The Dukes of War: Complete Collection

by Ridley, Erica

  Until now.

  She sank to her knees before him and placed her hands around the ankle of one of his tall leather Hessians. As she tugged each boot free, she did not look at her hands, but rather kept her eyes on her husband’s face.

  He was gazing at her with an intensity that made her toes curl.

  She set his boots aside and ran her hands up his calves, over his knees, onto his legs, close to his lap. Then she spun around, nestling her back between his knees, and lifted the stray tendrils from the nape of her neck to expose her spine.

  “Unbutton me?” The words were spoken as a question, but they both knew it was not. He had been waiting for this moment just as long as she had.

  With a growl, he placed his strong fingers against her spine and made short work of unfastening her gown.

  She did not retreat. The dress gaped along her back, but there were two more layers beneath. “Now my stays.”

  For nine months, she hadn’t worn them.

  There were no stays on earth wide enough to accommodate her pregnant body. For the first month after giving birth, her less rotund form could technically be bound by whalebone and quilted linen, but the excess bits bulging out the top of the stays did more harm than good to her silhouette.

  About a fortnight ago, she’d realized most of her body had returned close enough to its original width to employ stays anew. ’Twas ironic. Where once she had cursed the inflexible busk’s ability to inhibit movement, she now rejoiced in the ability to cage herself in it at all. Stays might not be the most comfortable of women’s underclothing, but they made her feel feminine and pretty—something she’d desperately needed.

  Feeling her husband’s large fingers gently loosen the corded ribbon made every moment of her beauty toilette worth it. She felt like herself again. Like she was someone desirable.

  Once her stays were loosened, she placed her palms atop her husband’s legs and rose to her feet. Keeping her gaze locked on his, she pushed her day dress off her shoulders and let it slide to the floor.

  Edmund swallowed. His hands clamped the tops of his legs as if he were forcing himself not to reach for her.

  She unfastened the front of her stays and dropped them onto the other chair. She would not be sitting there. She would be right here, seducing her husband.

  Freed from its bindings, her thin white chemise fluttered against her naked body. Cool air and low heat from the nearby fire sent warmth and gooseflesh chasing across her skin.

  She was nervous in a way she hadn’t been a year ago, in Bruges. The first time they’d made love, her biggest fear was the actual mechanics. How much it might hurt. Whether her ignorance would disappoint him.

  She no longer had any fear of the act itself. She’d spent long, aching nights yearning for his touch. Now he was here, in front of her. Waiting to be seduced. She touched her fingertips to his chest.

  “I dislike this waistcoat.”

  He raised his brows. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “You’re still wearing it.” She arched a brow.

  He shrugged out of his waistcoat in a matter of seconds. “Happy?”

  She shook her head. “I seem to also have strong feelings against your shirt. Its presence offends my sensibilities.”

  He crossed his arms at his waist to pull the offending garment up and over his head, but she stopped him.

  She lifted the edge of her chemise just high enough to allow her to straddle his thighs. Perched atop him, her breasts were now at the same height as his parted lips.

  Slowly, she tugged the shirt free from his waistband. Little by little, she eased it up over the muscled planes of his abdomen, up over corded scars crisscrossing his chest, up over his head and off into the shadows.

  She lowered her head and brushed her lips against his. “Are you going to kiss me?”

  “Are you?” he growled.

  She smiled. “Absolutely.”

  Her heart pounded as she suckled his lower lip into her mouth, kissing, licking, tasting. Wanting.

  At last he wrapped her in his arms, sinking his fingers into her hair and holding her to him as his mouth devoured hers with kisses.

  The familiar sensual ache began to pool between her legs. This time, she wasn’t lying frightened in the shadows, afraid to let him touch her. This time, she was astride his strong thighs. Trapping him between her breasts and the chair.

  Her breath quickened. She felt powerful. Beautiful. Desired.

  She tore her mouth from his, panting, and brought her lips to his ear. “Make love to me.”

  “Make me.” He pressed a trail of hot kisses down the curve of her throat. He trapped the edge of her bodice in his teeth and jerked the thin linen down to expose her breasts.

  She gasped as his tongue dragged sensuously over her nipples. Her body was more than ready for him. Every inch of her was trembling with anticipation, begging him to make her his.

  Make me, he’d challenged her. Very well. She couldn’t wait any longer.

  She gathered her chemise up to her waist and reached her hand between their bodies to unbutton the fall of his breeches. His shaft sprang free to rub tantalizingly against the heat of her slick core. Thrilled at her own boldness, she touched her fingers to her sensitive cleft then wrapped her wet fingers around his erect member.

  His mouth slackened, his entire body stiffening in pleasure. She rose up on her toes to position his shaft at her opening and then slowly, deliciously, sank back down until he was fully sheathed.

  His mouth captured hers, giving, taking. He gripped her hips as she rode him, letting her guide the rhythm.

  She wrapped her arms about his neck. He was her anchor. Her tempest.

  He closed his fist about her chemise, raising the hem to lift it over her head.

  She froze. Not because she wanted to make it easier for him to remove her chemise—but because her brain had flooded with all the fears of how he would react once he had done so.

  His eyes met hers just as he lifted the hem breast height and he paused in concern. “What is it?”

  A flush crept across her skin. “I just… want you to think me beautiful.”

  “You are beautiful.” He tore the chemise over her head and took her mouth in a searing kiss. “You think I married you for your beauty? Bloody right, I did.” His hands cradled her face. “Nothing can ever take it from you. You’ll be beautiful to me when you’re eighty years old and missing most of your teeth.”

  She swallowed. “It’s already too late. My body…”

  “How could I fail to love your body? I love you.” He rocked his hips so she would feel his shaft buried deep within her. “You’re everything. With you, the past melts away. With you, I have a future.”

  Her back arched as his words washed over her. He loved her. She lifted up and sank back down, taking him into her body and her heart. “I thought you would hate my scars. I thought you wouldn’t want me.”

  He lifted her breasts to his face and ran his tongue across the sensitive nipples. “I will always want you. I have my scars, you have yours. Scars aren’t ugly, darling. They’re visible signs of how strong you are.”

  “How strong we are,” she said, her voice breathless at the twin sensations of his mouth on her breasts as his shaft drove within her.

  “I’m yours, Sarah,” he said between kisses. “I would cross the world to be with you. To feel your body wrapped around me and know you were mine forever.”

  The pressure built so strong, she was certain she would shatter against him. “Edmund, please—”

  “Thank God.” He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her to ride her faster.

  She gasped as her muscles clenched around him, pleasure filling her until she was spent and breathless.

  He wrapped his arms around her and she sagged against him in sated wonder. She was in love. He was in love. Their future was wide open. She lay her cheek against his shoulder and held him close. They weren’t just a family…

  They would li
ve happily ever after.

  Chapter 20

  Edmund’s mother tore from her house with shrieks of joy as he and his wife carefully descended from a hired hack with their children in their arms.

  “You bad boy,” she scolded delightedly. “You terrible son. Why did you not tell me you might come for a visit? I would have filled the entire house with biscuits for my grandchildren!”

  “They don’t have teeth yet, Mother.”

  She waved this away. “Jellies, then. Marmalade. The point is, these adorable little gentlemen should enjoy every moment at their grandmother’s house. How am I expected to craft the perfect visit if I don’t even know you’re coming?”

  “Our deepest apologies,” said Sarah, her eyes twinkling.

  Edmund’s mother sniffed. “Yes, well. It’s enough to give one vapors. Do keep that in mind next time. And come inside, come inside! Unless you wish to show the twins the river? I could have commissioned boats, had I known you were coming! Of all the ill-mannered… How long can you stay? A month, at least. Perhaps three or four. The Season is over, which means there isn’t any reason to return to London until Christmastide at the earliest.”

  Edmund affected a deep sigh. “We can only stay an hour, I’m afraid.”

  “An hour?” His mother stared at him as if she truly might have a fit of the vapors. Her face blanched. “You can’t travel all the way back to London after just one hour when it took you all day to get here!”

  “Actually,” he said with a slow smile. “It didn’t.”

  “But how…?”

  Sarah stepped forward and pointed down the hill in the direction in which they’d come. “We’ve a cottage not more than a mile from here, on the bank of the river.”

  Edmund’s mother clasped her hands together, eyes shining as tears spilled down her cheeks. “You’re the best daughter. And the best son. We’ll be the happiest family who ever lived.”

  Edmund smiled at his parents, his children, his wife. “I believe we already are.”

  Epilogue

  Edmund shook out the twins’ favorite blanket, faded from repeated use beneath the sun, and smoothed it atop a patch of sprightly green grass. He held out a hand to Sarah, and they arranged themselves in familiar comfortable positions from which he could stroke her hair whilst keeping a sharp eye on the rambunctious boys playing beneath the tall, leafy trees.

  Country life was perfect. He had his wife, his sons, and a beautiful, peaceful environment in which to enjoy them.

  His parents lived just close enough to offer the boys frequent stays at their grandparents’ house, yet far enough away that Edmund and Sarah had plenty of opportunity for privacy, romance, and frequent family outings like this one.

  “Do you miss London?” he asked her.

  She glanced up at him, her head in his lap and her eyes round with surprise. “Not in the least. Why, darling? Reminiscing about your fashionable townhouse?”

  “Hardly.” He stifled a laugh at the thought.

  From the moment he’d returned to his townhouse, he couldn’t wait to leave it behind. Everything he’d thought he’d wanted—the noise, the bustle, the sights, the smells—had become his worst nightmares. Escaping the city had let him enjoy his family, instead of caging them indoors to protect them.

  Not to mention what a boon the influx of income had been for them after he’d sold his high-priced townhouse. Between his savings and the money the Army had owed him, they needn’t worry about money. All Edmund had to provide was time and love—two things he possessed in great abundance.

  “I was thinking…” He rubbed the pad of his thumb against his wife’s cheek.

  Her eyes fluttered closed. “Mm? What about?”

  “Don’t you think our sons ought to have…a sister? The boys shouldn’t have all our attention.”

  Sarah flashed him a mischievous grin and pulled herself up in his lap to press a kiss against his jaw. “Indeed. I myself have one or two things I wouldn’t mind turning your attention to…”

  “Oh?” He brushed his lips against hers and smiled. Nightfall couldn’t come quickly enough. “I am eager to be of service.”

  She wrapped her arms about his neck. “How did I ever get so lucky?”

  “The best day of my life was the day I met you.” He kissed the tip of her nose, then raised his eyebrows toward the twins. “The second best was the night we created those rapscallions.”

  “That was an exceptional night,” she agreed. “But the highlight of mine was the day you barged into Ravenwood’s estate and stopped that wedding. It was a dream come true. You are a dream come true. I love you more every day.”

  He smiled wickedly. “And every night?”

  She grinned back. “Especially then.”

  He held her close as the sun slowly began to dip toward the horizon. For a man who had once lost everything, he now had everything he hadn’t even dared to hope for. His freedom. His family. His life.

  And a love that would last forever.

  THE END

  * * *

  Keep turning for The Pirate’s Tempting Stowaway!

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  Acknowledgments

  As always, I could not have written this book without the invaluable support of my critique partners. Huge thanks go out to Emma Locke and Erica Monroe for their advice and encouragement.

  I also want to thank my incredible street team (the Light-Skirts Brigade rocks!!) and all the readers in the Dukes of War facebook group. Your enthusiasm makes the romance happen.

  Thank you so much!

  The Pirate’s Tempting Stowaway

  A Dukes of War romance

  A Hidden Treasure…

  Captain Blackheart leads a simple life of roving the seas, wenching and treasure-hunting. He steers clear of romantic entanglements that could tie him to land. He shouldn't have any trouble keeping his hands off the gently-bred lady he's commissioned to abduct—except his cargo turns out to be feisty and passionate! She'd be a prize worth treasuring, if having her aboard didn't jeopardize everything...

  Clara Halton thought the worst loss she could suffer was to be stripped of her family, stricken with consumption, and left to die alone. Then she meets Blackheart. Their attraction is ruinous...and irresistible. When he delivers her like so much plunder, his mission is over — but hers has just begun. She'll force him to acknowledge their connection, even if she must storm his ship to do it!

  Copyright © 2014 Erica Ridley

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1939713412

  ISBN-13: 978-1939713414

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover design © Erica Ridley

  Photograph on cover © DesignPicsInc, DepositPhotos

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Four left for war…

  One took to sea.

  Chapter 1

  February 1816

  The Dark Crystal

  Atlantic Ocean

  Th
e dread pirate Blackheart stood at the bow of his ship, smiling into the rush of salty air, as the first hint of America rose upon the horizon.

  Despite the chill of winter, the skies were clear and blue, with both the wind and the sun to his back. ’Twas more than a good omen. It was a perfect day for any number of Captain Blackheart’s favorite activities. Sailing. Wenching. Drinking. Horse-racing. Sword-fighting. Boarding enemy vessels. Commandeering an ill-fortuned frigate.

  Nothing was better than the freedom of the seas.

  “Land ho!” came the familiar cry from the crow’s nest.

  Blackheart’s good humor faded. He relinquished navigational oversight to the Quartermaster without a word.

  There was no need to bark orders. Most of the crew had been part of his family long enough to recognize the storm clouds brewing in Blackheart’s eyes, and every hand on board already had their standing orders.

  No unnecessary fighting. No drinking to excess. Wenching was always permissible, but only if the crew made haste. The Dark Crystal would only be docked at the Port of Philadelphia long enough for Blackheart to accomplish his mission, and then they’d sail down the Delaware River and back out to sea just as swiftly as they’d sailed in.

  Payment would only be delivered upon receipt of the booty. In this case…a sickly old woman named Mrs. Halton.

  Despite being a pirate for hire, Blackheart was not in the habit of kidnapping innocents. Prior to the end of the war eight short months ago, he had been a privateer for the Royal Navy. A government pirate. A legal pirate. Now that he was an independent contractor, he tried to uphold the spirit (if not the precise letter) of the law.