The Duke of Debt

by Kate Pearce

  “I didn’t even know that you had a sister.”

  “I haven’t seen her for a while. Frederica doesn’t allow it.”

  “Your stepmother?”

  “As she is the same age as me, I prefer not to think of her like that. Now can we change the subject to something more pleasant?”

  For the first time in their acquaintance she’d discovered something that obviously irked him. If she were not careful and persisted in her inquiries, they would soon be having the first argument of their married life.

  “It’s a shame that your sister didn’t come. I am looking forward to meeting her.” Margaret let out a breath. “I’m not sure which worried me most—that you had invited everyone, and they had refused to come, or that you had decided not to invite anyone because you were embarrassed to be marrying a mill owner’s sister.”

  “If anyone should be embarrassed, it’s me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because everyone knows that I need your money.”

  “You do need it,” Margaret agreed.

  A tremor of laughter shook through him. “True, but it is attached to you, and I do believe I need you more.”

  “You would never have married me unless I’d had money,” Margaret said stoutly. “And I was the one who suggested it.”

  “I’m not sure about that.” He held her gaze, his fingers curling into the back of her hair. “I was attracted to you from the moment you looked down your rather haughty nose at me and pretended that you’d completely forgotten my existence.”

  She found herself smiling into his glinting blue eyes. “That’s because you are far too used to being adored.”

  “Adored?” He leaned in and kissed her mouth. “If there is any adoring to be done, I’ll be in charge of that.” He kissed her again. “Do you know what happens between a man and a woman in their marriage bed?”

  “Of course I do. I wasn’t brought up like a sheltered lady.”

  “Good.” He rolled over and pinned her beneath him. “Then you won’t be shocked when I strip off your nightgown and feast my gaze on your nakedness.”

  She gasped as he expertly wrestled with the buttons on her nightgown and drew it swiftly over her head, leaving her exposed to his gaze. It took all her courage not to curl up and cover herself.

  “Mmm…” He kissed his way down her throat. “You are even more beautiful than my feverish imaginings.” He cupped her full breast and brought it to his mouth, making her catch her breath. “Let me taste you.”

  After a few moments when she thought she might die of need, he slowly raised his head to look at her.

  “You have my full permission to touch anything you want.”

  “Anything?”

  His smile was wicked. “Oh, yes.” He bent his head and gently bit her nipple, making her writhe against the sheets, her legs instinctively parting to allow him to kneel inside her thighs. “God, you are beautiful.”

  He stroked her breasts, alternating his kisses and nips between each side until she was breathing hard, her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him exactly where she wanted him. He moved lower, caressing her hipbones, making her arch toward him with an unspoken plea that her body understood far better than she did.

  She stiffened as his fingers brushed against her mound, parting her fold with ease to discover the slick secrets within.

  “You’re wet for me.” He raised himself more fully over her, his mouth plundering hers.

  “Is that permitted?” Margaret whispered.

  “Not only permitted, but greatly encouraged because it means that you want me, and that when I finally ease inside you, you’re going to come.”

  “Come where?”

  “Around my cock, against my mouth, my fingers…” He flicked his fingers, pinching her most tender pulsing flesh, making her surge up against him. “Wherever you desire and for as many times as I can make you.”

  “You are… quite indecent.”

  His smile was laced with lasciviousness. “When I want something, yes I am.” He kissed her mound. “And I want you, my duchess, very much indeed.”

  She moaned his name as he bent his head and licked her most private secrets. He used his tongue to push inside her, making her even wetter.

  “Please.” She pulled his hair. “I want…”

  “Me?” He raised his head to stare at her, running his tongue over his lips, tasting her with a thorough enjoyment that made her stare avidly at him. “I want to make you come first.”

  “I don’t know if I can—”

  He raised an eyebrow, settled one elbow on the bed, and rested his chin in his hand. “You’ve never given yourself pleasure?”

  “I’ve tried, but—” She forced the rest of the words out. “It’s always frightened me—the letting go—the losing myself.”

  He nodded as if her words made perfect sense. “The man you were intending to marry, did he not help you?”

  “Help me?” She gaped at him. “Matthew barely liked being in the same room with me, let alone touching me.”

  “He sounds like a fool.” Her husband eased himself up the bed until he was lying alongside her.

  “He made me feel as if it were my fault,” she confided. “That I lacked something.”

  He kissed her gently on the mouth. “You lack nothing. One hates to speak ill of the dead, but he sounds bloody awful. Why on earth did you agree to marry him?”

  “To restore my family’s position in Millcastle?” Margaret shrugged. “That makes me sound very mercenary, indeed.”

  “Because you wished to save your family? I can understand why you would want to help them.” He searched her face. “Especially as I am doing exactly the same thing. The difference being that I am so bloody grateful that I intend to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.” He kissed her very thoroughly. “Now where were we?”

  Margaret surrendered herself to him completely, because it was much easier than arguing, and it was such a revelation to be wanted for herself. She hadn’t realized how deeply Matthew’s contempt had hurt her until she’d encountered the exact opposite.

  And her new husband seemed remarkably competent…

  She eased her mouth free of his. “Have you had many lovers?”

  “Yes.” He met her gaze squarely. “And they’ve all taught me something useful to bring to my marriage bed.”

  “That is an… interesting way of putting it.”

  He kissed her very slowly, his knee pushing hers apart as he settled himself over her, one hand caressing her bud in time to each thrust of his tongue. Soon she forgot about speaking as the need for something consumed her. His finger slid inside her in the same rhythm while his thumb pressed and circled her throbbing center.

  “I… can’t,” Margaret gasped.

  “You can, if you just stop fighting and let me show you the way of it.”

  She glared at him. “It’s too much.”

  “Yes, it is, isn’t it?” He held still over her. “I can feel your need under my thumb, coiling up like wire, wanting release.” He slid down between her thighs again and set his mouth over her. She groaned as the friction of his stubbled chin rubbed over her, and his teeth…

  “God…” She screamed then, turning her face into the pillow as her whole world shrank to the sensations of need and pleasure he had aroused in her. The slow clench of her muscles around his questing fingers set off another rippling wave of excitement.

  “That’s better.” He returned to face her. “Now do that again while I’m inside you.”

  He eased his member inside her and everything went still again. His smile wasn’t quite so cocky anymore.

  “Hold onto my shoulders. Bite me if you must. I don’t care what you do as long as you let me have you.”

  She nodded and settled her hands on his shoulders. She wasn’t sure when he’d shed his dressing gown, but it was gone now, and he was as naked as she was. She couldn’t see where he was now joined to her, but she could feel the thick, hot head of
him pulsing at her entrance.

  “It might hurt this first time,” he cautioned her.

  “I am aware of that, but just do it, please.”

  His laugh was harried. “As you wish, duchess.” He drew his hips back and then plunged forward, taking her from pleasure into jarring discomfort, and then that too was gone, and he was rocking himself deep inside her.

  “Are you all right?”

  She slowly opened her eyes and considered him. “Yes.”

  “That’s all you have to say?”

  “Yes.” She experimentally moved her hips, catching her breath at the sensation of him inside her. “Are we done now?”

  His slow smile held all the elements of wickedness she had come to associate with him. He pressed forward and then retreated, leaving her wide-eyed and completely focused on his face.

  “Not quite yet.”

  She woke up later, draped across his body, to the sound of his faint snores. It was almost dawn, and the bed was striped with light because they had forgotten to close the curtains. She was a little sore and was looking forward to a bath to ease the stiffness of her limbs. With one tentative hand, she touched the fair hair on his chest and traced the line of his ribs down to his waist where there was a particularly vicious scar.

  “Keep going.”

  His softly murmured words buzzed against her ear, but she didn’t move away. Her fingers curved around his hip and followed the trail of hair lower to his groin.

  “Mmm…”

  She paused there, aware that he was rather more awake than she’d anticipated.

  “Lost your nerve?” he inquired.

  “Never.” She closed her eyes and wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft, slightly alarmed when it leapt to her touch.

  “Ah… Be gentle with me, duchess.”

  “As you were with me, last night?”

  His hand closed over hers. “Did I—”

  She gripped him harder, making him catch his breath. “I was being honest. You were… very patient with me.”

  He chuckled and pushed against her restraining fingers. “It was my pleasure, I assure you. Now do you want to learn how to drive a man to his knees?”

  She rolled onto her side so that she could see his face, and found him leaning back against the pillows, eyes closed, with one hand behind his head.

  “Yes, please.”

  He glanced down at her working hand. “Then simply continue what you are doing.” His smile invited her to join him in mischief. “And if you want to make me your slave forever, there is a way to do that, too.”

  “How so?”

  “Did you enjoy my mouth on you?”

  “Yes.” It would be pointless to deny it when she had screamed his name into her pillow, lost in pleasure. Her fingers slipped through the wetness now covering his shaft as she considered the implications of his words. “Oh.”

  “Exactly.” He sighed and slowly circled his hips. “Please, be my guest.”

  Alistair had left his valet Clarkson sulking at Hellsdown Park and borrowed one of Francis’s footmen to assist him with his morning ablutions. He left Margaret in bed and went down to breakfast, feeling more at peace with the world than he had in years. There was still an enormous amount of work to do to salvage the ducal estate, but at least he had his finances in some kind of order and a wife who wasn’t afraid of hard work.

  “Good morning, Alistair.” Caroline greeted him as he came into the sunny morning room. “Is Margaret still sleeping?”

  “Yes. Weddings are remarkably tiring things, aren’t they? Especially when you have the likes of Adam Blackthorn breathing down your neck, and you know full well that the rest of the guests think you are a useless, idle aristocrat stealing a decent God-fearing woman’s money.”

  Caroline raised her eyebrows. “My, you are quite opinionated today.”

  He grinned at her. “That’s because married life obviously agrees with me. Is Francis here?”

  “Yes, but he is working on his accounts, and does not want to be disturbed until midday.” Caroline patted her slightly rounded stomach. “Unless I am dying, in which case, he will make an exception.

  “I assume those were his exact words?” Alistair helped himself to bacon, eggs, sausages, and baked ham from the serving dishes. He’d hardly eaten anything on the previous day, which had passed by far too quickly. “I thought you were supposed to be a civilizing influence on him?”

  “My influence can only go so far.” Caroline buttered another piece of toast. “How long are you intending to stay here before you need to return to Hellsdown Park?”

  “That rather depends on your continuing desire to be hospitable and my new wife’s organizational skills. I suspect she will wish to take quite a lot of things up to her new home, including half her brother’s staff, if he’ll let her.”

  “From what she’s told me, you have nothing to worry about. She is already as well-organized as a military campaign.”

  “She probably is.” Alistair set about eating his breakfast. “You will come and visit us, won’t you?”

  “It depends how the roads are and whether I could bear all that bumping around,” Caroline said. “But you are both very welcome to visit us here whenever you like.”

  “Thank you for that.” He met her gaze. “You and Francis have been very kind to me.”

  “From what Francis has told me, you deserve some kindness in your life.” Caroline poured herself more tea. “Your stepmother sounds appalling.”

  “I won’t argue with that.” Alistair kept eating. “I’m fairly certain that Margaret intends to visit her family in Millcastle regularly, so I expect I’ll be accompanying her.”

  “Good.” Caroline offered him an approving smile. “You’ll be going down to London, too?”

  “I have no choice.” He groaned. “I have a townhouse there that needs looking at, and then there’s the House of Lords. I suppose I should really make sure that Margaret is properly introduced into society.”

  “She will certainly make an unusual duchess,” Caroline commented drily. “I doubt any other wife of a duke grew up in a millhouse.”

  Alistair chuckled and reached for the coffee pot.

  A slight disturbance made him turn his head to see his wife framed in the door, one hand gripping the frame and a militant look in her eye that made him instantly leap to his feet. She’d probably overheard Caroline’s comment and had rushed to a thousand conclusions. Despite appearances, he’d already learned she wasn’t quite as impervious to insult as she looked.

  “Are you hungry, my dear?”

  She took a deep breath and raised her gaze to his. “Yes.”

  “Then come and sit down and allow me to set a plate before you.”

  She advanced somewhat reluctantly into the room and sat in the chair he held out, her back rigid and her chin high in the air. Even as Alistair went to speak, she turned to Caroline.

  “I did grow up in a millhouse. I am not ashamed of that.”

  “Why would you be?” Caroline blinked at her.

  “You implied that it was a laughable matter.”

  Caroline wasn’t the sort of woman to back down, and she fixed Margaret with her own indomitable stare. “I suggested it was unusual because it is. That was all. I intended no insult.”

  For a moment, Alistair held his breath and wondered if he would have to throw himself between the two women and what Francis would say to him if he inadvertently upset Caroline.

  “One would hope not, seeing as you once considered working in the mills yourself,” Margaret responded.

  Caroline smiled. “And I am probably the only viscount’s wife who has worked as her husband’s bookkeeper and mistress.”

  Margaret’s own smile was slow to come but eventually appeared. “Then we both know our own worth, don’t we?”

  “I agree, and we will not allow ourselves to be cowed by the aristocracy.” Caroline held up her cup and Margaret picked up hers to gently chime them against each o
ther. “Are you not getting Margaret some breakfast, Alistair?”

  “Indeed I am.” He hurriedly filled a plate for his new wife and placed it in front of her. “I just didn’t want to get in the way in case you two decided to duel or something.”

  They both looked at him with identical pitying expressions and then ignored his foolishness, which was perfectly fine with him.

  Caroline excused herself on a household matter, which left him alone with Margaret, who was happily eating her way through the plate of food.

  “She didn’t mean anything.” Alistair said.

  “So she said.”

  He watched her for a while. “Are you truly not offended?”

  “Why should I be? She is right, and I expect I will hear the same words said with far less friendliness in the future.” She looked up at him. “But I refuse to hide who I am, and where I come from.”

  “I would never ask you to do so,” he reassured her.

  “Only because you are the sort of person who enjoys making others squirm, and having a wife who is from the lower classes will amuse you greatly.”

  “That’s a little harsh,” he protested. “I might enjoy their discomfiture if they are expecting you to turn up with a shuttle stuck in your hair, bare feet, and an incomprehensible accent, but I would never allow anyone to insult you.”

  She studied him carefully while she finished her tea.

  “You are quite appalling, you know.”

  “It is my besetting sin,” Alistair admitted. “But I’ve always been of the opinion that if one doesn’t laugh, then one might cry, and that would not do at all.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Because crying is beaten out of most men before they reach adulthood.” He frowned at her. “You know that. I can’t imagine your estimable brother goes around weeping every time he doesn’t get his own way?”

  “He always gets his own way.”

  “You’re deliberately missing my point.” He held her gaze. “I choose not to take life seriously.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Then it is lucky for you that I am often accused of taking everything too seriously.”

  “Which is why we are a perfect match. How long do you think it will be before we can leave for Hellsdown Park?”