Dangerous Duke

by Scott, Scarlett

  “You are alive,” she breathed between sobs. “Thank God you are alive.”

  “You saved me, my love,” he said, nuzzling her hair. “Once again, you saved me.”

  “No,” she denied softly, tipping back her head to take in the sight of him. “You saved me. I am sorry I ran from you instead of seeking you out. I love you, Griffin.”

  “I am sorry for being too bloody stupid to realize how much I love you until it was almost too late.” His bright gaze scoured hers. The sun had begun to set on the horizon, bathing them in a warm glow. “Will you grant me another chance, Vi? Will you let me prove how much I love you?”

  She cupped his face in her hands, careful to avoid his split chin. “For the rest of our lives.”

  “Thank you,” he breathed, and then his mouth was on hers, claiming and hard and everything she wanted it to be. He broke the kiss to gaze down at her, all his love so plain for her to see, emanating from him. “We belong together.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “We do.”

  And then she set her lips to his once more.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Two Days Later

  Griffin was finally home.

  Home where his butler gave him his customary face of stern disapproval. Home where his coffee and his billiards room awaited. It scarcely seemed real he was once more back within the familiar confines of his own chamber now, freed of the frills and pastels and ladylike gewgaws the Duke of Arsehole had forced him to endure in his guest chamber at Lark House.

  Very well. He supposed he ought not to think of his brother-in-law, who had offered him a most heartfelt apology for his immense failure to trust in Griffin’s loyalty and innocence, in such terms. But then, he did not particularly like the fellow, and he did not suppose he ever would.

  Perhaps, given time.

  Half a century at least.

  He paced the plush Axminster, barefoot and dressed in nothing more than a dressing gown, belted at his waist. He had already forgiven Arden for the time he had been forced to stay at Lark House as an “honored guest,” for it had brought him the most immeasurably valuable part of his life. After all, it had been during that tenure he had fallen into the lap of the woman he loved.

  Felled by crocheting.

  Her beauty had distracted him. Her connection to Arden had made her useful to him. But somehow along the way, she had made him love her. It had not just been her selfless belief in him, or her determination to stand by his side at all costs, to defend him however she must. It had not just been her willingness to share the deeply painful facets of her past. It had been all those things and more. It had been everything, all of her. Violet was wonderful. More wonderful than he deserved. And she was the other half of himself. The best half.

  She had saved his life.

  He would never forget the way she had looked, like the Furies come to earth to do battle for him, a mere mortal. She had been bold and beautiful and fearless. He had been prepared to fight Swift to the death that day, and he had been surrounded by some of the fiercest warriors the League had ever seen.

  But in the end, his Violet had rescued them all.

  Of course she had. The greatest mistake anyone had ever made was in doubting Lady Violet West, now the Duchess of Strathmore. She was intrepid and original, and thank Christ she was his.

  A knock sounded at the door connecting his chamber to the duchess’s apartments. He had told her to come to him when she was ready, and he had been willing to pace the length of his chamber all bloody night long if he needed to, but he was glad she had not required that much time. His chin had been stitched, and his ribs were bruised, but nothing would stop him from making love to his duchess tonight.

  His heart beat faster with the knowledge of what he was about to do. What he would share with her this night. It was the final piece of himself, a piece he was willing to entrust to a woman for the first time. Because Violet was different. She was his wife, his duchess, his love.

  “Enter,” he called.

  The door opened, and there she was. She too wore a dressing gown belted at the waist, this one a deep shade of plum.

  Of course it was.

  With a hesitant smile, she crossed the threshold, entering his territory for the first time since they had wed. It felt good, so damned good, to have her here. To be standing here with her. He had that rare sensation, a warmth blossoming in his chest, a buoyant feeling of everything right in the world, wonderment that his life could be as good as it was now, in this moment.

  “Vi,” he greeted her, even as his feet were moving, eating up the distance between them.

  “Darling,” she said, her cheeks flushing adorably.

  It would seem he was not the only one affected by this being the first night within their own home as husband and wife. They had spent a horrid evening at the inn, dealing with inquiries into Swift’s death, staying up most of the night, only to spend the next day journeying to London, and then transferring Violet’s belongings from Lark House.

  He opened his arms to her, and then she was in them, sudden and swift, her warm, soft body connecting with his. She tipped her head back. Damn, but she was beautiful. And wonderful. And his. All his.

  He kissed her, slow and hungry, open-mouthed. She tasted sweet, like dessert. Her tongue tangled with his. His cock twitched. He was hard for her instantly, ready, wanting, needing. He did not think he could ever have her enough.

  She broke the kiss, dragging her mouth from his to kiss along his jaw, down his neck. Her fingers found the knot on the belt of his robe, plucking at it, loosening it. She kissed the exposed swath of his chest, scars and all.

  His fingers sank into her hair, reveling in the texture. It was so soft and luxurious, silken and curled. Exquisite.

  She tugged at the knot on his robe, then stilled, glancing up at him. “Griffin?”

  He knew what she asked, the greater question. And as much as he hated this part of himself, he knew it would go a long way toward healing to reveal his scars to her. He swallowed, clenched his jaw, and nodded.

  “I have already warned you I am a beast.”

  “Many things, but never a beast,” she murmured. Her eyes never left his as she finished untying the knot on his belt.

  His dressing gown went slack, parting. Her hands slid beneath it, gliding over his chest in a hot, seductive caress. Her touch moved to his shoulders, the dressing gown following. With one swift motion, it dropped to the floor.

  He tensed as her verdant gaze swept over him. Over all the raised lines and puckers, the burns and lash scores. An ugly constellation of the past marred his flesh, and he knew it.

  “Oh, my love,” she said, her voice and her touch reverent as she kissed him, as she trailed a seeking touch over every inch of his scarred body.

  There was no pity, thank God. Only veneration, as if she could somehow sense how much each of those marks had cost him. As if she would take the pain from him with the benediction of her skin upon his, her lips soothing and seeking.

  “It was a long time ago,” he muttered.

  “Your body is beautiful,” she told him fiercely, her small hands traveling down his abdomen, over his bruised ribs, over his muscles, over the places where half a dozen Frenchmen had unleashed their anger and fear upon him.

  “It is hideous and I know it,” he said, ending on a groan when she sank to her knees before him.

  She kissed her way to his hip bone, to a particularly hideous scar he wore there. “Is this from Paris also?” Her mouth moved over him in velvet strokes, soothing away any memory of pain that lingered.

  “It is from a different mission,” he said, recalling the anarchist’s blade which had pierced his flesh there.

  “Such bravery,” she said, glancing up at him with eyes that had gone dark with desire. “Bravery deserves to be rewarded.”

  She could have no notion of what he wanted from her when she was upon her knees. His cock went completely rigid, hard and thick and full, rising for her atte
ntion. But she was an innocent. There was no way she would—

  His ability to think fled him as Violet kissed the tip of his cock.

  “Fuck, Vi.” The curse burst forth. His hands were still in her hair, fingers sifting through those glorious dark strands.

  She blinked up at him, an innocent seductress. “You do not like it? I am sorry. I merely wanted to make you feel the way you make me feel. I thought… Is it different for a man?”

  “Christ no,” he reassured her. “But this is… I would never ask you to do this for me.”

  She was his wife, not his mistress. Not a seasoned widow who knew how to give a man pleasure. He was content to give her pleasure. To bring her to shuddering release. He did not require her to take him into her mouth, even if the mere notion of her doing so was enough to make his ballocks tighten.

  “Tell me what to do, my love,” she told him, her voice throaty.

  Could he?

  He stared down at her. His body made the decision for him. “Take off your robe.”

  Her eyes upon his, she shrugged her dressing gown from her shoulders. The purple silk pooled around her, and she was all creamy curves and perfect, full breasts tipped with lush, pink nipples. Nipples that were already hard and ready for him to suck.

  He cupped her face. “You are so bloody beautiful.”

  “So are you.” She kissed his straining erection again. Just the tip, where he was leaking from his slit, and his seed was on her lips, glistening for a moment, before she licked it off.

  Holy.

  God.

  He had never seen a more decadent sight.

  She smiled up at him, and then she took his cock in her hand in a tentative grip, running her tongue over his head. “Delicious.”

  He forgot about his scars. Forgot about his shame. In her eyes, with this glorious woman, this brave, kindhearted, intelligent, wonderful creature before him on her knees, he felt omnipotent.

  She licked him again, and then she took the tip of him into her mouth, sucking.

  He almost lost his control and spent on her tongue right then and there. “Damn it, Vi.”

  She rocked back on her heels, looking up at him with a frown. “You do not like it?”

  “I bloody well love it,” he admitted with a groan.

  “Good.” She took him back into her mouth, deeper this time.

  And he gave in to the sensation, to the realization this woman wanted to worship him the same way he wanted to worship her. She sucked and sucked and licked, taking as much of him as she could. His fingers tightened in her hair, guiding her, setting the pace, urging her on. She moaned as if she were enjoying it every bit as much as he was. As if she loved his cock in her mouth, down her throat.

  His hips rolled forward, and she took it. Took him, her throat convulsing around him. Damn. It was good, so good, but he could not take any more of this torture. Tonight, their first together in truth as husband and wife, he wanted to spend inside her cunny and not her mouth.

  “Enough, darling,” he told her, withdrawing and helping her to her feet.

  He led her to the bed, guiding her upon it with the greatest of care. Griffin took a moment to admire her there, where she belonged. Her curves were bare for him, breasts high and full, her lips glistening and deep red from working them over his cock.

  She was beautiful. So incredibly beautiful. The most erotic sight he had ever seen. She held a hand out to him, and he took it, lifting it to his lips for a kiss. He settled between her thighs first, and she spread them with ease, opening the glistening pink folds of her cunny. He lowered his head and inhaled deeply of her scent before parting her folds and licking her. She was slick and hot and so damned responsive. Perfection on his tongue.

  As he sucked her pearl, he plunged a finger into her sopping channel, and she gripped him and bucked beneath him, moaning. He worked her that way, inserting another finger and thrusting, as his tongue and mouth played over her. It did not take long for her to reach her pinnacle. She came undone, shaking with a ferocious surrender.

  He rose above her then, his cock ready, unwilling to wait a moment longer. He traced through her folds, where she was slick, so very slick. Drenched for him. Notching his cock at her entrance, he stilled.

  “Are you ready, my darling?” he asked, breathless. Hopelessly in love with her.

  “I am always ready for you,” she told him, linking her arms around his neck and bringing him to her for a kiss.

  He kissed her hard as he thrust. They sighed in unison as his cock slid home. All the way home. She was tight, so tight, and so very wet and hot. And he could not stop moving. Or kissing her. Their mouths were ravenous, their bodies starving.

  Faster, harder, deeper. Until…

  She came again, clenching on his cock, and he spent as well, his seed pulsing into her molten depths.

  Griffin pressed his forehead to hers while his cock still throbbed within her. “I love you so damned much, Violet Strathmore. Thank Christ you tripped me with your knitting that day.”

  “Crocheting,” she corrected, before drawing him to her for another kiss.

  Epilogue

  Six Months Later

  In the kitchen of their townhouse, Violet watched Griffin put the finishing touches upon the tartlet he had made for her. This evening was one of the special nights when they dismissed the staff so they could have the run of the household all to themselves.

  If their domestics thought it odd, they did not dare say a word. And in truth, they probably were relieved for the extra hours they could devote to something other than their ordinary duties.

  It had rather become a tradition between the two of them. After the entire household had retired, and no one else was afoot, Violet could pretend, for a few charmed hours at least, that she and Griffin were the only two people who existed.

  Griffin deposited a strawberry tartlet before her. It was oozing and red, and looked positively delicious atop a fine porcelain plate. He gave her a fork. “Your dessert, my lady.”

  She took up the utensil and watched him as he seated himself opposite her with his own dessert-laden plate before him.

  “Is this another recipe of your Mama’s?” she asked softly.

  As their marriage had unfolded, he had slowly revealed more to her about his mother, the former cook turned duchess. Violet wished she had been able to meet such a strong, vibrant, and talented woman. A woman who had earned the heart of a duke, against all odds. She could not shake the feeling she and Griffin’s mother would have been great friends.

  “It is,” he said, a note of pride in his voice.

  She forked up a bite and sampled. Splendor hit her. The confection was sweet and flaky and rich on her tongue. “This is divine, Griffin.”

  “Of course it is.” He took a bite of his own dessert and winked. “I made it, did I not?”

  Yes, he had. And there was still something so thrilling about this big, beautiful, strong man cooking for her, that made her knees go weak and her heart beat fast. It also made her ache between her legs.

  “Utterly divine,” she said again, licking a bite of sweet strawberry from the tines of her fork.

  But her eyes were for him when she spoke, for the man she had married. The man who championed her above all others. The love of her life, the man who moved her in a way no other before him had, and in a way no other man ever could. He was the half to her whole. The other part of her.

  “I am glad you deem it acceptable,” he said humbly, turning himself to the consumption of his own dessert.

  “More than acceptable.” She paused, a restless flurry of butterflies suddenly taking up residence within her. “But there is something I must tell you, Griffin.”

  He stilled, frowning at her. “What can it be, love?”

  She drank in the sight of him for a beat. He was dark, rugged, devil-may-care beauty, all strength and muscle. Sometimes, it was difficult indeed to imagine he was hers, even though he was. Even though he had been for months now.
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br />   “Vi?” he prompted, worry creeping into his tone.

  She inhaled, slowly and deeply, taking one long breath, before exhaling and blurting out a lone question. “How would you feel about a babe, Griffin?”

  “A babe.” He frowned. “Whose babe?”

  “Yours,” she answered, holding his gaze. She pressed her hand to the slight swell in her midriff, the only sign she was carrying their child. “Ours.”

  “Truly?” His expression was filled with hope. Filled with love.

  “Yes.” Relief, deep and true and sudden, swamped her then. They had only been married for a matter of months, and she had not been certain if he would welcome the news.

  “A babe,” he repeated, his countenance softening, taking on a look of awe.

  She rose and went to him then. Violet reached for his hand, pressing it to her belly. “Growing here, within me.”

  “Our babe,” he said, his voice resonating with wonderment.

  “Ours,” she echoed. “You are happy?”

  He pressed a reverent kiss to her belly. “Happier than I ever dreamed possible.”

  Contentment washed over her. She laced her fingers through his. “As am I, my love.”

  Her stomach chose that moment to rumble.

  He laughed, the sound light and carefree. “It would seem our little one is hungry for dessert, darling.”

  She smiled down at him, heart full. “Fortunately, the man I love made me a strawberry tartlet.”

  “I love you too, spitfire.” He raised their intertwined hands to his lips. “Have I ever mentioned how grateful I am for the day I fell into your lap?”

  “Perhaps,” she teased. “But you can always tell me again, as often as you like.”

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading Dangerous Duke! I hope you enjoyed this third book in the League of Dukes series and that Griffin and Violet’s story touched your heart. Griffin first appeared in Her Reformed Rake, and I always knew he needed a unique and quirky heroine if he was going to fall in love. I’m honored you spent your time with my characters and words!