The Wolf Duke

by K. J. Jackson

  “People don’t just happen to walk by Wolfbridge, Sloane. They have to travel here. Travel here on purpose.”

  “I have gathered that.” Her attention swung back to the fire, the tumbler going to her lips.

  It wasn’t an admission of guilt.

  No, something very different. An admission of being lost.

  Lost with no guiding light as to what led her here. The constant spark in her blue eyes dimmed, sadness taking root. Sadness he didn’t want to see.

  “My turn.”

  Her look swung back to him.

  “You were right. I never should have used Vicky like that—sending her in to question you.”

  Sloane’s head snapped back, her blue eyes shocked. “I did not imagine you would consider my point on the matter.”

  “Was I just to ignore your outrage on my niece’s behalf?” He cocked an eyebrow, looking at her over the rim of his glass as he took a sip. “I’m not a stupid man, Sloane. I can recognize when I am wrong. And I will have to beg for your assistance in how I can ask forgiveness from her.”

  An odd smile came to her face, the spark relighting in her eyes. “I don’t think you need to. She worships you. Have you not realized that? She doesn’t think there is anyone stronger or smarter than you. I fear for her when she goes to London one day and discovers men like you are few and far between.”

  “Men like me?”

  Her hand flittered in the air between them. “I mean as she sees you. Smart and strong and handsome.”

  “You didn’t mention handsome before.”

  “I didn’t? Surely—”

  Without thought, he leaned forward across the expanse of the settee, his lips on hers cutting off her words.

  Lips that were instantly responsive. Breath that quivered under the crush of him. Hell, she felt so good. So soft. So pliable.

  His hand went to her neck, digging through her blond hair that hung free down her back and he found the base of her neck, his fingers teasing the bumps up along her spine. Her skin instantly prickled under his touch. Responsive to the slightest nudge of his fingertips.

  Her lips parted under his and he pressed forth, his tongue slipping past the edge of her mouth, exploring the taste of her.

  Warm honey and brandy.

  And lust. She tasted like lust. Like she would draw him in and be the death of him.

  His hand slipped up to cup the back of her head and he tilted it, deepening the kiss.

  A soft purr rumbled from her throat and she pulled slightly away, breaking the kiss.

  She was stopping this.

  Stopping this before it went too far. He should let it be—but hell, every fiber of his being wanted to pull her back to him. Set her body next to his.

  She heaved a breath as her eyes opened to him.

  His hand went to her temple, his thumb running over the spot that had been a wicked lump days ago. “You can’t deny this. What this is between us.”

  She remained only a feather’s width away. So close her breath was almost his own.

  She shook her head. “No. I can’t. But—”

  “But you want to deny it?”

  “No. No, I don’t. But I cannot accept it when—”

  “You can leave. Leave Wolfbridge anytime you want, Sloane.” He leaned past her and set his glass on the side table next to the settee, then wedged the tumbler she had clasped in front of her from her hands. He set that glass next to his and then his focus went solely onto her, his words guttural in their honesty. “You say it, and I will have a horse saddled for you. Have my carriage readied. You say it and you can leave. You can leave this instant. You’re not my prisoner, Sloane.”

  “You are”—she pulled back slightly from him, her eyes searching his face—“you are serious?”

  “Dead serious.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. The gold mark in her left iris sparked, almost like fire against the ocean blue of her eye. “Then I’ll not deny it.”

  All the invitation he needed. He leaned forward, his lips finding hers again. Parting them. Possessing the full skin, the flick of her tongue against his, the taste of her.

  Her hands lifted, sliding up his arms and curling about his neck. The bare fingers of her right hand went upward to bury into his hair as she pulled her body forward. Pulled her body into him.

  Heaven help him. Her body, her breasts pressing into him.

  His mouth dropped from her lips and trailed down her neck. She didn’t stop him, didn’t move away, didn’t say a word.

  If anything, her breath sped, her hold along the back of his head tightening.

  He moved his hand along her side upward, his thumb brushing the side of her breast.

  An exhale. A soft moan at the caress.

  His hand drifted downward, and before he could slip it around to the small of her back, her left hand moved down, grasping his wrist and bringing it back upward to her breast.

  He smiled into the skin in the crook of her neck. She wasn’t afraid to tell him what she liked. Refreshing. And aggravating to any last strains of decorum he possessed.

  Teasing along the bare skin above her bodice, his thumb slid beneath the lace edging of the fabric. He tugged the muslin downward, the shift, the stays, as his lips trailed a path to her breast. Just as the fabric cleared her nipple, he set his lips about the pink nub, his tongue caressing the tip of it.

  “Aaaa.” Part gasp, part carnal exhale from her throat.

  “You enjoy that?” he asked, his mouth still tangled with her breast.

  “Yes. From your lips—” She paused, drawing a trembling breath. “Yes, I do.”

  The taste of her skin sweet citrus, intoxicating, he could have set his lips onto her breast and not looked up for days.

  He shifted her closer, dragging her left leg over his lap to pull her closer and his hand caught her calf just under the bottom hem of her skirt. His hand trailed upward. Past the silk stocking. Past the ribbon that held the stocking in place. Bare skin. Her inner thigh. Soft, supple, and tensing, prickling under his touch.

  “Yes—that—your hand higher.” Breathless words stuttered from her lungs in between gasps for breath.

  Words that sent him into a maelstrom of his own making that he no longer had control of.

  Damn his bloody limbs and fingers. He wasn’t able to stop this—resist her. His fingers trailed higher, reaching the core of her.

  A soft groan raw in her throat urged him on.

  He slipped his forefinger into her folds.

  A guttural growl left her lips and nearly undid him.

  “Yes.”

  She wanted more.

  And damn if he wasn’t strong enough to deny her.

  He slipped another finger into her folds, finding her nubbin. His ring finger found way, and he started long circular strokes about it. Enough to tease. Enough to draw out the pleasure he was watching flash across her face.

  Yet she wasn’t about to be teased, her grip around his neck tightening, her nails digging into his skin. “Reiner, more—” A gasp cut off her words.

  He collapsed his circle, tightening it around her nubbin, flicking, caressing until she was taught and straining, her hips taking on movement of their own against his touch.

  It took several gasps before sound passed her lips again, her chest rising hard against the onslaught of his tongue. “Yes. Yes.”

  He took her nipple in his lips, slipping his teeth around it. Pressing ever so slightly.

  He sent her into a frenzy.

  Her body arching against him, her nails clawing at his back, he sped his fingers at her core, pulling her, pushing her over the edge.

  She came with a jolt, every limb straining, her full lips wide and heaving for breath. A scream escaped from her throat and he lifted his head from her breast, collapsing his mouth against hers to smother the sound.

  Her scream wavering, he pulled up slightly to watch her. Heaven help him, she was gorgeous. Transfixed, he wanted nothing more than to sink
himself into her. To bury his shaft deep into her wet folds, feel her body clench around him, not giving him up. But not before she rode this—not before the pleasure that was seizing her body had its due.

  He hovered above her, drawing out the pleasure from her core for as long as her body reacted to his touch.

  Her blue eyes opened to him, wonderment and pleasure flushing her face. “What was that?”

  Her words cut him to the core. Cut any thoughts he had of driving into her. “Something I wasn’t prepared for.” He blinked hard, his hand dropping from the folds of her skirt, his head moving backward. Moving away from her.

  The naiveté in her eyes, the ragged way her body responded to him. She was an innocent of the highest order.

  Or a very skilled actress.

  The last thought wedged into his head, refusing to lift away. The last time a courtesan of remarkable skill had been sent to ensnare him. So why not an innocent this time?

  He stood from the settee, the fabric of his trousers stretched tight against his engorged, raging member.

  He’d been down this path before. Let a woman so far into his life that it could have ruined everything. Let his cock put everything he’d worked for in danger.

  “My apologies, Sloane.” He inclined his head to her. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you as I just did. Please, retire to your chamber and know I will not force myself upon you again.”

  She sat up straight, shoving her skirts down off her lap. “You didn’t force anything, Reiner.”

  “You are kind. But my actions are unforgivable.” He motioned to the door. “Please retire, I will put down the fire.”

  Her forehead crinkled as she gained her feet. The slight flush in her cheeks from earlier was turning decidedly pink. Her mouth opened for one moment, then clamped closed. With a quick glance at him, she turned to the door and walked stiffly from the room.

  Her embarrassment only added to the excruciating moments of awkwardness.

  He prayed to hell he was right about her reasons for being at Wolfbridge. That she had been sent here to harm him.

  For if that wasn’t the case, it had been one odious action after another from him. Not a one she deserved.

  And he would pay dearly for it.

  That he was sure of.

  { Chapter 8 }

  Sloane stared at the stable boy—gangly and just a few years older than Vicky—scurrying about the stall in front of her, readying a mare for her to ride.

  The boy walked past her, disappeared into a stall on the opposite wall, and then emerged with a sidesaddle, the leather polished to such a shine she wondered if it had ever been ridden. He heaved it over the front half wall of the stall, leaving it draped there while he shook out the numnah to be spread on the speckled brown mare’s back.

  The toes of her boots dug into the dirt. She’d changed into the black clothes that she’d arrived at Wolfbridge in after she’d said good eve to Vicky. Her hand twisted along the folds of her dark skirt into the deep pocket, making sure her dagger was in place in the folds of the fabric. Her blade had reappeared days ago, sitting on top of the chest of drawers in her room. Reiner hadn’t mentioned it, but she knew it was an offering of trust that he would give it back. How hard it was for him to do, she wasn’t sure.

  She hadn’t had the heart to tell Vicky what she was about to do. What she needed to do.

  She had to leave Wolfbridge.

  Reiner had said she could leave and she was about to lose more than her memories if she stayed in this place.

  It’d been a full day since he kissed her late at night in the library and she was still mortified by her own actions. She hadn’t put up the slightest resistance to his touch. To his lips. No. She had encouraged every single second of his lips wandering on her body. Where his hands had travelled.

  And for how he’d asked her to leave the library the previous night, it was as though he was asking her to leave Wolfbridge.

  Maybe she had misunderstood everything last night. How his lips felt on hers. How his hands had trailed over her skin, hungry. How he had smiled when he’d had to swallow her scream with a searing kiss. Her body had never reacted like that to a man’s touch before. To a man’s kiss. To his caresses.

  But he had turned her into a common trollop within minutes of his attentions on her body.

  Maybe now he was done with her. Maybe that was all he wanted. To prove he could make her writhe under him.

  Her look averted from the stable boy as a blush travelled up her neck, heating it to uncomfortable proportions. If the boy merely glanced in her direction, he’d absolutely be able to tell where her mind had just wandered. What she had done.

  But daylight had come this morning, and with it, a level head. She’d been caught in the shadows of the night, the possibilities of pleasure she’d never experienced. It had been too easy. Too easy to talk to Reiner. Too easy to study his every movement. Too easy to say yes to him, as denying his touch had been the last thing on her mind.

  The man was infuriating. And kind. And handsome. And caring. And in rare, sparkling moments when he let his guard down, funny. And the heat in his eyes when he looked at her sparked to life the core of her—the tingling throbbing between her legs that begged for everything his golden brown eyes promised.

  He wasn’t the cold duke she’d thought him to be.

  The exact opposite, in fact.

  And a man like that was far more dangerous than a frigid duke in a lonely castle. It’d been embarrassing how quickly she’d been swept into the moment. In what she’d allowed.

  She needed to leave. Leave before another encounter with him that would prove to be her downfall, for she didn’t think she was capable of saying no to the man. Not when she wanted exactly what he was offering.

  Weakness, but she could only manage to leave when she was levelheaded. Not in the heat of the night.

  “Sloane.”

  Reiner’s low voice boomed along the main corridor of the stable.

  Sloane jumped, spinning to him as horses nickered at the disturbance.

  He strode toward her, stopping an arm’s length away as he surveyed the stable boy setting the numnah in place.

  “Leave us, John.”

  The boy stepped away from the mare. “Yes, your grace.” With a quick bow of his head he slipped past Sloane and walked out the front of the stable.

  Reiner watched him until he was clear of the building. He turned to Sloane, his gaze piercing her. “What are you doing?”

  “Leaving. You said I could go, so I am.”

  His mouth opened for a moment, a harsh exhale escaping. Just when he looked to bombard her with orders, his mouth clamped closed.

  His gaze drifted off of her for a long breath, his look concentrating on the open rear entrance of the stables. “It is almost twilight.” He looked to her. “You cannot travel in darkness.”

  “The moon is already out and it is clear. It will be enough to get me into the nearest village.”

  “And then what? What do you do there? Where do you go? You cannot think to seriously do this.”

  “Were you serious when you said I could leave?”

  His jaw twitched, shifting to the left. “I was. You can go if it is truly your wish.”

  Her right eyebrow lifted. “You aren’t stopping me?”

  He shook his head, even as his chest lifted in an exasperated inhale. “No.” The word came out long and drawn in clear battle against himself.

  She glanced at the mare to her left. “Then saddle my horse.”

  His left fingers rolled inward for moment, uncurling as he inclined his head toward her and moved to the sidesaddle. Silently, he lifted it and set it on the horse, tightening the girth. The saddle secure, he stood straight, his hand going to the long neck of the horse. He set the bridle in place, attaching it, then grabbed the reins and led the horse to the block outside the stall.

  Her breath held, Sloane stepped up on the block and mounted the horse.

  A
voiding Reiner’s sharp stare, she fiddled with her skirts, arranging them about her legs.

  He led the horse two steps toward the opening of the stable, but then stopped abruptly, turning around to her. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Sloane. The trouble you have involved yourself in. You still don’t remember anything and you have no idea what awaits you out there. It’s not safe. You—”

  “I ken what I’m doing, Reiner. What I have to do.”

  “Do you?” He shook his head, but shifted the reins about the mare’s neck and handed them up to her.

  She took them, settling the leather in her hands.

  His hand drifted downward, landing on her thigh. “You don’t have to do anything, Sloane. Not here. Not for me.” His hand slipped off her leg and he took a step backward.

  She stared down at him, her gaze caught in his. The breath in her chest froze in place, her lungs tightening until her chest started to hurt. He was letting her go. Giving her the freedom she was so desperate for.

  She had to leave. She had to.

  But her hands were frozen on the reins. Her legs still.

  “Why aren’t you leaving, Sloane?”

  She couldn’t look away from him. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t?”

  She shook her head, her eyes still locked with his.

  He took a step forward, his fingers lifting to rest on her knee. Holding her in place or touching her one last time she wasn’t sure. He cleared his throat. “Can I wager a guess?”

  “If you wish.”

  “You feel safe here. Safe with me. And that—” He pointed to her left arm. “Whatever happened to cause that was not safe. It was horrific. And you know in your gut you don’t want to retreat to that place. Don’t want to have to face whatever it was that happened to you.”

  Her lips pulled in for a long moment before she exhaled. “Maybe.”

  “So stay.” The words left him, raw and guttural.

  Slowly, his hand lifted from her knee and he held his palm up to her.

  For all his golden brown eyes swore that she was safe here—she felt it from him, felt it in her bones—she feared she was making a horrid mistake.