Love With an Improper Stranger

by Barbara Devlin

  Blake dipped his chin, and the double door entry to their slice of heaven on earth came into view. “I should warn you, although I will try to be gentle, I am not sure I can guarantee anything, as of this moment.”

  “Oh, I hope not,” Lenore replied, without so much as a flinch. “As I want you so much it hurts.”

  The metal of the knob chilled his damp palm, and he pushed wide the oak panel, bowed as his wife crossed into his lair of debauchery, and wrestled his lust into a slow simmer—until he closed the portal, set the bolt, and turned into her kiss. It was as if the shot fired at the races, because Lenore bolted, and her beguiling assault annihilated his already tattered control.

  With a violent yank, she decimated his cravat, tore the buttons from his waistcoat, and ripped apart his shirt. When she dove for the hooks of his breeches, he grasped the edge of her bodice and shredded her blue gown, and the situation devolved into a hilarious tug of war, as they decimated what remained of their garments, and he kissed her. In response, she bit his lip and pounced, and he stumbled and fell into a chair.

  While he fought to dictate their coupling, his bride straddled his thighs, seized his erection none-to-tenderly, and lowered herself. Although he would have preferred to savor the intimate embrace of her warm and wet sheath, she rode him hell bent for leather into a savage release, a bit too soon for his pride, which she heralded with an ear-splitting scream. And yet Blake’s hunger burgeoned.

  So he toppled Lenore to the floor and took her, hard and rough. During their voluptuous if not so graceful melee, they rolled into a small table, which they knocked over, and a vase hit the carpet with a muffled thud. At some point they ended up against the south wall, and his brutal thrusts sent a framed painting crashing down, but it never slowed him, as he luxuriated in a haze of unbridled ecstasy.

  When next Blake surfaced, he found himself lying on his back, on the rug, with his legs propped on the edge of their four-poster, and Lenore suckled his nipple. As he massaged her scalp, she trailed a series of delicate nips to the area below his belly button, and every fiber of his being came alert. To his infinite gratitude, his heretofore-prim bride teased him with her tongue and then took his engorged length into her mouth, and he groaned.

  “Ah, you remembered.”

  With a flirty giggle, she kissed the plumb-shaped tip and sighed. “How could I forget, impossible man?” Then she took him deeper still, and he could have cried.

  Yes, it was very good to be a husband.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  A fortnight later, in Blake’s redecorated study, Lenore gathered with her husband, Lucy, Sir Ross, and Uncle Samuel. In the weeks since the Brethren returned to London, Caroline recovered and removed to her home, Sabrina gave birth to another girl, named Laura, and the Douglas family reconciled, but the dastardly villain eluded capture.

  “How well did you know your father’s aide de camp?” Sir Ross inquired. “I understand his longtime assistant fell at Barrouillet, of a bayonet wound.”

  “That is correct.” Lenore nodded, as Blake held her hand. “Lt. Snowley worshipped Papa, and Lucy and I knew him informally, as Cecil, given he served in that capacity since eighteen-o-seven.”

  “But you were not familiar with the new adjutant, a Lt. Cornelius Sheldon.” Sir Ross perused his notes and met Lenore’s stare. “He assumed the position of prominence, after the Earl of Waddlington purchased a commission.”

  “The Sheldons.” Blake scowled. “That family is the scourge of the peerage, and they have had more than one contretemps with my relations.”

  “Well, if my investigation proves accurate, they may harbor a lethal criminal.” With a heavy sigh, Sir Ross sat tall. “From the interviews we conducted prior to the resumption of hostilities with France, and in the aftermath, I have reason to believe Snowley was not a casualty of war, but that is not all.”

  “There is more?” Lenore’s blood ran cold, but she calmed, when Blake toyed with the fleshy pad of her thumb.

  “Brace yourselves.” The tension in the room grew, as Sir Ross peered at Lenore and then Lucilla. “It was disclosed that General Teversham died due to a secondary infection from a lead shot, but I spoke with the field doctor who treated him, and he informed me the general complained of nausea, stomach cramps, and joint pains, none of which were consistent with his injury. The day before he expired, Teversham suffered a sore throat and experienced difficulty breathing. Even the nurse suspected foul play, as Sheldon insisted on maintaining a vigil, and no one else enjoyed unfettered access to the general.”

  “What are you saying?” Even as she voiced the question, Lenore knew the answer, but she needed Sir Ross to confirm it.

  “The evidence points to a single conclusion.” The secret agent frowned. “General Teversham was murdered.”

  Had Lenore thought her grief concluded? On the contrary, it had only skulked in the background, ready to enter the fray at a moment’s notice, and inside she wept for her father.

  “But—why?” Uncle Samuel shook his head. “My elder brother was the kindest, staunchest, and noblest soldier. And I know it sounds absurd, given he was my sibling, but he never had an enemy, as he was a generous and honorable man.”

  “I know it must seem unfair, but an accounting of Sheldon’s finances supports my original assumption, as General Abercromby, a friend of your brother’s, revealed that General Teversham set aside a substantial sum of his pay to ensure his daughters’ safe passage to London, in the event of his demise, but the funds have disappeared.” The spy leaned against the armrest of his chair and studied the rug. “Avarice is one of the oldest motives known to humanity.”

  “Where is Sheldon, now?” Blake asked in a low tone, which bespoke more than a hint of ire, and how she loved her knight.

  “We know he reported for duty under General Dundas and traveled to Brussels with the Third Battalion of the Sixtieth Foot Guards.” Sir Ross arched a brow. “Curiously enough, the dates coincide with the very same time we lost track of our elusive suspect in England, after Miss Lucy escaped.”

  “That was a bit of luck.” Lucy hugged herself. “I feigned sleep so much that he got careless. It was because he left the door unlocked that I was able to run away and contact the authorities.”

  “You are a very resourceful young lady, and your Aunt Alice will be so excited to meet you.” Uncle Samuel chucked Lucy’s chin, and Lenore found their exchange somewhat mollifying, given they departed for America in a few hours. Then he asked, “Sir Ross, are my nieces in danger?”

  “Given you cast off today, I think Miss Lucilla will be safe from harm.” When Sir Ross gazed at Lenore, she shivered. “But I fear Her Grace may yet be at risk, as she can positively identify our villain, and he knows that. In light of the social arena within which both travel, it is a sure wager their paths will cross, eventually. So I predict it is inevitable he will discover what became of his victim.”

  “The bastard will never get anywhere near her.” Blake hugged her about the waist and kissed her temple. When she cast him a wary glance, he winked. “As I intend to keep my duchess within reach, at all times, until you catch Sheldon.”

  “Then I will focus my efforts on apprehending Sheldon, which has been difficult in the wake of Waterloo.” Sir Ross stood and pocketed his notes. “General Abercromby agreed to assist our endeavors and has issued false orders conferring a promotion on Sheldon, to lure our criminal into the open, and I will keep you apprised on any developments.”

  “That is a relief.” Uncle Samuel offered his escort, which Lucy accepted. “And Miss Lucilla and I are due at St. Katharine Docks.”

  “Already?” A wave of panic rocked Lenore, as she had hoped Lucy might change her mind and stay in London. “Are you hungry? I can have the cook prepare a late lunch or an early dinner.”

  “But we cannot be late, else we will miss our transport.” Uncle Samuel led Lucy into the foyer, where he collected his hat and gloves and turned to Lenore. “Fret not, Your Grace, as I will watch over h
er. And she can visit you, any time she wishes.”

  “Damian joins us for supper.” Lenore tried but failed to stifle a sob. “You could continue your discussion of the constellations.”

  “Do not cry, Lenny.” Lucilla, so grown up in a few brief months, gave Lenore a hug. “Please, be happy for me. And this is not goodbye, as I will see you again.”

  From the entrance stairs, Lenore loomed with Blake and waved, as Sir Ross heeled the flanks of his horse, and the ducal coach steered through the main gates and into Grosvenor Square. And as their guests drove out of sight, she burst into tears.

  “Sweetheart, I know it hurts, but Lucy will be fine.” Blake pulled her into his arms. “And you always have me to keep you occupied, and I intend to keep you very busy.” He tipped her chin, and she parted her lips to welcome his kiss. “Come with me.”

  It was no surprise that he took her to their suite and secured the door, as their daily routine revolved around multiple rounds of coitus, given her husband had resumed the christening of Elliott House. In their bedchamber, he brought her before the long mirror.

  “You are so beautiful, my duchess.” Behind her, he untied her laces but did nothing more. Instead, he sat in a chair. “Now take off your clothes.” The heat of his stare said, For me.

  With fistfuls of her pale yellow sprig muslin dress, Lenore whisked the gown over her head and dropped it on the floor. Next, she kicked aside her slippers and shed the sheer chemise. Blake favored her with a sensuous smile, which she cherished, and she walked to him. Placing her foot on the seat, between his legs, she unhooked her garter and slowly rolled down her hose. She repeated the same ritual and stood before her husband as God fashioned her. Yet he remained mute, as he studied her from top to toe.

  “Blake, I beg you, do not hold me in suspense, as I need you desperately.” Passion sparked, in a protracted capture of her senses, and gooseflesh covered her. The telltale hunger blossomed in her belly, and her nipples ached for his touch, but he made no move to initiate the decadent dance. “Please.”

  “You know, even a Raphael needs a frame.” Blake rose and swaggered to the armoire. When he returned, bearing a black velvet box, he lifted the lid. “I think this will suit our purpose nicely, and it brings out the color of your eyes.”

  Displayed on a bed of white satin was a sinfully luxurious parure of sapphires and diamonds, and Lenore could not help but gape at the priceless treasure. A decadent tiara featured large teardrop-shaped blue gemstones surrounded by clusters of the most precious jewel that all women preferred. But the matched set also included a hair comb, a choker, a brooch, a bracelet, and a ring.

  “Impossible man, this must have cost a fortune.” She caressed the crown, which he took from her and set atop her head. “It is magnificent.”

  “Why stop there?” With a smirk, to which she would have taken exception, if not for his unparalleled generosity, he bedecked her in his bounty and admired his work. “Darling, you quite take my breath away.”

  “But it is too much.” Of course, with her husband there was no such thing as too much. “The Season has ended, and the city is still abuzz with news from the front, but I suppose it will keep until this fall or next year.”

  “Actually, we have been summoned to St. James’s, and you will be presented to the Prince Regent, so you will need the fancy baubles.” Retracing his steps, he emerged from his dressing room with an extraordinary garment. “But you will also need this, and I purchased coordinating slippers.”

  The fantasy creation, the stuff of every young girl’s dreams, boasted sumptuous sapphire silk satin, which shone in the candlelight, with a drawstring décolletage, a high waist, and shoulder plackets. Bereft of ornamentation or embroidery, and strikingly simple in its construction, so as not to overwhelm the parure, the gown featured long, slender sleeves gathered at the tops, a one-piece front, and a gored skirt back.

  “You dress me, you shower me in jewels to declare for all of London society that I am your duchess.” Lenore rested her palms to his chest and rubbed her nose to his. “Impossible man, I was yours when I kissed you in your cabin, aboard the Tristan, and I do so love you.”

  “Sweetheart, you were mine from the moment we met.” With a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, he squeezed her bare bottom. “And I love you, too. Now, play the Dussek, and then I shall play you.”

  #

  Studying his reflection in the long mirror, Blake dismissed his valet, adjusted his cravat, and smoothed the lapels of his black formalwear. When he rounded the screen that shielded his dressing area from the large suite he shared with his bride, he drew up short.

  Standing at the center of the room, Lenore glowed as she rotated for him. Trimmed in the confection he commissioned for the occasion, the diagonal pale blue riband and Brethren badge, which matched his, the priceless parure, with her chestnut locks piled in carefree curls, and a single flirty lock hugging her throat, she was a vision, and never was he more proud to call her his wife.

  “My darling duchess, you are stunning.” He took her hands in his and kissed her fingertips, before claiming her mouth in a sincere expression of his appreciation. “Daresay you will be the talk of the ball.”

  “I care not for what others think, as your approval is all that matters, and I thank you, for everything.” Yet she furrowed her brow. “Perhaps, in the spirit of giving, you might be honest with me about the armed footman stationed outside our apartment. Do you fear an attack?”

  “Sweetheart, as long as Sheldon remains free, I will spare no expense or effort to protect you.” Of course, he should not be surprised by her query, as nothing escaped her notice, despite his attempts to conceal his defensive measures. “But I cannot imagine he would attempt to harm you within these walls, as such an assault would be suicide, so it is just a precaution.”

  “Just a precaution?” Through the silk, he pinched her luscious derriere, but even that failed to distract her, as she folded her arms. “I suppose that is why you sleep with a loaded pistol on your bedside table?”

  “Lenore, as the head of this household, I do not have to explain my actions to you.” And there ended the discussion. “Shall we adjourn to the drawing room, as our family should arrive at any minute, for the pre-celebration?”

  “Not until you tell me why you are concerned for my safety, Blake Thornton Deverell Elliott.” To his chagrin, she did not budge. “Now.”

  “I do not appreciate your tone.” He unleashed the unyielding visage that made many a sailor tremble.

  She did not so much as blink. “And you will appreciate, even less, when I remove to my old room if you do not share the details of your meeting with Sir Ross, yesterday.”

  “How did you know about that?” He needed to keep the Brethren brides away from his duchess.

  “It is elementary.” She sniffed. “I did what any self-respecting wife would do and listened at the keyhole to your study, when Jennings delivered the summons.”

  “You have spent too much time in my sister’s company.” He rested fists on hips. “I shall speak with her.”

  “You will do no such thing.” She mirrored his stance. “I am a Brethren bride, thus an adventurous spirit is not only encouraged but also required.”

  “While I appreciate your adventurous spirit, you may confine it to our bedchamber.” In that instant, he changed his tack, pulled her close, and trailed his tongue along the curve of her neck. “Or, more specifically, between our sheets.”

  “You will not seduce your way out of this, Your Grace.” With a shiver, Lenore gave vent to a breathy sigh. “Constant as the northern star, I will not be deterred.”

  In that instant, he yielded with a groan of frustration. “Oh, all right. Sir Ross tracked Sheldon to London, but the blackguard did not show for the appointment with Abercromby. We suspect Sheldon knows his dubious deeds have been uncovered.”

  “I should not have asked.” The effervescent shimmer of her countenance faded, and he cursed the bastard that harmed her. “And I am
frightened, but I would rather know and be on guard.”

  “My dear, Sheldon will never get anywhere near you.” He cupped her cheek and patted her bottom. “Please, Lenore, just for tonight, let it go, and enjoy the ball, as this is your moment to shine. Daresay every member of the haute ton will envy my duchess, and I wish to show you off, to the cream of society.”

  “Blake, have I told you, today, how very much I love you?” The compelling truth of her statement flared in her gaze.

  “You have.” He toyed with her cleavage, and she gasped. “But you may declare it again, as I never tire of it.”

  “We should repair to the drawing room.” She brushed his hair from his face. “Else I may have to topple you into the chair and have my wicked way with you.”

  “Save that for later.” He winked. “As I am yours to command in that arena.”

  “I shall hold you to that.” With the sultry glance that never failed to arouse him, she whispered, “To mark the special occasion, we should employ the two-seater bench.”

  “Ah, I love it when my duchess flirts with me.” Settling her palm in the crook of his elbow, Blake ushered Lenore into the hall and nodded at the skilled secret agents disguised as nondescript footmen. “But I thought you did not care for that particular maneuver.”

  “Well, it is not a matter of preference.” When her cheeks shaded pink, he bit back a groan. “I just never would have guessed that part of my anatomy could be used in such a questionable manner.” Fanning herself, she giggled, as they crossed the gallery. “To be frank, when you told me what you intended, I considered it rather vulgar, but I cannot deny I found it quite pleasurable.”

  As he recalled that glorious coupling, and her achingly charming cries of completion, he tensed. “Sweetheart, we are married, thus we are licensed to be vulgar. And I believe I shall take you in the coach, on the way to St. James’s, as I am about to explode.”

  “Poor aggrieved husband.” At the top of the grand staircase, Lenore paused and kissed him hard. “I shall endeavor to relieve your discomfit, to the best of my ability, as such is the arduous business of your wife.”