If the Duke Demands

by Anna Harrington

  He touched his lips to hers. “Close your eyes.”

  She did as he bade her, trusting him completely with her heart and now with her life and her future. But she felt him move away from her, heard him cross the room to his dresser and pull open a drawer…Curiosity raced through her as she felt him return to her.

  “Now, open.”

  Her eyes fluttered open, and she gasped at the necklace he held up in front of her. A rose-shaped ruby pendant, and the most beautiful piece of jewelry she’d ever seen—second only to her wedding ring. “Oh, Sebastian, it’s stunning!”

  “I’m glad you like it.” He grinned and motioned for her to turn around, then gently placed the gold chain around her neck. “Because it’s your wedding gift.”

  Her fingers trembled as she brushed them over the necklace. Tears of happiness once more threatened at her lashes, as they had all morning from the moment she crawled out of bed at dawn, too excited to sleep another wink. Even as her auntie, Josie, and Elizabeth helped her dress and rode with her in the carriage to the parish church, she felt as if she were floating in a dream. And now she knew she was wrong.

  She wasn’t in a dream. She was in heaven.

  “Thank you,” she breathed, unable to speak any louder around the knot in her throat.

  “I had it made for you.” He placed a kiss at the nape of her neck, and the heat of his lips shivered deliciously through her. “A rose for my Rose.”

  “It’s perfect,” she sighed. Everything about today was absolute perfection. Because of Sebastian. How was it possible to love anyone this much?

  He fastened the clasp. “How did you come up with that name anyway…Rose?”

  Then his hands trailed down her back to unfasten the row of tiny pearl buttons keeping the snug-fitting, old-fashioned bodice of her dress in place. So snug-fitting, in fact, that there was no room for a shift or stays beneath the low-cut neckline and the form-fitted waist, and an appreciative groan of pleasure sounded from him when he discovered that for himself. Her lips curled devilishly—the exact reaction she’d hoped for.

  His hands peeled the satin down her curves and off, to let it pile at her feet, until she stood in only her stockings and the gold necklace, the ruby pendant dangling in the valley between her bare breasts.

  “You don’t know?” She rolled her head as he pulled her back against him and stroked his hands over her body, caressing at her breasts before wandering down to her hips, then lower still to the aching heat throbbing between her legs. When his fingers slid into her cleft, she quivered against him, already aching for him there, so eager to make love to him as his wife.

  He lowered her onto the bed and followed down on top of her, his mouth never leaving her body as he quickly stripped from his own clothes. The rose pendant lay between her breasts, shining in the sunlight that slanted across the bed, the same sunlight that turned his hair golden as he lowered his head to kiss at her nipples.

  When he took one between his lips and sucked, she moaned and arched beneath him, curving her body eagerly into his. Oh, wicked man! And finally all hers, now and for the rest of their lives.

  He chuckled at her enthusiasm, the sound tickling at her breast. “I thought the name was just part of the masquerade.” He licked his tongue across her nipple and elicited a plaintive whimper from her, a formless plea for more.

  She writhed beneath him, her hands fisting at the sheet as she fought to keep back the rising wave inside her. This was their first joining together as husband and wife, and she wanted to make it last as long as she could.

  “Rose,” she panted out as he shifted his body into the cradle of her thighs, evidence of his own desire pressing against her lower belly, “is my…middle name.”

  He leaned up onto his forearm to gaze lovingly down at her, his blue eyes sparkling. “Miranda Rose Carlisle,” he murmured and touched his lips to hers to kiss the name onto her. “My Rose.” Then another kiss, this one lingering, hot and breathtaking, one that made her shake with arousal and need. “Duchess of Trent.” Another kiss, this one teasing her lips open to allow him to plunge deep inside her mouth and claim all of her kiss for him and him alone. “Baroness Althorpe.”

  She tightened her arms around his neck, her thighs trembling with sweet anticipation, and she whispered, unable in her happiness to speak any louder, “Your wife.”

  “And the name of our first daughter.” He lowered his hips and claimed her.

  Tossing back her head as a wave of utter happiness crashed over her, she moaned and wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles at the small of his back. As she welcomed his body as deeply inside hers as possible, never wanting to let him go, the moan transformed into a laugh of utter happiness. “But I’m not with child.”

  “Soon, love,” he murmured against her temple as she shattered in his arms, her love for him refusing to be restrained a heartbeat longer. “Very soon.”

  Capturing the Carlisles is the goal of many a young lady looking to marry—but it takes a woman like Annabelle Greene, who’s unafraid of seizing what she most desires, to tame a reckless young rogue like Quinton Carlisle…

  A preview of

  When the Scoundrel Sins

  follows.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Cumbria, England, Near the Scottish Border

  September 1822

  Well, well—what have we here?”

  Spinning around, Annabelle Greene gasped with surprise at the sound of the man’s deep voice. Her arms flew up to cover her bare breasts, and she dropped down until the cold water came up to her chin.

  She stared at the tall stranger standing at the edge of the pond, right beside the pile of her clothes where she’d undressed, where she placed them most summer evenings when she took a quick dip before dinner. But on all those other evenings, not once had her swim been interrupted. Certainly not by a man.

  She swallowed back both her startled fear and her mortification that he’d come upon her like this, naked and vulnerable. And anger took over.

  “Who are you?” she demanded in her sternest possible voice, which dripped with irony given the weakness of her current position. Heavens, she couldn’t even run away! “What do you want?”

  She didn’t recognize him in the shadows as he stood silhouetted against the sunset. But surely, he wasn’t one of Sir Harold’s men from the neighboring estate, certainly not dressed as he was, like a gentleman out for a ride. And he wasn’t one of her own tenants, not in that expensive maroon redingote and tall beaver hat. Yet Castle Glenarvon was isolated enough in the wilderness of the Scottish borderlands that few people wandered onto the estate by mistake, and just as few on purpose. And from the look of him, with his broad shoulders confidently squared beneath his jacket and his head held high, he wasn’t making a mistake.

  An impish grin blossomed on his face. “Belle,” he called out, a laughing lilt to his rich voice, “is that you?”

  Oh no. Her shoulders sagged beneath the surface of the pond. Now she knew!

  God help her, she would know that grin anywhere. That overly smooth, charming smile could persuade the king to surrender his crown.

  “Quinton Carlisle,” she called out tersely, peeved that he picked here and now of all times to arrive. Typical Quinn. Always showing up at the most inconvenient moments. And incidentally—as if he had some sort of sixth sense for it—where currently stood a naked woman.

  Even the last time she’d seen him, when he was just twenty-one and fresh out of Oxford, he was well on his way to becoming a rake. He and his two older brothers had cut a swathe through London’s most notorious venues that season, as if in competition to outdo each other with drunken debauchery. The three had been the foremost topic of gossip, as if the quality couldn’t quite believe that the Carlisle brothers actually belonged to their hallowed ranks. But while the ladies scorned them in public, privately they swarmed to them, and especially to Quinton, whose charming smile had them eagerly surrendering their hearts…and other body parts.
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  No wonder he hadn’t paid Annabelle much notice that spring. Why would he give any mind to a shy, country gel who felt more at home in bookshops than in ballrooms when he had the sophisticated ladies of the ton vying for his attention? Such a foolish cake she’d been! She should have known when he charmed her into surrendering her first kiss in the Earl of St James’s garden that it meant nothing to him.

  “So it is you.” With an amused glimmer in his blue eyes, obviously thrilled that he’d caught her in such an embarrassing situation, he lowered himself onto his heels and closer to her level. “Up to your neck in it as ever, I see.”

  “And you as ever a bother,” she muttered, goaded into the same bickering they’d engaged in when they were children, just because he enjoyed tormenting her.

  He gave a short laugh. A lock of blond hair fell across his forehead as he removed his hat and ran his fingers through the thick waves, which were just as golden as she remembered. His charmingly crooked grin grew impossibly brighter.

  Oh, she knew that look! And she knew the effect it had on women. Even now, having experienced the devilishness that lurked behind that angelic face, that same grin once again swirled through her, curling her toes into the muck at the bottom of the pond.

  He pulled off his leather riding gloves and slapped them against his hard thigh as if finding her in such an embarrassing—and increasingly colder—position was a humorous joke. And clearly at her expense. “I wasn’t certain if it was you,” he taunted, “or if mermaids had come to Scotland.”

  “We’re in England,” she shot back. “But if you’d like to travel on to Scotland, it’s just ten miles that way.” She gave a jerk of her head toward the mountains in the distance. “Safe travels!”

  The cut flew out before she could stop herself. And instantly she regretted it. If he were offended—worse, if he left…what on earth would she do? The pest aggravated the daylights out of her—he always had, blast him—but the last thing she needed in her desperate straits over Glenarvon was to make him ride off before she even had the chance to put her plan into motion.

  Thankfully, instead of being offended, he laughed, his eyes sparkling brightly. That, too, was typical of him…boundless energy and magnetic personality. “Your loyalty to crown and country is admirable, Belle, but I don’t think Rule Britannia applies to duck ponds.”

  Oh, the devil take the man! Pressing her lips together, she glared murderously at him, not trusting herself to respond without saying something else she would regret.

  He was just as aggravating as she remembered, despite being six years older, more mature—if only physically, certainly not intellectually—and definitely broader and more muscular. A sinking dread fell through her that perhaps she’d made a mistake by inviting him here.

  But she’d had no choice. She was quickly running out of options, and her desperation had driven her to it.

  Yet she certainly hadn’t expected him to arrive like this, with her naked in the water and her clothes lying on the bank beside him. But leave it to Quinn to do just that. The man always did have terrible timing.

  They’d known each other since they were children. As distant relations to the late Viscount Ainsley and his wife, she and Quinn had met often at estate parties and on the rare occasions when Annabelle accompanied Lord and Lady Ainsley to London. They had raised her since her own parents died when she was just a little girl, and now she remained at Glenarvon as a companion to Lady Ainsley. Quinn’s great-aunt Agatha. And a woman Annabelle was beginning to believe was mad as a hatter.

  But her primary concern at the moment wasn’t his aunt and how on earth she was going to resolve the mess that the late viscount had created in her life—it was getting out of the pond and over to her clothes without Quinn seeing her naked. And judging from the relaxed way he rested back on his boot heels, his forearm lying casually across his thigh, he didn’t plan on being a gentleman and leaving.

  “Lady Ainsley is up at the house,” she informed him, goose bumps forming on her skin. Good Lord, the water was freezing! A few minutes more, and her teeth would chatter.

  He crooked a challenging brow, knowing exactly what he was doing in keeping her there. “But it’s so much more fun here with you.”

  Beneath the pond’s surface, she clenched her hands into fists.

  “The groom said you were out here,” he explained, “and I thought I’d say hello before greeting Aunt Agatha and settling in at the house. So…hello.” Even in the dim light of the fading sunset his eyes sparkled like the devil’s own. “This feels like old times.”

  Old times she very much wanted to forget. Inviting him here was turning into a terrible mistake.

  Her eyes darted longingly to her clothes at his feet.

  He followed her glance. “Are you really…?” He gasped in feigned shock as he reached down to hook a finger in her dress and lift it from the ground. “Goodness, Belle! You all truly do live wild here in the borderlands, don’t you?”

  Despite the chill of the water, her face flushed hot. Leave it to Quinn to so cavalierly point out that she was naked.

  But of course, he couldn’t have cared less about her humiliation. And he certainly wasn’t flirting with her, most likely thinking nothing more of her uncomfortable situation than of the opportunity it gave him to torment her, just as he’d done when they were children. After all, he would never see her as a woman. He would never see her as anything more than the skinny, stick-with-ears bluestocking she was when they were younger.

  She sighed in aggravation. And shivered with cold. “Would you please—”

  “My, my, how careless!” With a shake of his head, he clucked his tongue chastisingly. “Some wild animal could stumble upon your clothes and carry them off, or the wind might simply blow them—”

  “Quinton James Carlisle, don’t you dare!” But her threat lacked all force, since she could do nothing to stop him. And drat him, he knew it, too.

  Which only caused his grin to widen. She could see on his face how tempted he was to do just as she feared and walk away with her clothes, leaving her as naked as Eve in the garden. The deceitful snake!

  “Same Belle I remember.” He laughed good-naturedly, as if he truly were happy to see her. And, of course, to tease her again. “Always too serious for her own good. Tell me, do you still prefer to spend your time with books rather than with people?”

  “Certain people, yes,” she bit out. And especially you.

  As if he could read her mind, he nearly doubled over, hooting with laughter. The rotten scoundrel actually laughed! When he should have had the decency to be remorseful about what he’d done to her all those years ago.

  She grimaced with annoyance. Oh, why couldn’t he simply do as she’d hoped for once and minimize the discomfort for both of them? But of course not. Quinn never did anything to make her life easier. Not if he could get a good laugh out of it.

  That much about him hadn’t changed during the past six years, although the rest of him was most definitely different…taller, broader, more solid. And impossibly more masculine. He’d matured from a lanky university student into a full-grown man, right down to the handsome line of his jaw. The tight fit of his buckskin breeches accentuated the hard muscles of his thighs and his narrow waist as much as the redingote stretching tight across his back exemplified the wide breadth of his shoulders. Since she’d last seen him, he’d transformed into a golden mountain of a man, just like his older brothers, yet retained the same charismatic grin he’d possessed since he was a boy.

  If he were anyone else, she would have said he was attractive. Perhaps even handsome. Unfortunately, she knew the Carlisle brothers too well, and she knew what lurked beneath their captivating exteriors. Sebastian was the serious one, Robert was the risk-taker, and Quinton…Well, Quinn made his way through the world by his charm.

  But his charisma no longer worked on her. She’d gained immunity. The hard way.

  “A gentleman would say his good-byes and leave me in priva
cy to get dressed.” Her teeth began to chatter, and as she shook from cold, she prayed he couldn’t see it. Or anything else she didn’t want him to see.

  “Then it’s a very good thing I’m not a gentleman,” he replied with mock earnestness. He dangled her dress higher, as if taunting a dog with a bone. “If you want your clothes, Belle,” he coaxed devilishly, “you can always come out and get them.”

  For a fleeting moment, she was tempted. Oh, so very tempted! And just to see the startled look on his face, because she was certain he thought her incapable of ever doing anything so daring. Perhaps the girl he knew from before wouldn’t, but the woman Annabelle had become might just do something exactly as bold as that.

  She trembled at the idea, and despite the cold from the chilling water, an odd yearning of excitement fluttered up from low in her belly. As if she just might possibly be as daring and wild as he suspected she wasn’t—

  She sneezed.

  “God bless you,” he offered solemnly, then trailed his hand into the water at the edge. “Brrr! That is rather cold, isn’t it?”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits, and she distrusted herself to speak, knowing this time she really would say something indelicate enough to drive the pest away.

  “Better come out now, Belle.” He continued to toy with her, using her dress as bait. “You’re turning blue.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Blue. Her eyes stung with sudden tears at his thoughtless words. To be that inconsiderate, that unkind to her even now after all these years as to bring up that horrible prank—but he only smiled at her, oblivious to the cruelty of his offhanded comment.

  Of course, Quinn wouldn’t think anything of it. His reputation hadn’t been ruined because of a bucket of blue paint and a sweet old book buyer who had only been trying to help her after it came crashing down on her head that day in the library, leaving all kinds of blue handprints all over her dress. And just in time for the ladies attending Lady Ainsley’s garden party to come rushing inside at the commotion and find them together.