between the grooves of his knuckles. “I want a husband who loves me. I want a marriage that means something. I want a partner, not a business arrangement.”
Midnight blue eyes searching hers, he swallowed hard. “Hannah, I–”
“Why is there a sobbing woman in the parlor?” Barging into the study without bothering to knock, Colebrook stopped short at the sight of Hannah and Wycliffe leaning towards one another over the desk. “Oh. Bloody hell. I didn’t…that is to say, I should have…”
“Knocked?” Wycliffe said icily, his gaze still on Hannah. “Get out, Colebrook.”
“Of course. Right away.” The blond duke started to back out the door. “Er, if someone could tell me who that woman is–”
“Get out,” Wycliffe snarled.
“Aye,” Colebrook said hastily. “I’ll just, ah…go about my business and you two…er…carry on doing whatever it was you were, ah, doing. Cheerio.”
“You were saying?” Hannah said quietly once they were once again alone.
“Nothing.” Sliding his hand out from beneath hers, Wycliffe took a s
tep back as an all too familiar shadow flickered over his face. “It was nothing.”
“Wait.” Desperate not to lose the softness she’d glimpsed on his face before Colebrook – damn him! – had interrupted them, Hannah hurried around the edge of the desk and grabbed onto his arm, fingers squeezing tight. “Please look at me. I know you feel something for me. I felt it the first time we kissed and again in the stables. Maybe it’s not love, but it could be. It could be, and I–”
“Please release my arm, Miss Fairchild.”
“Wait! If you would just listen to me and what’s in your heart, then I know–”
“You’re the one who has not listened,” he said icily. “I told you what this marriage would be before we ever walked down the aisle, and you agreed to it. I thought you were a woman of your word.”
“I am. I am, but if you would just–”
“Release my arm,” he repeated between gritted teeth, “and kindly remove yourself from my study. I have work to do.”
Hannah wanted her husband, but she would not beg for him. Gray eyes bright with tears she refused to let fall, she left the study – and any remaining hope she might have had that Wycliffe was capable of changing – behind.
Chapter Ten
“I say, do you need a handkerchief? Although at the rate you’re going, might I suggest a towel. Mayhap two.”
Choking back a sob, Cadence looked up through bleary eyes to see a tall, broad-shouldered man standing in the doorway. His blond hair was swept back from his face to reveal a distinguished forehead, thick brows several shades darker than his hair, clear blue eyes, a straight nose, and a full, sensual mouth that was curved in a faintly mocking grin.
He was stunningly handsome and (if his smirk was any indication) he knew it. Was this the reclusive Duke of Wycliffe? The one whose hideousness was rumored to have cracked every mirror in his manor? Surely not. And yet, who else could it be?
Hastily wiping away her tears, Cadence pushed off the settee and bent her knees in a small, stiff curtsy. The journey here had been far longer and more arduous than she’d expected. In hindsight she probably would have done a great deal better to visit her aunt in Huffs Church, but when Benfield ripped her heart out of her chest and proceeded to stomp it into a thousand tiny little pieces the only person she’d wanted to see was Hannah.
The Autumn Duchess (A Duchess for All Seasons Book 4) Page 7
