I would hang the stars for you.
Bloody hell. If his grandfather ever heard him spouting off such utter twaddle the old man would laugh himself right out of his grave.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Eleanor demanded.
“It means your days of tromping around the estate like an uncivilized savage are at an end. You belong in the ballroom, not the barn. I’ll hire a tenant farmer to care for the animals and you will start attending to your duties as the Duchess of Hawkridge.”
Heat flashed in her eyes as her tiny hands curled into fists. Sensing her growing ire, one of the geese – Donald? – let out a startled honk. “These are my animals and I will care for them. You have no right to tell me what to do!”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Red,” he said silkily. “As your husband, I have every right. You belong to me as much as this barn and the land it sits upon does.”
If her gaze was any hotter he would have been incinerated where he stood. “I don’t belong to anyone, least of all a pompous, egotistical husband who should have remained in London!” Her skirts swished furiously as she advanced on him and jabbed a finger at the middle of his chest. “Why couldn’t you have stayed away? No one wants you here!”
The barb was a cruel one made all the sharper by the ghosts of his past.
No one wants you here.
You’re worthless.
You’ll never amount to anything.
His teeth clenched, sending a fissure of tension radiating through his jaw and into his skull. He captured her wrist before she could drill her finger into his chest again, fingers closing around bones that were as slender and slight as the wing of a bird. How could something so delicate contain so much fire? Staring down into her flashing gaze he was tempted to kiss her, just to see what all that fire and fury would taste like.
“Be that as it may,” he ground out, “I am the duke, and as such my word is law. You will obey me. Is that understood?”
“The only thing I understand,” Eleanor sneered, “is that I never should have married you. Go to hell, Derek! Maybe you’ll find an obedient wife there.” Snatching her wrist free she turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her with so much force the entire barn trembled.
Chapter Twelve
If anything good came of Eleanor and Derek’s spat in the barn, it was that Derek stopped his campaign of flowery compliments and meaningless gifts.
When they passed one another in the hallway they each looked straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the other’s existence. Choosing which room to occupy became a battle strategy, with Eleanor laying claim to the front drawing room and the library while Derek stayed mostly in his study and the gaming room. Dinner was a frigid affair, with neither one speaking a word. If not for Georgiana’s careless prattle they would have eaten in complete silence.
So it went for the better part of a week…until the night everything changed.
Awakening with a start, Eleanor sat bolt upright in bed and clutched the sheets to her chest as she looked wildly around the room, wondering what had woken her. She had her answer a few seconds later when a thunderous booming crash shook the windows.
Rain lashed against the glass in pounding sheets and when a jagged streak of white lightning raced across the sky it illuminated the entire room. Throwing her blankets aside, Eleanor slid out of bed and dashed to the nearest window. She’d always been drawn to the magnetic power of storms. There was something almost otherworldly about them, and when she was a child learning about Greek mythology she’d believed – at least for a time – they were the result of Zeus’ wrathful temper.
Pressing her nose against the cool glass, she eagerly awaited the next boom of thunder. When it struck it seemed to shake the entire house, from the rafters to the floor boards. Grinning ear to ear, she jumped back and glanced at the foot of the bed where Henny liked to burrow.
“Henny, did you hear that? It sounded like – Henny?” Concern tempered her excitement when she realized the little hedgehog wasn’t in her usual spot. Another flash of lightning lit up the room as she returned to the bed and looked under the blankets and pillows, but her pet was nowhere to be found. Frightened by the noise, she must have scurried off while Eleanor still slept.
“Henny!” Dropping to her hands and knees, Eleanor began a frantic search of the room. She was wedged halfway under the bed, rump in the air and nose burrowed in a ball of cat hair, when she heard the door creak open.
“This looks alarmingly familiar,” Derek drawled as he walked into her bedchamber. “Please tell me you’re not stuck again.”
“I’m not stuck. I’m – ow!” she hissed when she hit her head on one of the wooden slats. Rubbing the injured area, she managed to scuttle sideways out from under the bed and clambered to her feet to glare at the duke. “I’m looking for Henny. The storm scared her and she’s run away.”
“Henny…Henny…” he said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. He hadn’t shaved in the past two days, allowing a scruff of dark shadow to grow along the lower half of his face. It made him look less like a duke and more like a pirate, one whom Eleanor hoped was going to return to the sea very, very soon. “Short, round woman? Prickly demeanor? Enjoys grubs and crumpets? You know, I never thought of it before, but aside from your physical attributes and the grubs – which are utterly disgusting, by the way – you and that hedgehog of yours have quite a bit in common.”
“Ha ha,” Eleanor bit out sarcastically. “If you’ve come in here just to insult me–”
“I came in here,” he interrupted, “to deliver a special gift.”
She’d been wondering if he would try to bribe his way back into her good graces with a pretty – and completely useless – piece of jewelry. She might have even been swayed to forgive him…if the gesture was genuine. But since she knew it wasn’t, she had no interest in accepting a fancy bauble just so he could appease his conscience. If he even had a conscience. After their argument in the carriage barn she was beginning to have her doubts.
“I don’t want an apology necklace or bracelet,” she said, squaring her shoulders.
“Would you settle for an apology hedgehog?” And with a showy flourish he dipped his hand into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a very sleepy looking Henny. With a big yawn the little hedgehog turned around once, twice, and then curled up in a ball in the middle of Derek’s palm. Eleanor’s mouth dropped open.
“Where did you find her?” she gasped.
“Tickling my ear, if you must know. I thought for a moment my wife had come to make midnight amends.” His teeth flashed wolfishly in the darkness. “Imagine my disappointment when I rolled over and found my bedmate had quills.”
“Thank you for bringing her to me.” Ignoring the tiny quiver in her belly as she wondered just what sort of ‘midnight amends’ her husband had in mind, she walked purposefully across the room and gently lifted Henny out of his hand.
Pressing a kiss upon the top of her pet’s head – while most hedgehogs were nocturnal, Henny had long ago adapted to Eleanor’s schedule – she deposited her in a wicker basket with a lid that hooked closed so Henny couldn’t go on anymore nighttime excursions. Tucking the basket into a closet where the sounds of thunder would be muffled, she turned back towards Derek just as another brilliant streak of lightning lit up the room.
The blinding flash of white illuminated the duke’s countenance, and even though it only lasted for a split second it was long enough for Eleanor to see the dark desire in her husband’s gaze. Her breath caught in her throat as he prowled towards her, his steps as long and fluid as a panther, his ebony hair just as sleek and his eyes…his eyes glowing with a feral intensity she’d never seen before.
“What – what are you doing?” she asked, swallowing nervously. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed there was nowhere for her to go as he advanced with a single-minded purpose. In four strides she was pinned against the chaise longue, the back of her knees pushing against the s
umptuous velvet as she leaned away from him.
“Something I should have done a long time ago.”
“K-kiss me?” she ventured.
“That’s a good place to start.” As thunder boomed and lightning flashed, Derek buried his hands in her unruly waterfall of auburn curls, tilted her head back, and plundered her mouth with his. After a moment of token hesitation – she may have been angry with him, but she so did enjoy kissing him – Eleanor parted her lips and welcomed the slide of his tongue into the dark recesses of her mouth.
This kiss wasn’t like the others. She sensed that at once. There was intention behind it. A thrilling sense of something more to come. It was the beginning, not the middle. And not nearly close to the end.
Her small hands splayed across his granite chest, fingers slipping beneath his open waistcoat to brush against the soft fabric of his shirt. Beneath the ivory linen she felt his muscles coil and clench, and her belly did the same when he cupped her breasts through the lace-trimmed bodice of her pale blue nightdress. His thumbs flicked across her dusky nipples and her head fell back, green eyes bright and glassy as she stared blindly up at the ceiling.
“Do you like it when I touch you like this?” he murmured, his voice a velvet rasp of sinful decadence against her flesh before he took her earlobe between his teeth and suckled. Incapable of speech she managed a jerky nod, and felt the rumble of husky laughter against her neck.
“I’m going to touch you everywhere before we’re done. Here.” He squeezed her breast. “And here.” His hand trailed with tantalizing slowness down to her navel. “And especially here.” He cupped her womanhood and she gasped, her startled gaze flying to his face.
Biologically she knew how intercourse worked. She’d read enough books on the subject to glean the basic mechanics of it all. Granted, they’d mostly been about animals, but procreation was procreation. The man’s genitalia went into the female’s genitalia and semen was released. On paper, it was all very matter-of-fact and to the point. But this wasn’t paper. Which was a very good thing, she thought dazedly, for if it were they’d surely burn the entire house down.
He gave a light flick of his finger and heat bloomed between her thighs. Another flick and her knees wobbled. Shamelessly she spread her legs apart, her body instinctively yearning for more pleasure. She may have been a virgin inexperienced in the art of lovemaking, but she knew what she liked. And she was bold enough to ask for it.
“What a greedy little temptress you are.” Derek captured her mouth again, taking long, slow pulls that mimicked the stroking of his finger as it burrowed deeper and deeper between her nest of curls, seeking – and finding – the most intimate part of her through the thin layer of her nightdress.
She groaned when he abruptly withdrew his hand. Trembled when he began to kiss his way down her neck. Shivered when his clever fingers caught on the shoulders of her nightdress and slowly pulled it down until her breasts, pale as freshly fallen snow in the intermittent darkness, spilled free.
Once the nightdress slithered past her hips it fell in a pool of white cotton at her feet. Embarrassment at being naked brought a dull flush of red to her chest and cheeks, but any discomfort was immediately forgotten when he picked her up and then gently lowered her onto the bed.
Reclining back on a small mountain of pillows she watched through heavily lidded eyes as he undressed, starting with his waistcoat and ending with his trousers. Her eyes widened when she saw that part of him, smooth and pulsing and so large that if it weren’t for all of the books she’d read she never would have believed it was going to fit inside of her. As it stood she had her doubts, but they drifted away in a cloud of sensual pleasure when he lowered his body onto hers and began to kiss every inch of her until she was half mad with need and writhing with desire.
Outside the windows the storm raged on, a wild tempest that paled in comparison to the raw strength of their passion. Reaching down to the floor, Derek yanked up his trousers and pulled a small glass vial no larger than a pill box out of one pocket.
“What’s that?” Eleanor asked, sitting up on her elbows to watch in fascination as he unscrewed the top of the vial and poured its contents into his palm.
“Olive oil. It will help ease the pain of your first time.” He kept his gaze steady on hers as he slathered his cock with the oil, then positioned himself on top of her. “Look at me,” he whispered when his hand, still slick with oil, dipped between her legs. He used two fingers to slowly and carefully ready her entrance, circling, stroking, stretching as she bit down hard on her bottom lip and wondered if it was possible for a person to spontaneously combust into flame. “Keep your eyes only on me.”
Then he was sinking into her and at first she felt only pressure and the tiniest twinge of pain, but soon there was only wave after wave of undulating pleasure as he began to plunge deeper and deeper with every roll of his hips.
Thunder crashed. Lightning erupted. And they both tumbled off the edge into oblivion.
Chapter Thirteen
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Eleanor asked, one auburn brow arching.
“Like what?” Derek replied, absently twirling a sprig of clover between his fingers. The clover was the same color as her eyes, a deep emerald that reminded him of the rolling hills of Scotland right before the heather took bloom and everything was dark and rich and green.
It had been precisely thirteen days since their marriage had finally been consummated, but it already felt like a lifetime…in the best possible way. They spent every night wrapped in each other’s arms and every afternoon, after Eleanor had tended to her animals and he’d seen to his work, they explored the estate like children, each day seeking a new and exciting adventure.
Thus far they had gone galloping through the fields on horseback, climbed to the top of the highest turret, played a rousing game of chess in the library, and taken a (very cold) midnight dip in the pond sans clothing. Today they’d packed a picnic basket and taken an early dinner on one of the side lawns overlooking the horse pastures where a herd of mares and their foals frolicked and played.
Through Eleanor’s eyes he had begun to see Hawkridge in a new light. When he was with her the ghosts of his past faded away and he was able to appreciate the castle for what it was now instead of loathing what it had been.
Instead of a prison, he saw promise. Instead of inconvenience, he saw opportunity. And instead of a wife he wanted to forget, he saw a woman he always wanted to remember.
“Like you don’t hate me,” she said, leaning forward to pluck another piece of roasted chicken out of the basket. Ignoring the utensils a maid had thoughtfully packed, she ate with her bare hands, nibbling the chicken down to the bone before tossing the scraps to the two pigs that had followed them on their little excursion and were now sitting side by side like expertly trained dogs.
“I don’t hate you.” Derek’s stomach clenched unpleasantly. Is that what she still thought? That he hated her? He supposed he couldn’t blame her, given the monstrous way he’d behaved. He’d called Eleanor a savage, but in truth he was the barbaric one. By forcing himself to see her as nothing more than a means to an end, he had treated her with unnecessary cruelty. Cruelty that he now regretted down to the depths of his soul.
He’d tried to make up for his behavior the same way he always had: with expensive gifts. His mistresses had always forgiven him any transgression – real or imaginary – for a pretty piece of glitter. But his wife had gently declined each and every present he tried to give her.
‘I don’t need jewelry or furs or fancy dresses,’ she told him one morning when they’d lain sprawled on their backs on top of the coverlet, their bodies covered with a thin sheen of perspiration after making love as the sun rose in the east. ‘I would much rather have time.’
‘Time?’ he’d asked, his brow furrowing.
‘Time with you. Time with my animals. Time with myself. Time is more special than all the jewels in the world because it can never be bo
ught, only given. Give me time, and I shall be the happiest woman in the world’.
So that’s what he’d done. He had given her time. It was the least expensive – albeit the most important – gift he had ever bestowed.
Their marriage was still far from perfect. They’d had an argument just that morning about where the new carriage barn was going to be built. And even though he had walked away in a fit of anger – Eleanor knew exactly what strings to pull to get under his skin – he had quickly returned. He would always return. Because for the first time in his life, he’d allowed a relationship to become personal. And it may not have been perfect or easy, but that was what made it so right.
“I’ve never hated you,” he continued, his gaze seeking and finding hers. “It’s just that…I was never expecting you. I wasn’t adequately prepared.”
A smile hovered in the corners of her mouth. “You make me sound like a storm.”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “That’s precisely what you are.”
Her smile was replaced with a perplexed frown. “Well that doesn’t sound very good. No one likes storms. They’re disruptive and damaging.”
“Yes,” he repeated. “They are. But sometimes they’re exactly what’s needed to wash away the old and make way for the new. Without storms we wouldn’t have lightning or thunder or the wild rush of cool rain on a hot summer’s night. Without storms nature would be dull and meaningless. One day running into the next with nothing to break up the monotony of it all.” Leaning over the basket he gently cupped her cheek and lowered his mouth to hers. “You’re my storm Eleanor,” he murmured against her lips. “And I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
A Duchess for all Seasons: The Collection Page 18
