Dusk With a Dangerous Duke (23 page)

“Forgive the intrusion, Your Grace.” The man on the other side of the door sounded anxious. “You have a—a gentleman who insists on seeing you and—”

Hunter grimaced. “By God, if this is one of Frost’s pranks, you can tell him to—”

“Oh, no, Your Grace,” the innkeeper said, interrupting her husband’s tirade. “It is, uh, another gentleman who requests an audience.”

His mouth twisted with disdain. “At this late hour? I think not. Send the man away.”

“Enough of this tomfoolery,” a masculine voice interjected. “This is no way to run a respectable establishment. We tried it your way, now let us try mine. Huntsley, this is Strangham. I demand that you permit us entry, or I shall order my men to break down the door. The choice is yours.”

“Is it, truly?”

Hunter cast a knowing smile at Grace. He had predicted that Strangham would attempt to prevent them from marrying, but she had not believed him. She clutched the sheet to her breasts while her gaze sought her discarded dress. Indecent hour or not, she had no intention of greeting her uncle and his companions attired only in a sheet.

“A moment if you please,” he called out, gesturing for her to remain on the bed.

Naturally, Grace’s instinct was to ignore her husband’s command. She frantically tugged on her sheet to free it from the bedding, and her stance wobbled. If not for Hunter, she would have fallen flat onto her face.

Unmoved by either Strangham’s threats or her panic, Hunter pressed a finger to his lips, signaling her silence. It took all of her discipline not to debate the issue, not to mention scream at him like an enraged harpy. When he was satisfied that she would obey his command, he kissed her on the forehead.

“Good girl. Stay here, and leave this to me, eh?” he whispered in her ear.

Before she could reply, Hunter left her and walked over to the table where a bowl of fruit was displayed. He retrieved a small knife from the wooden bowl and returned to her side.

She glanced at the knife in his hand, and then met his steady gaze. “Murdering the bride on her wedding night. I thought such tales were only found in epic poems and novels.”

“Is that what you’ve filled your head with, Duchess? Gothic tales of romance and murder?”

“Of course not,” she said too quickly.

“Don’t fret, love,” he replied, raising the knife. “The blade is for me, not you.”

Good grief, he did not intend to—“I beg of you, do not!”

Hunter drew the blade over his first two fingers. A thin line of blood welled in the cut. He squeezed the self-inflicted wound until he was satisfied with the amount of blood.

Meanwhile, her uncle had ordered the innkeeper to pound on the door. Whatever Hunter’s plan, he needed to execute it swiftly.

“What are you about, Your Grace?” she asked in hushed tones.

“Claiming your virginity,” he said simply. He moved by her and smeared the blood across the sheet covering the mattress. “And I will paddle your backside if you utter anything to the contrary to our unwelcome visitors.”

He spoke his threat so mildly, but she had no doubt he would deliver a punishment for any interference on her part.

“Huntsley!”

Without asking for permission, he swept her up into his arms and placed her on the bed. “There … delightfully mussed, but one thing is missing.”

She glanced down at her front, and then glared at him. “Yes, that would be my clothing.”

Hunter chuckled. He probably thought it was amusing that she was sitting naked in their bed with the wolves at the door.

“No, this.”

Before she could try her next breath, his mouth was covering her and he was kissing her with a ferocity that wiped all thoughts from her head. Gone was the patient coaxing her into accepting his kisses. Hunter took what was rightfully his. Her vision narrowed as his tongue ravished her mouth with delicious and rough thoroughness.

When they pulled apart, Grace’s lips were slightly swollen and there were fading marks where he had gripped her by the arms.

“An improvement,” he said, with a studious nod of his head. “Now remember what I said. It might be best if you let me do all the talking.”

He swaggered away to confront their visitors, and that was when she noticed the red scratches on his back. Had she blindly marred his flesh? She was too appalled to say another word. Instead she slid off the mattress and headed for her discarded chemise. She pulled the undergarment over her head and practically dove for the covers when she realized Hunter had no intention of waiting for her to dress.

He opened the door and glowered at the small crowd that had assembled in front of the room. “Strangham, I would like to say this is most unexpected, but I did not take you to be gracious in your disappointment. Otherwise, we might have invited you to the wedding.”

Grace wondered if anyone would mind if she pulled the bedding over her head and waited for everyone to leave. She could not fathom why Hunter even bothered to open the door at all. The entire situation was humiliating and intolerable. She pulled the bedding higher.

Her uncle’s entire body trembled in fury. He stabbed a finger at Hunter. “I want this man arrested for kidnapping my niece. Summon the magistrate.”

Uncertain, the stocky innkeeper glanced fretfully at Hunter. He did not want to offend the duke, but her uncle’s accusations were troubling.

“Strangham, cease these melodramatics. You are worrying our good host. Is that not right, Hopkins?” Hunter said, not taking his hardened gaze off her uncle.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace, for disturbing your sleep,” the innkeeper said.

“Think nothing of it, my good man,” Hunter said genially. “As one can expect from a newly married gent, I was not asleep.” He winked at their visitors.

His meaning could not be any clearer to anyone within earshot. Several men chuckled at Hunter’s ribald comment. Grace’s face flamed with heat.

Only her uncle seemed to be more outraged than her. “You took the girl by force, you blackguard!” he seethed. “I have it on good authority that once my niece had been removed from your questionable influence, she had no intention of marrying you.”

“A lover’s tiff, Strangham,” Hunter said dismissively. “If you ever manage to convince a woman to unfasten your trousers you might discover that females can be rather disagreeable creatures when provoked.”

“Blame the woman. Such a typical remark from a man,” grumbled Grace. Her eyes widened and she brought her hand to her unruly mouth when she noticed that everyone was staring at her.

“Eyes on me, gents,” Hunter said sharply. “That is my
wife
all of you are ogling.”

Chapter Twenty-three

“How rude of you, Hunter, to throw a private gathering, and forget to invite your friends,” Frost drawled, drawing everyone’s attention away from Grace.

She had never felt so grateful.

Hunter snorted. “Stay away from my duchess, Frost. And you can blame Strangham for disturbing the entire inn. Thinks he’s rescuing his niece from my evil clutches or some rot.”

“How dare you make a mockery of my concerns!” Strangham roared.

“It appears the bride prefers to remain in your evil clutches, Hunter,” Frost observed drily.

Grace noticed that Dare and Regan were also present. She rested her forehead onto her knees, which she had drawn to her chest. Frost was correct. This evening was turning into some kind of untoward gathering. All they needed was food and drink.

Grace began to giggle.

“Let me through,” Regan said, pushing her way through. “Can’t you see that all of you are terrifying the Duke of Huntsley’s bride?” The crowd parted, allowing her to march up to Hunter. She halted and glared up at him. “I will tend to your wife while you—” She gestured wildly at the group of men. “—handle this.”

Her uncle turned on Regan. “My niece does not need assistance from one of the inn’s doxies.”

Grace lifted her face from her knees. Hunter, Dare, and Frost each took an intimidating step toward her uncle. As Frost’s sister, Regan had been doted on by all of the Lords of Vice. She knew that Hunter looked upon Dare’s wife as a little sister. Insulting her might be her uncle’s undoing.

“See to Grace,” Hunter murmured to Regan as he stepped around her.

Dare’s large hand landed on her uncle’s shoulder. He must have tightened his grip, because the other man winced. “You are quick with the accusations, Strangham. How are you with apologies? The lady you casually insulted is the Marchioness of Pashley. She also happens to be my wife, you arse!”

“Perhaps you do not remember me, Strangham,” Frost said in icy tones. “I am Chillingsworth. Regan is my sister. If you are done pestering my friend and his bride, perhaps you have time to offer us the names of your seconds.” He glanced at Dare. “As always, I offer my services as your second.”

Dare turned her uncle around to address the mess he had created by insulting Regan. To Frost he said, “While I would prefer to tear this gentleman’s limbs off with my bare hands, your assistance is welcome.”

Regan retrieved a shawl from one the chairs and wrapped it around Grace’s shoulders. “All will be well,” she whispered. “It is best to let the men handle this.”

Her uncle had managed to infuriate three Lords of Vice. He was fortunate the other four had not joined them on their journey.

“See here … I meant no disrespect to your lady.” Strangham nodded to Frost. “Your sister. Please accept my apologies. I confess, I have not quite been myself since I was told that Huntsley had kidnapped my niece.”

“Someone lied to you,” Frost said flatly.

“Lady Grace was among friends. She was never in any danger,” Dare added. His expression revealed that he was still not satisfied with her uncle’s apology.

Grace was impressed that both men could lie so convincingly. Regan touched her on the arm. A subtle warning to remain silent about the truth about her elopement. As upset as she was with Hunter, she had no intention of leaving the inn with her uncle.

“Check with the priest if you do not believe us,” Hunter said, recapturing Strangham’s attention. “Grace is my wife. She came to my bed willingly and the sheets bear proof of the consummation.”

“Merciful heavens.”

Grace brought her hands up to her face. Hunter had just announced that he had taken her virginity. Her cheeks felt as if they had been scalded with boiling water.

“I demand to see this proof,” her uncle demanded.

A strangled gasp escaped her lips. “No!”

Hunter glanced back at her. His enigmatic expression gave no hint as to what he wanted from her. “Strangham, you have upset my wife. How many challenges do you intend to collect from the Lords of Vice this evening?”

The innkeeper stepped between the two gentlemen before her uncle could reply. “With the priest confirming the validity of the marriage, one witness should suffice. Lady Pashley, if you do not mind, could you examine the sheets?”

“Of course. If it will put an end to the matter,” Regan said, giving Grace an encouraging smile. “With your permission, Your Grace.”

Grace shifted her wary gaze to her uncle. She did not fully understand her uncle’s motives, but she doubted he had developed a sudden affection for her. Neither had Hunter, for that matter. The duke and Strangham were like two feral mongrels fighting over a bone.

It was an unsavory position when one was the bone.

“Is this necessary?” Grace said to no one in particular, though her steady gaze remained on her husband. He’d told her to let him handle their unwelcome guests, but a public viewing of the bed linens was too much, even if very little had transpired in the bed.

“Do not fret, Duchess,” Hunter said with false cheerfulness. “One witness will suffice. Regan, if you please.”

With a soft huff of annoyance, Grace shifted and pulled back the sheet so Regan could see the smear of blood Hunter had placed upon the sheet. Regan peered at the blood. At a distance, the men craned their necks to get a glimpse of the sheets. Fortunately, her husband’s indomitable presence was enough to keep the crowd from crossing the threshold.

“Regan?” Hunter prompted.

Regan lifted her gaze to study Grace. “Are you well?”

It took a moment for her to understand what her new friend was asking. Regan wanted to know if Hunter had hurt her.

Grace shook her head. “I am fine. It is kind of you to inquire,” she whispered, embarrassed that everyone knew what Hunter had supposedly done to her in this bedchamber, when she only could only speculate with her limited knowledge.

Regan nodded as she dropped the sheet. She turned to face the waiting group of men. “Wondrous news, Your Grace.” She addressed Strangham directly. “I can assure you that adding your congratulations to the happy, and most definitely married couple will be the swiftest way for you to excuse yourself, and not humiliate yourself more than you have.”

Strangham was unused to being dismissed by anyone. He pointed a finger at Grace. “Now, see here.”

“What I see is a gentleman who cannot accept the truth,” Hunter said, pinning him with a hard stare. “The lady is mine. She was placed in my care when she was a child, and I have honored the terms of the marriage contract set forth by my grandmother and her grandfather by making her my wife. This business is done. Take your leave, Strangham.”

“Perhaps the gent requires some assistance,” Frost said, his unusual turquoise-blue eyes staring at the older duke as if measuring him for a shroud.

Outnumbered, her uncle should have accepted his defeat and departed. Unfortunately, he proved to be exceedingly stubborn when cornered. “I have not heard from my niece. Perhaps she might offer a differing opinion about these hasty nuptials.”

The room grew silent, and all eyes shifted to the silent figure huddled on the bed. Hunter, Dare, Frost, and Regan appeared to be particularly tense as everyone waited for her to respond. And why should they not? After all, she had been kidnapped by the four of them, while Hunter spent the journey alternating between cajoling and bullying her into marrying him. One word and she could ruin what was left of their wedding night.

Of course, it would not make me any less married to the rogue!