Authors: Last Duke
“In that case, I accept.”
“Excellent. Then let’s be on our way before the marquis begins tearing up Northamptonshire looking for you.” Pierce frowned. “I hesitate to travel the main road, lest we run into him.”
“I was quite a good rider in my youth,” Elizabeth put in. “And, though my practice over the years has been limited, I’m certain I can still take the woods at a breakneck pace—astride, incidentally, not sidesaddle.” She gave Pierce a mischievous grin. “Does that ease our dilemma?”
“I begin to see whom Daphne takes after,” Pierce chuckled. “Indeed, I ask only that you don’t leave Daphne and me behind in the dust.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” Elizabeth turned to the vicar and her smile faded. “Thank you, Alfred,” she said softly. “I think you know what your love and protection of Daphne mean to me.”
“Perhaps Daphne isn’t the only one who can now begin anew,” he replied. “Perhaps your time has arrived, as well.”
“Perhaps.” She squeezed his hands. “God bless you,” she whispered.
“Thank you, Vicar,” Pierce repeated solemnly. “The doors at Markham and at Wellingborough are always open to you.”
“Visit us,” Daphne urged the vicar with a final hug. “Please.”
“You couldn’t keep me away.” Glancing at the clock, he urged them toward the door. “Now go.”
Two hours later, Pierce and Daphne rode up to the door of Pierce’s Wellingborough residence. Dismounting, Pierce lifted Daphne from the saddle and lowered her feet to the ground.
“We’re home,” he said simply.
Daphne smiled, surveying the modest structure with a contented glow. “I’m glad. ‘Home’ is something new to me. I’ve never truly lived in one. Only a house.”
Pierce’s eyes darkened with emotion. “Let’s go in.”
Strolling about the sitting room, Daphne drank in the understated furnishings with infinite pleasure. “Lovely. Also very much you: solid, unpretentious, and overwhelmingly masculine.”
“And that’s only the sitting room,” Pierce teased huskily, coming up behind her.
Daphne closed her eyes, leaned back against his reassuring strength. “I’m nervous. Isn’t that ridiculous? I’ve withstood years with a violent and unpredictable father, taken stupid risks that yielded painful results, and married a man I’ve known but a fortnight all without succumbing to nerves. And now, when I’m on the verge of a night I’ve dreamed of, yearned for, my heart is pounding frantically and my stomach is churning. Absurd, wouldn’t you say?”
“No.” Pierce wrapped his arms about her waist, kissed the side of her neck. “Understandable, I would say. Understandable, and beautiful, and honest.” He turned her into his arms. “I won’t hurt you, Snow flame,” he murmured, feathering his lips over hers.
“I know.” She sighed blissfully. “I just keep wondering if I’m going to wake up and find this is all a dream, that the last few hours never occurred.”
“You’re not dreaming,” he assured her, lifting her arms about his neck. “I promise you. This is very real and very right.”
She gazed up at him, the trust in her eyes so absolute it made his chest tighten. “I know it’s right,” she whispered. “Somehow I always have. I just don’t want to disappoint you.”
“You never could.” Pierce met her honesty with his own. “Would it help if you knew I was equally apprehensive?”
Startled, Daphne blinked. “You? Why?”
“Because it’s never mattered so much. Because a woman has never mattered so much.” He paused, forcing out the next words as if they were a death sentence. “Because there are things I need to tell you before I take you to bed. Things that could change your feelings about tonight.”
Thoughtfully, Daphne searched his face. “You’re going to fill in the missing pieces, tell me the real reasons for our hasty wedding.”
“No,” he amended, shaking his head vehemently. “I’m going to fill in the missing
piece.
But it has nothing to do with my wanting you for my wife, or with our hasty ceremony. I didn’t intend to dash you down the aisle. That was strictly your father’s doing. As for my wanting you,” he caressed the delicate curve of her waist, “I think you know how much I want you under my roof, under my protection,” his eyes darkened, “under me.”
A tiny shiver went through her. “But there is more. I sensed it from the moment you proposed.”
“The late Duke of Markham—” he faltered. “My father left several conditions in the codicil to his will. Specifically, there are two stipulations to my retaining possession of his coveted title and, fortune. First, I must assume not only the role of the Duke of Markham, but all its pertinent responsibilities for a period of two years. And second, during that time, I must produce a legitimate heir to the dukedom. Once I’ve fulfilled those provisos I am free to resume my previous life as a commoner, retaining all access to the Markham estate.”
“And if you fail?”
“I lose it all.”
“I see.” Daphne lowered her gaze, her long lashes brushing her cheeks.
“I don’t want the bloody title. I think you know that. But I need it—for reasons I can’t fully explain.” Staring at her bowed head, his jaw clenched in frustration. “I can imagine what you’re thinking. Here I’ve given you indisputable cause for doubt, perfect grounds to disbelieve all I’ve professed to feel. There’s no earthly reason for you to trust me, and yet, that’s just what I’m asking you to do. Do you see now why I was reluctant to tell all this to you?”
Daphne’s lashes lifted, and Pierce was stunned to see tears of wonder shimmering in her eyes. “Yes.” She lay her hand on his jaw, soothing away the tension with her fingertips. “You were reluctant to tell me because you were afraid you’d lose me. Yet you did tell me—and before our union was complete—despite your qualms about my reaction.” A tremulous smile hovered about her lips. “You took an unfavorable risk—a forbiddance for a good gambler. And why? Because of your feelings for me. Caring and respect. I’ve never been offered such precious gifts before. Thank you, Pierce.”
A harsh groan erupted from his chest. “Daphne.” He enfolded her against him, his lips in her hair. “God, I need you.”
“I need you, too,” she whispered, shy and eager all at once. “Just tell me what to do.”
His muscles tightened as he struggled with his next offer. “Snow flame. What’s about to happen between us—there are ways to alter its outcome.”
She leaned back, regarded him quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“You’re a rare, and priceless jewel, one that has been cruelly mistreated, and is only now on the brink of being treasured as it was meant to be. If you need time, there are ways—”
“Are you saying you don’t plan to make love to me?”
Pierce started. “Am I saying—No. That is definitely
not
what I’m saying.” His restless gaze swept over her, his features hardening with desire. “I’m afraid that measure of nobility is beyond me.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying you’re more than a vessel for my seed. If you’re not ready to conceive a child, there are ways to prevent it.”
Quizzically, Daphne inclined her head. “How?”
“I can refrain from spilling my seed inside you.”
“Just like that?” Daphne looked puzzled rather than embarrassed. “Wouldn’t that diminish your pleasure?”
“I’ll survive. I’ve done so for years.”
“I don’t understand.”
His smile was bitter. “I’m a bastard, Daphne. I grew up on the streets, never knowing who my father was or when my next meal would be. I swore to myself I’d never be responsible for doing that to another human being.”
“You wouldn’t be,” she countered softly. “We’re legally wed. Were I to conceive, our child would not be a bastard.”
“The reason for my self-discipline would be different in our case, but no less valid. If and when we have a child, I want it to be a decision we both make, not one I make alone, and certainly not one incited by the codicil of my late sire’s will.”
“I see.” Daphne nodded, reaching up to unfasten the top button of Pierce’s shirt. “Well, then, if this discussion is finally at an end,” she struggled with the next button, giving her husband a heart-melting smile, “I believe we’ve done enough talking on our wedding night.” She slid her fingers inside to touch the warmth of Pierce’s skin. “Will you please make love to me now?”
Her innocent question, her tentative explorations, blasted through his loins like cannon fire, obliterating every vestige of his staunch discipline. “Christ.” He dragged her mouth to his, delving inside to taste her sweetness with all the urgency of a drowning man. He tore open his remaining buttons, covering her hand with his and guiding it along the hard, hair-roughened planes of his chest. “I want you so much I’m going to explode.”
“Teach me how to please you,” she urged, caressing his hot skin with feather-light strokes.
That did it. “Later.” He swept her into his arms, crossed the sitting room in four long strides. “Much later. Right now, I can’t even make it to a bed.”
He paused at the sofa, bending to seize the row of brocade cushions,” which he tossed, one by one, to the floor. Lowering Daphne to the makeshift bed, he followed her down, covering her with himself. “I’m going to make love to you until neither of us can breathe,” he vowed against her parted lips. Lifting her head, he spread her tawny tresses out like a golden fan beneath them, tracing his fingers down the sides of her neck, her shoulders, absorbing each delicate shiver with a fierce sense of satisfaction as new to him as the frenzy pounding through his veins. His mouth left hers, blazing a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down her throat, the upper slope of her breasts. He slid his arm beneath her, lining her into his kisses and simultaneously tearing each hook of her gown from its casing until only her chemise stood between him and the treasure he craved.
He made quick work of that, tugging down both gown and undergarment, freeing first one arm then the other, lifting them to clasp about his neck. “You’re beautiful,” he breathed, baring her breasts to his gaze, his touch. “So bloody, incomparably beautiful.” He watched her breath come faster, her nipples tightening beneath his heated gaze. Slowly, slowly, he lowered his head, surrounding one peak with his mouth, teasing it with his tongue.
Daphne cried out, arching reflexively, her fingers gliding through the rough silk of his hair.
Pierce deepened his caress, tugging and releasing until he was nearly wild, consumed by her taste and scent, her harsh pleas for more. He raised his head, panting, watching her flushed face, the look of wonder in her eyes.
“Don’t stop.” Daphne shifted restlessly, unconsciously beckoning him forward, urging him toward her other breast.
Instantly, he answered her plea, stroking the pad of his thumb over her sensitized nipple once, twice, finally bending to taste this breast as he had the other.
Suddenly, unbearably, it wasn’t enough—not for either of them.
Vaulting to his feet, Pierce kicked off his boots, shedding his coat, open shirt, and waistcoat with the same predatory grace that accompanied all his actions. He dropped to his knees, easing Daphne’s gown down and off, taking her chemise, stockings and petticoats with it.
Seconds later, she was naked, lying before him like an exquisite, ethereal goddess.
Nervously, Daphne stirred, watching his burning gaze lick over her, torn between the desire to cover herself and the equally powerful desire to launch herself into his arms.
Pierce met her stare. “You’re flawless, Mrs. Thornton,” he whispered roughly. Sensing her uncertainty, he reached out, took her hands in his. “See how I’m shaking?” he murmured, letting her feel the tremors of desire quivering through him. “I’m like an untried schoolboy. That’s the effect you have on me.” He kissed her palms. “Don’t pull away, Snow flame. If I don’t have you, I’ll die.”
“Oh, Pierce.” She freed her hands, glided them up his chest to his shoulders. “I feel as if I were dying now. I ache so.”
“Do you?” He stretched out beside her, gathering her close, intentionally rubbing her sensitized breasts against his chest, reveling in her moan of pleasure, her hard shudder. “God, I love the way you respond to me.” He kissed her again, melding their tongues, their breath, beginning an intimate rhythm meant to drive them both out of their minds.
He succeeded.
Feeling Daphne undulate against him, Pierce devoured her with his hands, caressing her hips, her legs, the satiny skin of her inner thighs with strokes of fire, his control dangling precariously by a thread.
Unaware she was doing so, Daphne shredded that thread into tatters, instinctively parting her thighs and offering him the very core of all he craved.
His fingers found her, wet and warm and so breathtakingly ready for him it annihilated all reason from his mind. He entered her with one finger, groaning aloud at the clinging resistance. “So damned tight,” he rasped, easing another finger in, stretching her gently to accommodate his penetration. “So excruciatingly tight and hot and—” He broke off, unable to continue.
“Is that bad?” Daphne gasped, inadvertently gripping his fingers inside her. “Because I can’t help—”
“Christ.” Pierce pulled away only long enough to shed the rest of his clothes. “No, it’s not bad. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” He was already settling himself in the cradle of her thighs. “You need more time, more preparation. I can’t give them to you.” He braced himself on his forearms, easing into her beckoning warmth. “Daphne, I’ve got to be inside you. I’m going to—” He threw back his head, groaning as he felt her inner muscles expand, stretch to accommodate him. “I’m going to hurt you, Snow flame. And I swore I wouldn’t.” He went deeper, his hips moving rhythmically with a will all their own. “Take me—now. God I’m sorry. Daphne—” In one inexorable thrust, he entered her, feeling her maidenhead give beneath the onslaught, burying himself deep, deep inside her.
Daphne cried out, a brief instant of sharp pain vanishing into a sense of fullness, converging with the overwhelming realization that Pierce was inside her.
Emotion, vast and fervent, surged to life, annihilating all traces of discomfort, transforming to wonder as Pierce began to move within her. Hard and fast, his powerful body drove forward, again and again, the taut muscles of his back contracting with each plunging thrust.