Joy to the Duke

by Darcy Burke

  “All the time.” Calder couldn’t look at them. “He treated me very differently than he treated you. And he was always careful to never to let you see.” Now he glanced down at Bianca, who stared at him, her eyes sad. “I expected you—especially—to say it couldn’t be true.”

  “I want to, if only because I don’t want to think of him treating you like that, but I can see that he did.”

  She did? Yes, he heard the anguish in her voice.

  “Oh, Calder, I wish you’d told us.” Poppy slipped her arm around his back and laid her head on his arm. It was an attempt at a hug, but he was frozen, locked in the past.

  “I didn’t want you to know.”

  “Your pride is ridiculous,” Bianca said gently, clasping his hand.

  He pulled away from both of them. “It wasn’t my pride! It was him. You loved him. He loved you both. He gave you the best of himself. I lost the only parent who cared for me, and when he lost her, I bore the brunt of his emotions. Nothing I did was ever good enough. He couldn’t even let me have the woman I loved.” Maybe now they would understand why he chose not to feel. Nothing good came of it.

  Poppy moved first, taking a step toward him. “I’m so sorry.”

  Everything blurred. He didn’t want their pity. He didn’t want anything.

  Turning, he stalked from the copse. Isis followed him, looking up in curiosity as he mounted his horse. “Stay,” Calder said, knowing the others would take her back to the house with them. Right now, he wasn’t sure where he was going. Or, frankly, if he was coming back.

  Thankfully, the snow hadn’t been too thick upon the ground, or Felicity would not have been able to travel to her old family cottage. She hadn’t returned to see it in its entirety, and she wanted to do so before the beds were taken away today.

  She arrived early, just as footmen and grooms from Hartwood arrived. She helped direct them, and wondered why Calder wasn’t there. They’d told her that he was on a Yule log hunt with his family.

  Now, as they loaded up the last of the beds, she was still smiling. It seemed Calder had truly come a long way. Maybe he was finally ready to let the past go and look to a brighter future.

  One of the footmen came to speak with her in the entry hall. “We’re ready to go to Hartwell House. Thank you for your assistance, Mrs. Garland.”

  “It was my pleasure. Happy Christmas to you.”

  “And to you. Will we see you on St. Stephen’s Day?”

  “I expect so. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  He inclined his head with a smile, then left. Gathering her shawl around her shoulders, Felicity closed the door behind him before going upstairs to douse the small fire she’d built in the sitting room. While the footmen and grooms had moved furniture, she’d taken her ease in a chair that she hoped Calder would allow her to take home. She’d ask him later, maybe on St. Stephen’s Day, since that was likely the next time she’d see him.

  A creak in the floorboard drew her to turn from the doorway to the sitting room. Calder stood at the top of the stairs.

  He wore no hat or gloves, and he was in the process of removing his greatcoat, which he dropped to the floor. He ran his hand through his dark hair, standing the thick strands on end. His gray eyes, usually so cold and aloof, were ablaze, like liquid silver. Something was very wrong.

  She went to him and took his hands in hers. He wasn’t as cold as she’d expected him to be, but he was still chilled. “You need a fire. There’s one burning in the hearth in the sitting room.”

  He shook his head. “I just need you.”

  Oh. A current of desire rushed through her. The sensation was like nothing she’d ever experienced, and yet she recognized it immediately.

  She slid her hands up his front and curled them around the lapels of his coat. Her shawl fell to the floor behind her. “Tell me how.”

  “Any way you’ll let me.”

  She didn’t know what had happened on their Yule log hunt to send him here in a desperate frenzy, and she wasn’t sure it mattered. She was just glad she’d been here to meet him. At last, something had worked in their favor, bringing them together instead of pushing them apart.

  “I’m here. I’m yours.”

  He clasped his arms around her and kissed her, his mouth crashing into hers. This wasn’t the curious, eager kisses of their youth, nor was it the somewhat cautious kisses from the other day. This was fire and ice, the absolute extreme of kisses. Felicity felt she might wither and die if it didn’t continue, if they weren’t allowed to see this through to whatever end they both wanted.

  Only, she didn’t want an end. She wanted forever.

  His lips and tongue moved with hers as if the last decade had never come between them, as if they’d been made for each other. She’d certainly thought that was true ten years ago. She fervently hoped it was true now.

  His hands moved up her back and plucked at the pins in her hair, sending them cascading to the floor. Then his fingers were sifting through her curls, massaging her scalp and palming her head as he devoured her mouth.

  She pulled away with a gasp, then took his hand and pulled him to the sitting room where she’d learned to stitch and write and so many other things. He allowed her to lead him to the fireplace, then he tugged her against him and kissed her once more, leaving no doubt as to what he intended. Good, because if he tried to walk away from her now, she might bring down the house around them to make him stay.

  He loosened the ties at the back of her dress, and in response, she tugged his cravat until the knot came undone. They spent the next several minutes alternately kissing and removing their clothing until she stood before him in her stays and chemise and he in his shirt and breeches.

  “It’s cold,” she said, wondering if that was why he hesitated to finish undressing.

  “I’m not cold. I don’t think that’s possible when I’m with you. I’m just…savoring this moment. I’ve waited so long to touch you like this, to see you… I’ve dreamed of it a thousand times.”

  His words broke her heart yet also somehow repaired the cracks and holes that she’d learned to live with. She pulled at the laces on her stays—glad that these were in the front—her gaze locked with his. “You don’t have to wait anymore. And this isn’t a dream.”

  Loose, the stays sagged around her rib cage. She pushed them over her hips and down her legs until they hit the floor. Then she gently kicked them to the side.

  Reaching for the hem of her chemise, she clasped the cotton firmly before tugging it over her head. She stood before him completely bare, something she’d never done with her husband. Their intimacy had always happened in the darkness, and she’d always worn her night rail. Just standing here exposed to him was the most erotic thing she’d ever done.

  If it were anyone else, she might have been shy, but this was Calder. Her heart. Her soul. And he looked at her as if she were a goddess—his goddess. She’d never seen anything more alluring than the possession and hunger heating his gaze.

  “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” he whispered, moving closer to her. He stroked the side of her face, his fingers gliding over her flesh, down her throat, gently caressing her collarbone. Then lower still until his hand moved over her breast. The contact of his skin against hers coaxed a moan from her throat. She felt utterly brazen as she pushed herself toward him, seeking more of his touch.

  He seemed to know what she wanted, for he cupped her, softly at first, and then more firmly, his fingers closing over her nipple and giving it a gentle tug. He did the same with her other breast, both of his hands moving over her, arousing her, driving a sweet and desperate desire straight to her sex.

  He pulled on her nipples in concert, and she gasped. Then he dipped his head and took one of them in his mouth, sucking on her. The sensation made her knees buckle as another wave of hunger shot through her.

  He wrapped his arm around her and led her to the settee, which was only a foot away and situated in front of the fire. Guiding he
r down, he laid her back, then knelt on the floor beside her.

  She looked at him in question, wondering why he was on the floor and not climbing on top of her. “What are you doing?”

  “Worshipping you,” he said simply before dropping his head to her breast once more. He cupped her, holding her flesh captive to his questing lips and tongue. And teeth—he nipped at her and she bucked up in surprise and pleasure.

  As his hand trailed down her abdomen, she was aware of a throbbing need between her legs. She’d felt a similar sensation before, but nothing like this ache that begged to be satisfied. She squirmed, eager for something that she knew had always been just beyond her reach.

  She cried out as his fingers skimmed across her sex.

  “Part your legs, Felicity,” he urged softly.

  She followed his command, ready for whatever he would do and hoping this time would be different. It had to be—this was Calder. He stroked a spot at the top of her sex, and her body twitched with pleasure.

  She closed her eyes and lost herself in his touch. “Oh yes. Oh yes. Oh yes.” She couldn’t seem to stop herself from saying that over and over.

  He slipped one of his fingers into her and thrust deep, filling her. She whimpered and moved her hips, wanting more. He gave it to her, sliding in and out while his thumb continued to work that glorious spot.

  His other hand cupped the back of her neck and turned her head to face him. “Open your eyes, love,” he whispered. “I want you to look at me when I bring you to orgasm.”

  She did as he bade, his hand supporting her head as she looked into his silvery eyes. When he came into her next, there was more—two fingers, perhaps—and she cried out. Her eyes tried to close, but his fingers dug into her neck. “Look at me, Felicity.”

  He drove into her again and again, filling her, bringing her to a dizzying height. “God, you’re beautiful. I can’t—” He broke eye contact and moved his head down her body. Then his mouth was on her there, licking and sucking at her flesh as his fingers continued their wild, delicious penetration.

  She couldn’t keep her eyes open as she was overcome by a pleasure so great that it seemed as if she were flung into a dark night sky studded with brilliant stars. She floated there in absolute ecstasy. Until she fell. A glorious, spectacular fall that made her body shudder and her heart sing.

  When she at last opened her eyes, she saw Calder sitting back on his feet, his breathing loud and fast, his eyes dilated as he gazed at her body. “I want to see you,” she said, turning and sliding from the settee.

  She knelt before him and found the hem of his shirt. He said nothing, just stared at her, his face tense, his body taut. She saw just how taut as she pulled the garment over his head. The muscles of his shoulders and chest were clearly defined, showing him to be an athletic man. She caressed his collarbones and drew her hands down his front, skimming her palms over his warm flesh so she could memorize every dip and plane.

  As her hands moved lower, he sucked in a breath, holding it. “Is something wrong?” she asked softly, her hands pausing.

  “No. Don’t stop.”

  She trailed her fingers down to the waistband of his breeches. “How am I to undress you with you sitting like that?”

  In a flash, he stood and divested himself of his remaining garments. As he knelt back down, she stared at his sex. She’d never looked at her husband’s—never mind, she didn’t want to think of anything but Calder.

  Curious, she reached for him, then hesitated. “May I?” she asked shyly.

  “Please.” He took her hand and curled it around his shaft. “My cock would like nothing better than for you to touch it.”

  Cock. That word was both crude and incredibly arousing. She decided she would like nothing better than to touch it. “Show me,” she said.

  He kept his hand on hers and moved hers down to the base. “Stroke me. Not too hard. Not too soft.” He looked at her intently, his hand guiding hers.

  She did as he described, clasping his flesh with a firm grip and gliding her palm up and down. She found moisture at the tip, and, curious, she ran her thumb over it.

  He groaned. “Felicity, get on the settee.”

  She started to rise, and he helped her, all but lifting her and laying her on her back. “I’m sorry there aren’t any beds,” she said, smiling.

  “I wouldn’t even need a settee.” He covered her with his body and kissed her deeply, his tongue driving deep into her mouth as his hand found her sex once more.

  She opened her legs, and he settled between them—as best as the settee would allow them—his cock pushing at her entrance. Desire pulsed from her sex and outward. She wanted that…orgasm again. Could she have it again? It certainly felt as if she could.

  He slid into her, kissing her neck, as she stretched to accommodate him, her body welcoming him as if he’d come home at last. And she supposed he had.

  He moved slowly, filling her, then retreating, then gradually filling her again. It felt divine and yet it was nowhere near enough. She clasped his backside, urging him to move faster. “Please, Calder.”

  Then he let go. His mouth claimed hers briefly as he drove into her. She groaned, digging her fingers into his flesh, desperate for the rapture spiraling through her. She moved with him, their bodies finding a rhythm that pushed her to the edge once more. She looked out over the inky sky with this carpet of stars and dove headfirst into sweet oblivion. Her body crashed and exploded beneath his, then she felt him stiffen. He called out her name, then shouted over and over as he thrust deep inside her.

  A lethargy so complete and so wondrous fell over her. He turned with her, holding her close so she was pinned between him and the back of the settee. Smiling, she nestled against him, happier than she could ever remember being.

  Gradually, their breathing evened, and his became steady and deep. She opened her eyes the barest amount and surmised that he’d dozed off. Content, she kissed his jaw and whispered, “I love you.”

  Then she joined him in slumber.

  Chapter 9

  Why was it so bloody cold?

  His skin felt like ice, as if he’d never be warm again. Mist swirled around him, prompting him to wonder how it was already night and how he’d gotten outside.

  The mist faded. He wasn’t outside. Before him was a cozy sitting room filled with people he didn’t recognize. No, that wasn’t quite true. The woman standing near the hearth was utterly familiar—her green eyes alight with joy as she took the hand of the man who came to join her.

  His hair was gray and hers was white. The others were younger, and one woman was clearly their daughter. A child clutched at her skirt, and the woman swept her into her arms then carried her to the green-eyed woman—Felicity.

  She smiled at the girl. “Happy Christmas, my sweet.”

  “Grandmama!” The child reached for her, and Felicity welcomed her into her arms. “Grandpapa!” She grinned at the man beside Felicity.

  He chuckled softly, his eyes so full of love and pride, it tore at Calder’s chest. What sorcery was this? Felicity’s hair was blonde. Her husband was dead. She wasn’t a mother, let alone a grandmother.

  And what was the pine tree, candles flickering on its limbs, standing in the corner, some sort of Yule log abomination? “That’s going to catch the house on fire!” Calder called out.

  No one seemed to hear him. He moved forward and waved his hand in front of Felicity’s face. Her attention didn’t waver from her granddaughter.

  Granddaughter… They all looked so happy. And where was he? Why wasn’t he there?

  The mist returned, as did the icy cold. When the air next cleared, he remained outside. The sky above was gray, and around him, headstones rose from the dormant grass.

  The drone of a voice carried on the wind. Calder walked between the stones, his heart pounding. A small gathering stood over a hole in the ground. The vicar finished speaking, then looked to those standing around the perimeter. Just four people—his sisters and th
eir husbands.

  Like Felicity, they looked older. Their hair was gray, and lines around their eyes showed their age.

  He moved to the hole and looked down at the simple wood coffin. “Who died?” he asked.

  As with Felicity and her family, none of them reacted to his presence. They neither saw nor heard him.

  “I hope he’s at peace now,” Poppy said, looking sadly down into the hole. She turned her head toward Bianca. “I can’t believe there’s no heir anywhere. After all these generations, there will be no Staffords at Hartwood. What will even become of Hartwood?” Poppy looked at her husband.

  The marquess shrugged. “The queen will decide.”

  Queen? There was a queen? What bloody year was this?

  “It’s such a mess anyway,” Bianca said, frowning. “I can’t believe how badly Calder let it decline before he died.”

  It was him in the hole. Calder began to shake. He hadn’t thought he could feel colder, but he did.

  “It’s not as if he kept a reasonable number of retainers,” Bianca’s husband said. “Those he did have never stayed long, and can you blame them?”

  Poppy shook her head. “No, he was absolutely horrid.”

  “Terrifying, actually.” Bianca shuddered. “Last time I saw him—over a year ago—what was left of his gray hair reached to the middle of his back. He could barely focus his eyes, and his hands were like claws.”

  “Well, he always was a beast,” Darlington murmured. “Sorry,” he added, placing his hand on Poppy’s back and offering her a sympathetic smile.

  “He had only himself to blame, that’s true,” Poppy said with a sigh.

  “He died alone just as he chose to live his life.” Bianca shook her head with pity.

  Poppy looked toward the young vicar. “Please say an extra prayer for our brother tonight.”

  “I will, my lady.”

  After a final look into the hole, Bianca turned away. Poppy’s mouth pitched down before she pivoted and put her arm through her sister’s. They walked from the grave together, their husbands trailing behind.