The Duke Buys a Bride

by Sophie Jordan

  She stared back at him, her heart pound like a drum in her chest. “W-waiting for what?”

  “For you to say what you want.” His eyes locked on her, encouraging, willing her to let go and embrace this thing between them.

  “I,” she started and moistened her lips. Lifting her chin, she finally said the words he was waiting to hear. “I want you to make love to me, Marcus.”

  A slow smile spread across his features.

  As he came over her, she welcomed him into her body, gasping as he sank deep inside her ready heat. She reveled in the moment, wrapping her thighs around his hips and scraping her nails down his back and telling herself it would be enough for the lonely years to come. The glorious memory of this would be enough.

  It had to be.

  Chapter 23

  Her cage was gone. But she felt unchanged just the same. Trapped as always.

  He wasn’t in bed with her when she woke. He was gone. Again. She shoved aside the hurt. It made things easier after all.

  She dressed herself quickly and repacked her valise. On her way downstairs she bumped into Helen, the kitchen maid who made their dinner last night. She carried a tray laden with food in her hands. She blinked and looked Alyse up and down, not missing the fact that she was dressed for the outdoors in her cloak and boots and carrying her valise in her hand.

  “Good morning, Your Grace. Your husband said I should bring breakfast up to you this morning.”

  Alyse stopped one step above her and perused the tray, ignoring how odd it felt to be addressed in such a manner. She selected a delicious-looking iced bun the size of her head off the tray. “Thank you. This looks scrumptious.”

  “You’re welcome, Your Grace.” The maid glanced inquiringly at her bag clutched in her hand. “Could I help you with something . . .” Her voice faded away suggestively. Clearly she was curious as to what Alyse was about.

  She forced a bright smile. “No, thank you. I am quite well.” She wiggled her bun in the air. “This is all I need. Thank you for this. I’m sure I will quite enjoy it.” Bestowing another smile on the bewildered-looking girl, she stepped around her and descended the stairs.

  Once outside she made haste for the stables, hurriedly devouring her bun and eyeing the grounds for a glimpse of Marcus. This would be easier to do if she didn’t have to see him. Easier on her aching heart.

  In the stables, she set her bag aside and went in search of her mule.

  There were other horses, of course. Bucky was missing and she assumed that Marcus had taken him to do whatever errand he was about. She knew any of the other horses would be faster than her mule. But that didn’t feel right. It almost felt like a trial to pick another horse at this point. The mule was hers. She didn’t feel like a thief taking it. Taking another horse would make her feel like she was sneaking off with something that didn’t belong to her.

  She saddled the mule and secured her valise. Fortunately he was small enough she didn’t even need the mounting block.

  The mule felt like an old friend. After his customary greeting nip of her flesh, they settled into a familiar routine. He plodded along at a snail’s pace. Only without Marcus to lead, the mule would occasionally slow to a complete stop and stare off into the tree line. She would have to do everything just to get him moving again.

  At this rate it would take a year to reach London. She sighed, wondering if she should have taken one of the horses in Marcus’s stables, after all, whether it felt like stealing or not.

  She had hoped to reach the village by noon but it was nearing dusk when she rode into town.

  She’d have to stay the night. She had a small purse she hoped to make stretch until she reached London and found work. If she had to, she’d stop at a town along the way and work to build up some funds. If necessary she could sell the mule in Glasgow and take the train south. That seemed the wisest course of action. But then she had to reach Glasgow first.

  And sell her mule. The prospect produced a pang near her heart. Strange as it seemed, this mule was tangled up in Marcus. It was all she had of him. All she had left.

  After stabling her mule, she entered the inn from the night before. The innkeeper recognized her and rounded at the counter with a warm greeting. “Welcome! Welcome! I didn’t expect tae see ye two back so soon.” He looked beyond her shoulder as though expecting Marcus to appear. He probably assumed he was outside yet handling their horses.

  She smiled wanly. “Thank you,” she murmured. “It is only I tonight seeking accommodations.”

  “Ah.” He frowned as though understanding, but it was clear he did not. Doubtlessly the questions whirled around his mind. Ever the proper businessman, he pasted a smile back on his face and gestured her toward the taproom. “Would you like to warm yourself by the fire with some tea while we ready your room?”

  She blew out a breath and rubbed her gloved hands together. “That would be lovely. I confess I am quite chilled.”

  He waved her ahead to the room she had briefly occupied the night before. She entered the room and walked a straight line toward the fire, not noticing until she arrived at its crackling warmth that another person already sat in a chair before it.

  “Oh. Good evening,” she greeted the other patron distractedly, shooting him a quick glance—and then yelped. She slapped her hand over her mouth in shock and jumped back a small step. “What are you doing here?”

  The man in the chair rose to his feet. “Alyse . . . I’ve come for ye.” He brushed his hands over his trousers as though shaking loose crumbs. She glanced at the table to indeed find a plate of food there. She’d caught him in the midst of a meal.

  She looked around the room in bewilderment. “You came for me here? At the inn?”

  “Well, I stopped ’ere tae change clothes and freshen up. I didn’t want tae look a complete waster when I came tae ye. I’ve come tae apologize. Tae make everything right. Tae make good on my vow tae ye.” His thin chest puffed up. “Tae do what I should have done the first time.”

  She shook her suddenly spinning head. “How did you even find me? How did you know—”

  “Nellie told me.”

  Of course Nellie would have told him. She would have been worried about Alyse. She would have thought that Yardley was her only salvation and she was doing Alyse a favor telling him of her whereabouts.

  Emotion thickened her throat. “You abandoned me, Yardley. You were my friend. You promised . . .” Too choked up, her voice faded. And yet even as she said the words she was heartily glad. Relieved. For if he hadn’t she would never have met Marcus. She would have never known what it was like to love him.

  She pulled back with a startling hiss. She loved him. She did. And yet she was leaving him. Sudden doubts assailed her. Should she not stay? Stay and fight for him? Win his love?

  Yardley reached for her and she sidestepped him. He looked crestfallen as he dropped his hand back to his side. “I ken. I made a mistake . . . a colossal mistake. I was foolish. I panicked at the notion of marriage.” He nodded somberly, both his eyes as wide as the moon. “I mean it is verra permanent. It’s forever.”

  She nodded back, wondering if he had always been this dim. Or had she been the dim one, seeing so much more in him than there really was? “Yes. I’m aware.”

  “Please say ye will forgive me. Please say ye will come wi’ me. We can go tae London. We can go anywhere. We can have that life we wanted together. The one we talked about.”

  He was saying all the right things. She should be happy. She should leap on what he was offering her and yet his words felt hollow. There was no temptation in them.

  Suddenly another voice spoke. A deep familiar voice. “You should go.”

  She spun around, her heart hammering like a wild drum in her chest. “Marcus?” Marcus stood there, tall and beautiful, snow dusting his great shoulders.

  He was here. He had come after her.

  He had come after her and found her like this. With Yardley. He had heard Yardley’s decla
ration and he was letting her go. He was giving his blessing to this. And why wouldn’t he? It was giving him a way out. An escape from her. It was freeing him of his responsibility to her at last.

  She nodded, fighting back tears. “Of course. Yes. I will.”

  His expression was stony as he stared at her. He didn’t even spare a glance for Yardley. He held her gaze as he reached inside his vest pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. She frowned for a moment, not comprehending . . .

  Until she did.

  Understanding dawned on her.

  He held the parchment up in the air before her and tore it asunder. “You are free. Free to go. Free to be with whoever you want to be with.” The scraps of parchment fluttered between them, the bill of sale for her landing with a whisper on the taproom floor.

  That was it then. All it took. He was freeing her to do as she wished. To go with Yardley. To live out that dream of a life with this boy that she had spent so many years fostering. She could do what she had set out to do from the very start.

  So why did she hurt so much?

  “Only there is one other thing I must do before I let you both go,” Marcus added.

  “Oh?” She watched him, baffled at what he could possibly have left to do after that very dramatic destruction of her bill of sale.

  “Yes.” He turned to face Yardley and with no worry, punched him squarely in the face.

  Her childhood friend went down hard. His hand immediately covered his spurting nose. Blood seeped out between his fingers. “Wot was that fer?” his nasally voice cried out.

  Alyse gawked.

  Marcus stabbed a finger in her direction. “For abandoning her. Do you know what could have happened to her had I not been there? The abuse and misery . . .” Marcus’s face twisted with rage. “You’re lucky I don’t haul you outside and give you the true thrashing you deserve. If you ever hurt or disappoint her again, I’ll come for you. And the next time, there will only be pieces of you left. Understand me, lad? Make her happy or I will end you.”

  Her stomach fluttered with a thousand butterflies at his words.

  Marcus turned back to face her. “If you ever need . . .” His voice faded as his eyes bored into her.

  She nodded, a hot lump forming in her throat that made speech impossible. She understood what he was saying—and what he was leaving unsaid.

  He was there for her. He would always be there for her. He was the person she could trust even though he had claimed she should trust no one.

  With one curt final nod, he turned and left her standing in the taproom beside Yardley.

  And she was free. Free at last.

  Marcus charged a hard line through the taproom refusing to look back.

  He couldn’t look at her again. He couldn’t see that scene. He couldn’t see her with him—that bastard who had abandoned her and thought he could now return and everything would be fine. No, Marcus couldn’t look, knowing he had lost her. She was gone from him forever. And yes, that hurt more than he could ever have imagined.

  He was almost free of the taproom. But on the threshold the innkeeper watched him with wide and blinking eyes, clearly aware that something out of the ordinary was afoot.

  “Ye really are one verra stupid bastard.”

  Marcus stopped abruptly and looked around. There, in the corner with two other tartan-clad men, sat the laird who had whisked Alyse from him. He wore a big grin on his boyishly handsome face. It would be his luck that this man was his neighbor and frequented this establishment.

  “I’m really not in the mood.” Or perhaps he was. Perhaps a tussle with this cheeky bastard would be a proper and suitable release for his current ire. Especially since he could not turn around and lay hands on the man who stood claiming his woman. The thought jarred him a little. His woman. Alyse was his. And he was hers. Not that she appeared to want him right now.

  “Aye,” the Scotsman said, studying his face as though reading Marcus’s mind. “You just did that. You just left her with some other man.” He chuckled. “After everything you did to get her back from me.”

  Marcus looked behind him. He couldn’t help himself. The Scotsman’s words rolled through him in a bitter tide. He watched as the younger man reached for Alyse’s hand. He spoke to her earnestly, his face full of emotion.

  “She wants him,” Marcus murmured, even as those words cut through him like a knife.

  “That pimple-faced lad? I think I could snap him wi’ a sneeze.” He snorted. “Perhaps she wants ye but doesna think ye want her.” He shook his head. “Gah . . . fools the both of ye. She be yer wife. ’Ave ye forgotten that?”

  Marcus shook his head. He had ripped up the bill of sale. Had severed his responsibility to her. He had no obligation to her and she had none to him.

  “She’s not my wife.” The words were painful to utter. Strange how that had happened. Before he had latched on to them, now they were abhorrent.

  She was free of him. He had done that for her.

  This time the entire table laughed. He looked down at the three men. “What is so funny?” His hands tensed into fists at his side.

  “Ye are,” the laird replied. “Ye canna declare yourselves married publicly in Scotland as ye both did and it no’ be true. That is all it takes, my friend. Ye are a married man in the eyes of the law.” His gaze swung to Alyse. “Married to that lass.”

  Marcus stared. He couldn’t speak.

  Could that be true? Granted he was not familiar with Scottish law, but as he had already discovered, things were a little different here.

  Elation swelled inside his chest only to be quickly followed with doubt. No. Not doubt. Fear. Fear that she would not want this. Fear that she would be unhappy. Fear that she still wanted another man rather than him.

  So much of his life, he realized, had been caught up in fear. Fear of his father. Fear that his father was everything wrong and evil in this world. Fear that he was cut from the same cloth and would be just like him.

  He was done with fear.

  Striding across the room he called her name.

  She turned quickly, those wide topaz eyes locking on him. He wanted those eyes on him every day for the rest of his life. Stopping before her, he devoured the sight of her. He could look nowhere else. Not at the man beside her. Not at the men stomping their feet and shouting encouragement several tables away.

  He dropped down on one knee and took her chilled hand in his. “Alyse . . . Don’t leave me. Please be my wife. Because you want to be my wife. Because I want you to be my wife. Because I want us together and this life.” The cheering stopped. All sound disappeared. “Because I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life loving you. I may have bought you on that auction block that day, but it is you who owns me, body and soul.”

  She sucked in a ragged breath as though she had been struck. She didn’t say anything for several moments. Finally her flushed face crumpled, and a sob broke loose. “But you’re a duke. I can’t be a duchess. I’m not a duchess—”

  “You’re you. Be you. That’s all I want. I don’t want a duchess. I want a woman to love. I want you to love. We already have a home here. You love it. I know you do. I saw it in your eyes. I love it, too. We can make a good home here, a happy home here.”

  “Yes.” She nodded, tears streaming down her face. A laugh burbled from her lips. “Yes yes yes yes.”

  He hopped to his feet and hauled her into his arms. He hugged her close, tightly, as though he figured she might change her mind. As though he feared she might slip away and disappear like a wisp of smoke.

  He released a gust of breath. Perhaps the first breath he’d ever taken. Free of fear. Full of love.

  Epilogue

  Five years later . . .

  “She’s coming!” Alyse declared as she burst open the doors to Marcus’s study and waddled her way toward his desk.

  She was fast increasing with their first child and their joy couldn’t be any greater.

  They had beg
un to accept that a child may not be in their future, no matter how very much they wanted one, when Alyse suddenly discovered she was with child.

  For five years they had focused all their love and attention on each other and Kilmarkie House, building it into a home they were both proud of.

  They’d added staff and outbuildings. Made repairs on the house and redecorated its interior. They’d planted more crops and improved commerce in the local village. When Alyse learned they had no blacksmith, she sent for her friend, Nellie, and her husband, a young blacksmith.

  Although they did have to contend with the occasional reivers who had a penchant for stealing their cattle and sheep. Inviting Laird MacLarin and his grandmother to dinner usually won them the return of their lost flock for they suspected he was the one who liked to abscond with their livestock in the first place. He might be gentry, but he was little better than a criminal and he enjoyed vexing Marcus to no end.

  With the impending birth of their child, their blessings only continued. They were finally having a child of their own to love. Someone who could grow and carry on the legacy they were creating at Kilmarkie. A little one who would walk the shoreline with them in the evenings and admire the dolphins. Marcus smiled wistfully. Hopefully a little girl who was the spitting image of her mother.

  It was the life he never knew he wanted. A life he doubted he deserved, but nonetheless it was his and he would never give it up.

  Looking up from the ledgers spread across his desk, he lifted his spectacles off his nose to better view his lovely wife. He had succumbed to the need for spectacles last year, much to his chagrin—and much to his darling wife’s delight.

  Alyse insisted he looked dashing in his spectacles. He would be inclined to think she was jesting—or at the very least, humoring his vanity—if not for the fact that she had ravished him moments after she had first seen him wearing the infernal things. As absurd as it seemed, his wife found him all the more irresistible wearing them.