by Jen YatesNZ
Slipping her arms around his neck, she slanted him a teasing smile, and whispered, ‘I believe there’s little that can’t be done when it comes to making love with my Master of Virgins. You cannot imagine what it means to me to be able to be with you like this, my love. I used to wish and dream and fantasize, but nothing ever came close to the reality of being your wife.’
She couldn’t keep her lips from him any longer. Reaching up she closed her mouth over his, delved with her tongue and found his eagerly awaiting her. Sometimes she thought she’d burst with happiness.
‘T’is I who thank you, Sher-ma-chère. The gifts you bring me are boundless.’
His hand slid higher and with a skill and confidence that had Sheri in an instant state of urgency, his fingers found where she burned for him.
‘Dear God! You know just where—how—’
‘I do,’ he grinned down at her. ‘This might work better if you ride me.’
‘Mmm,’ Sheri agreed, ‘I always did prefer riding to travelling in a coach. But—first—’
Sliding off his lap to kneel at his feet, she loosened his falls to take him into her mouth. Her Master of Virgins had taught her many things over the last few days and she’d found there was as much pleasure and satisfaction in arousing him to the point he lost his precious control as there was in receiving the countless benefits of his undoubted expertise.
As he sagged back against the seat with a deep groan of appreciation, she lifted her head briefly to say, ‘I might’ve changed my mind about that preference for riding, though. I think I may just be about to discover riding—in a coach—may now be my preferred mode of travel.’
‘Then ride me, woman!’ he grated, suddenly leaning forward to lift her astride his lap and crushing her skirts up between them.
As she slid down onto his length, reveling in the way he filled her, pulsed within her, he took her mouth with his, and with his hands at her hips, urged her into a punishing rhythm that took them both to paradise.
…
Some considerable time later when they’d tidied each other’s clothing and Dom had pinned her bonnet back over the loosened wisps of her hair, he observed, ‘I used to hate long trips in a carriage and would always elect to ride when I could, but perhaps in the future I might make the occasional exception—so long as only you share the carriage with me!’
Sheri was still fizzing inside; from knowing Dom was as deeply affected by her as she was by him, that she was the woman who held his heart, that they could already have created a child of their love. But none of that was the source of something—elemental—infusing her body as his words took her back to the day they’d ridden together to Windermere Abbey.
‘I always longed to be able to ride on long trips—unfettered—like a man. That day we rode to the Abbey for Jonathan’s christening was a day out of time for me. Especially because—of just being with you like that,’ she admitted, then added, ‘and I shall smack you if you smirk, Your Grace. You are too sure of yourself by far!’
‘But you love me anyway,’ he said, his grin a huge smirk all but obliterating the slashing scar down his cheek.
…
To any observers in Grosvenor Square the Duke and Duchess of Wolverton presented an impeccable appearance as His Grace, the epitome of sartorial elegance, assisted Her Grace from the ducal carriage. They would have seen her hair in a tidy knot at the back of her neck, her bonnet perched fetchingly on top of her sleekly pinned hair, her breasts discreetly concealed behind a carefully arranged chemisette, and skirts draped to perfection. A closer inspection might have revealed crinkles in the front of those skirts, which might, or might not, have been caused by sitting for some time in the coach.
Unconcerned with any of it, serene in her cloud of happiness and her identity as the Duchess of Wolverton, the only identity that mattered, Sheri entered Parmenter House on her husband’s arm.
‘Afternoon, Lomas,’ Dom greeted the butler, who bowed deeply before them. ‘Is her Ladyship at home?’
‘Oh, Your Graces,’ Lomas said, beaming brightly, ‘her Ladyship will be so pleased to see you.’
‘No need to announce us, Lomas,’ Sheri said with a bright smile. ‘Is Mama in the back parlor?’
‘She is, Your Grace.’
Taking Dom by the hand, she pulled him through the house to the room Augusta favored when home alone. Stopping in the hall to swing her gaze up to Dom’s for a shared smile of reassurance, she opened the door.
Augusta looked up from the intricate piece of embroidery in her hands, quickly removed the wire-framed spectacles she used for close work, and let her gaze swing from one to the other of them.
Not quite sure of their welcome, Sheri halted a couple of steps into the room, her hand gripping Dom’s tightly. Apprehension immediately clouded the bright blue of Augusta’s eyes. It was obvious Mama also, was thinking how the last time she’d seen Sheri had been almost two weeks since and she’d been rushing from the room and refusing to talk about the momentous secret Augusta had just disclosed.
Sheri immediately broke free of Dom’s grip and crossed to her mother. Augusta came to her feet, her arms opened wide and Sheri stepped into them. For a moment they just hugged, then Sheri leaned back to smile through tear-filled eyes.
‘I’ve got my head straight now, Mama. I’m sorry I couldn’t talk to you—then. It took a long time for me to work out what really mattered—that you and Papa were the best parents I could ever have had!’
‘Thank goodness,’ Augusta breathed, hugging her tightly again. Then as Sheri released her and stepped back a little, Augusta looked towards Dom, watching from just inside the door. ‘And you, Dominic?’
Crossing to them in three long strides, he took Augusta’s small, delicate hands in his much larger, masculine ones and touched his lips to her fingers. ‘All forgiven, Aunt Gussy—Mama,’ he assured her.
Her gaze moved from one to the other of them, a genuine warm smile glowing softly in her eyes. Then as if she saw something that pleased her very much, the smile lit up the whole of her face.
‘Good,’ she said, with a great deal of satisfaction. ‘Will you stay to dinner? Lord Hadleigh will be here soon.’
‘We’d love to, Mama.’ Sheri began, then looked up at Dom, realizing he might have other plans for the evening.
‘Perfect idea, Mama!’ he instantly seconded.
‘Then, perhaps, we can make plans to use that special license he has burning a hole in his pocket!’
Sheri threw her arms around her mother, and heedless of either of their gowns or coiffures, hugged her tight.
…
Dinner had been a happily intimate affair, but when the gentlemen returned to the parlor after their port, Dom remained standing, as if anxious to leave. Sheri went to his side. His eyes, held that smoky green fire she now knew denoted his need to have her alone. That was all it took for her own body to heat and grow impatient for just what he desired.
‘You’re leaving so soon?’ Augusta queried, a small quaver in her voice. Even now, it seemed Mama was not entirely certain they’d forgiven her.
Dom sent her a gracious smile. Sheri marveled at how he still projected that suave urbanity as naturally as if the passionate and considerate lover she now knew was just a persona she’d imagined.
‘The journey from Springwoods was somewhat—tiring,’ he said, carefully keeping his gaze averted from Sheri’s, ‘and the staff at Bruton Street will have gone to bed if we do not arrive soon.’
‘So they’ll just have to get out of bed! That’s what you pay them for,’ Augusta said. ‘Really, Sheri, you must start as you mean to go on—’
‘I’m sure Sheri will handle the staff beautifully,’ Dom interrupted smoothly, ‘nevertheless—’. Suddenly all ducal starch dropped from his demeanor and he reached for Sheri. Pulling her into his side, he said, ‘Actually, Mama, we’ve spent a bare five days together of the two weeks since we were married—your fault—and we find we both quite enjoy our own company
better than any other—and I don’t see that changing any time in the future!’
‘Well, there you have it, Gussy!’ Hadleigh chortled, crossing to place a hand on her shoulder.
Slowly Augusta came to her feet, her gaze searching both their faces anxiously.
‘I ask nothing more than you’re happy together. You’ve truly forgiven me?’ she asked. ‘Robert always said you should be told, Sher. Govatt agrees. But—there wasn’t only my brother, there were also the Oldesboroughs. Any of them had more claim to you than Robert and I.’
‘But my real father placed me in your care, Mama, and he could not have chosen better parents for me. And it no longer signifies whether I was a Dearing or a Walsingham—’
‘For she is now a Beresford,’ Dom put in firmly, ‘and my perfect duchess!’
Sheri met his gaze and smiled.
‘You truly love each other?’ Augusta asked.
‘We do,’ they said together and Sheri heard the husk of gruff emotion in Dom’s voice and marveled at how she, and only she, managed quite often to crack the remote, controlled mask he always wore over his feelings. The dark smolder in his eyes told her he’d make her pay for that later and she allowed her own eyes to sparkle back at him, letting him know she was looking forward to whatever form that retribution might take.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I sincerely hope you enjoyed the Duke of Wolverton’s story, the second in ‘Lords of the Matrix Club’ series. I would be very grateful if you could leave a review on Amazon at:-
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MSBW42C
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Happy reading.
Jen YatesNZ.
Read on for a Sneak Peek at Bk.3. ‘The Virgin Widow’.
Sneak Peek at
‘The Virgin Widow’
Book 3 in ‘Lords of the Matrix Club’ series.
The Great Bax, Haden Delacourte, Earl of Baxendene, had no one but himself to blame for losing his prized palomino stallion to his cousin, the Duke of Wolverton. The scurrilous bet was of his own devising!
It had opened Wolf’s eyes to the ‘Perfect Duchess’ potential of Lady Sherida Dearing, aka the Heavenly Iceberg, but the loss of the horse seemed to have been the catalyst for an avalanche of life-changing disclosures.
Bax was beginning to wonder if he’d lived the whole of his life with his handsome head shoved up his arrogant backside!
From his father whom he’d hero-worshipped since his death when Bax was seven, to his mother whom the Ton had blamed for larger-than-life Harry Delacourte’s death.
Then there was Jason, his twin brother, who’d died a hero’s death at the Battle of Vimeiro, leaving Bax believing a lie that would change the course of his life; a lie perpetuated by his loyal batman who, it turns out, has continued to honor a vow made to Jason even though he’s now in Bax’s employ.
And then Angela Jane, the widowed Lady Rotherby, had reappeared in his life, looking nothing like his little sister’s best friend, the ‘Angular Jane’ who’d traded wicked nicknames with him back when they’d all been so unbelievably young—and naïve.
The revelation of her secret may prove the most damning of all…
Read on…
Chapter 1.
‘That, my Lord, could throw a rub in the way of your plans to be back in London for Lady Baxendene’s drum.’
‘Proof I know how to pick a good horse, Fosse.’
Haden Maxwell Delacourte, 10th Earl of Baxendene, slanted his man a wide grin.
‘True. Her Ladyship can’t rightly ring a peal over your head if your horse goes lame.’
‘Aye, she would. Apparently I’ve been too aware of my own consequence since I inherited the title at seven years old! Jason was a saint in comparison.’
‘He was,’ Fosse muttered, a frown clouding his brow. ‘Not that I don’t appreciate working for you, my Lord. The Captain was a good man. I miss him.’
‘Aye, he was,’ Bax muttered, swallowing past the constriction in his throat at thought of his twin, and mounting up again. ‘He married as he ought, fathered two sons for the succession, and gave his life for his country.’
‘While you swan around town like a toff with naught on his mind but ladybirds and gambling. Beats me why you don’t tell your Lady Mother about your projects at Bancombe Park and The Chase.’
Fosse had been his brother’s batman and brought the Captain’s effects home after he was killed at Vimeiro and been glad to fill a position in the Earl’s life in a similar all-encompassing capacity. To Bax, he’d come to stand as proxy for Jason and he found himself treating him more as the brother he’d lost than a servant. Setting the pace at a gentle amble, he answered Fosse’s comment.
‘It suits me for her to think thus. The less my Lady Mother knows about my activities the better. We’ll detour to Pountney Hall. My sister will house us better than anything we could find hereabouts and Pountney’s smith will shoe Hawk and we can be on our way. Tomorrow. Too late for Mama’s circus.’
He patted the big black’s neck.
‘Well, done, Hawk old fellow. You might not be the beautiful Zeus, but you’re a champion nevertheless.’
And since he’d no intention of allowing annoyance at himself over the loss of Zeus to rankle his appreciation of the turn of events, he began quizzing Fosse on mental disorders that could haunt a man after battle. There had to be some way of reaching the man behind the vacant eyes of the otherwise physically healthy Captain Dorset at The Chase, one of the retreats he’d set up for officers incapacitated by the war.
But finding a strange carriage drawn up before Pountney Hall, Bax wondered whether he might have traded one circus for another.
‘I’ve a bad feeling about this, Fosse,’ he muttered. ‘My sister doesn’t usually entertain. She’s more often indisposed—or breeding.’
‘Might just be afternoon callers, my Lord.’
‘Not with all that luggage aboard. I think we’ll ride round to the stables. If there are visitors Pountney is probably lurking out there anyway. And I need to speak to his man about Hawk.’
Richard Carstairs, Lord Pountney, was indeed at the stables, supervising a lad grooming a large grey mare.
‘Bax! Were we expecting you?’
‘Hawk’s thrown a shoe and since we weren’t far from here I thought your facilities preferable to some village inn and smith.’
‘Glad to help, old man, but sad to think you’d not have called else. Your sister frets at how little she sees of you—considering you must ride within a mile of us whenever you head to The Dene.’
‘You know damned well why I don’t call as often as I might, Dick,’ Bax growled. ‘Celia takes up where Mama leaves off. There’s no stemming the tide of their complaints at my disinterest in taking a wife and my excessive interest in other activities which don’t meet with their approval. Since I don’t plan on making any changes, it’s best if my visits are kept strictly to necessity. Besides, your household poses a serious risk to my health. The certainty of tripping over a crawling brat and breaking my neck increases with every year! How many are there now?’
‘Eight. And Celia’s increasing again,’ Pountney smirked, puffing out his skinny chest.
‘Dammit, man! Why don’t you get a mistress and give my sister a rest?’
‘She’d skelp me for sure,’ Pountney declared.
Bax snorted with disgust.
‘Petticoat rule! I tell you, Dick, you need more backbone.’
Pountney grinned comfortably up at Bax, who towered over him as he did over most people, by at least a head.
‘Your sister and I are content with our life,’ he declared. ‘Shall we go in?’
/>
‘Might as well. Though there’s a carriage out front. It would appear someone else has arrived and Celia’s probably entertaining at the moment.’
‘Holly has offered to have Selena in London for the season and she’s inveigled an old friend of hers to act as chaperone. Celia’s not up to it and Holly’s increasing again.’
Holly, the youngest of his three sisters, was his favorite. Not afflicted with the moodiness occasionally suffered by the rest of Georgiana’s black-haired off-spring, himself included, presumably she’d acquired her sunny nature and constant sangfroid from her sire.
And whoever he might have been, their mother wasn’t saying. Popular belief among the ton said Holly was a cuckoo in the Baxendene nest. No one believed big, dark and sinfully handsome Harry Delacourte, 9th Earl of Baxendene, could’ve fathered a blonde, blue-eyed fairy like Holly on Georgiana, a tall, black-haired, green-eyed Beresford.
‘Holly’s breeding again, you say? Gad, soon it won’t be safe to go there either.’
Proving his point, a small figure with black pigtails flying, raced round the corner of the building, mouth wide open and squealing as only small girl children could. Bax shuddered. Then a lad appeared, his head a riot of black Beresford curls inherited from his mother and face filled with the kind of mischievous glee Bax was certain had often graced his own youthful visage. In his hand squirmed a large brown toad.
‘Papa! Papa! Tell Dickon to stop!’ squealed the miniature bundle of skirts before hurling herself bodily into her father’s arms.
With the warmest of smiles, Pountney hoisted the lass upwards, told her to hush and sent Dickon to return the toad to pond and make sure he washed his hands. All without slowing his step towards the house. Bax was impressed.
‘Where’s Nurse?’ Pountney questioned his now-smiling off-spring. Her limpid green eyes went round with innocence and a thumb stole into her mouth. Beresford to her core. Georgiana’s blood ran strong through most of her progeny—and theirs. Black curls, green eyes and a temperament mixed in the Devil’s Crucible. Bax himself had escaped only the green eyes.
