The Devil in the Duke: A Revelry’s Tempest Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  Her lips parted, her words deflated. “So you needed the commission. We needed it.”

  “I did. I needed it more than anything. Not giving you the life you deserved would have broken me, Sienna. Broken me a thousand-times over.” His forefinger flipped out to point at the floor by her feet. “But this—my knees on this floor—this never broke me—it never could, because I would have done anything for you, Sienna.”

  He took three steps toward her, stopping in front of her, a foot away, his breath heavy with his words. “I still would. Anything.”

  “Anything?” The word hiccupped, stuck in her throat.

  He nodded, his grey eyes piercing her.

  “Including letting me go?”

  His jaw clenched, but he forced his head up and then down.

  “What if I don’t want to be let go, Logan?”

  His grey eyes widened, his jaw dropping as he drew in a sharp breath.

  Her fingers at her sides twitched. She couldn’t wait for him to break his vow not to touch her—she didn’t want him to break his vow.

  It was who he was to his core and she never wanted that to change in him. He made a vow, he kept it. And he made a vow to her long ago that she was his world—his always. He’d never broken that vow. Everything he’d ever done, he’d done for her—even without her memories, that one fact burned undeniably clear in her mind.

  A fact she couldn’t deny. Couldn’t forget.

  And she couldn’t refuse any longer how much her body needed him. How much her soul needed him.

  For good or bad, she was his. No matter the past. No matter what her mind was telling her. She was his—complications be damned.

  She pounced forward, her arms wrapping about his neck, her fingers deep into his hair as she lifted herself to kiss him.

  He reveled in her hungry lips for a moment before jerking his head away, his voice gravel. “Does this mean I can touch you, Sienna?”

  A breathless chuckle left her. “If you don’t I think I might gut you.”

  His laugh was cut off by his lips crashing down onto her, crushing her with purpose and promise, his arms wrapping around her as he backed her into the stone wall behind her.

  The jagged edges of the ancient stone cut into her shoulder blades, but all she could feel was Logan’s body against hers, hot and heaving, his hard muscles breaching their clothing to envelope her.

  Her right leg lifted, her calf sliding up his thigh and backside before she hooked her leg along his hip.

  He chuckled into her mouth, the laughter heating her from inside out. “Minx.”

  “Desperate, minx.” Her breathless words sent another rumble upward from deep in his chest.

  Dipping from her lips, his mouth attacked her neck, her collarbone, tasting her as though she was his last supper. His hand dropped, wrapping around her left thigh and he yanked her up, straddling her legs fully around his waist.

  His fingers unsatisfied, he nudged her dress upward along her legs, diving under the fabric to trace along her stocking, past the ribbon about her thigh, and searching until he found the core of her.

  His fingers delved forth, ripping the first shocks of pleasure into her body. His thumb found her nubbin, mastering it as his lips moved up her neck to the tender spot behind her ear.

  She clasped her hands behind his neck, holding on for the wanton currents already racking her body at his touch.

  He slipped his forefinger into her, exploring, readying her and then dragging out her slickness to her folds, swirling. It sent her over an edge she only thought she was nearing and her body tightened, jerking as the first brutal surges rolled from her core to her limbs. Rush after rush engulfed her, exploding and sending her gasping for air as he drew his fingers away.

  Tremors wrenched her body and he spun them away from the wall, carrying her to the table and setting her backside on the edge. In one fell swoop with his forearm, he shoved all the plates to the far end of the table, several clattering to the floor.

  In a blinding haze, her trembling fingers untangled from his neck, moving down to work the buttons on his trousers. His cock surged free, searching for her.

  But a half smile curled his lips.

  Not yet, it meant. He was going to go slow. Take his time. Relish her body.

  She hated it.

  She loved it.

  Her skirts still high above her hips, her legs went tight around his waist, trying to pull him inward into her.

  He held hard against her insistence.

  “You’re open and trusting me, Sienna.” His words were low and thick, carnal honey in her veins. “But I want more.”

  His hand went to her belly, pressing her backward, lying her down long on top of the table until she was flat on her back. Her fingers couldn’t reach him here, couldn’t grasp his cock in her hands and caress him so hard he had no choice but to plunge into her.

  No. He wanted more.

  His fingers moved upward, slipping under the top of her bodice, stays and chemise, tugging them down. Buttons popped as he freed her breasts to the air, to him.

  His steel grey eyes ravenous on her breasts, her nipples hardened under his gaze, desperate for him to take her into his mouth.

  He leaned forward, the tip of his cock playing at her entrance as his mouth descended on her breasts. His hands trailed along her arms, taking her wrists and setting them high above her head. Smiling, he looked up at her from the breast he was feasting on. “So you don’t entice me into going fast.”

  His attention went back to her left breast, his teeth capturing her nipple and teasing it between the sharp edges. Edging to the borderline of pain, it sent wicked spikes of pleasure shooting down to her core.

  He switched to her right breast, his tongue moving in gentle swirls about her peak. Just when he had lulled her nipple into stretching high for him, he nipped it. The shock of it sent her gasping, arching from the table.

  She twisted her hands to free them and grab him, only to find he had clasped both of her wrists to the table with his left hand, freeing his right hand to move down her body.

  His fingers dove down along the inside of her right thigh, caressing, tickling the skin with the lightest wanton touch. She sucked in a breath, her back arching even higher.

  Damn him for knowing that spot. Damn him for using that spot.

  He chuckled, his breath warming her slick nipple.

  “Higher, Sienna?”

  “Higher.” The word escaped so cracked, she wasn’t sure it made a sound.

  He swirled his fingers along her skin, trailing only a touch closer to her folds.

  “Higher.”

  His hand moved upward.

  “Higher, dammit.”

  He chuckled again, looking up at her, his lips soft with the juice on her skin. “I just needed to hear you swear. I know you’re going to hurt me now.”

  His fingers shifted up along her body in that moment, his thumb diving down the center of her folds just as his engorged member breached her, filling her to the hilt in one long stroke.

  She didn’t think her body could take more tortured pleasure. She was wrong.

  He kept her arms clasped above her head, her breasts high to him, her body writhing under him. Every stroke he would end with a slash against her nubbin. Frenzy. Her body flew into nothing but a frenzy, her legs clasping him as tight as she could to her body.

  Withdraw. Plunge. Swirl. Lick.

  “Hell, Logan.” Blasted man. She wanted him coming with her. Needed him coming with her.

  There was only one thing to do.

  She opened her blurry eyes, finding his steel grey irises and locking onto them. Her voice dipped guttural. “Go deep, Logan. Go so blasted deep you can’t find yourself.”

  She licked her lips. “Deep into me. Hard. Pounding into me. Ripping into me.”

  His control snapped and a growl tore through his chest. He released her wrists, his hands whipping to her hips to clench her in place.

  He tore into her, g
rinding, losing himself in her body. Again and again. So deep, so rock hard, she couldn’t tell where her body ended and his started.

  It built in his chest, his eyes, the roar that catapulted him over the edge, taking her with him.

  Their bodies jolted against each other, his cock expanding with everything he was. Her body greedy, ripping every wave from him and making it her own.

  She kept her eyes on his, locked, never letting go.

  Never letting go again.

  He collapsed on her, and for one delicious moment, the full weight of him was on her, their trembling bodies heaving against each other. He wedged a hand under her lower back and flipped them, splaying her on top of him. It took long minutes before their gasps quelled, their rippled breathing moved halfway to normal.

  An inordinate amount of time passed before Sienna realized that they were on the dining table. That servants were around. That they still had most of their clothes intact.

  Her head popped up from the nest she had created along the V of his waistcoat. She looked around the room. Rain still slashed at the window above. The doors were closed. No servants peeking in on them. At least not at the moment.

  Logan’s hand lifted, curling an errant lock of hair away from her forehead. His grey eyes pinned her, solemn. “Sienna, your mother.”

  Her hand whipped up, her fingers on his lips. “No. Not now, Logan. That…” She closed her eyes as a long exhale left her. “I still need time.”

  Silent, he nodded, sitting up and wrapping her in his arms, tucking her head under his chin.

  She settled in.

  “Do I get to carry you upstairs?” His voice was oddly rough.

  She nodded into his lawn shirt. “I have been curious what your rooms look like.”

  “They’re in the opposite tower from yours, and they are not nearly as warm or as pretty as yours.”

  She wedged her head to look up at him. “Why so far away?”

  He shrugged. “I couldn’t trust myself to be near to you in the middle of the night. And the cold helps.”

  With a chuckle, she wrapped her arms around him, squeezing his chest. “Then you best figure out a way to keep me warm.”

  “That, I can do, Sienna.”

  { Chapter 20 }

  Logan had hoped, but wasn’t positive Sienna would come with him on the ride, but she sat on her white speckled mare next to him, her focus straight ahead on the lane that separated the river from the forest.

  Early this morning in his bed, she’d stirred in his arms and he’d wanted nothing more than for her to fall asleep again. Fall asleep where she was still in is arms. Still his to hold.

  For he knew once her eyes opened and her mind straightened, she would push away.

  Push away from him.

  For all that their bodies reconciled last night, he knew she was still holding back. Her head couldn’t fully forgive him, even if her body could.

  He just wondered where her heart stood on the matter.

  He wanted his wife back. All of her.

  He glanced at her, the deep blue riding habit fitted tight to her torso, her skirts long on the horse, and her red-blond hair was pulled back, though hanging free from under her crisp blue bonnet. Her blue eyes were slightly squinted and a deep-set frown dragged her face downward.

  She was struggling, desperately trying to remember more. She had been since last night, tossing and turning in his arms for hours, even in her sleep. He couldn’t fault her for it—to be doled out snippets of memories without the full context of them had to be exasperating, in the least.

  Even with last night, even with the way she’d screamed under him, shuddered beneath his touch, Sienna had made no promises to stay past this last day at Shadowmoor.

  Nor did he demand promises. He couldn’t. He knew their bodies meeting had never been a problem—their bodies meeting was fire almost too hard to control.

  But forgiveness—that he couldn’t demand from her. Couldn’t even bring himself to ask of her.

  As she stirred in his arms, he’d had to hold himself back from shaking her. Shaking free all the memories from that blasted mind of hers.

  If only she could remember.

  He wanted—needed her to remember everything. If she did—maybe—maybe there would be a chance of absolution.

  But on the flip of the same token, he never wanted her to remember everything—never wanted her to have to feel the pain of the memories.

  He swallowed the lump in his throat, looking away from Sienna’s frown to the swaying of the tree branches along the trail. If she didn’t remember, he’d already decided he would never force the past upon her, as much as he needed it for himself. Once spoken, the damage the past would do to her would be irrevocable.

  And he wouldn’t do that to her. No matter what.

  He stared ahead on the trail, the morning sun dappling the dirt path through the quaking leaves of the woods to their right.

  One day left.

  “Where are we headed?”

  Her words cut into the soft cacophony of the forest—birds chirping and busy in flight, trees rustling in the breeze, squirrels in mad chases leaping from branch to branch.

  He looked at her. The frown had eased from her face. “A bridge that crosses this river. It’s not too far ahead.”

  She chuckled. “A bridge? Why would that be our destination?”

  “It is an interesting sight to see, that is all.”

  “Ah,” she said, nodding as her eyebrows lifted in confusion.

  “It’s interesting because it’s the whole reason I agreed to take on the title.”

  “A bridge was your reason for not letting the duchy rot?” She craned her neck to look around the upcoming bend. “This must be one fantastical bridge ahead.”

  He chuckled. “It wasn’t, at least when I took on the title, it wasn’t.”

  “No?”

  “No. Do you remember when I said there are lucrative travel routes through my lands?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  He pointed forward on the path. “This bridge is on the edge of my estate and in the path of the most direct route from the seaport at Alnmouth to Yorkshire and then London. A ferry has operated here for ages, but ferries can take time, and there wasn’t always a ferryman around. Not to forget it was dangerous to cross the river after heavy rains. It adds a day, at the least, of travel to get to the next closest bridge.” He adjusted the straps of the leather reins around his palm. “My last half-brother refused to finish the building of the bridge because he knew that trade along his lands would explode to annoying proportions.”

  “Why annoying?”

  “There are plenty of honest traders making way through here, but this is also a favorite route of smugglers. He knew there’d be even more so if the bridge were in place and he didn’t want to have to deal with them.”

  “Smugglers?” Her eyes flashed understanding. “Ah, hence the lucrative travel routes you spoke of.” Her head tilted to the side as confusion took over her face. “Why would you allow that? Why did you finish the bridge?”

  “It was part of the deal I made.”

  “A deal with who?” Her blue eyes went to slits.

  “With Bournestein.”

  “You made a deal with my father?” Her voice nearly screeched.

  He lifted his hand to calm her. “I avoided it for as long as I could. After my last half-brother died, I didn’t acknowledge the title for two years. I told you I planned to never take it on. But then I had to make the deal—my part of the bargain was I take on the title and finish the bridge. Your father needed the route for his smuggling partners.”

  Sienna’s face twisted in disgust. “And his end of the bargain?”

  “Was to let two people that deserved to be free of his insatiable need for revenge, be free of his revenge. It was an even trade, one I would do again.”

  Her head snapped backward. “And so you let smugglers traipse all over your lands?”

  “They h
ave been…requested to travel along the edges of my land until they get to the bridge. Soon after they cross, they are off my land and someone else’s problem.”

  “Requested?” Her forehead tilted forward as she eyed him through her dark lashes. “As in threatened?”

  “As in it behooves their interest to spend as little time as possible on my lands.”

  Sienna’s head half nodded, half shook as she took in his words. Her look snapped to him. “Who were the people?”

  “The smugglers?”

  “The people you freed from my father’s cold hands.”

  He studied her, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, debating on telling her. This had happened in the years he’d thought she’d been dead, so it wasn’t a memory he’d be giving her. “Hunter and Bridget.”

  Her mouth flew open for a moment, her thick lips forming a circle. She clucked her tongue, then smiled at him. “I think you made a good deal.”

  He grinned. “I do too.”

  Their horses rounded the last corner before the crossing and Logan pointed to the bridge ahead. Their trail led up to the side of the bridge and the main road, so they had an excellent view of the graceful arch of iron supporting the weight of the bridge, the river rushing along below from the recent rains.

  Logan stopped his horse and Sienna followed suit. He dismounted, tying his horse to a nearby branch, and then went to help Sienna from her mare.

  Her gaze stayed riveted on the bridge as he slid his hands around her ribcage and lifted her to the ground. She removed her hat and gloves, hooking them on her sidesaddle, then stepped around him without looking at him.

  “Why does this look so familiar?” Her head swung back and forth from the bridge to him, yet her look wouldn’t tear away from the arch of the bridge. Finally, she forced her head to turn fully to him, and he could see the panic in the azure streaks of her blue eyes.

  “You said this wasn’t completed until a few years ago, so why do I know this bridge?” She turned to the bridge, walking toward it.

  Logan followed her. For as much as he wanted to tell her—tell her everything of it—he clamped down hard on his tongue.