The Care and Feeding of Your Captive Earl (What Happens In Scotland Book 3) (14 page)

She lifted a brow, but didn’t answer.

“It means I must father a son to satisfy the inheritance and entail. It is my duty to ensure the title passes down to my own child.”

“Yes, of course.”

His warm hands slid to the globes of her backside, and he pulled her close, his hard length pressed against her stomach.

“I’m going to give you a child tonight,” he whispered, his hot breath fanning against her ear. “Would you like that?”

Her channel clenched and she licked her lips. “Yes,” she answered.

“Good.” His fingers found her slit, and he slid one, then two inside her. “Ah, Gwen. You’re already wet and hungry for me.”

“Yes,” she breathed. “I want you.”

She was still sore, even days later, but her body came alive under his touch nonetheless. Her breasts grew heavy, and her hips began moving of their own volition—grinding against his hand, attempting to quicken the pace of his thrusts.

She wanted more. She wanted faster. She wanted
harder.

But asking for such things was not proper. From birth, ladies of her station were taught to be demure and obedient. Unassuming. Wasn’t that the brand of wife Matthias expected her to be?

Biting her bottom lip, she struggled to restrain herself. It’d been days since Matthias had touched her like this, and her body was impatient for release.

Matthias’s tempo slowed, and she whimpered. His lips hovered over hers, just a hairsbreath from touching. “What do you want, Gwen? Tell me.”

Digging her fingertips into his back, her whole body tensed. “I want you.”

He laughed. “You already have me, love. What do you
truly
want? You mustn’t be afraid to tell me.”

“I want you...inside me,” she amended.

“Good girl.” He rewarded her with a quick kiss on the lips. “I am more than happy to oblige.”

The tip of his hard length was wet and glistening, and her core throbbed at the sight of him.

She expected him to haul her to the bed and mount her as he’d done back at the cottage. Instead, he pushed her up against the wall and hooked one of her legs over his arm—opening her up to him. And then he pushed into her slowly, his gaze never breaking from hers.

At this angle, the feeling was intense. He was deep inside her, and her body gloried in the sensation. And then he began thrusting, his rhythm slow and even—completely maddening.

His lips found her neck, and she moaned. “Oh, Matthias.”

“Yes,” he whispered against her skin. “Say my name. I want to hear it on your lips as I take you.”

“Matthias, Matthias,” she said, breathless, over and over.

His thrusts quickened with each exhalation of his name—his face pressed against her neck, panting, growling. He was completely feral, primal, pumping into her with wild abandon.

Sweat coated their skin as they both climbed that mountain toward ecstasy. That place only he could take her. The pleasure only he could give. And she was desperate for it—her body grinding against him, urging him deeper, faster.

And then, all at once, she shattered—pleasure pulsing through her entire body. He continued to thrust, his pace becoming more frantic, more determined, wringing every last whimper from her body.

Just as she was floating back to earth, he stilled inside her, growling against her neck. His body shook with the intensity of his climax, and she smiled against his skin. Though he had done most of the work, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment.

Minutes later, he relaxed against her, kissing her neck softly. “I could remain like this forever,” he whispered.

“As could I,” she laughed. “But we will eventually need to sleep, I’m afraid.”

“Mmmm,” he murmured. “Excellent point.”

Pulling out of her, he swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed, settling on top of her. “Then again, sleep is rated much too highly. I can think of far better things for us to do.”

“Oh? And what might you have us do to pass the time?”

With a wicked smile, he growled. “I shall show you.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Matthias lay awake well into the wee hours of the morning with Gwen tucked against him, sleeping like an angel. Turning his head, he buried his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply. Her scent comforted him, drawing him into a world of ease and simplicity.

Something in his chest pulled tight, like the string of a bow, and he had the sudden feeling that he’d bleed his veins dry, if only to please her. Never before had he ever felt this way about a woman. He’d never allowed himself to. It was too dangerous.

But Gwen wasn’t like the women of his acquaintance. She was charming, intelligent, a loyal friend. There wasn’t a lady in London who would risk her reputation to save a friend from her own folly—except Gwen.

Obstinate, reckless,
glorious
woman.

He placed his palm on the flat of her stomach, savoring the feel of her warm skin. Even now, his child could be growing inside her, taking root just beneath his hand.

She would make a brilliant mother. Her kindness, her loyalty, would be a credit to their children. Unlike his own mother.

His mind was cast back to his childhood—to the nights cowering in his closet as his parents fought just a few rooms away. Their angry, violent voices carried across the entire house, echoing in the darkness.

He glanced down at Gwen, running his fingers through her golden hair.

He was such an idiot. What was he doing?

This scene of wedded bliss was just an illusion. What could he possibly accomplish by allowing himself to
feel,
pretending the inevitable wasn’t going to happen?

He would hurt her.

Pain and misery were as foreseeable as the rising tides. It was in his nature to hurt women, simply by being himself.

Disentangling himself from Gwen, he rose from the bed and dressed himself quickly. He needed to get out, clear his head.

In minutes he was walking briskly down the street, the cool morning air seeping in through the fabric of his coat. The sun had not yet risen over the horizon, and only streetlights illuminated the deserted road. The clopping of horse hooves echoed from several streets away—the lone occupant of the still, peaceful morning.

He found himself at White’s. Inside, it was quiet. There would still be men in the billiards room or above stairs in the card room—even at this hour—but he wasn’t here for conversation. Instead, he took a seat in one of the morning rooms, settling into a wing chair by the fire. One of the waiters came in and brought him his usual—a snifter of brandy—before quietly disappearing again.

Tracing the lip of his glass with his forefinger, he stared into the flames and cursed himself for letting it get this far. Last night, with Gwen in his arms, he’d almost believed in the fairy tale. He’d allowed himself to get swept up in the fantasy of a life with her. A family.

But how long could that last?

How long before she discovered
who
she had been forced to marry?

* * *

It was midmorning when Gwen awoke. The curtains had already been opened, allowing bright morning light to stream into the room. A breakfast tray had been placed on the table closest to the fire.

Gwen turned onto her side, reaching across the monstrous bed for Matthias. He wasn’t there. She patted the comforter as though he might appear from the downy folds. But he did not.

She glanced at the timepiece on the nightstand. Nine o’clock.

Where would he have gone at this hour?

Slipping out of bed, she walked over to the tray and removed the cover. A bowl of porridge and an array of cakes were artfully arranged on the plate. She picked at a lemon scone, and took a sip of lukewarm tea—scrunching her nose as soon as it hit her lips. It was far too weak.

She would need to discuss the proper way to make tea with the housekeeper. After caring for a bachelor all these years, it was likely she was out of practice.

As Gwen set the cup down, she noticed an envelope tucked underneath the plate. It was addressed to Matthias, written in an elegant hand. She held the note in her hand and contemplated reading it. She was his wife, after all. Surely she had the authority to read his missives if she so wished.

In the end, her curiosity got the better of her and she broke the seal, unfolding the note.

Darling,

I have just returned from the Continent, and there is something I must discuss with you. You must come to me at once. I can be found at Grenier’s Hotel on Jermyn Street. I am in room 234.

Yours Always,

K

Gwen’s eyes were drawn to the word
darling.
This was his mistress. It had to be. There wasn’t a gently bred woman in England who would be so bold as to write a lord, addressing him so intimately.

She scanned the note again, and again, each time taking in the contents a little more. He had a mistress—of course he did. Before leaving for Scotland, he’d been a bachelor. There was no reason for Gwen to be upset. But she was. It was just a stark reminder of the man Matthias truly was.

She glanced behind her at the empty bed.

Was he with her now? Was that why he’d left this morning?

She swallowed, a sharp pain piercing her chest. It was suddenly difficult to breathe—the air felt tight in her lungs.

K.

She stared at that singular letter, wondering how such a simple symbol could destroy everything she’d ever hoped to have with Matthias. But she’d known, hadn’t she? This was who Matthias was. She was foolish to think the love of one woman could satisfy a man like him.

You are such a fool.

It wasn’t her own voice she heard; it was the voice of her father. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she didn’t have a lick of sense in her head.

There was a sharp knock on the door that made Gwen jump.

Biting back the tears, she folded the letter back up and replaced it under the plate. “Come in.”

A tall, willowy woman came through the door, and smiled tightly. Her graying hair was pulled up into a knot on the top of her head. “Good morning, my lady.” She carried a fresh pitcher of water, and set it down next to the bowl at the far end of the room. “I hope you slept well. My name is Mrs. Reid, and I’ll be tending to you until we can hire a proper lady’s maid.”

“That will not be necessary,” Gwen said stiffly. “I have a lady’s maid already. She is on travel, however, and I will require your assistance until she returns.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Reid disappeared into the closet and emerged with Gwen’s yellow eyelet morning dress. “We brought your luggage in early this morning. This is a charming little morning dress. I took the liberty of airing it out for you.”

Gwen nodded again as Mrs. Reid helped her dress. “Do you, um…happen to know where his lordship has gone?” Admitting she had no idea where her own husband had escaped to was humiliating. But she needed to know. “He was gone when I woke up this morning.”

There was a small part of her that hoped she was wrong about Matthias. Perhaps the note was old. There was no date on it. Though she didn’t remember seeing it the night before, it was possible she’d missed it.

Mrs. Reid shifted on her feet, as though she’d grown uncomfortable. “Yes, my lady. If you’ll pardon me, there was a woman come early this morning with a letter for his lordship.”

Gwen blinked, forcing back the tears. She
needed
to hear this. “A woman. Tell me, Mrs. Reid, is this woman his mistress?”

“I couldn’t say, my lady.”

“No, of course not. I’m sorry, Mrs. Reid. It’s improper for me to speak of such things.” She shook her head. “Please forget I said anything.”

“Of course, my lady. Would you care for a bath?”

She hadn’t had a bath in…She couldn’t remember. Before she’d left for Scotland, surely. Soap and hot water sounded heavenly.

“Yes, thank you.”

Once Gwen had bathed and dressed, Mrs. Reid twisted her hair up into a decent chignon. In Scotland, Gwen hadn’t had the time or inclination to tie her hair at night—so her stick-straight hair had nearly no curl to it—no more than a faint suggestion of a wave. But it would have to do.

“Is there anything else, my lady?”

My lady.
It sounded so foreign to Gwen.

“No, thank you, Mrs. Reid. That will be all.”

With a quick curtsey, Mrs. Reid gathered up Gwen’s nightgown and disappeared, clicking the door shut behind her.

Gwen snatched up the letter again, and held it over the fire—heating the wax just enough to reseal it. It was a trick she’d learned when she was younger. She’d often snuck into her father’s study to read the letters her mother had written while abroad with one of her lovers. Usually demanding more money.

Waving the letter to cool it, she decided she would deliver it to his study—wherever
that
was. She still had much to learn about the house that was now her home.

Could she be wrong about Matthias? Perhaps he cared nothing for this “K” woman. It was possible, now that he was married, he would read the letter and toss it into the fire. Gwen
had
to give him the benefit of her good opinion, even if it was difficult. She owed him that much, at the very least.

Attempting to put the letter out of her mind, she set about exploring the house. The first and second floors housed large, elegant bedrooms. The third floor was clearly meant to be a nursery, though vacant and devoid of furniture.

The ground floor was the most elegant—though still muted by dark wood and heavy, brocade drapery. She swept through the dining room, the morning room, the parlor, and the library—making a mental map of each room. She would have peeked into what she assumed was his study if the door weren’t securely locked.

She was scanning the books in the library when she thought she heard the door open, and a man’s voice speaking in low tones. Walking out into the foyer, she saw it was Matthias, and despite everything, her heart leapt to see him.

Matthias handed his coat over to Langley as he peppered the man with instructions regarding his day. Meeting with a solicitor was primary on his list. Understandable, considering he’d just unexpectedly inherited his great-uncle’s title.