by Marian Tee
“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Rathe said as he and Viking came to a halt in front of her.
Her cheeks dimpled. “G-good. Maybe it made you realize you l-love me?”
Rathe grimaced, but his eyes had a rare, tender light to them, one Mary knew he only reserved for her. She cherished those looks. As long as he could look only at her like that, she knew she had a chance.
Jumping off Viking’s back, Rathe gave the stallion a brisk, affectionate rub before letting his ride go.
Turning to her, he raised a brow.
By now, she knew what that meant and her smile widening, she raised her skirts and threw herself at him.
He caught her easily, his strength undeniable. Her legs wrapped around his waist as his head slanted over hers, his mouth taking hers in an unashamedly passionate kiss.
“I missed you, little pearl.” His English accent was so much more pronounced as he whispered the words against the lips, making Mary shiver with heightened awareness.
Her arms tightened around his neck as she returned his kiss, reveling in Rathe’s desire for her. Moments like this made her wonder dizzily how anyone could ever think of Rathe Wellesley as a cold fish. He was anything but, not with the way his tongue boldly conquered every inch of her mouth, not with the way his huge erection throbbed almost violently against her belly.
Her duke was just a very private man, one who allowed only those closest to him a glimpse of his true self. And, Mary thought faintly, she kind of liked it that way.
When he pulled away, she mumbled back, “I m-missed you, too.”
His lips curved. “Even after all this time, you’re still shy with me?”
She made a face. “You don’t understand.” Mary touched his face, the graze of her fingers against his cheek soft and tantalizing. “You’re you, and I’m...me. Ordinary. I don’t think I’ll e-ever stop b-being tongue-tied around you.”
Her words tugged at his chest, making it tighten. If it had been any other woman, Rathe would have no problem disregarding it as empty flattery. But this was Mary. The shyest person he knew and yet, with him, Rathe knew she did her very best to overcome her inhibitions.
His arms tightened around her as he found himself recalling the reason behind her shyness.
Almost her entire life, Mary had lived under the oppressive authority of her stepfather, a man who was half religious zealot, half sex maniac. With all the abuse Bartholomew had subjected her to, it was a wonder Mary had managed to stay not only sane but kind and forgiving – someone who could stay by Rathe’s side, despite knowing he could never give her his heart.
“R-Rathe?” Worry for him ironically made her sound so much younger, and this time his mind drowned in a mixture of past memories and recent events. People mocking his parents for their age gap, people talking about him and Mary behind their backs because of the same bloody thing.
The fact was, Rathe was sixteen years older than Mary. He was, and would always be, old enough to be her father. Was it truly right to be with her?
“Rathe.” This time, Mary’s voice was firmer, his name on her lips accompanied by her touch. His beautiful little pearl cupped his face, making him look at her.
“S-stop frowning, please.” She knew not anyone would be able to say something like it to his face, but she said the words anyway. For her, Rathe was Rathe first, and his being the duke was just incidental.
Rathe forced himself to relax. “Sorry, darling.” When she touched his brows, he asked wryly, “Do I look that fearsome?”
“Not exactly. Just...melancholic?”
His lips twitched.
She blinked in confusion. “W-what?”
Securing his hold on her, he shook his head as he started to walk towards where she had been resting earlier. “Nothing, except that you still surprise me with how—” He paused. “—eloquent you can be, at your age.”
Mary sighed. “I wish I could b-be more eloquent. I mean, I am more eloquent usually, b-but when I s-see you...”
Lowering her to her feet, he murmured wickedly, “You’re overcome with so much desire for me you forget what you have to say?”
A gasp of mortification escaped her, mostly because it was true.
Releasing a low laugh, he hauled her close to him again. But when he whispered against her lips, his voice was taut. “Promise me, Mary.” He lowered his head, his temple pressing against hers. “Promise me you won’t ever leave me.”
The words stunned her. Why would he even think she’d consider leaving him? That she could even manage to leave him?
“Oh, Rathe.” It hurt to say his name at that moment, the pain coming from the thought that he was hurting. Tiptoeing, she reached for his face. “I will never l-leave you.”
Their eyes met, different shades of blue reflecting passion that was both scorching-hot and poignant.
“I love you.” She pressed her lips to his. “I love you.” She started to say it again, but this time Rathe didn’t let her, his mouth suddenly ravaging hers. His tongue pushed in, his hands shaping her curves before cupping her breasts, and just like that, their desire for each other exploded into irrepressible need.
Clothes were discarded, their movements frantic, their panting loud and hard. Her moans and his harsh breathing were the only sounds to destroy the serene peace enveloping the woods that made up just a portion of the Wellesleys’ lands in the north.
Rathe had the presence of mind to lay his coat open on the ground before lowering Mary on it. Looming over her, he took one long moment to savor the voloptuous sight of her nakedness. Her creamy bountiful breasts, her tiny waist, and her long shapely legs – all of it combined created the most beautiful Rubenesque figure, causing tiny drops of pre-cum to wet the head of his engorged cock.
She ran her hands all over his body, loving the way the muscles in his back bunched up against her touch. Her hands drifted down until she was cupping his buttocks. It was her favorite part of his body, and she could feel him smiling as she stroked the hard cheeks of his bottom.
Her touch was almost irreverent, making him ask wryly, “What is it with you and my arse?”
She giggled. “I d-don’t know. It’s just so...” She pinched, and it was all hard muscles.
“You’re a little potty, do you know that?”
This time, she knew what ‘potty’ meant and Mary wrinkled her nose. “I’m not crazy.” She paused. “Well, okay, I am, but only about your...” She tried to remember the right British word for a person’s behind and came upon it a second later. “—your bum.”
His laughter rang out in the woods, the sound so masculinely attractive it had her toes curling. “Congratulations, milady,” he teased. “You finally have our slang right. Hopefully, this means no more incidences like that instance you said ‘pardon me’ in front of the Marchioness—”
She slapped his shoulder. “It’s your fault.” She nearly wailed the words out. “I didn’t know ‘pardon me’ here meant something you say when you’re going to fart.”
His shoulders rocked with silent laughter. Gazing at him, finding Rathe’s face utterly relaxed and without any of his usual cold reserve, her heart started to race.
He was so, so beautiful this way that she couldn’t help it. “Rathe, I love you.” The words spilled out, made unstoppable by the emotions nearly bursting out from her chest.
Mary knew most would think she was stupid for saying the words so often. Even so, she couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t make herself feel ashamed about it. She loved him, and love was a beautiful thing, not something to be guilty about.
The murmured words had him shaking his head with a mixture of exasperation and lust. “Mary.” A half-groan, accompanied by his knuckles rubbing against her cheek. He couldn’t ever recall a time he had laughed while making love, but with Mary it was quickly becoming the norm.
Looking into her eyes, he said seriously, “I don’t deserve you.”
Her smile dimmed a little. “Please d-don’t say that. When
you do, I think about how I’m not the one worthy—”
He cut her off with a kiss, mouth grinding against hers. They were peas in a pod this way since he couldn’t bear hearing such words from her either.
Lowering himself, he kissed her one last time before moving on to his next target, his mouth latching to one pouting pink nipple as their bodies came into contact.
The feel of his muscular hardness against her curves had Mary moaning and twining her arms around his neck. When he began to suck, hard, rough, and insistent, her moans became louder. She couldn’t help it, not when he was sucking on her nipple like he’d keep doing it until she was begging.
And she did, after a while, the combination of pain and pleasure making her writhe. “Rathe, p-please.” She always ended up begging. Always.
Rathe heeded the request, only to move on to her other nipple and do the same thing. And so it started again, a sensual torture that only Rathe could do. Her fingers tightened its grip on his hair, a part of her wanting to tear away from Rathe’s mouth while another part of her wanted more of it.
As her body arched, pushing her nipple deeper into his mouth, Rathe obliged Mary’s unconscious command, sucking harder before biting, applying just enough pressure to have her screaming and bucking against him.
“Rathe, please!”
He lifted his head, a wicked smile on his thin lips. “We’re just starting, little pearl.”
She just about fainted at the warning. Or was it a threat? She didn’t really know. Right now, all she could do was feel, luxuriating in the sensations that washed over her as Rathe continued his exploration. They had already made love countless times, but the way Rathe fondled her body with such leisure, it was as if he was seeing, touching, feeling her body for the first time. And because of it, she never failed to feel special and cherished, never failed to fall deeper and deeper in love with him.
When he ran his hands over her legs, Mary knew it was her cue. Obeying the silent command, she allowed her legs to part. Wider and wider, to the point that ill-used muscles started to ache.
“I love your pussy.” A jolt of electricity ran through her body at Rathe’s words, and she whimpered, her need for him nearing the point of distress.
She didn’t care if it was weird or not, but she loved it when Rathe talked dirty. He was often so proper, so aloof, that when he talked to her like this, it made her feel special, like Rathe was only lowering her guard with her.
Her thighs began to ache at being pried apart so widely, and when she lifted herself up on her elbows, Mary found Rathe gazing concentratedly on the triangle between her legs.
“Rathe—” The rest of what she had to say was forgotten, with Rathe lowering his head and licking her folds in exquisite leisure. So, so slowly that by the time he was done she was a total, hot mess.
He glanced up, blue eyes blazing. “Did you like that?”
She glared at him, but she ended up squeezing her eyes shut and gasping when Rathe bent down for another lick, this time lingering on the dewy bud where all her pleasure was centered. She moaned and moaned when Rathe started playing with her clit with his tongue, and she screamed when he started to suck.
“Oh God...Rathe!” She knew there were better – more eloquent – things to say than cry out his name over and over, but all of it was beyond her. All she knew was that she was being devoured...and she wanted more.
Gripping his hair tightly, Mary lifted her hips to meet his devouring mouth, her whole body shaking, her breasts feeling swollen and aching. As he sucked harder on her clit, Mary’s head fell back, and when the tremors started, she tried – she tried her best to quell it. She didn’t want to come until—
“Let go,” Rathe rasped against her sensitive skin, the hot air of his breath making the tremors more difficult to suppress.
She shook her head. “B-but—”
His hands tightened around her thighs. “Let go. I want to fuck you while you’re coming.”
He didn’t have to say anything after that, didn’t have to wait at all since the moment he said ‘fuck’, she was a goner, her world exploding into shards of pleasure.
She clung to him as she came against his mouth, her climax so strong she ended up biting his shoulder, sinking her teeth in an effort to silence herself.
The unexpected response startled Rathe, snapping his control, and with a groan, he rose up, pressed her legs down to the ground before sliding his powerfully throbbing length into her.
She gasped at the sudden penetration, her eyes flying wide open. Over her, Rathe was already withdrawing and then pushing his cock back in again, the penetration deeper the second time.
It made her world spin, her body still coming while Rathe was possessing her. “Rathe...” She sobbed his name out as he began a pagan dance as old as time, his every thrust making her world spin faster and faster. Everything in her mind melted away, leaving only one thought and it was all about the pleasure Rathe’s cock was giving her.
Her head fell back against his jacket, her eyes staring dazedly up at the evergreen canopy above them. At that moment, everything felt so beautifully simple. At that moment, with Rathe’s hard body over her, his cock pounding into her again and again, sending bolt after bolt of pleasure through her body... Mary knew.
Being with Rathe...
Being with the man she would love for all eternity, it was what life was all about.
****
When she woke, she was fully dressed and snuggled against Rathe, her body curled between his strong legs. Rubbing her eyes, she saw that night had fallen, light only coming from the crescent moon peeking from behind the clouds.
“Good evening, milady.”
She turned up in time to receive his kiss. It was just a simple brush of their lips, but the poignancy of it had her sighing dreamily.
The sound made Rathe’s lips curve.
Catching a glimpse of it, her lips curved, too. “Is it obvious, h-how in love I am with you?”
He cocked his head to the side, as if thinking about it. “A mite.” Rathe deliberately made his accent crisper and more pronounced, a very noble and duke-like expression on his face.
The combination had Mary blinking, a dazed look falling over her face, and a grin tugged at his lips.
The grin had Mary recovering. “You...you...bloody sod!” Pushing herself up with her hands against his chest, she accused, “You p-planned that, didn’t you?”
“Plan what? Make you more obssessed with me?” Before she could answer, he tipped her chin. “Absolutely.” And then he was kissing her, his desire for her so strong it was as if they hadn’t just made love an hour ago.
When he pulled away, she was torn between infatuation and disgruntlement as she stared up at him. This. Duke. So. Infuriatingly. Beautiful.
“Stop glaring at me.” He pulled her close, her back against his chest. Taking her hand, he nipped one finger at a time.
Her skin tingled in awareness at the gesture, but she was more concerned now. Rathe Wellesley was the last man on earth to be accused of being guilty of too much PDA. The fact that he was doing so now only meant one thing.
“What’s wrong?”
Instead of answering, he let go of her hand, placing it on his thigh. He reached for her papers, which had been left neglected for the past hour. “You’ve been memorizing this?”
She turned red.
“Shouldn’t you be working on something else? Something to do with your studies perhaps?”
She mumbled, “I just want to be sure I don’t embarrass you again.”
Over her head, Rathe asked casually, “Are you per chance referring to the time you introduced Lady Grohler to Ms. Petersen?”
She covered her ears. “I’m not hearing anything.”
Rathe took off her hands. “So that’s what made you study this list, didn’t you?” He pressed a kiss on her forehead. “It’s not your fault you weren’t aware Ms. Petersen and Lady Grohler are both after the same man.”
“B-b
ut I was the only one who didn’t know—”
“It’s not your fault you’re the only one as well who’s smart enough not to read our tabloids.”
Her shoulders slumped. “It’s still inexcusable.” Twisting around to look up at him, she hesitated then slowly stroked his cheek. “Enough dilly-dallying, though, Your Grace.”
His lips twitched.
She didn’t let herself get sidetracked even though she badly wanted to smile back. “Tell me what’s wrong. P-please?”
For a moment, Rathe could only look at her. They had only been with each other for a few months and yet she knew him so well already. Why the bloody hell did she have to be sixteen years younger than him?
“Rathe?”
He said flatly, “My parents are back from Russia. I think it’s time we do what we came here for.”
Chapter Three
Young, beautiful, and voluptuous, with decidedly scholarly pursuits. Apparently shy and without a garish bone in her body, unlike most young American heiresses he had the misfortune of meeting.
All in all, the eighteen-year-old Mary Ashton was not without remarkably good points. Even so, Warren Wellesley, the former Duke of Flanders, still did not want her for his son.
He nodded curtly when the girl curtsied at him, a lifetime of lessons on manners preventing Warren from openly snubbing him. He thought he had successfully concealed his disdain until his wife cornered him, the look on her face making him grimace.
As Rathe and his companion preceded them to the dining room, Alyssa curled an arm around his. “Give her a chance first,” she murmured.
Her knowing gaze disconcerted him, and Warren muttered, “I haven’t said a thing, have I?”
She shook her head with a low laugh. “Who are you fooling, my love? You and I both know you do not have to say a thing to express your displeasure. You are the Duke of Wellington’s descendant, after all.”
His lips tightened as he gazed after the younger couple. “She’s not for him. She’s too young.” He paused then added curtly, “We both know he’s found it difficult to handle the consequences of our relationship. What more now that it’s him who’d be—”
