The Duke's Wicked Wife

by Elizabeth Bright

  As she spoke, the door opened, and John was indeed there. Eliza blinked. Perhaps Aunt Mabel was not as blind and deaf as everyone believed.

  Riya, Alice, Adelaide, and Aunt Mabel hurried out, each dropping a kiss on Eliza’s upturned cheek as they went. Music swelled, and her brother took her arm and wove it through his. They walked together down the center aisle, each step bringing her closer to her future husband.

  Sebastian looked at her as she first approached, his jaw slackened, and he swiftly looked away again. His hand trembled slightly as he pressed it to his breast pocket. His gaze remained fixedly on his boots and he did not look up again until she was beside him.

  “Dearly beloved,” the archbishop intoned.

  He followed that with a lot of words that Eliza had heard often but somehow could never remember. A strange numbness settled on her soul. She felt outside of herself somehow, as though she were watching another woman be joined in holy matrimony.

  And then he came to the final vows.

  “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

  Odd how Sebastian looked entirely in earnest when he said solemnly, “I will.”

  She said the same, her mouth so dry that the words sounded dusty.

  They turned to face each other, and Sebastian took her hand in his. “I, Sebastian, take thee, Eliza, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

  She came back to herself with a start. What was it she was supposed to say? “I, Eliza, take thee, Sebastian…” Well, she knew their names, at least. “to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish…”

  She was suddenly aware of an odd movement of his hand holding hers, rubbing and moving her fingers. She glanced down at their clasped hands and saw that he had crossed her middle finger over her index finger.

  She bit back a giggle and completed the vows. “And to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”

  She sneaked a glance and found his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. He understood that she would do no such thing as obey. His lips quirked at the shared joke.

  “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.” He slid the ring on her finger, binding them to each other.

  She stared at the gleaming circlet, and her heart stuttered painfully in her chest.

  It was done. She was married.

  Chapter Thirty

  For the first time in his life, Sebastian stood outside a lady’s chamber and wished himself…anywhere else. The moon, perhaps. The pit of a fiery volcano wouldn’t be so terrible, in comparison. His wife was on the other side of that door—his wife—waiting for him to sweep in and do away with her virginity.

  And Sebastian would really rather not.

  A new experience for him, not wanting to bed a woman. It was deeply disconcerting.

  He knocked lightly on the solid oak door, then held his breath in the ensuing silence. Perhaps she was asleep. Yes! Weddings were exhausting, and as a concerned husband, it was his duty to let her rest. He—

  “Enter,” she said.

  Damn.

  She rose from her seat at the mirror when he entered. Marie, her maid, hovered at her shoulder.

  “I wasn’t expecting you just yet.” Her hands twisted together in a nervous gesture that made his ribs squeeze painfully tight.

  He immediately turned back toward the door. “I’ll come back.” Tomorrow. Next week.

  “No! That is— I am already undressed.” Her cheeks turned pink as she gestured to her silky white night rail and pale lilac wrapper. “There is no need for you to wait. I can do my hair myself.” She nodded to Marie, who gave a knowing smirk as she curtsied and took her leave, shutting the door quietly behind her.

  Leaving them alone.

  For a moment they stared at each other silently. He tried not to notice the prominent peaks of her nipples through the thin fabric. Perhaps he didn’t quite succeed, for she pulled the wrapper tighter around her body and returned to her seat. Her hands went to her hair, searching for pins.

  He cleared his throat. “Is the room to your liking? It was redone after my mother passed, but not with you in mind. That is, I had not thought that you—” There was no polite way to tell his wife that he had never intended—never even imagined—that she would be the one to make use of this room. He cleared his throat again. “You can make whatever changes you wish. If you don’t like the colors or if it is too, ah, chilly.”

  Their eyes met in the mirror. Her gaze held a glint of amusement. “It is a touch drafty.”

  Don’t do it. Do not, do not, do not.

  He did. His gaze dipped to the reflection of her breasts. Yes, still there. Still…peaked.

  “Will you help me, Sebastian?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he told her breasts.

  “With my hair,” she clarified.

  He looked up. The amusement was much more than a glint now, and she was openly smiling. He moved to stand behind her. “Yes, of course. What do you need from me?”

  “There are two pins that I can’t seem to dislodge. Can you try, please?”

  An odd feeling settled over him as he stared down at her pale head. Fear warred with urgent desire. Had he always wanted this, to feel his hands bathed in the moonlight silk of her hair? It suddenly seemed so to him. And now that he was aware of the desire, he wasn’t sure how it could ever end. It would swallow him whole. His brain shrieked a warning even as his hands reached for her. Be careful, so very careful.

  Nonsense. It was just hair. Exceptionally beautiful hair, without question, but still just hair.

  “Sebastian?” she prompted.

  “Yes. Sorry.”

  He plunged his hands into her curls, found the pins, and unmoored them. Down tumbled her hair, luminous in the candlelight. She looked like an angel, and he almost wished she were, in truth. Better to defile a heavenly being than destroy his friendship with Eliza.

  He was going to hurt her, and she would hate him for it. If all went to plan, in nine months’ time she would hate him even more. Double damn. How was he supposed to…to…well, do the thing under these circumstances?

  “I don’t suppose you’ve done this before?” he asked hopefully. That would solve one problem, at least.

  She shook her head. “I ought to bloody your nose for even suggesting such a thing. But I don’t believe you meant to insult me. I don’t feel insulted, anyhow.”

  “I could hardly mean to disparage you for something I have done myself. I’m no virgin. I have a great many faults, or so you like to tell me, but hypocrisy is not among them. Besides, if you had done this before, then I wouldn’t have to deal with…all that.”

  Her brows arched so high they nearly disappeared into her hair. “Indeed. Well, if my virginity makes you squeamish, then perhaps I should find a willing footman to do the deed.”

  “No.” The word ripped from him with surprising force. Something ugly from the dark pit inside him rose up, rattling its chains and roaring its displeasure. He shoved it back down. None of that, now.

  “No?”

  “It’s one thing to contemplate lovers of the past. It’s quite another for you to bed a footman on our wedding night.”

  “It would be a bit unseemly,” she admitted. “On our wedding night. Perhaps next Tuesday would be better.”<
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  She was mocking him. Odd how it made him so happy to realize that. How many moments had they spent just like this, teasing each other with the most absurd nonsense? Countless, although he was tempted to try. None at all since the moment he had ruined everything with a kiss. Since then, they had been scrupulously polite to each other, in complete opposite of their usual behavior.

  Perhaps they could return to what they once were. Friends. If they could survive this night, that is.

  Did she even know what this night was? Other than vague notions of what men and women did together under the covers. Her mother had died in childbirth, her stepmother when she was still a young child. Had anyone prepared her for tonight?

  “Do you know what to expect? With me, tonight?”

  “I have imagined it a great many times.”

  She gave his form, hidden beneath his robe, a quick, speculative perusal, and he couldn’t help preening. Had she imagined it with him specifically? He choked back the question.

  “As for specifics,” she continued, “I have been fortunate to overhear a good deal more than I should. And my friends have been more forthcoming than is proper, bless them. Adelaide said the first time didn’t hurt much at all. Alice said it hurt a little. Claire said it hurt a lot, but then it didn’t, so in the end a little pain doesn’t matter. I’m not sure I agree with that. But it seems that not every woman experiences the same amount of discomfort. I don’t suppose there’s a way to predict how it will go with me, is there?”

  “No,” Sebastian said regretfully.

  She nodded, resigned. “Perhaps that’s for the best. And then there’s blood, and that’s also not the same. Alice didn’t bleed, but Adelaide and Claire did. I suppose blood is more common than not.”

  Christ. He had forgotten about that part. Not that he had ever witnessed it firsthand. He had some morals, after all, and besides, virgins had never held any appeal for him. Why take an innocent to bed when one could have a woman who knew what she was about?

  Now there would be blood. Eliza’s blood.

  He felt slightly sick.

  “Sebastian? Are you all right?”

  He tried to answer, but his tongue was suddenly two sizes too big for his mouth.

  “Sebastian?” She rose and walked toward him, her bare feet nearly silent on the thick carpet. She studied him, then lifted a hand to his cheek. “You are not all right. Sit down. Have a glass of wine. Marie brought it to help me relax, but you look more in need of it than I.”

  She gently pushed and pulled at him until he was seated on the bed. She poured a glass of wine from the decanter and handed it to him. “For your nerves,” she said sweetly.

  He glared at her. “I do not have nerves.”

  She had the gall to laugh!

  The gauntlet was thrown, and he couldn’t allow the challenge to go unanswered. He downed the wine in three swallows, placed the empty glass none too carefully on the bedside table, and stood.

  And promptly dropped his robe.

  Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

  “You said you had imagined this,” he said conversationally. “Show me.”

  It ought to have made him vulnerable to stand there before her, naked, considering that she was still clothed, and the room, as she had admitted, was drafty. But he didn’t feel exposed. He was in his element now. This was something he did well and often. Instinct kicked in. He was a man who enjoyed women. And here—how providential!—was a woman. It didn’t have to matter that she was Eliza.

  He simply wouldn’t allow it to matter.

  Eliza didn’t move a muscle, didn’t make a sound. He was quite certain she was still holding her breath. They stood close to each other, so very close, and he would have seen the rise and fall of her chest. Who has nerves now, darling?

  Ducking his head to hide his smile, he leaned down until his lips were a hairsbreadth from brushing her ear. “Eliza. Show me what you imagined would happen between us. How would you touch me? Or would I touch you first?” He lifted her hand that hung limply at her side. Cold, poor thing. He pressed his lips to the center of her palm in a kiss before sucking the tip of her finger into the warm haven of his mouth.

  In the shock of it, she found her voice. “I did not imagine this.”

  “No?” His teeth scraped delicately over the pad of her finger as he released it. “Do you like it, or shall I stop?”

  “I’m not sure. Do it again.”

  He obliged. She watched with narrowed eyes as her middle finger disappeared between his lips with a slick sucking noise. “Well?” he asked.

  “No, I don’t think I do. I’m sorry.” Pink flooded her cheeks.

  “Never apologize for demanding pleasure. I want to make you feel good, but you must help me. Tell me when something is not to your liking, so I may rectify it. Tell me when I please you. And if there is something you want that I have not attended to, you have only to ask. I will deny you nothing.” He lifted her hand again, but this time his thumb gently traced the veins of her wrist. “So tell me, wife, what did you imagine? Let me make it real.”

  She licked her lips, hesitant. But Sebastian was a patient man— Well, no, he wasn’t. But he could be now, for her.

  “I imagined kisses.”

  “Of course,” he murmured. He swallowed past his sudden trepidation. He hadn’t kissed her since their first disastrous time. It had been earth-shattering, that kiss, and he wasn’t entirely convinced they ought to risk it a second time. But he had promised to deny her nothing, so he lowered his face to hers.

  His mouth had nearly met hers when she said, “Not there.”

  He went still. “Pardon?”

  “I imagined”—her hands slid up his arms, coming to rest on the slope of his shoulders—“kissing you…”—she rose up on her toes—“here.” She pressed her lips against the hinge of his jaw.

  And then her tongue darted out and gave him a kittenish lick, making his pulse jump.

  He stopped breathing. Good God, where were his knees? He needed those. They were imperative to staying upright.

  “Why— Why there?” he managed to gasp out as her lips followed the edge of his jaw.

  He immediately regretted his question when she removed her mouth from his person in order to answer.

  “Do you never look in a mirror, Sebastian? You’re delicious.” She looked at him with mischief in those dark blue eyes. “Do tell me if it doesn’t please you to be kissed there, and I will rectify it immediately.”

  “Don’t stop.”

  But he prevented her from doing just that by making short work of her wrapper and night rail. He tried not to notice the give of her breasts as he pulled her against him, tried to keep the softness of her skin from penetrating too deeply into his consciousness. If he noticed too much, felt too much, he would be lost—lost to the need that had risen up, threatening to sweep away his sanity and control.

  He lifted her and laid her on the bed. Then he froze, torn by competing desires. On the one hand, he wanted to stand there forever, drinking in the moonbeam luster of her skin. On the other, he wanted to throw himself next to her and feel all that skin against him from chest to toe.

  She held out an arm to him. “I’m cold.”

  Well, that settled that. He couldn’t allow his duchess to freeze.

  He settled next to her, curving his warm body around her chilled limbs, and draped one heavy thigh over her slim legs. A rosy flush crept up her neck to her cheeks, and she watched him with catlike curiosity.

  “And now?” she asked.

  “The fun begins.”

  He kissed her where she had kissed him, at the pulse of her neck, making her smile before he moved lower to her tempting breasts. Creamy white encircled pale ruched pink, and in the center a knot of deep rose, a bull’s-eye for his mouth. His tongue sought her with arrow-like pr
ecision, licking that knot before he suckled it into his mouth.

  “Sebastian!” she gasped.

  He lifted his head and gave her a wicked grin. “Sebastian, yes? Or Sebastian, no?”

  To his utter delight, she reached round to the back of his head and pushed him back toward her breast. “Sebastian, yes.”

  A fast learner, his duchess was. Oh, he was going to enjoy this immensely.

  He rewarded her with sweet sucks and kisses, nuzzled at the plump curve, and then turned his attention to her other breast. Her fingers dug into his scalp, urging him on. While his mouth continued its ministrations, his hand caressed her ribs, the gentle roundness of her belly, the swell of her hip, until at last it came to the heart of her.

  He raised his head from her breast, wanting to see her when he touched her there for the first time. Their gazes locked and held as he ran a finger lightly down the seam and then separated her folds. His thumb met the sweet nub between them, and he grazed it gently.

  “Sebastian,” she whispered.

  He arched a brow.

  “Sebastian, yes,” she clarified.

  He did it again, and again, and then again, circling, pressing harder and then lighter, watching her eyelids lower with pleasure, finding the rhythm that made her hips rise to meet him of their own accord. Until he thought he would die if he could not be inside her immediately.

  But he wanted her sated first, because he was afraid it would be impossible after he hurt her.

  He pressed one finger into her, curling deep, feeling himself harden to the point of pain when she gasped at the sensation. Her eyes were glazed, her cheeks flushed, her white teeth biting down on her pillowy bottom lip. She was so close.

  “This is how I will move inside you.” He eased his finger free before thrusting it gently into her once more. “Like this.”

  Her breath came in shallow pants. So close. He lowered his head, again taking her nipple in his mouth in a hard suck.

  And that was it. Her hips bucked, her inner muscles squeezed around his finger in rhythmic pulls. When the last tremor had subsided, he moved between her thighs. She widened them farther to give him space. He hesitated there, his cock cradled against the velvet opening of her body, not wanting to hurt her but knowing he must.