by Jen YatesNZ
Nervously adjusting the fichu in the neck of her gown, Sheri tugged her hand free and crossed to one of a pair of large ornate Jacobean chairs carved in the oak-leaf pattern with armrests ending in realistically wrought recumbent wolves. Arrayed either side of a well-waxed kidney desk of the same era, the setting would usually have drawn an appreciative comment from Sheri, but tonight she’d scarcely noticed, much less felt disposed to comment on the wonderful pieces of furniture throughout the Castle attesting to the taste and wealth of former Dukes of Wolverton.
‘We can talk here,’ she said, forcing her voice to sound much sturdier than she felt and settling onto the deeply stuffed leather seat. She’d make certain he’d not cajole her further. ‘I really am feeling quite—pulled. It’s been a—long day. In fact, the only conversation I wish to have with you at this moment is likely not one you wish to hear.’
Stopping before her, he caged her in by grasping the carved wolf-body armrests. Fiery emerald sparks lit his eyes; the scar down his cheek shone livid and rippled with the evident tension in his jaw.
‘You would let that—bitch—win?’
She’d swear the sparks flew from his eyes to sting and burn against her cheeks. Breath shuddered up through the painful blockage in her chest, leaving all the invective she wanted to hurl at him—no, at the damned She-Devil Duchess—trapped and adding to the excruciating ache. Because she’d utter none of it. She’d been too well-schooled for that.
Though nothing could stop the profanities from parading through the wicked depths below the frozen shutters of her mind.
…
Though her fury was icily controlled, every damning word of it blazed from her eyes, flaying the breath from his lungs with a raw flame.
Ice Queen! Ha! She was molten from her core to the air issuing between her parted lips.
He could lose her yet. There was no doubt that was what she’d been hinting.
Never.
This woman would be his Duchess. She was perfect—and if he had to compromise her to ensure it, he’d do so. Gripping her upper arms, he pulled her upright and hard against his chest, securing her so not even a waft of air could pass between their bodies. Allowing her no chance to struggle, he closed his mouth over hers. In some dim inner recess he recognized he was out of control, but with the taste of her on his tongue, the scent of her all around him he could only plunder deeper. She was powerless against his onslaught and with a wicked internal shout of triumph he recognized it was not because of his superior strength.
Her passions were as inflamed as his.
All awareness of their situation left him. There was just Sheri, in his arms, and this incredible urge to possess her that had stolen his wits.
Here. Now. She would be his! Then she could not cry off! Hands slipping urgently beneath the shoulders of her gown, he began dragging it down with enough force to rip the fragile silk if it didn’t yield.
Suddenly his arms were empty and his cheek was stinging from the first slap ever administered by a woman to Dominic Beresford during a moment of passion.
Chapter 10
Oh. Dear. God. Horror speared through her, paralyzing her. Her heart was all but leaping from her chest and she clasped her hands tightly over it to still its crazy pounding. He could take her from frozen to wanton in a breath. She wanted, beyond anything she’d ever wanted before, to have him want her in that way, to have him crazed by his need of her—for it would match her need of him. But he—they—
She couldn’t imagine the horror and condemnation he’d express when she was exposed to his view; couldn’t bear to face his disgust. But—she’d hit him! As if he were no better than Bax, making improper propositions. They were to be married in two days. It wasn’t surprising if such a man as the Duke, a man of experience and passion, should anticipate that event.
What was he thinking? Lifting her head, she allowed her gaze to mesh with his. He stood with his hand against his cheek, green eyes wary, even a little confused. Which made her feel guiltier than ever. Wariness and confusion did not sit well on the Duke of Wolverton.
‘I’m sorry, Sher. I didn’t mean to come at you like a beast—but something comes unhinged in me when I know you’re thinking of crying off. You were, weren’t you?’
Slowly he lowered his hand from his face, revealing the livid imprint of her fingers on his cheek. Before she could move or speak he reached for her, pulling her rigid body close against his. Tucking her head under his chin, he began absently running his hands up and down her back, as if she was a child in need of soothing.
‘I understand your apprehension, Sher,’ he murmured. ‘I realize the passion between us may feel strange—frightening even. But such passion between a man and a woman is a beautiful thing. There’s no greater delight to be had from life than that found in the arms of a beautiful woman. And you’re beautiful, Sher. You fire my blood until I forget all but the pleasure your body offers, the passion I can give you—long to give you.’
She wasn’t beautiful! If he knew the ugliness hidden beneath her gown, he’d not want her then! She tried to pull back.
‘Stay,’ he murmured against her hair. ‘Let me hold you. I’ve been coming at you like a green lad. I’m sorry. Just hold me, Sher.’
His hands slipped down her arms that still hung rigidly at her sides. She tried to resist, but the temptation to hold him as he held her was too great to withstand. It was what her heart ached for, while her head cried out against the pain she stored up for herself when the time came he would no longer offer her this intimacy. The pain would be so much greater for having known it once.
He placed her hands on his shoulders.
‘See how well we fit together, Sher? Feel my heart beating against yours? I’ll make you a promise.’ His voice grew deeper, like rough velvet over her skin. ‘I know I’ve frightened you and I never intended to do that. But trust me when I say we’ll be good together; better than good. I’ll not press you further tonight—but I promise you will find only ecstasy in my arms and forget all else.’
All but the need to conceal herself from him.
‘Talk to me,’ he murmured after a moment and she still hadn’t managed to do more than cling to his tall frame and feel the beat of his heart, as he’d suggested.
Where was the woman she’d been weeks ago when she’d insisted if they were to be married they should talk? Trouble was, now the reality of marriage was close the only topic of importance she could think of was the one she couldn’t bring herself to discuss.
The Duchess, Bax, Jassie, all were merely irritations when set against the fact the perfect beauty of Lady Sherida Dearing was a lie.
That, she never talked of—to anyone.
‘Talk to me,’ he growled again. ‘Anything except crying off. Tell me what gives you pause.’
‘The Duchess,’ she managed at last. ‘It’s going to be difficult for her to relinquish her role to me—and having her living so close by. Besides, I think she wants you for herself!’
‘Of course she does!’ he agreed readily, his voice rough with annoyance. ‘Once I marry she’s no longer the Duchess, merely the Dowager, which has none of the power and consequence she acquired by marrying my brother. Marriage to me would secure for her all she is about to lose. I’ve always known that to be her agenda and I’ve had no trouble keeping her at bay—till now. Now she sees the chance slipping from her grasp and will stoop to every vile and malicious maneuver in her desperation. Power and consequence have ever been her goal. The seclusion of the Dower House doesn’t suit her at all.’
‘It’s not so secluded—from here,’ Sheri ventured, reluctant to make an outright complaint. ‘She makes me so angry it’s difficult to remember the manners and acceptable behavior Mama, and Mrs. Rabone, were so particular in teaching me.’
Dom gripped her shoulders, holding her a little away from him so he could search her eyes.
‘I’ve no intention of forcing you to be bosom beaux with Veronica. In fact, I want that woman n
owhere near you—or us! And I intend to put measures in place to ensure that. After today I realize I should’ve dealt with the situation when I first came into the title. This morning I received a note requesting I visit the most distant farm on the estate and since old Tom only ever calls for me in the direst necessity, neither Goff nor I thought to question it. The old man was surprised and quite perplexed when we showed up. There’s only one person who wanted me out of the way today—and she made good use of the time to undermine your determination, I think!’
Sheri could only blink and bite down on her lip that seriously wanted to wobble.
She wouldn’t cry—she wasn’t upset, just exhausted.
‘Ah don’t, Sher,’ he murmured, framing her face with his hands and caressing her mouth with his thumbs. ‘That just makes me want to kiss you—and we know where that will lead, don’t we?’
‘You don’t have to pretend, Dom!’ she blurted. ‘I know I’m not Jassie. I know you don’t love me. I know we’re only marrying for the succession. You don’t have to pretend to want me!’
And she’d die if he didn’t at least pretend to want her! If only she were a man and could vent her feelings in profane language.
His hands slid back to her shoulders. Offended astonishment blazed from his eyes and the lamp flame highlighted the violent tensing of the scar on his cheek.
‘You think I’m pretending to want you?’ he growled.
Suddenly the lamplight was blotted out and his mouth came down on hers with such force and intensity it stole any protest she might have made, or any reason for the protest. His mouth on hers was all she’d ever wanted. Lips soft at first, tongue gently probing, he deepened the kiss the moment she opened for him. Hands cupping her face once more, he held her for the full force of his desire.
If only there was just this; Dom’s arms surrounding her, supporting her as if she was beyond precious; Dom’s sensual mouth melded with hers as if he’d never desired any other nor ever would; his long hard body clasped about hers in all its masculine virility.
Her own body soft and pliant, wanting only to go wherever he would take her.
A soft moan rose up from the long-frozen core of her that melted helplessly a little more each time he held her like this, kissed her—
It vibrated in her throat and the low sound reached her ears. How easily he enthralled her. How deeply he reached within her. What had happened to her ability to freeze a man before he even got his hands on her?
She pulled back as far as his arms would allow. That ability had never been tested by the Duke of Wolverton before now. Drawing in a shaky breath, she forced her hands between them and pressed against his chest.
‘Dom! This isn’t right!’
Leaning forward to press a lingering kiss to her forehead, he said, ‘Au contraire, Sher, mon amour. C’est tout à fait exact.’
‘Unfair,’ she breathed as the rich tones of his voice caressed her with the husky French words.
‘I never promised to play fair, Sher-ma-chère. You are mine and we’ll be magnificent together.—But perhaps it is as well I see you upstairs, for you tempt me sorely. Come.’
Loosening his hold, he drew her hand through his arm and walked her back the way they’d come. Her feet seemed to have forgotten how to operate and she stumbled. Immediately she was clamped against his side.
‘Sher? What’s wrong?’
‘N—nothing. Just tired, I suspect.’
It certainly had nothing to do with any sort of weakness brought about by his proximity or the heated and sensual promise of his hard body held so tightly against her own, which was what he was probably supposing, she told herself grimly.
‘Damnation,’ he growled, swinging her easily into his arms and heading for the great cantilevered staircase curving to the upper floors, a stunning feature of the newer part of the Castle.
‘Dom! Put me down! I only tripped over my own foot. I’m not crippled.’
‘Shut up, Sher, hmm?’ he said as he leapt upwards as nimbly as if she’d been a small child instead of a grown woman. ‘You’re in my arms now until we reach your door. Continue to argue and I won’t stop there!’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’ Sheri gasped.
‘Try me,’ he taunted. ‘I’m not known as the ‘Daring Duke’ for nothing.’
Despite herself a gurgle of merriment escaped her. It was so Wolverton. He was a past master at lulling those around him into thinking him stern, aloof, serious, the epitome of all things ducal—and then he would allow the true mischievous Dominic Beresford to slip in a moment of levity that seemed totally out of character. It threw one completely off balance.
Made her forget the predatory lover who’d threatened her but a moment before. In that moment of distraction her feet touched the floor, her back was pressed against the door to her room, Dom’s long sinuous body was caging hers and his mouth was once more stealing her senses, her breath, her protests.
Then she was free and the door was open behind her. With a gentle nudge he pushed her through, planted his hands on the frame to either side and raked a slow emerald stare from her head to the tips of her soft kid slippers.
‘Good night, Lady Sherida. Best you make haste to enter your virginal bower and secure the lock. The Wolf of Wolverton lurks without, and come midnight he may prowl—more wolf than duke perhaps—’
The grin softening his harsh features then was lop-sided, boyish and entrancing. She knew she should do exactly as he said, but, oh, how her maidenly heart yearned, her unawakened woman’s body longed—
‘Shut—the—door, Sher!’
The boyish grin was gone.
With her heart beginning to pound in her chest as if she was indeed in danger from a wild creature, she fumbled for the handle and closed the door in his face. Turning the key with a panicked flick of the wrist, she stood with her forehead pressed against the cool wood, then whispered, ‘Goodnight, Your Grace.’
As she pried her fingers from the key she had the crazed thought perhaps she should hide it—from herself! There was the distinct possibility the presence of the Wolf of Wolverton only inches away on the other side of the door would be more temptation than she could withstand. It wasn’t until she heard his steps echoing softly down the hall that she could move away from the door to seek her bed.
‘There you are, my Lady. You must be exhausted.’
Sheri was glad she was halfway across the room by the time Maggie emerged from the dressing room, and not still standing with her forehead pressed helplessly against the door—a mere inch or so away from Dom’s.
‘The Duke wanted to talk.’
‘Of course, my Lady.’ Maggie’s smile was gentle and knowing.
‘And I’m exhausted—beyond anything.’
…
Staring into the darkness, her body alternately burning up with thoughts of a prowling wolf and the wicked temptations he offered, and freezing in abject misery at the thought of exposing herself to him, sleep was slow in coming.
The day before the wedding started with her grumbling at Maggie for allowing her to sleep late then wishing she could crawl back into her bed and hide from the steadily growing ball of fear in her chest. She managed to sip at the delicious hot chocolate Mrs. McNulty sent up but couldn’t down a single crumb of the hot buttered rolls accompanying it.
That earned her a scold from Maggie and she’d had difficulty refraining from a snarling response. Nothing would be helped by her falling victim to her own ill-temper. Walking to the window, she threw the casement wide and caught her breath. Yesterday she’d been too tense and exhausted to really take in the fact they were almost at the coast. They’d driven southeast through the lush fields of Kent, the country roads alive with wagons of produce being driven towards London. Mama had insisted on keeping the curtains drawn against the constant clatter and dust. Sheri had peered through a chink for a while but had tired of it eventually, only rebelling as they neared the Castle.
Nothing had really been able to di
stract her from the constant turmoil of her thoughts. Events since their arrival yesterday afternoon had only escalated that. But—the countryside was different here, quieter, more peaceful. Long grassy dips and rugged forest-topped ridges all meandered in a strangely striated pattern towards the ocean, dancing and sparkling in the sunlight.
‘Maggie! I can see the sea! It can’t be scarcely a mile from the Castle!’
The sluggishness filling her veins leached away, leaving a desperate hunger for fresh air, sunshine on water, and wind in her face.
‘Have you found your way around this place yet, Maggie?’
‘Of course, my Lady. One of us has to know their way around,’ she said, her concerned face breaking into a smile as enthusiasm sparked at last in her mistress’s eyes.
‘Well enough to sneak me out of here to the stables?’
‘Whatever for, my Lady? His Grace said to tell you as he would await you in his study which is off the library.—Oh! And have you seen that library?’
‘I have,’ Sheri said drily. Maggie was trying hard to keep her enthusiasm bubbling, little realizing Sheri had no desire to remember anything about that particular room. ‘And you’ll not distract me. I know exactly what I need right now and it’s the solitude and open spaces I see from this window. Being polite to anyone might be more than I can deliver this morning, Maggie. Please send word to Carter to have Dream Lady ready for me in fifteen minutes and then make sure I’m ready for my own deadline!’
With a resigned shrug of her shoulders and a grimace, the maid went to do as asked.
…
Finally I can breathe, Sheri thought as she rode sedately a horse length ahead of Carter and Mr. Leach, Wolverton’s stable manager. Mr. Leach had professed surprise the Duke had not sent word of her desire to ride and seemed even more surprised His Grace was not accompanying her on her first ride around the estate.
