Duke of Renown

by Aston, Alexa

“You would make Caesar sleep in a basket?”

  “Do you think I could make Caesar do anything he didn’t want to do?” he teased.

  “I have ordered us a larger bed as part of refurnishing our rooms at Windowmere. There’ll be plenty of room for husband, wife, and cat,” Phoebe said.

  They reached the cottage and left their stockings and shoes by the door. Andrew lit a candle and led her into the bedchamber. Slowly, they undressed one another until they stood unclothed.

  He pushed his hands into her hair. “I tell you that you are beautiful all the time. I hope the frequency in which I say it doesn’t take away from the meaning, my love. You are not only physically beautiful but your true beauty lies within you. You are the kindest soul I will ever meet, Phoebe. You are my angel of mercy.”

  He kissed her, slow and sweet. Her skin heated as her blood warmed. Her heart raced as the familiar excitement filled her.

  Leading her to the bed, he went to the other side and helped her turn back the bedclothes.

  “Sit down,” she said, moving to her trunk, where she removed one of her silk stockings and returned to the bed.

  “What are you up to?” he asked, his hands capturing her waist as he sat.

  She brought the silk to his eyes and placed it against them. Leaning into him, she tied it behind his head, her breasts brushing against his mouth. His tongue flicked out and touched her nipple. Phoebe stepped away.

  “Lie back on the pillow,” she instructed.

  Andrew did as asked.

  “Pillow your hands beneath your head. They must remain there.”

  “Aren’t you the bossy one?” he teased.

  She got onto the bed and straddled him.

  “Hmm. I like this.”

  “Remember, keep your hands where they are.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” he said, his voice low and rough, causing her to smile.

  Phoebe then proceeded to kiss her husband in every spot imaginable. Her lips brushed against muscle, seeing it flex. She licked and kissed her way all over his body, from the pulse pounding in his neck down his flat belly. Across his biceps. She nipped his calves and grazed her teeth against his knees.

  Then she moved to his cock, which was standing straight out, thick and strong. Though she’d never done this before, she kissed its tip and then licked it. Andrew groaned and she looked up.

  “Hands,” she warned, seeing them start to come out from behind his head. “I’m the one in charge and doing all of the touching, Your Grace.”

  Returning to his member, she worked along it, using her hands and mouth and tongue. It didn’t take long for her husband to groan and move, calling her name. She’d never felt her feminine power more than in that moment, knowing she could make him tremble with desire for her.

  Suddenly, he moved swiftly, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her into the air before impaling her on his shaft. A sweet rush of satisfaction filled her.

  “Ride me, darling,” he gasped. “Hurry.”

  She began undulating against him, moving up and away and then coming toward him, his cock buried deep within her. His hands held fast to her waist as she began increasing her speed.

  “Yes. Yes. God, yes,” he cried out and spilled his seed into her as she collapsed atop him.

  Andrew’s arms came about her, holding her to him. She smelled the warm musk of him mixed with his cologne. His skin was slick with perspiration. They remained joined together as their breathing returned to normal.

  “My senses were heightened being blindfolded,” he said.

  Phoebe glanced up and saw her silk stocking still flat against his eyes. She pulled up on it and removed it from his head, tossing it aside. She kissed his hard, muscled chest and rested her cheek against it again.

  “I think I’m going to enjoy our visits to Falmouth Cottage, Your Grace,” she said.

  He laughed and reached for her silk stocking, placing it around her eyes and tying it behind her head.

  “Your turn,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Phoebe walked with Andrew into Falmouth. They hadn’t needed any supplies since his housekeeper from Moreland Hall had stocked the larder and their own cook at Windowmere had sent along food, as well. It was their last day, though, and they’d decided to go into town and purchase some of the raisin scones that Andrew had been so fond of. First, though, they would visit the Butlers at their store and invite them to tea.

  “Do you think Mrs. Butler will faint again when she sees you?” she teased.

  “No. She knows I’m back from the dead. What she may faint at, however, is learning that sweet Mrs. Smith wed the Duke of Renown. Or perhaps being invited to tea with the Duke and Duchess of Windham might cause her to grow weak in the knees. Either way, I’m familiar with where the smelling salts are located.”

  She squeezed his arm, leaning into him as they walked. She’d found that she needed to touch him constantly, as if to make sure he was real.

  And her.

  They arrived and entered the Butlers’ shop. Mr. Butler was on his knees, stocking items on a bottom shelf. He rose to greet them. His wife was at the counter with a customer and immediately abandoned her conversation, rushing over.

  “Good day, Mr. Butler, Mrs. Butler,” said Andrew pleasantly.

  “A good day to you, Your Grace,” Mrs. Butler replied as her husband echoed the greeting. She glanced to Phoebe. “And Mrs. Smith. How nice to see you, as well.” She turned back to Andrew and smiled.

  “I’ve stopped by for two reasons, Mrs. Butler. First, I’d like to introduce you to my wife, the Duchess of Windham.”

  Mrs. Butler’s jaw dropped. “She . . . Mrs. Smith . . . is . . . oh, my goodness.” She looked apologetically at Phoebe. “I am so sorry, Your Grace. I . . . it’s wonderful news. I mean . . . to think you . . . and His Grace . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  Phoebe took pity on the woman being flummoxed and smiled. “I met His Grace in London after I left Falmouth Cottage. We both learned we were familiar with the area and talked about how much we enjoyed the rugged beauty of Cornwall. One thing led to another and we decided to wed.”

  “Well, congratulations to you, Your Grace,” Mr. Butler said, beaming at her. “To the both of you.”

  “We’ve also come to ask you to tea,” Andrew continued. “I had told your wife the next time I was at Moreland Hall that I would do so.”

  Mrs. Butler swayed unsteadily on her feet. Her husband latched on to her elbow. “Oh, my. I don’t know what to say,” she said breathlessly.

  “Say yes, Mrs. Butler,” Andrew smoothly suggested. “Both you and your husband have been especially kind to the two of us. I know Mr. Butler used his wagon to take supplies to my wife at Falmouth Cottage when she rented it last summer.”

  “Didn’t mind a bit,” the proprietor said. “Mrs. Smith was a good customer. No one’s been at Falmouth Cottage since she left.”

  “It’s a bit mysterious,” Mrs. Butler said.

  “I bought the cottage,” Andrew revealed. “My wife fell in love with it. It’s my wedding present to her.”

  Phoebe smiled up at him. “Yes, I have lovely memories of the cottage.”

  She had to keep from adding both then and now. This last week living there with Andrew had been the happiest time of her life. The fact that they could come to it any time brought a sense of peace to her.

  “About tea?” Andrew prodded. “The day after tomorrow if you can make it. I’ll send my carriage for you around three.”

  Mrs. Butler was speechless. Phoebe did think the woman was about to faint. Mr. Butler tightened his grip on his wife and replied, “We would be happy to come to tea, Your Grace. Thank you for your kind invitation.”

  “Very good. We’ll see you the day after tomorrow then,” Andrew said and nodded, leading Phoebe from the store.

  “You almost had to grab the smelling salts,” she said. “I think Mrs. Butler getting to ride in a ducal carriage might be the high point of her life.”


  “She seemed a little surprised that I married Mrs. Smith.”

  “Mrs. Smith would have been surprised to find herself married to a duke.”

  “And the Dowager Countess of Borwick?”

  “Well, she was most happy to be courted by a handsome duke. Every now and then, though, she misses her smuggler.”

  Andrew laughed. “I feel that smuggler beds you as much as I do.”

  They went to the bakery and bought half a dozen raisin scones. Her husband ate two of them as they strolled back to Falmouth Cottage and they each had one with a cup of tea after they returned.

  “You know what scones make me hungry for?” he asked, his eyes alive with the amber flecks. “You.”

  Phoebe found herself scooped up and placed upon their bed. He leaned down and licked the corner of her mouth.

  “Mmm. The last bit of the scone. I wonder what the rest of you will taste like?”

  “You’ll have to find out, Your Grace.”

  *

  They took a last early morning stroll along the beach. Andrew patiently watched Phoebe continue to pick up seashells and supposed she wanted to take home a collection to remind her of their time in Cornwall.

  “Robbie will be here soon to take us back to Moreland Hall,” he reminded her.

  “I almost have enough,” she said and bent to pick up a few more.

  “Should we head back?” he asked.

  “In a moment.”

  He watched her step away from the water and realized they’d reached the point where his handiwork still remained. Phoebe knelt in the sand and began placing the seashells she’d collected along the sand. He went and stood behind her as she set the final one down and stood.

  Yes, my love.

  Andrew slipped his arm around her. “You did already say yes to my offer in London.”

  She smiled. “I wanted a record of it here, though. I wonder how long the heart and its message will stay?”

  “Very few people come along this stretch,” he noted. “Perhaps until we return next time.”

  “If it’s gone, I want you to recreate it again. Every time we come to this spot, I want to see this tangible evidence of our love.”

  He chuckled. “The next thing I know, you’ll want it replicated in our garden at Windowmere.”

  “That’s a lovely idea,” she declared. “Perhaps the gardener could spell it out in flowers. Or shrubbery.”

  He kissed her. “Whatever you wish. Come along. We need to get back.”

  They returned to Falmouth Cottage and saw Robbie already waited in the clearing.

  “Good morning, Your Graces,” the driver called out to them.

  “Good morning, Robbie. Have you been here long?”

  “No, Your Grace. Just a few minutes. Can I collect your trunks?”

  “Yes, they’re already packed,” Phoebe said. “They’re in the bedchamber.”

  “Back in a jiffy,” Robbie said.

  They followed him inside and Phoebe walked around, checking to make sure they left nothing behind. She paused in front of a drawing of Freddie the Flounder. Andrew had it and two other sketches she’d left behind framed and hung on the wall. Phoebe touched the glass with her fingertips, a smile on her lips.

  “I think we have everything,” she told him as Robbie carried the second trunk to the carriage.

  “Then we’ll lock up the place until the next time we visit.”

  “Will that be every summer?” she asked hopefully.

  “Certainly, we’ll come then. If we feel the need to escape at other times, Falmouth Cottage will always be waiting for us.”

  She pulled his head down until their lips met and gave him a sweet kiss.

  “I’m so glad to know this was my wedding present,” she told him. “The best present any bride has ever received.”

  Andrew escorted her to the carriage and, soon, they were headed in the direction of Moreland Hall.

  “What do you want to do with the rest of the day?” he asked.

  “Naturally, I’ll want to see the house. I’d also enjoy riding the property and seeing the land, as well. This will be the third estate of yours I’ve seen since we’ve been wed.”

  “Four. Of course, I’m counting Falmouth Cottage. I do want you to see all the others but we’ve got time for that. I visited all of them once I gained the title but I was on the road quite a bit. I’d rather us settle into Windowmere more and only take the occasional visit to one of them.”

  They arrived and he saw his butler awaited them.

  “Good morning, Martin. This is my duchess.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” the butler said as Robbie lowered their trunks to the ground and he and a footman entered the house with them.

  “I’m glad to be able to see another property of my husband’s,” Phoebe said.

  “We may be smaller than some of His Grace’s residences but I believe you will find Moreland Hall more than adequate.”

  “I think we’ll take a light luncheon in the small dining room, Martin. For now, we’re going to explore the house together and then ride the estate once we’ve dined.”

  “I’ll see to luncheon, Your Grace,” Martin said.

  Andrew took Phoebe through the house. She noticed a chessboard set up for play in the library. They’d left behind the board and pieces he’d brought so they’d always have a set at the cottage. They had played every day and he was proud of how quickly she’d caught on to the game. Before long, she would beat him regularly.

  They ate and then went to the stables. Once horses had been saddled for them, he took her around the entire perimeter and then to the cliffs. For a moment, a sense of dread passed through him as they tied their horses to the same tree he’d used on the afternoon his half-brother shot him. He forced all thoughts of that event away and they walked to the edge of the cliff.

  “Oh, the view here is spectacular!” Phoebe exclaimed.

  She took a step forward and he yanked her back, his heart racing.

  “Are you afraid of heights?” she asked and then frowned. Then he saw understanding dawn in her eyes. “Oh, Andrew. This is the spot where he shot you, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “I saw you too close to where I tumbled over. For a moment, I had that same sensation of falling again.”

  She took his hand and led him a few steps further away from the edge. “We should leave. I don’t want these awful memories surfacing for you.”

  “I’m all right. I have you with me,” he said, slipping his arms about her and bringing her close.

  His mouth sought hers and their kiss went on for some minutes. Finally, he lifted his head.

  “I think we should christen our visit to Moreland Hall with a visit to our bedchamber now,” he said, his voice low and rough.

  Phoebe smiled. “I do believe that is my favorite part of visiting one of our houses. Making new memories with you.”

  “Hopefully, making a baby along the way,” he added and kissed her again, hard and swift.

  Instead of enjoying the kiss, he felt her tense. Breaking the kiss, he asked, “What is wrong, love?”

  Tears misted her eyes. Her mouth trembled. Andrew framed her face in his hands.

  “You can tell me anything. You know that.”

  Phoebe swallowed. “I so want a baby with you. But . . . I am afraid.”

  “Why? Is it because you lost Nathan and fear giving your heart to another child?”

  “I lost more than Nathan,” she told him, tears cascading down her cheeks. “I was with child when I learned of Nathan’s death. The shock . . . it caused me to lose the babe.” She bit her lip. “I worry that it could happen again. I have heard talk that once a woman miscarries, it is more likely to happen again.”

  His heart absorbed her ache, knowing how alone she must have felt in losing both her beloved boy and a child yet to be.

  “I am here with you, Phoebe. Always. You have my love. My support. My strength. Together, we will deal with whatev
er the future brings.”

  Andrew kissed her tenderly and enfolded her in his arms, hoping he might allay her fears and bring her some small measure of comfort.

  She looked up at him. “Thank you. You always know the right thing to say.”

  They returned to their horses and he handed her into the saddle. He walked around to mount his own horse and heard a gasp and thud. Quickly pulling his foot from the stirrup, Andrew wheeled and saw Phoebe on the ground, a man in rags next to her. The man jerked her to her feet and pulled her against him, an arm banded about her waist. His hair was long, greasy and unkempt. His thick beard was flecked with leaves and twigs, as if he’d slept in the forest. An eerie light shone in his eyes.

  The stranger lifted his free arm, pointing a pistol at Andrew. Recognition seared him.

  It was Francis.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Don’t hurt her,” Andrew warned, seeing the shock and fear in Phoebe’s eyes.

  “Like your hurt me?” his half-brother asked.

  “She hasn’t done anything to you. I’m the one you want.” Andrew took a step forward.

  “Stay back!” shouted Francis, retreating a few feet with Phoebe in tow.

  She clawed at his forearm, trying to free herself, to no avail.

  “Calm down, Francis,” Andrew said soothingly. “We can work this out.”

  “I thought I had,” Francis said. “When I shot and killed you. You are like a bad penny, Windham. Turning up where you shouldn’t have. Why couldn’t you have died? I shot you. I tossed you into the sea. You had to be the golden boy, though. Untouched by war and the same by me.”

  Francis cocked the gun. “And now you’ll die again.”

  Phoebe shouted, “No!” as she squirmed, trying to push Francis from her.

  He swung the gun around and pushed it into her temple. She stilled immediately. Andrew’s heart pounded violently in his chest, his mouth dry, as he hoarsely called, “Don’t, Francis. She is innocent in this.”

  “Not such an innocent,” he murmured. “I saw how she kissed you. Like a whore would. I would know. I’ve had my share. Of course, you cut me off from that, Windham. You stole my life from me.”