He had behaved like a wild animal.
Marking what he considered to be his.
Taking what was his.
Even now, he wanted to withdraw and scoop up his cum with his fingers before smearing it all over her body. Marking her with his scent.
“Darius?” Bea’s voice shook.
He drew in a ragged breath, unable to answer her as he slowly withdrew so as not to cause her further discomfort. He quickly shrugged out of his jacket before wrapping it about her naked and trembling body. His hands were gentle as he helped her to straighten before turning her to face him.
She was deathly pale, the tracks of her tears upon her cheeks, dark shadows surrounding her eyes as she kept her lashes lowered. As if she could not bear to even look at him.
Which, Darius accepted heavily, she probably could not. He was unsure as to whether he would be able to look at himself in a mirror right now, no longer sure what or who he would see reflected there. Himself, Darius Strong, the controlled Duke of Wolferton, or some wild and out-of-control barbarian he did not recognize.
He had always possessed a temper, but it was one which Darius had believed was under his own control these past fifteen years. He could no longer believe that after the way he had behaved toward Bea this evening.
Bea’s complete physical collapse now was the result of that temper.
Darius kept his jacket wrapped about her as he lifted her gently into his arms before sitting down in the chair over which she had so recently been fucked to within an inch of her life. And it had been fucking, he acknowledged self-disgustedly. A primitive act of possession on his part.
A knife turned in his gut as Bea buried her face against his throat and he felt the heat of fresh tears against his flesh.
His arms tightened about her as he rested his cheek against the top of her head. “I am sorry. So very, very sorry.”
Bea was sorry too.
Sorry that the fierceness of Darius’s lovemaking was over.
She had seen a side of him tonight she would never have believed lay beneath Darius’s normal calm and arrogant demeanor. A wild side which had resulted in equally wild lovemaking.
Most surprising of all, despite her earlier denials and the danger he represented to her, Bea knew that she did now belong to Darius.
Body, heart, and soul.
“I will leave first thing tomorrow morning.”
Those words were like a knife plunged into the heart Bea had only just realized belonged completely and utterly to Darius Strong, the Duke of Wolferton.
How that had happened, and so quickly, she had no idea. She only knew the thought of Darius leaving Hanwell Manor, leaving her, made her heart hurt almost as much as the pleasurable ache of her body.
“Bea, for God’s sake, speak to me.” His arms were like steel bands about her waist. “Even if it is only to tell me how much you hate me.”
Hate him? Why on earth should she— Ah. “I do not hate you, Darius.” She raised her head to look at him. His face was pale, an expression of self-loathing in those gray eyes. “I asked for your lovemaking, remember?” she said softly.
“Lovemaking, yes.” A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw. “That was not lovemaking. It was—” He ran an agitated hand through the dark thickness of his hair.
“I enjoyed whatever it was.” Darius had been every bit as out of control and forceful as she could ever have wished for in a lover.
“I do not recognize myself in the man who took you so roughly,” he spat out.
“Is it not enough that I recognize you?” she prompted gently.
“As what?” he said bleakly. “The man who demanded your response and allowed you no respite until you were on the point of collapse? The man who caused these tears to fall?” He used his fingertips to gently wipe those tears from her cheeks.
“They are tears of extreme emotion, not pain.” Bea tilted her head as she looked at him. “I do not believe lovemaking is always gentle.”
“It should not be a punishment either,” he said bitterly.
“Punishment?” Her gaze searched his face. That self-loathing was still in his expression, and there was now a bleakness in his eyes. “Because of Landbourne?”
“No. Yes.” He sighed heavily. “Not completely because of Landbourne.”
“What else is there?”
He closed his eyes and then opened them again before admitting, “I am here under false pretenses.”
Bea’s mouth went dry as she recalled Kilby’s concerns regarding the duke’s unexpected arrival, and his suspicions regarding the questions asked by the duke’s valet. “You are?”
He nodded. “I was sent here to find evidence of your guilt.”
Everything inside Bea stilled. Her heart, her lungs, all coherent thought. “Sent here by whom?”
“I and my close circle of friends report directly to a prominent member of the English government.”
“Agents for the Crown?”
“Yes.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. “And did you find the evidence against me?”
“No.”
A quizzical frown creased her brow. “Then I do not see—”
“I did not find it because there is no physical evidence,” Wolferton bit out grimly. “There is only your guilt,” he added softly. “Bea, I know you are guilty.”
“How?”
“In the way you keep people at arm’s length—” He broke off with a grimace as she gave a skeptical snort as to how close he had been to her merely seconds ago. “I refused to remain outside those defenses. There is also the behavior of your servants,” he added heavily.
“What about them?”
“They are protective of you to an unnatural degree.” His mouth twisted into the semblance of a smile. “My valet assures me there is always a disgruntled servant or two in every household. Not this one.”
Her brows rose. “Perhaps I am an exceptional mistress.”
“Perhaps you are,” he conceded dryly. “But you and those servants are also hiding something. A truth which I know your honesty would force you to admit if I asked you the question direct.”
Bea drew in a long and steadying breath. “Then ask it.”
His jaw tightened. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I do not want to know! Because I did not expect— I never thought I should—”
“You did not expect to like me?” she realized.
“I more than like you, Bea.”
She laughed without humor. “Did not expect to desire me as much as you do, then.”
He drew in a deep breath. “Bea, whatever happens, I shall do my best to defend your actions.”
The fragile world Bea had built for herself had been quietly falling apart since this man arrived at Hanwell Manor.
It had collapsed completely at Darius’s acknowledgment he knew what she had done.
Chapter 11
“You may leave me now.” Bea faced Darius proudly as she stood in the middle of her bedchamber a few minutes later.
Knowing the two of them could not remain in the orangery indefinitely, she had insisted, if Darius intended to continue with this conversation, they do so in her bedchamber, well away from possible detection from her other guests.
She had kept Darius’s jacket wrapped about her nakedness as the two of them moved quietly through the house and up the staircase, the sound of her guests’ laughter coming from the drawing room now a jarring note on Bea’s already frayed nerves.
She had gone to her dressing room as soon as she entered her bedchamber and now wore her robe over her night rail. She had wished Darius gone by the time she returned to her bedchamber but was not surprised when he was not.
Her chin rose. “I promise you I will not attempt to run away.”
He gave a pained frown. “I did not for a moment think that you would.”
Her mouth twisted. “And yet here you remain.”
Because Darius did not want
to leave. Did not want to be apart from her. Tomorrow morning, all would be changed. At his request, she had not admitted her guilt to him, but neither had she defended herself against his accusations, leaving Darius with no choice but to take her with him when he returned to London tomorrow.
But he also meant it when he said he would do all he could to help her. It was the least he could do. The least he could do? Why try to fool himself? If Bea paid the full price for her crime, if she was hanged, a part of him would die with her. Perhaps the best part. The part of him that now saw the possibility of hitherto unknown emotions as well as that overwhelming desire to possess her.
His mouth thinned. “I will talk to the Prince Regent on your behalf.”
She gave a shake of her head. “What good would that do?” She moved to sit on the side of the bed. “I am guilty, Darius. There. I have said it.” She sighed.
“Damn it!” He scowled darkly. “I told you not to—”
“I have said it, and now there is no going back,” Bea said simply. “I am tired, Darius. So tired of living this lie. Of living with the guilt.”
“Why did you do it?” Darius had seen no evidence either in her demeanor or her words of any treasonable feelings toward the Crown or country.
She sighed. “I will not discuss that with you.”
“You must—”
“I must do nothing of the sort!” Her eyes flashed darkly, her knuckles showing white as she gripped her hands tightly together in her lap. “It was too much to hope my past actions would not catch up with me one day. And so they have,” she added wearily. “I have said I will accept my fate, but I will not talk about why I did it with you or anyone else. Now, please leave me.”
Darius frowned his frustration, but there was no doubting that Bea was speaking the truth when she said she was tired of living this way. It was as if she might shatter into a million pieces if he continued to push this subject further. No doubt the exertion of their rough physical activity earlier was adding to her air of fragility.
“Very well.” He nodded abruptly. “Tomorrow, we go to London.”
She frowned. “Sir Edwin Greaves is the local magistrate.”
“I am here on behalf of the Crown,” he reminded her. “We must go to London, and before we get there, you will talk to me. Your cooperation on this matter will serve as part of your defense,” he insisted as she shook her head.
She smiled without humor. “I have told you, I have no defense. Presented with the same circumstances, I would do it all over again.”
Darius barely held his impatience in check. “You will hang if you continue along this stubborn path.”
She focused emotionless brown eyes on him. “I will hang anyway.”
Darius scowled his frustration. “Why will you not defend yourself?”
“Because to do so would involve other people, innocent people, who do not deserve to share in my shame.”
Darius could not help but admire her air of absolute dignity and determination. Even if a part of him wished to shake her until her teeth rattled.
A gentle knock sounded on the door before it was opened. “Oh. I am sorry, my lady.” The young lady Darius recognized as Bea’s maid stood blushing in the doorway as she saw the two of them together, her mistress wearing only her nightclothes.
“It is perfectly all right, Jane.” Bea gave her a reassuring smile. “I shall not need you again tonight.” She waited until the maid had left before speaking to Darius again. “I asked you to leave.” She stood up, only that quiet pride Darius so admired now holding her together. “I promise you I shall be packed and ready to accompany you to London first thing in the morning.”
“Bea, for God’s sake, you have to let me help you—”
“No.” There was a finality to that one word, a brittleness to the proud way in which she faced Darius, which advised against any further argument on his part. “You deceived me as to your reason for being here. Have lied to me repeatedly since. Have admitted you made love to me under false pretenses. Why should I ever listen to another word you have to say to me?”
“Because—” Because what? Because he cared for her? Because the thought of losing her ripped a deep black hole in him he knew would never be filled but would remain there inside him, a dark and festering wound. “My desire for you is not a lie. Or my offer to help you.”
Her smile did not reach her eyes. “It is far too late for that.”
“I will defend you, Bea, against anyone and everything,” he insisted tautly. “Whether you wish it or not.”
“That is your prerogative.” She eyed him coolly. “If you will excuse me, I must dress again now and go downstairs and say good night to my guests. I will also have to explain I have been called away on urgent family business, so that they all know to depart tomorrow.”
Darius had never felt so frustrated in his life. By Bea’s stubborn refusal to accept his help. By the knowledge she had every reason to distrust him.
It did not help his disturbed state of mind that he heard her gentle sobs the moment he was back in the adjoining bedchamber. She had not locked that adjoining door behind him when he left, and Darius now fought an inner battle to stop himself from going back to hold and comfort Bea as she cried. She had made it more than plain she did not want him. Not his comfort now or his intention to defend her in the future.
Whether Bea wished it or not, Darius fully intended doing the latter.
“My God…!” Quinlan gasped the following morning the moment entered the bedchamber carrying a breakfast tray and saw Darius’s disheveled appearance.
“Your Grace will do,” Darius drawled mockingly as he stood in front of one of the windows.
The same window, he recalled with a stab of pain in his chest, at which he had enjoyed pleasuring himself while an aroused Bea watched. Was it possible that had happened only two days ago? It seemed a lifetime ago.
Because his life had changed. He had changed. He was no longer that selfish bastard who had arrived at Hanwell Manor, determined to prove Lady Beatrix Hanwell’s guilt or innocence as quickly as possible so that he might return to London and carry on with his own life.
“You look dreadful.” Quinlan’s gaze remained on Darius as he placed the tray down on a side table. “And why are you still wearing the clothes in which you were dressed yesterday evening?”
“Possibly because my valet was too busy seducing his lover last night to come to my room and help me undress,” he taunted.
The other man gave a snort. “We both know you are perfectly capable of undressing yourself.”
Darius stepped away from the window. “I see you did not deny my accusation of seduction.”
The valet shifted uncomfortably. “The man…holds a power over me which I have never encountered before.”
A power Darius completely understood, when it was the same one Kilby’s mistress now held over him. “How do you feel about the Continent, Quinlan?”
The other man looked suitably puzzled. “In what regard, Your Grace?”
“In regard to living there.”
Quinlan was taken aback. “Your Grace…?”
Darius had been in an agony of turmoil the previous night as he listened to Bea’s sobs in the adjoining room, wanting to go to her but knowing she did not want him there. She had eventually stopped crying, and then there was only silence as she dressed and returned downstairs to say goodnight to her guests. He heard her return a short time later, and then only silence, and he assumed she slept.
Darius was not so lucky. His night had been both sleepless and long as he considered the options over and over again in his mind, until he gave himself a headache.
Despite what he had said to Bea, once they reached London, Darius knew there was every chance the situation, and Bea, would then be taken out of his hands. Oh, he could appeal to the Prince Regent on Bea’s behalf, might even be able to persuade Stonewell into supporting him in that defense, but ultimately, Darius knew it would make little difference
. Bea had admitted herself guilty of treason and would no doubt do so again once she was questioned in London. Even if they managed to have the sentence of hanging commuted in favor of Bea instead being sent to prison, there was every reason to believe she would perish inside those damp and disease-infested walls.
Something Darius could not bear to contemplate. “It is my intention to remove Lady Hanwell and her maid from England as soon as possible and find some obscure place where we might live quietly and undisturbed. There is every possibility we might be able to persuade Kilby into coming with us,” he tempted as Quinlan continued to stare at him blankly.
“Let me see if I have understood you correctly…” The other man finally stirred himself enough to frown. “You intend to accompany Lady Hanwell to the Continent, along with myself and that lady’s maid and butler, and remain there?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Indefinitely.” He could not envision a time when it would be safe for Bea to step foot on English soil again.
“Why?”
Darius’s jaw tightened. “Is that not obvious?”
“To you perhaps, but—” Quinlan’s brow cleared. “My God, she has admitted her guilt.”
Darius paced restlessly. “Not only that, but she will do so again to others once we reach London. I cannot allow that to happen. We will accompany her to the Continent and remain there.”
“I still do not understand why… You care for her,” Quinlan finally realized.
He nodded. “Enough that I will not allow her to hang.”
“Do you intend to marry her once on the Continent?”
His mouth twisted. “I would need the lady’s cooperation to do that, and I have every reason to believe she will not give it.” He straightened. “Whatever does or does not happen in that regard, I cannot risk taking her to London to answer for her crimes.”
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