Surrender To Ruin

by Carolyn Jewel

  “I’m not sorry for bloody anything.” He shoved away another pillow and held her hip and slammed into her, then again with his arms straight, palms to the mattress above her shoulders.

  She lifted her other knee and met his next forward push with an upward press of her pelvis, hard enough that her breath became a groan. “Yes, my God.”

  He drew another moan from her. She held him tight against her, one leg around his waist. “Emily, Emily.”

  His throaty groan sent a shiver through her.

  “Divine, perfect Emily.” He moaned, an inarticulate sound, and the motion of her hips matched his, and her pleasure ratcheted to the point where she wasn’t sure she could endure more. “My God, you even fuck divinely.”

  She slid into wildness when he covered her breast: His fingers gripped her, then released. He swept his thumb over her nipple, and she gasped. He drew completely out of her and said, “Wait, devil take it, wait.”

  “No. No, why have you stopped?”

  He turned her over and grabbed her hips and pulled up, a quick motion, frantic even. He put his hands by her shoulders, one arm around her waist close to her hips, holding her back hard against his torso. His erect sex pressed against her low back. “Allow the tension to recede,” he rasped. His hips continued to move against her, slowly, enough to keep her close to the edge. “I promise you, I promise us both, the pleasure will come back redoubled if we deny ourselves a little now.”

  He leaned back and ran a hand over her bottom, then once along her sex, one finger, then two. “So soft inside. Shall I have you like this? Shall I offend if I take you . . .” He set his cock to her entrance and pushed in. “. . . like this?” She pushed back, and he slid deep into her. Every part of her longed for more wildness. “You little—” He thrust hard. “—brat.”

  This. This. She was ruined forever.

  “Again,” he said. His fingers tightened on her hips as he pulled her backward into his thrust. “Again.”

  He changed the angle of his penetration of her, her body tightened around him, and she forgot everything except how good she felt and how close she was to falling apart. But he stopped again. And this time he held her tight, so tightly, and he whispered in a low, hard voice, “Wait, damn you, wait.”

  She cried out a protest.

  “I am going to make you lose your mind.” He held her still, but he continued to stroke her with one hand. From the top of her spine to the bottom, around her stomach and upward to capture a breast. “You’re my fucking post, aren’t you?”

  She hadn’t the wit to agree, but then she should never have read Rochester. Bracebridge turned her over, and she feasted on the sight of his body, the hard muscles, the power of him. But now, but now. He was her husband. He pushed her down to the mattress, and she wanted the physical connection between them so badly that when he thrust inside her again, she shouted his name.

  He slid a hand along the underside of her thigh, pulling her leg up higher, higher, and he came first, his head thrown back, mouth open now, silent, lost to her at the same time she was lost to herself.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A tap on the door woke Bracebridge from a sound sleep. He was momentarily disoriented. This was not his room. He was not alone in bed. His arm was draped around a warm female body.

  Emily. His wife.

  No regrets. None at all.

  He sat, careful to keep the sheets and blankets covering her. She was asleep on her side, arms crossed with hands clutching her shoulders. At some point last night, he’d released the heavy silk curtains around the bed. He had no idea what time it was, but it must be late given that daylight penetrated the curtains. “Yes?” he said in a low voice.

  “My lord.” That was Pond, across the room, also soft-spoken. “My apologies for disturbing you.” He cleared his throat. “The Duke and Duchess of Cynssyr have arrived. They wish to speak with you immediately.”

  Bracebridge had a decent idea what they wanted, but really, no matter how anxious they were over Emily’s fate, they shouldn’t expect to interrupt the coital bliss of a couple newly married. He had half a mind to tell Pond to send them on their way. He couldn’t, though. One did not summarily dismiss a duke and his duchess.

  More to the point, he’d never send Anne away. Not for any reason, and never when she must be worried about her sister. Of course not.

  But he’d rather linger here. The sheets were warm, and if Emily wasn’t too sore or tired, a morning bout would be a rousing, agreeable start to the day.

  “My lord?” Pond said.

  He hung his head. Mightn’t they have contrived an afternoon arrival? “A moment.”

  His butler cleared his throat. “Her ladyship’s maid awaits her pleasure.”

  Bracebridge scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. His night had not involved much sleep. Nor had Emily’s. He glanced at her, and whatever their difficulties, whatever their future held, she was the most magnificent fuck of his life.

  “Shall I tell Her Grace you will see her presently?”

  Emily lay on her side, eyes closed. She spoke without moving. “There’s no point in making her wait. Cynssyr, either.”

  He raised his voice. “I’ll have tea in my room before I go downstairs. Please convey my apologies for keeping her waiting.”

  “My lord.”

  “Do please bring something for Lady Bracebridge to eat.” He put a hand on her shoulder. The contact reminded him of the hours they’d spent exploring each other. She was such a delicate, fragile woman, but she made love with an enthusiasm and physicality that matched his own. He had no complaints in that regard. “Tea or chocolate?” he asked.

  “Tea, please.”

  “Tea for Lady Bracebridge, Pond.”

  “My lord. I have shown Their Graces to the Matins Parlor.”

  “Thank you.” He said nothing further until he heard the door close. He drew aside the covers and kissed Emily’s shoulder. The bed smelled like sex, and she looked like his every pleasure about to be fulfilled. “I have to see her.”

  “I know.”

  He could not help himself. He stroked a hand along her side to her hip and around to her mons. “Are you sore?”

  Emily turned onto her back. A shiver of arousal centered in his belly. She was absolutely exquisite. Her hair was now a wave of curls and tangles he found quite fetching. “No,” she whispered.

  “Are you certain?” He slipped his fingers between her parted thighs. She was wet, and her breath had become shallow. “I seem to recall taking you hard enough that you ought to be.”

  Her smile was secret, satisfied, and for him only. “It feels good.”

  “Yes?”

  In answer, her hand wrapped around his stiff cock and urged him forward while she leaned toward him, one leg over his hip. “Quickly, if you don’t mind,” she said.

  He brushed aside the thought that she’d said that to give him an excuse to rush, but then again, he was randy, and a quick fuck was entirely to his tastes just now. He slid inside her, and it was better than all the times before. He didn’t even try to keep the separation between his appreciation of her physical form and his awareness of her as Emily.

  He fucked her hard and fast, exactly as she’d asked. Speech became unnecessary and impossible. He chased his climax with the expectation that he would not reach the peaks of last night, but the world narrowed to the two of them, and then he came hard enough that for a brief moment he was completely gone. He could not breathe. He could not think.

  Eventually, his brain did manage to register that he wanted to feel that way again. And again.

  Her lips brushed his collarbone. “Anne is waiting for you.”

  He tightened his arms around her. “I promise you I’ll make up for leaving you unsatisfied.”

  “Unsatisfied? Hardly.” Her reply was amused. She did not sound like a spoiled young lady. For the moment, he was content to think it true. “However,” she said, “if you feel you must make amends at a l
ater date, I shan’t dissuade you from the attempt.”

  He rested his head on her shoulder and laughed. This was her gift, that impertinent joy. “On my honor, I shall make amends.”

  “Go,” she said. “You mustn’t keep her waiting much longer.”

  Some time later, he entered the Matins Parlor to find only Anne seated on a chair near the fire. She set down her tea and stood. His heart lurched with a familiar ache. He loved her still. He would always love her. He would have destroyed every shred of his honor for her.

  The present Duke of Cynssyr had been that rare boyhood acquaintance who had not turned his back on Bracebridge after his father threw him out. How ironic that it had been Cynssyr who had brought him to Rosefeld. There, Bracebridge had met and fallen in love with Anne. But for Cynssyr, he would never have met her. But for Cynssyr, he would never have lost her.

  Anne settled her glasses firmly on her nose. He knew the gesture well, and it made his heart turn over to see it.

  “Good morning, Bracebridge. Thank you for seeing me.”

  Objectively, Anne was merely pretty. Her sisters were undisputed beauties, but Anne’s calm resolve and passionate intellect, her earnest devotion to her father and sisters, her kindness and character made her beautiful and dear and beloved by him. They had spent hours in conversation. Hours of what amounted to courtship.

  “Where’s Cynssyr?” The question was too abrupt, but then, this was not a social call, was it? He knew why her husband was not in the parlor. It annoyed him that Cynssyr was wise enough to let his wife handle the first round of questions. Recriminations would come from Cynssyr.

  “He’s gone for a stroll.” She managed a smile, but her mouth soon firmed. “Corth Abbey is such a beautiful property. He bid me tell you good day.”

  He was not often on the receiving end of her disapproval, and he keenly resented it. Did she hope he hadn’t been upstairs making love to her sister? They both knew he had been. He did not owe her sexual fidelity. She could not possibly expect it of him.

  She smoothed her skirts once and gestured to another chair. “Please.”

  “I’ll stand for now.”

  “Mary wrote me.”

  “Oh?”

  “Is it true? You’ve married Emily?”

  “I have.”

  She jumped to her feet and began to pace. He’d never declared himself to her, nor she to him. Never in words. Aldreth and Cynssyr had known he intended to propose to Anne. The imaginary life he had constructed for the two of them was as familiar to him as this house. His imagination. Not hers. He’d wanted her, loved her passionately, and he’d imagined a life with her. But that was as far as the two of them had got. “You must believe I want only the best for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I have always wanted you to be happy.” She took a step toward him. “But Emily?”

  “Did Lady Aldreth tell you that your father lost the Cooperage?”

  She sat down hard, elbows on the nearby table, and leaned her forehead into her upturned palms. She sighed. “No. No, she did not mention that. Oh, Papa. Papa, what have you done?” Since she’d said that mostly to herself, he did not reply.

  “As it happens, the Cooperage is safe.”

  She lifted her head. “How?”

  “I obtained the deed.”

  She understood what that meant. “Cynssyr will repay you.”

  “There’s no need. I intend to transfer the property to your sister.” This was the reason he’d proposed to Emily. So that Anne need never worry about her sister’s future. Imagine what the conversation would have been if the discussion had instead centered on Emily’s marriage to Walter Davener. “To make up in some small part for there being no settlement.”

  Her shoulders relaxed appreciably, and she resettled her glasses. “That is generous of you.”

  “I’m sure by now you’ve guessed your father took a familiar route to resolving the situation he was in after he put the Cooperage at stake.”

  She closed her eyes briefly. “Yes. Of course he would. I thought he was better. I thought he was. She never complained about him.”

  “Did you expect she would?”

  “No.” Her shoulders sagged. “I’ve never known anyone so convincingly happy when she is not. But Papa seemed so much better. He stopped writing me for money.”

  All along, he’d intended to tell Anne how he’d prevented an intolerable marriage for her youngest sister so she’d know just how deeply his emotions ran, but as he assembled the words, he was shocked to discover he had hitherto unexpected scruples. Emily was his wife, and he owed her both loyalty and discretion. “Your sister acted to put herself beyond his reach.”

  Her head came up, and her eyes widened. Anne understood what that meant, too. “By eloping with you.” Her eyes narrowed, and he let the silence continue. “How like her to act in the heat of emotion.”

  “In that,” he said gently, “you are much mistaken.”

  Anne wilted on the chair, and he saw the woman with whom he’d fallen so deeply in love. Always looking after her family. Always putting them first. “Oh, Emily. Emily.” She took a handkerchief from her pocket and removed her spectacles to dab a corner of her eye. She pressed a hand to her heart, handkerchief clutched in her fingers. “Who was this other man?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I suppose not. But what am I to say to you now?” Even the sound of her voice was dear to him. “I was prepared to lecture you for whatever foolishness led you to this, for we all know you and my sister do not suit. But now.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Her anguish was so transparent, he was hard pressed not to take her in his arms and comfort her. She was resolute when she opened her eyes again.

  He felt . . . odd. Unsettled. Conflicted. Not half an hour ago, he’d been in bed with the sister of the woman he loved, a circumstance he had never once thought would be a reality. More baffling still, his until-now unwavering loyalty to Anne had bifurcated. He had never put anyone’s interests or well-being before Anne’s.

  She waved him off again. “You need not answer.”

  He bowed. “No doubt you wished a better fate for her than me.”

  “My dear friend,” she said. “If anyone but Emily were your wife, I would scold you for uttering such words. Please do not misunderstand me. No matter my opinion of your marriage, I must thank you. All of us who love Emily owe you our gratitude.”

  “She did me a great honor by agreeing to marry me.”

  “How gallant of you.” She waved a hand as she stood. “I regret that you became entangled in Papa’s difficulties.” She extended a hand to him, and when he took it, she pressed his hand between both of hers. “I shan’t ask your reasons for marrying her over returning her to Aldreth or to me. I know she would not have been safe in any other case. Not from Papa.” Her voice shook. “I cannot forgive him, Bracebridge. Not for this. My heavens.” She pressed his hands. “What if you had not discovered Papa’s plans for her?”

  “Your sister would have managed an entirely different scandal.”

  “No doubt.” She let out a breath. “I do not wish for either of you to be unhappy.”

  “I am aware.”

  “But, Bracebridge, my dear friend, your feelings are so very different from hers.”

  He gripped her hand, but there was a distance between them now that had never been there before. “How can I be unhappy when I have done what honor and my heart demanded?”

  She touched the side of his face. He turned his cheek toward the contact. “My dear, dear friend,” she said. “I would never have wanted you to sacrifice your future happiness on my account. I don’t deserve it.”

  His chest tightened. This was the closest she had come to acknowledging the depth of his feelings for her, and it was a remonstrance after a fashion.

  She was steadfast and serene, as always. “But I am glad you did, and for that I am sorry.” She walked away from him to stare out the window. Presently, though, she faced him again. Y
ears of heartache gathered in the center of his chest. “I have so wanted you to find someone you could love. Marriage is . . . nothing any of us can anticipate, no matter what we believe. You must know, I have long wished for you to be as happy as I am.”

  He lifted his hands and let them fall to his sides. She wasn’t his. Anne would never be his.

  “My sister . . . Emily is . . .” She threw up her hands in exasperation. Emily would not have held back whatever words Anne did not pronounce. “Bracebridge. You have been my friend and confidante. A gentleman in every respect.”

  “You may speak freely with me, Duchess.”

  She bit her lower lip once, then slowly shook her head. “I fear you have never appreciated my sister’s many admirable qualities.”

  He ignored the guilt that streaked through him.

  “She’s so very young, and she has been spoiled and cosseted. By me. And Papa. By Mary and Lucy, too. But she is intelligent and as accomplished as any other young lady. If she seems flighty and unserious, well, I can only say that she is also joyful and generous and the most loyal friend one might hope to have.”

  “She’s more levelheaded than you give her credit for.” He’d chosen the colors of this parlor because he knew Anne would like them. Walls the same blue-grey of her eyes, a carpet the color of a summer sky. Elegant and restrained, like Anne herself.

  “Say you of the girl who eloped with but a moment’s consideration!”

  “You must say the same of me.”

  She shook her head ruefully. “If it were anyone but you, I’d say you were dazzled out of your wits.”

  Bracebridge laughed. “In her defense, Anne, our scheme succeeded. She is safe from your father.”

  “But, Bracebridge, is she safe from you?”