Under A Duke's Hand

by Annabel Joseph

  “Mostly awful. The way our marriage began... I was so confused by you, and so afraid.”

  “I was also confused by you, and afraid.”

  “You were afraid?” She couldn’t imagine him afraid of anything.

  “Yes. Afraid of going about everything the wrong way. Which I prevented by...well...going about everything the wrong way. I was so concerned with maintaining my authority over you. There you were, spirited and strong as anything, and I thought I’d better hold you down. I can only ask you to forgive me, and let me begin again, with less pomposity and hauteur this time. Less authoritative nonsense.”

  She blushed, and reached to trace the Viking lines of his jaw. “I like your authoritative nonsense at times,” she admitted. “Goodness knows, I like it a great deal. But I miss having friendship in my life. Sweet words and soft touches, and affection.”

  He put his hand over hers. “Then I promise more sweetness and affection. On one condition.”

  “What condition?”

  “That you call me Aidan instead of ‘Sir,’ and stop referring to me as ‘the duke’ in conversation. ‘Arlington’ or ‘husband’ will do in a pinch.”

  “All right,” she agreed. “But will you do something for me?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t call me Guinevere in that biting manner when you’re scolding me. It always terrifies me.”

  “What if I generally try to scold you less?” A smile crinkled his deep blue eyes. “I’m going to try to scold you less and appreciate you more, for there are so many things I appreciate in you. Your spirit, your sensuality. Your beauty and determination, and appreciation for nature. The way you cared for my mother’s garden in Oxfordshire, and the way you sailed with Eira over the fence. Your stubborn, peevish tirades, which I have always secretly admired.” He took her hand. “And of course, your enduring belief in the necessity of love.”

  She saw some new softness in his regard, and curled her fingers about his. “Love is necessary, isn’t it?”

  “Unavoidable, with you around.”

  Goodness, he meant that he loved her. “You ought to kiss me now,” she said. “This seems like the perfect moment for—”

  His lips cut off her words. He kissed her gently at first, for this was a new beginning. She supposed they were both a little scared. She shifted closer, wrapping her arms about his neck to give him strength and encouragement. His kiss deepened and she responded with all the hope in her heart. I love you.

  He said he had always loved her, and she had loved him too, this lofty duke who protected her and understood her, even if he had his own flaws. With love, they could work out their differences. Oh, she hoped...

  But first, this warm and wonderful reconnection. As soon as one kiss ended, another began, until she was dizzy with his closeness. How had she ever left him to ride out into the icy night? And why? She drew away, battling a surge of nerves.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, stroking his thumb along her lip.

  “Are you not…the slightest bit...angry about what I did last night?”

  “Last night?” He grimaced. “You mean three days ago?”

  “Three days?”

  “You’ve been in bed for three days, my love, and there were hours I feared you wouldn’t wake again. And yes, I was angry, then panicked, then sad, and generally beside myself. But my friend told me your actions were a cry for love. And I should tell you that when I shouted at you to leave...”

  “That was a cry for love too,” she murmured, when he couldn’t finish. “Perhaps we ought to develop more appropriate ways to talk to one another.”

  “I would like that,” he said.

  They sat in silence a while, in his dim dressing room with his arms around her. She could feel his warmth like a blanket, and his steady heartbeat made her drowsy. “I think I want to sleep again,” she said.

  “I think you are already halfway there.” She clung to him as he picked her up. He carried her back to his bedroom and laid her in his bed, and crawled in beside her.

  “I borrowed one of your shirts,” she said, snuggling into his embrace.

  “I noticed. It looks good on you, and is probably more comfortable than that matronly nightgown. You know, you had a fever for two days. I worried so much I couldn’t sleep. The gents had to drug me to put me to bed.”

  “They drugged you?”

  “Without remorse.”

  “I can hardly believe that.”

  “You may believe it.” He sighed. “We’ve got the best friends in the world, you know. They were determined to save our marriage, but I think it’s up to us now.”

  She buried her face beneath his chin. “For my part, I swear I’ll never run away again. Especially in a freezing snowstorm.”

  He chuckled and dealt her bottom a half-hearted crack. “For my part, I swear I’ll blister your arse if you ever so much as attempt it.”

  “We are in accord then,” she giggled, fluttering her eyes closed. This felt so perfectly warm and cozy, the way a marriage should.

  “Yes,” he said, palming the sore spot on her bottom cheek. “At long last, we are in accord.”

  Chapter Seventeen: Right of Possession

  Aidan woke before her, and saw the servants had been there. The fire was tended and the curtains closed against the daylight so they might sleep. Gwen sprawled beside him, still clad in his voluminous shirt. He couldn’t help noticing that one side of the neckline gaped open, displaying an alluring expanse of breast.

  He slid off the bed, taking care not to wake her, and went to his desk and dug out his sketch book and charcoal. He hadn’t drawn a thing in months, but he wanted to draw her this morning. He wanted the memory of her sweet slumber, and the way she looked in his shirt. He wanted the memory of their new beginning, here in this quiet room with the fire crackling in the hearth.

  He began the sketch with bold lines, black hair and white linen. Her arm rested against her waist, the other curved by her head. He took special care to form her delicate fingers, and then he started on her face. Dark lashes and a pert nose, and lips like an angel’s. A smattering of freckles. He moved closer, thinking to count them, but there were too many, more than he thought.

  He regarded the sketch. It was a very good likeness. He would show it to her later, perhaps even draw her again with her pretty eyes open, lounging about in his bed. Or perhaps tied to his bed.

  Hmm. A compelling idea.

  He put down his book when he heard a tap at the door. Mrs. Fleming peeked in.

  “I’ve tea, Your Grace. Would you like some luncheon?”

  Luncheon already? He nodded to the housekeeper as Gwen stirred. Two maids brought trays of buns, cakes, and sandwiches and set them on a table next to the tea. By the time they left, Gwen was awake, peering at him from her bundle of covers.

  “My goodness,” she said. “Is the bread still warm? It smells wonderful.”

  “Will you have some?”

  “Yes, Sir...er...Aidan.” She smiled sheepishly. “I promise I’ll get better. It’s something about the way you look sometimes.”

  He made her a cup of tea and handed it to her, and carried the food over to set it on the bed. “Do I look like a grand and haughty duke?” he asked, teasing.

  “Yes, you do, even shirtless, in your breeches.”

  “I fear I’ve intentionally honed my aristocratic air of condescension over the last twenty years.” He held out a bun slathered with preserves. “You must be patient with me, if I am still lofty sometimes.”

  She took a bite, and ended with a bit of blackberry on her lips. He could not resist kissing it away.

  “I must try to accept you as you are,” she said, looking at him from beneath her lashes. “You said something to me once. ‘We deserve one another’s kindness.’ If only I’d listened to you then.”

  “If only I’d listened to myself. But as I recall, you were rather preoccupied with the horse I’d just shown you, and I was still fuming about th
at letter you wrote.”

  “Oh, that letter.” She popped the rest of the bun in her mouth and shook her head. “That was an awful thing to do. You were right to punish me for it.”

  “I try to only punish when it’s warranted. I try to be fair. That was not a fair letter, though it helped me understand how homesick and desperate you were.”

  She took a cucumber sandwich and added a slice of ham. She looked so pretty and fresh and rested. He desperately wanted to tumble her. He would, when she had eaten a little more.

  “If things ever get that way again,” he said, “perhaps you might address a letter to me. You may be as cruel as you like, provided you are honest.”

  “I don’t want to write you any cruel letters,” she said.

  “You don’t right now.” He suppressed a smile. “But you may wish to in the future. Marriages have ups and downs. We can’t expect everything to be perfect. We can only try to...”

  “Be kind?”

  “Yes. We must care for one another, as well as our future children. They will want to have parents who love one another.”

  “Our children.” She put her hand to her waist. “I hope we’ll have children soon, Aidan. I wonder if we will have boys or girls, and whether they will have your temperament or mine.”

  He laughed at that. “Sometimes I think we share the same temperament. We’re both headstrong and stubborn.”

  Her green eyes glinted with humor as she bit into another bun. He fondled a lock of her ebony hair.

  “Perhaps my fairy queen will give me a dark-haired fairy princess.”

  “Or perhaps we’ll have a little boy who looks like a Viking,” she said.

  Aidan grimaced. “I think one Viking duke is enough.”

  She laughed, a beautiful sound. He looked down at the tray, which he had mostly ravaged. She had eaten a good amount too. “How are you feeling now?” he asked.

  “Much better. Perfectly better.”

  Her gaze shone with contentedness. How long had he wished her to be content and happy? If only it had not taken a brush with death to snap him out of his idiotic behavior. He felt her forehead and cupped her face. “You are really better?”

  She looked down, shy again. “I feel very well. I apologize for giving you such a scare. I suppose if I ever deserved punishment, it is now.”

  She peeked up again and met his gaze. Everything inside him clenched: his heart, his soul, his cock. He wanted her so badly.

  “I suppose you do deserve some consequences for your actions,” he agreed. He picked up the trays from the bed. “Go in my bathing room and take care of your necessities. I’ll be waiting for you here.”

  Her eyes went wide. Well, she’d practically begged for it, hadn’t she? She responded with equal parts dread and excitement, lovely girl, and scurried off to use the privy. When she returned, he was ready with four lengths of sturdy rope.

  “Take off that shirt, darling, and lie back on my bed.”

  “What are you going to do?” Gwen asked, staring at the ropes and then back at his face.

  “I’m going to tie you up for a little while,” he replied. “It seems an appropriate consequence for someone who’s run away.”

  “Oh.”

  There was a world of emotion in that “oh.” Fear and reluctance and curiosity and longing, and the same lustful craving he felt. She draped his shirt over a chair and climbed onto the bed, and lay back upon it. Ah, those long legs, those supple breasts. His cock bucked within his tightening breeches.

  “How long will you tie me up?” she asked as he gathered her arms and raised them over her head.

  “As long as I wish. I fear I may still be a lofty and commanding master when it comes to your body.” He made quick work of the knots, taking care not to bind her wrists too tightly. She might still be weak as a kitten, but he wanted her to feel tied down, conquered. He knew she loved that feeling.

  And he, of course, loved conquering her. In this, there were no apologies to make, no pleas for second chances.

  “Open your legs,” he said.

  She inched them apart. He made a soft sound of amusement and palmed her quim.

  “Don’t pretend to be a shrinking miss. I can feel how wet you are. Open your legs for your husband. Open them wide.”

  She made such a delectable picture, spreading her legs as he probed her slick, heated folds. She arched against his hand, still trying to be ladylike about it. He’d have her writhing and begging soon enough. For now, he applied himself to tying her ankles to the bedposts. When he was finished, she lay beautifully open to him.

  “There,” he said in a teasing voice. “That’s what happens to young ladies who try to run away from their husbands. Are you sorry for what you did?”

  She tugged at the ropes, until he could barely restrain himself from mounting her. Soon. Don’t rush through, when things have just begun again. He wanted to play with her a while.

  “Answer me,” he prompted, putting a hand to the falls of his breeches. “Are you a sorry little duchess?”

  She nodded, putting on an adorable show of dread. “Yes, Your Grace. I deserve to be punished.”

  “You certainly do,” he agreed in all seriousness. “But you are still recovering, so I can’t dole out the severe corporal punishment you so richly deserve.”

  “How unfortunate,” she murmured, as he released his cock from its confinement. “About the punishment, not the recovery.”

  His organ sprang forward, fully aroused. “You shouldn’t push your luck. Not in your position.”

  “Yes, Sir.” She stared at his cock and tugged at the ropes again. “May I still call you Sir in these sorts of situations?”

  “I would recommend doing so. But only in these situations, if you please.” He crawled onto the bed, between the legs of his willing victim. He cupped her breasts and stroked her nipples, and ran his palms down over her hips, and thought how very beautiful they made women in Wales. Her shining black hair spread out, dark and wild, upon the pillow.

  “Now, what shall I do with you?” he asked. He teased her pussy, entering it with his fingers to make her moan and arch. “How shall I make certain you never leave me again?”

  “Goodness,” she whispered. “You frighten me sometimes.”

  “Why?” He pressed his fingers deeper. The ropes creaked as she squirmed from the stimulation.

  “Because of the way you make me feel.”

  He leaned down to place a kiss at the apex of her sex. “Don’t be afraid. Just enjoy it.”

  He placed a palm on either side of her trembling thighs and explored her quim, teasing her with his lips and tongue. She groaned and arched her hips as he delved between her folds to her little thrusting pearl. He loved how her breathing sped up, and her movements intensified. She was so alive when he touched her. She opened herself to him as no other woman ever had.

  “You like that?” he asked, looking up at her.

  “Yes.” She nodded and squirmed some more. “I like it. I do.”

  “I’m going to put my cock inside you next. I’m going to press inside you and make you mine.”

  “Like...a...”

  “What?”

  “Like a...marauder,” she said breathlessly. “Claiming me.”

  He grinned, basking in the scent of her femininity. “Yes, an English duke marauding a Welsh stronghold. I shall take the baron’s only daughter for my own.” He ran his hands down her inner thighs, to the rope about her ankles. “I’ll force her to my will, and once I’ve been inside her, no one will be able to deny my claim.”

  She trembled as he palmed his cock. “Perhaps a...Viking duke,” she suggested. “You look more like a Viking than an Englishman.”

  He laughed. “Such imagination. A Viking duke then, with a fairy queen tied to my bed, completely at my mercy.”

  “A fairy queen? Not a baron’s daughter?”

  “I get to have my fantasies too.” He laid over her, nudging against her entrance. She pretended to struggl
e, embroiled in their game.

  “You can’t escape me, my wild, exotic queen.” He grasped her bound hands to settle her, and held her gaze. “And when I take you, then I shall be king by right of possession.”

  “Release me,” she cried.

  “Never.”

  He pressed inside her, arching over her with his best Viking-duke expression of carnal mayhem. “How does it feel to fall to your enemy?” he taunted. “I’m going to make a baby inside you. An Engli—er—Viking baby so that our family lines are linked forever. You’ll never get away from me.”

  “Oh, please.” Her hands fisted as she strained at her bonds. “How ruthless you are.”

  By now, his fairy queen had submitted completely to her Viking invader, arching her hips, squeezing upon his cock.

  “You’re mine now,” he said as he drove repeatedly between her tied-open thighs. “Mine forever. How does that feel?”

  “It feels very...very...wonderful,” she gasped.

  “Show me how wonderful.” He kissed her neck and nipped at her nipples and breasts. His thrusts quickened, sending pleasure deeper and thicker within his body as she bucked to meet him. “Show me how fine it feels to be claimed by your Viking king.”

  She dissolved into ecstasy, and he felt a victorious sense of satisfaction, as if he really were a marauder, only his captive was willing, and the dynamic between them felt perfectly right. He came inside her, pure male contentment. His woman, his love, and eventually, the mother of his children, children who would be born of two very different parents who had finally discovered they belonged together after all.

  Even if one of them occasionally needed to be tied down to the bed.

  * * * * *

  Gwen watched her husband with the usual mix of complicated feelings. Lust, embarrassment, pleasure, excitement. But mostly lust. Second chances felt very, very good.

  He looked as satisfied as she. Rather than untie her right away, he touched various parts of her body, stroking, caressing, lingering over the curve of her hips. He brushed her hair back and leaned his forehead to hers.