Regarding the Duke

by Grace Callaway

  “Place your hands on my thighs,” he said huskily. “Open your mouth for me.”

  This was a little different from what they’d practiced before, but tonight he wanted full control. His desire to claim her transcended rationality and emotion. Pure need burned in the part of him that, if he were a spiritual man, he’d call his soul.

  When her red lips parted, he slid himself home.

  God, God, this was fine.

  His hands tangling in her hair, he held her still while he thrust himself through heaven’s gates. He went deeper with each pass, judging how much she could take since she’d yielded that privilege to him. Her palms twitched against his thighs, the wet sounds of her sucking adding to his lustful frenzy. He shoved more aggressively, and she moaned not in protest but encouragement, her throat relaxing even more. Tears gathered and fell from her shining eyes, the jewels of her commitment and effort.

  He buried his full length into her giving warmth, grunting when he butted her throat. Her muscles surrounded him, the spasming reflex that never failed to drive him mad. But he was too close now to enjoy more of that decadent squeeze and release, his stones swelling with unstoppable pressure. He loosened his hold on her hair, intending to pull out before it was too late.

  To his surprise and bloody delight, her hands shot to his buttocks, holding him where he was. Her delicate fingernails bit into the steely ridges of his arse, telling him that she wanted him to continue, that she wanted all of him. With surging pride, he gave her what she wanted. As he thrust deeper and deeper, his mind blurred with pleasure, with the dawning recognition of who of the two of them was truly enslaved…

  His spine bowing, he groaned as he shot thick, scalding jets down her throat. She took it all, continuing to gently suck and lick while he emptied his seed. When he withdrew from her, he was still hard, glistening with her kisses, and nowhere near done.

  He tumbled her onto the mattress, fusing his mouth to hers. The taboo taste of his seed upon his lady’s lips sent a jolt up his spine. Gripping her hips, he drove inside her, grunting when her pussy closed around him like a silken fist.

  “You’re ready again?” she asked in breathless surprise.

  Her hair was a fiery fan against the peacock silk. Her arms were splayed above her head, a pose of sweet surrender. Her eyes shone with the purity of her love, her lips with the wantonness of her desire. Her beauty branded itself upon his brain; even if he lived to be a hundred, he knew that he’d never forget this moment.

  “Again and again,” he growled. “I’ll never get enough of you, Gabriella.”

  She moaned as he set about proving the truth of his claim.

  33

  The next day, Gabby awoke alone in her own bed. She had a moment’s disorientation before she remembered how she’d arrived there. After their intense lovemaking at Mrs. Wilde’s, Adam had brought her home. He’d carried her up to bed…and taken her again. And again. He’d been insatiable, leading her through a sexual marathon, and she’d loved every moment of it.

  Yet now that the bliss had faded to pleasurable twinges, reminders of the night’s excesses, she found herself unsettled. She couldn’t put a finger on why she felt that way: Adam had declared his love for her and demonstrated it with ardent virility. Even so, a part of her was still reeling. From what she’d learned about her husband’s past…and the fact that he’d kept all those secrets hidden from her for years.

  Now that Gabby knew about Jessabelle, she understood why her husband hadn’t wanted to divulge the tragedy of his first marriage. The experience had left him scarred and made it difficult for him to trust again. Truth be told, she ought to count herself lucky that she’d somehow broken through the fortress that guarded his heart.

  Nonetheless, in the light of day, questions assailed her.

  How could I have been so ignorant, so blindly trusting all these years? Would I know if he kept other secrets from me? Now that his memory is back, will he revert to the way he was before?

  Her anxiety was fed by Adam’s absence from her bed. Since their fresh start at the hunting lodge, he’d slept with her every night. Not only that, he’d kept her close, their bodies in constant contact. She’d become used to waking up entangled with him, sometimes even with him inside her, her favorite way to start a morning. These last weeks, she’d had the most restful sleep of her entire life.

  But sometime in the early hours of this morning, she’d felt him leave. Exhausted from their tempestuous lovemaking, she’d dozed on fitfully. Now, looking at the empty place where her husband ought to have been, she felt uncertainty slither through her belly.

  Don’t be silly, she chided herself. Now that he’s recovered from his amnesia, he must have plenty to attend to at work. Knowing Adam, he’ll want to catch up on everything immediately.

  She told herself it wasn’t a reflection of his regard for her. This was simply who her husband was: a driven and ambitious man. Tonight, when he returned from the office, they would have time to converse further. She decided to plan a cozy supper with his favorite dishes. She’d have it served in her sitting room, a setting that encouraged intimate conversation. And she’d wear one of the risqué negligees that Adam had commissioned from Mrs. Yarwood.

  Feeling better, she rolled over and buried her face in her husband’s pillow. The familiar scent of his spice and musk reassured her. Sitting up, she was reaching to ring the bed when a knock sounded on her door. It was Mrs. Page, her grave expression making Gabby’s fingers clutch the coverlet.

  Pulse skipping, Gabby asked, “What is it?”

  “Your papa’s physician sent word. I’m sorry, ma’am, but he says your father has taken another turn for the worse.”

  “Gabriella, you’re here at last,” her father said from the bed. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Despite the tightness in her chest, Gabby managed a smile. The physician had informed her that her father’s wasting disease was entering its final stages. Nonetheless, Papa still managed to give her his customary peremptory wave, his tone brisk and businesslike.

  “How…are you feeling, Papa?” As she bent to kiss his cheek, she couldn’t help a tear from escaping, a trace of wetness clinging to his papery skin.

  “What’s this? Are you crying?” Despite his words, tender awareness glimmered in her father’s eyes. “We’ll have none of that, Gabriella. Death comes for everyone, and there’s no use wasting tears over the inevitable. Besides, we have urgent business to discuss.”

  The physician had told her that, in these final days, the patient’s mind could become surprisingly clear. This was the case for her father, who sounded so much like his old self that she couldn’t suppress the irrational hope that somehow the doctor was wrong. That despite Curtis Billings’s frail state, he could somehow beat this disease…the way he’d conquered everything in his life, through sheer will and determination.

  She picked up the bowl of beef tea from the bedside table. “Why don’t you have some of this, Papa?”

  “I don’t have time for sickroom mush,” he said impatiently. “I’m dying, so what’s the point? And you’re not listening: we have a pressing matter to settle.”

  Sighing, she set down the bowl. “What is it, Papa?”

  “I was right about Isnard.”

  A cool feather brushed over her nape. “Right about what?”

  “He’s being paid off. By your husband.”

  Panic warred with denial. It has to be the illness talking. Papa isn’t in his right mind. Adam would never do such a thing. He told me he didn’t marry me for money—he’s never lied to me…

  Last night’s revelations wound through her like an icy river. While her husband might not have told her lies, he hadn’t been fully honest either. In some ways, his sins of omission had been as impactful as outright deceit. Nevertheless, he’d had his reasons, and she felt compelled to defend him.

  “I know you’ve never liked Adam, Papa, but—”

  “It’s true that I regret agreeing to Garr
ity’s offer for you. The persuasive bastard has always had a way of getting what he wants. At this point, however, my feelings are inconsequential. I have proof, Gabriella.”

  The chill inside her spread. “Proof of what?”

  Her father reached over to the bedside table. Opening the drawer, he removed a stack of paper.

  “It’s all here.” He slapped the papers onto the bed. “My investigator discovered that Isnard is up to his ears in debt to Fratelli & Sons Bank. It took some digging, for there were obvious efforts made to hide the true ownership of the bank through legal maneuverings, but do you know who ultimately holds the deed to Fratelli & Sons?”

  Gabby didn’t want to believe it. After all they’d been through, if Adam was lying to her…if he’d been manipulating her this entire time, their marriage based on deception from the start…

  “Your husband.” Papa’s index finger stabbed the papers like a nail into a coffin.

  “That…that might mean nothing…” She hated herself for her own stupidity, for holding onto hope when there was none to hold onto.

  But that was her. Stupid Gabriella and her stupid Bin of Blissful Ignorance.

  She thought of all that Adam had kept from her throughout their marriage. How he’d changed as soon as he’d recovered his memory, left her this morning for what had always been more important to him. His business, the demanding mistress that she’d never been able to compete with. That she hadn’t thought to compete with…until he’d made her believe that she could. That she could hold his attention, his passion, his desire more than power and money.

  What a fool I’ve been.

  “I confronted Isnard with my findings this morning. The bastard broke down in tears and admitted that Garrity has been pulling his strings for years. Once I’m dead, Garrity apparently intends to take over my bank.” Rage took away her father’s pallor. “Isnard had the gall to beg for my forgiveness—forgiveness, hah! If I wasn’t dying, I’d ruin the traitor worse than your husband ever could. As it is, however, I need to save my energy to get us out of this mess.”

  “How will you do that?” she asked dully.

  And why did it matter? Nothing mattered if her happiness had been built on a lie. If Adam hadn’t wanted her for herself, if he’d been a fortune hunter after her inheritance. Why, oh why, had she let herself believe that anyone could love her?

  Everything that had happened since seemed to disintegrate, her joy smashed into glittering ash. Perhaps it had all been an illusion anyway. Dash it all, she thought with mounting rage, why did Adam have to make her believe that her love was returned? That she was beautiful, desirable? If he’d left things the way they were before his amnesia, she might have found some way to survive.

  But he’d laid siege to her defenses. One by one, she’d relinquished the Bin of Blissful Ignorance and her other shields, believing she no longer had need of them. She had no walls left, nowhere to hide.

  Which made reality all the more devastating.

  “The obvious course of action is to replace Isnard. This has to be done immediately for I haven’t much time.” Papa drummed his fingers against the papers. “I’ve been trying to think of who I can trust to oversee your future and that of Billings Bank. The problem is this man must be so rich and powerful that he would be impervious to your husband’s corruptive influence; that doesn’t leave us many choices.”

  “I don’t care.” The words were bitter on her tongue. “Let Adam have what he wants.”

  What could Adam do to her that was worse than what he’d already done? Despite her spiraling despair, she didn’t think he’d throw her out on the street. He would continue to provide materially for her and the children the way he always had. But what she truly wanted—his heart—might forever be out of reach…because she wasn’t even sure he had one.

  “It’s not just your future at stake: it’s the future of Billings Bank. My legacy,” her father said in outrage. “Isnard admitted to me that Garrity wants to call in the loans secured by De Villier. We’re talking nearly a million pounds; there’s no way De Villier will be able to pay back that amount immediately. Not until his railway venture is fully operational and that could take years. If Garrity gets his way, De Villier will be ruined—as will my bank. I’ve bet heavily on De Villier, and if he falls, I fall. I will not let that happen.”

  “What do you want me to do, Papa?” she asked helplessly.

  “I want you to take pride, Gabriella. For Billings Bank is your legacy as much as mine.” His gaze was fierce. “You’ve sacrificed as much for the business as I have. Because of the bank, you, a motherless child, grew up without a father, too.”

  His recognition resonated through her. And the regret that briefly flashed over his wan features pressed upon her battered heart. She couldn’t let him part this world believing that he failed her.

  “Despite all the burdens you carried, you provided for me, gave me the best that money could buy. Sweet heavens,” she said in an attempt to lighten the mood, failing when her voice cracked, “you bought a country estate and hosted the most infamous house party of all time in an attempt to find me a husband.”

  “I wanted to land you a fat title. Instead, I got you a shark,” Papa said sourly.

  Although she cringed at the aptness of the metaphor, she managed a smile. “Regardless of the results, you’ve always had my best interests in mind. You are the best of fathers.”

  “I’m not. But somehow I raised a good girl.” He cleared his throat. “A woman of whom I am very proud.”

  “Oh, Papa.” This time, she couldn’t stop the heat from overflowing her eyes. “I love you so. I don’t know how I’ll get on without you.”

  “Nonsense.” He reached out, giving her hand an awkward pat. “You got on fine without me all these years, I don’t see why anything should change. You’re a late bloomer, just like your mama. You have her beauty and patience…her quiet strength, too.” His gaze grew faraway, as if he were recalling some sweet bygone moment. “I can’t recall your mama ever raising her voice or being disagreeable. She just went her way, spreading her sunshine, making life brighter for those around her. Truth be told, I look forward to seeing her again.”

  Gabby heard the longing in her father’s voice. He’d so rarely spoken of her mother, and she’d believed it was because he was a practical man, one who didn’t dwell in the past. Now she wondered if the opposite was true: if he’d avoided talking about his wife because he’d felt too much.

  “But before I go,” he said, his eyes flaring with the brilliance of a flame nearing the end of its wick, “I need to find you a new trustee. The devil of it is that I can’t think of anyone who meets all the necessary criteria—”

  “I know someone,” she said.

  The idea had been germinating since her papa brought up the problem. She knew someone incorruptible, who wouldn’t be afraid of Adam, who believed in doing the right thing. She even thought that he’d help her if she asked.

  But could she defy Adam in this way?

  The old Gabriella would have never considered it.

  It was a bittersweet testament to how the last month had changed her. She could no longer ignore, deny, or spin some cheerful tale to cover up the problems in her marriage. There was only one way left to deal with her troubles: head-on.

  You must find out the truth once and for all, the voice inside her said. Does Adam love you…or has everything been a lie? Only then will you know whether or not your marriage is worth fighting for.

  “Who?” her father asked eagerly.

  “Before I ask him, I need to know, Papa…do you have faith in me?” She clasped his age-spotted hand in both of hers. As she contemplated the step she was about to take, one that would change her marriage forevermore, she needed to know that she was doing the right thing. “Do you believe that I have the wherewithal to do right by you—by myself and my children?”

  “If I ever gave you reason to doubt your worth, that failing is mine and not yours.” Although
his squeeze was weak, his gaze remained steady. “But what I think isn’t what counts. You, Gabriella, must have faith in yourself.”

  34

  It was nearing midnight when Adam returned home the following evening.

  Climbing the steps to his bedchamber, he lacked his usual vigor. He felt like a bloody wrung rag after collecting and reviewing the latest figures on his banks.

  At least now he had his answer: the game was up.

  Somehow, De Villier had gotten wind of Adam’s plans. In the past fortnight, the bastard had been methodically paying off his debts to the smaller banks. He’d probably pulled in the additional capital from personal investors, using the skyrocketing price of his stocks as bait to lure them in.

  With every minute that passed, De Villier was slipping farther out of Adam’s grasp.

  Adam didn’t know how De Villier had discovered that he’d been slowly and systematically buying up all of De Villier’s debts over the years. His best guess was that it had happened during the course of his amnesia; devil take it, he’d taken his eyes off the prize for a single bloody moment…and now everything was falling apart. Coming down around him like a house of cards.

  He had no one to blame but himself. He felt a rush of impotent fury. He’d been carrying on like a bloody mooncalf, cavorting on vacation with his wife, when he should have been keeping tabs on his vengeance.

  A powerful man isn’t blinded by sentiment, De Villier’s voice taunted him.

  His hands fisted as he reached the floor of his suite. I’m not going to lie down and accept failure like the damned weakling De Villier thinks I am. I’ll fix this. Numquam obliviscar—never forget.

  All hope wasn’t lost. There was still De Villier’s debt to Billings Bank: it amounted to nearly a million pounds, a sum that even De Villier couldn’t immediately raise. Speculative frenzy would only take him so far, especially when he wouldn’t be able to unveil his much-heralded steam engine: according to Adam’s inside source, the machine was still not viable. Despite De Villier’s threats and bribes, his engineers apparently couldn’t deliver the promised product.