To Love, Honor, and Obey... (Fated for Love) (19 page)

“Oh god, Obedience
,” he said hoarsely.

She pulled her gaze to his face. He was tense and shaking, his arms locked as he loomed above her.

“I want to give you what you give me.” She stroked him, loving the way he closed his eyes and locked his jaw. She felt wicked and powerful.

He shook his head. “Not like this.”

“Like what?”

“Not
—” He stopped, lowering himself to the cradle of her hips. He opened his eyes again holding hers as the head of his erection nuzzled her tender folds. “I want you. I want to be inside you so baldy it hurts. But you deserve more patience than I can give you right now.”

Obedience had closed her eyes. He was sliding in the wetness of her body and it was so exquisitely different
from anything he had done before. She bucked her hips, her body understanding far more than her head. He nudged a little inside, groaning. She squeezed her legs around him in case he tried to pull back.

“I want you, Chance. I need you. Please don't stop
,” she begged.

“I made you a promise, Obedience. So much has changed so quickly, far outside of my control. I don't want you to regret this.”

“I will never regret this, Chance. Please. Make me your wife in truth.”

He looked down at her sternly. She looked up at him, pleading with her eyes and her body. He closed his eyes tightly
, and she thought he was going to refuse her. He flexed his spine, thrusting into her. She gasped, the overwhelming sensation of being filled surprising her, but then he pulled back. He thrust again forcefully, and with a pinch of pain seated himself fully, pushing her breath from her lungs. She held onto him with her arms and her thighs as he continued the dance of thrust and retreat.

It felt so different, so intimate and personal to be joined with him like this. He opened his eyes and she watched him, his face strained, his brow furrowed and glistening. He looked beautiful and vulnerable, a sight she would never forget. She moved with him, the pressure of his thrusts so much more powerful than anything he had done before and pushing her quickly to another glittering completion. She closed her eyes, holding on to him with her entire body and heard him groan loudly. She opened her eyes to see his face. His eyes were closed, his features softened by ecstasy as he found his release and collapsed on top of her.

She wallowed in their shared satiation, feeling so whole and full of love for the first time in her life. She was so glad she didn't have to wait any longer for this moment. It was so much more than she could have ever dreamed. She drifted into slumber, a smile on her lips, happiness blooming inside her.

Obedience felt like she stumbled her way through the events of the funeral, but at last it was over and the guests were gone. She would never look at the drawing room the same again. The duke had resided there until the evening of his burial at the family mausoleum, and even now that he was gone, she could still feel him there. She had said goodbye to him, multiple times when no one was around, wishing so much that they had had more time to share.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust as they say. She remained strong for Chance, though she saw him infrequently. She did everything that was needed, stood poised and serene in front of the flood of guests who came to pay their respects. A few stayed in the house, mostly older acquaintances of the duke, but now everyone was gone and the entire household exhaled in relief.

Relief was short lived, because even though time moved on, they all dearly missed the beloved Bear Duke. Now she could turn her attention to the challenges of being married to Chance, not that she anticipated many
. In fact, she was rather looking forward to gaining more insight into the intimacies shared between husband and wife. He was currently meeting with his secretary in the study and she was tempted to interrupt them. He hadn't returned to her room since that night, and she wanted to know why and when he would be coming back. And then she wanted him to kiss her senseless.

She loitered around the study, conveniently near the library, and waited until she heard footsteps leaving the room. She popped out of the library just as Chance and his secretary, Mr. Fable, walked past.

“Oh, good day.”

He slowed and turned to her. “Did you have need of me?”

That was an understatement.
“May I have a private word with you?” she asked politely, eying Mr. Fable as he checked his timepiece.

Chance looked at her and then back at Mr. Fable. “I'll meet you in the foyer. Please have my valet ready a bag.”

“Yes, sir.” Mr. Fable bowed to both of them and departed.

Obedience glared at his back and turned back into the library. Chance followed and she shut the door. She noticed how he walked all the way to the fireplace putting quite a bit of distance between them.

“Are you leaving?” she asked.

“Actually
, yes, I've urgent business in London. If I leave now, I can make it there before dark.”

“Were you going to tell me?”
she said peevishly.

His lips twitched. “I would have informed you, yes.”

“That's not what I asked. Were you going to tell me yourself or do something foolish like leave a note or have someone else tell me?”

“You seem upset
. Is something the matter?”

Obedience clenched her teeth and walked
toward him. She didn't stop until she stood close enough to have to look up at him. He didn't back away. Nor did he appear to welcome her closeness. “Why haven't you come to me at night? Isn't that what husbands do? I seem to always hear old matrons complain about being bothered by their husbands every night.”

“You've heard no such thing.” He smiled reluctantly.

He was being elusive and she found it very irritating. “I would like to be bothered by my husband.”

“Obedience,” he said with the sort of tone that precluded a lecture. “I've been very busy
, and I thought I had made it clear that you need time to adjust to your new role.”

“To which role are you
referring? I admit the duties of a duchess are daunting, but I have plenty of time to polish those while we are in mourning here.”

“Polish? The idea terrified you a week ago.”

“Yes, but that is neither here nor there. You still haven't answered my question.”

“We can discuss this when I return. The later it gets, the more dangerous it is to travel. I will only be gone a week at most.
” He moved around her.

“A week?”

“There are tedious things to handle in the matter of the estate. It would be a horrifically long drawn out process to do it by correspondence.”

“Chance.” She stalked after him as he strode
to the door. He stopped with his hand on the knob and his shoulders slumped. She put a hand on his shoulder and turned him to face her. “Why are you pulling away from me? I need you.”

“I'm not pulling away. I have duties to attend to, as do you. There hasn't been a duchess here for more than a decade.”

Obedience swallowed. “Won't you at least kiss me before you go?”

He stilled, his hard eyes softening just a little. He looked down at her
lips. She met him half way as he stepped closer and dipped his head. It was a brief kiss, but not without feeling. He pressed his lips against hers once, twice, then pulled away. She reluctantly let go of him, appeased, but far from satisfied.

“I'll see you in a week or less.”

She nodded. He left her standing there, her thoughts in a jumble. She felt so close to him only days ago, as if they had fused more than just their hands in marriage. She didn't understand why he was suddenly backing away. She had no recourse but to let him, but that didn't mean she would do it happily. At the forefront of her mind was one question. What had changed?

*~~*

Chance boarded the carriage and sat back against the squabs as it wobbled into motion. He didn't want to leave her—he truly didn't, but even though the funeral was over, there was still much to be done. He was now the Duke of Maltravers, and with that came a world of burden. Six estates to be exact, 42 tenants, a cottage in Brighton, the townhouse in London, and a stable of prime horseflesh. He shouldn't have been surprised. He’d grown up training to fill these shoes, but now that he wore them... dear lord, the burden was heavy and piled on when he felt his weakest. The weight of his grief felt like a boulder on his chest, and yet he had to keep going, he had to be what everyone needed despite how much he would rather drink himself into a stupor.

And then there was his wife. The wife he felt like he was abandoning. She looked so hurt when he left, rejected even. He didn't mean to do it
. He didn't mean for any of this to happen the way it was happening, including her rushed, inconsiderate deflowering. And to top it all off, she didn't even understand how badly he was mistreating her. Other brides had time. Other brides were wooed and courted before being toppled into bed by their husbands. They were celebrated and honored. His Porcupette was thrust into her new role with all the grace of a tup in the hay. And she didn't even realize it, bless her. But Chance did, and the guilt killed him. His father must be cursing him from the heavens. Was he being hard on himself? Perhaps, but he felt like a barbarian, taking her as he did, driven by his own lust and lack of control where she was concerned.

When she had asked for a kiss in the
Library, he had wanted to toss up her skirts and take her against the door. That was what she did to him. She turned him into a lusting cretin. The distance would do him good, giving him some perspective and allowing his blood to cool enough so that when he returned, he could begin again with her, as he should. That was his plan, but lord only knew what wrench she would throw into it.

Her passion was contagious. It fogged up his mind, adding tinder to his fire until all he could think about was being buried inside her. Gone was the elegant gentleman he used to be
—not where she was concerned. He craved her, fantasized about her. If she knew how much he thought of her when not in her presence, she would be horrified. And if she knew the erotic contents of his thoughts? She'd have him banished from her presence, locked away in bedlam for lunacy.

The heat in the carriage was growing unbearable. His secretary was scribbling away in ledgers, paying him no mind. Chance banged on the roof,
and was thankful he had the foresight to request his horse be brought along in case he wanted to ride ahead. The carriage stopped, and Chance got out and mounted his horse. He took off at a gallop, the carriage diminishing behind him as he rode until the wind cooled his face. He hoped she wasn't too angry by the time he returned home. He had great plans for them, romantic plans. Plans that would further their sexual relationship and make her feel as special as she was to him. She deserved that after all she had been through.

The week passed uneventfully, the days dwindling and eroding all her patience and good humor. He didn't even write, not a word, not a sentence. She was blistering mad. Then a note arrived from her mother, and with trepidation, Obedience had opened it in the Red Parlor where she and the duke had taken tea countless afternoons. Sometimes Mrs. Moore joined her, a reprieve from her loneliness, but today she wanted solitude.

She
read the note with surprise, its direct and emotionless wording conveying that her mother was closing the house and moving to her sisters in Rutledge. No further communication would be invited or forthcoming. Nothing was said of Patience or the baby. Obedience was angry and hurt all over again, and overwhelmingly curious about her sisters condition.

She went to her room. She wasn't going to settle for a note. She was going to ride over
to get the answers herself. She changed and marched to the stable, anxiously tapping her foot while Tulip was saddled and then she was on her way. It was early evening when she arrived, the grounds eerily quiet and empty. She rode to the front of the house, but no footman came to hold her horse, and no one responded when she tried the knocker. She rode to the kitchen entrance and dismounted. Tying Tulip to the post, she knocked on the door. It opened a crack, a single brown eye staring her down.

“I'm here to see my mother
,” Obedience said imperiously.

The door opened and the man stepped back. She recognized him as the gardener, Mr. Albert. Myra came from the shadows behind him. She pushed him away and stepped outside closin
g the door. “My lady—I mean... your Grace. What are you doing here?”

“I want to see my mother. I received a note that she was leaving? I want to see how my sister is faring as well.” Obedience demanded.

Myra paled. “I don't know how to tell you this. We should go inside. I will make you some tea.” She turned to open the door.

Obedience grabbed her arm. “What is going on?”

Myra turned back slowly, her eyes showing her trepidation. “Lady Wickenham left two days ago, ma'am...and Miss Patience, well.”

“What about my sister.” Obedience demanded again.

“She is gone as well.”