A Duchess in the Dark (6 page)

“All you want is my money.”

He chuckled. “Is that any great surprise? Money and connections are what make marriages, Daphne. You’re a simple-minded romantic if you believe otherwise.”

There it was. That insult again. Ashton’s words echoed in her mind:
You deserve far better than the likes of him
, and for the first time, she believed him. Lifting her chin a notch, she glared at him. “Well, you can hunt down another dowry. I’m not marrying you.”

“Yes,” he said. “You are.”

When she took a step back, his hand darted out, grabbing her by the upper arm. His fingers bit into her skin painfully as she tried to jerk away. Her heart thudded hard against her ribs. “I will scream.”

He yanked her close, his face an inch from hers. “Try it.”

On instinct, she slapped him hard across the face, the sound echoing off the walls of the small room. His head whipped to the side and to her satisfaction a large, red handprint appeared high on his cheek.

He glared, hand raised, and she flinched, expecting a hard openhanded blow across the face.

“Do it,” a familiar voice drawled, “and you’ve killed yourself, Wallingford.” Daphne turned to see Ashton leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “Let her go.”

Edward glanced between Ashton and Daphne. He was shorter than Ashton, by a few inches, at least. If it came to blows, there would be no contest. “Why, so you can get a clear shot at me?”

Ashton shrugged, his gaze lingering on Daphne’s arm. “You’re going to have to pay for the bruise you’ve undoubtedly left on her arm. And there will be another blow for announcing a proposal she never agreed to. And then there was that insult on the lawn, at lunch.”

Before Ashton could finish, Edward released her arm and took a step back. He glanced rapidly between Daphne and Ashton, fear in his eyes. Pristine as he was, Daphne doubted Edward had ever fought another man in his life. Ashton, on the other hand, looked as though he swung at least a dozen punches every morning before breakfast. Ashton pushed off the door frame, hands balled into fists, and took a menacing step toward Edward.

“No.” Daphne lurched forward and grabbed Ashton’s arm. Muscles flexed beneath her palms. “Please don’t. He isn’t worth it.”

Ashton’s gaze swung around to meet hers. “He tried to entrap you.”

“He will go back into the parlor and tell everyone the engagement was a just horrid misunderstanding.” Daphne threw a glare at Edward. “Won’t you, my lord?”

There was a long stretch of silence, then, “Yes.” He tilted his chin in Ashton’s direction. “But first you need to call off your dog.”

Ashton had one hand curled around Edward’s throat so fast, Daphne hardly had time to blink. “Say it again,” he growled, tightening his grip.

Frantically clawing at Ashton’s hand, Edward could only mouth his response:
Please
. His face turned a deep purple before Ashton finally released him, roughly shoving him toward the door. Edward stumbled backward, clutching his throat, coughing violently. The moment he was free, he rushed from the room, nearly tripping over the red-and-white Persian carpet on his way out.

She turned to Ashton, her heart hammering hard in her chest. Blood vibrated through her veins, causing her to shake. She could hardly believe what had just transpired. How could she not have seen Edward for what he truly was? James had seen it, Ashton had seen it—everyone, it seemed, except her.

“Daphne.” The deep, hypnotic timbre of Ashton’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “Daphne, look at me.”

She swallowed and lifted her eyes to meet Ashton’s steady gaze. His expression was filled with concern, his eyes filled with compassion.

How could she not have seen it? All this time, Ashton had been the good, honorable one. She’d been so wrong about him, so blinded by her own assumptions.

He frowned down at her, his thumb brushing over the bruises that were just beginning to form on her arm. His gentle touch sent tingles up her spine. “He hurt you.”

She licked her bottom lip and glanced away. “I’m sorry for thinking so ill of you. I feel so foolish.” Her gaze met his again. “You’re a good man, an honorable man. I should have seen that long ago.”

“Marry me, Daphne,” he whispered, threading his fingers through her hair. “Make me the happiest of men.”

She pulled back slightly, then shook her head. “Ashton, if this is because you compromised me—”

He cut her words off with a kiss, long and languid, full of promise and passion. When his mouth finally left hers, he smiled. “I’m asking because I can’t get enough of you, Daphne. Your smile, your spirit. I believe I’ve loved you since the first moment I met you three years ago.” He brushed his thumb over her cheekbone. “Say yes, Daphne. Say you’ll be my wife.”

Her heart warmed at his words. He
loved
her.

Nothing had ever felt so good, so right, in all her life. With Edward she’d fooled herself into believing she’d loved him. With Ashton it was different, real. It was inexplicable, illogical, but she felt it all the way down to her bones. She loved this man. She’d loved him since the moment she’d laid eyes on him at her sister’s wedding, and she was going to be his completely.

“Yes.” She smiled. “I will marry you.”

He whooped and swept her up into his arms. “Tomorrow morning we leave for London. I’ve already requested a special license.”

She shook her head and smiled. “You are
not
getting off so easily. A woman dreams of her wedding day, and I will not be robbed of it. I want it written up in all the papers so all of the unmarried ladies will know you are mine.”

He lowered her to the ground, still holding her close. “I am ever your humble servant.” He kissed her quickly on the lips. “I love you, Daphne Hayward.”

“And I love you, my darling duke.”

One month later

D
aphne opened the door slowly and slipped inside the darkened bedroom. She shut and bolted the door behind her, breathing a sigh of relief that the long, torturous wait was almost over.

This morning she and Ashton had married in all the pomp and splendor expected of a duke and his new duchess. With help from about two dozen assistants, it only took three weeks to plan the wedding. Daphne carried a bouquet of white roses, and her gown was made of the finest pink silk. Ashton had looked devilishly handsome in his black coat and cream-colored waistcoat, gazing at her from the end of the long aisle as though she were the most beautiful woman on Earth…

Now, all the guests had finally gone home, and they were alone, at last.

A thin sliver of moonlight shone through the curtains, casting the room in a silvery, dreamlike hue. She crept toward the bed, careful to keep her footfalls light. He was lying on his back, eyes closed, head tilted toward her, his breathing deep and even.

Sheets tangled around his legs and hips, exposing every sinew of his bare chest and stomach. Even in the dim light, she could make out every taut muscle, every smooth sweep of skin. He was glorious—a deity sculpted into flesh and bone. She reached out and ran a finger down his chest, to the muscles that lined his stomach. He was smooth, warm to the touch, yet hard as steel.

“Do I meet with your approval?”

The deep rumble of his voice made her jump—she hadn’t realized he was awake. With all the joy and merriment of the day, she’d assumed exhaustion had overtaken him. She was delighted to find she was wrong.

“You will suffice,” she teased.

He groaned as she slipped her hand down farther, beneath the sheets, curling her fingers around the solid length of his erection. He was thick, larger than she remembered, and the feel of him was both thrilling and frightening.

“Ah…you are a vixen,” he said, thrusting his hips forward, pressing his erection more firmly against her hand. “God, Daphne, you torment me.”

The last month
had
been pure torment—they hadn’t made love since that first night at the house party, and for propriety’s sake, they’d had to pacify themselves with quick, stolen kisses. It wasn’t enough, not
nearly
enough. She’d needed to see him, touch him,
feel
him close. Now, here he was, her
husband
, and it felt like a dream.

At that moment, he sat up, gripped her wrist and tugged her onto the bed. She sat on the edge of the mattress, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest. It seemed so long ago since they’d touched like this, she almost felt like a virgin all over again.

He skimmed one finger along the line of her jaw, as though memorizing the precise shape of her face. The sensation was pleasant, heady.

He gazed deep into her eyes. “Part of me feared this day would never come. I still can’t believe you are truly mine.”

She bit her lip, her heart swelling at his words. “I am here and I am yours completely.”

Reaching out, he brushed a strand of hair away from her face, then leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. His scent, the spicy taste of him, curled around her, sending tingles up her spine.

Flicking the crisp white sheets aside, she exposed
all
of him to her hungry gaze. He was glorious, his erection thick, the swollen head straining toward her. She wanted to taste him, feel the texture of him on her tongue.

She pushed him back gently and prowled down his body, nipping, licking, tasting every taut muscle, every delicious dip and valley on her way down. He tasted so good: salty with just a hint of spice that was completely his own. She skimmed a finger across the length of him, then swirled her tongue over the swollen head. He groaned, low and guttural, like a man tormented.

“No.” He pulled away slightly. “
Christ
, I need to be inside you.”

He tried to lean forward, but she pressed her hand against his chest, holding him back against the pillows. “Ah-ah, I intend to make you beg. Say
please
.”

He didn’t even hesitate.

“Please,” he said, low and seductive. His deep baritone traveled like warm honey through her veins. “I beg of you, Daphne.”

She licked her lips. His beseeching tone undid her ways she hadn’t expected. Her powerful duke had given himself over—had surrendered completely to her, and the sight of him so vulnerable made her heart clench.

Lifting his head, he captured her lips in a desperate, possessive kiss. As his tongue twined with hers, heat thundered through her veins, swirling, swirling like a gathering tempest. He stirred her in ways she’d never dared imagine, stoking her desire with strong, expert hands.

She broke the kiss abruptly and looked into his eyes, teasing. “Say you want me, Ashton. I must hear you say it,” she said.

For the flicker of an instant, she saw everything in his eyes—hope, joy, love, everything that was reflected in her own soul.

“I want you, Daphne. I want you more than anything. I would have gone to any lengths to make you mine.”

Biting her bottom lip, she lifted to her knees and straddled him—her entrance poised above him, nudging the hot, swollen head of his erection. Reaching up, he took hold of her hips and pulled his pelvis back slightly, putting a degree of distance between them. “You will drive me to a state of frenzy if you continue with that.”

“I should like to see you wild and unrestrained,” she said.

“Later.” With a low growl he flipped her onto her back and pulled the hem of her nightgown up over her head, then tossed it aside. His hands roved her body briefly before he gently cupped her breast with one hand, and squeezed.

She wore nothing but her white stockings now, tied just above the knee with blue silk ribbon. Cold air brushed over her exposed skin, sending chills up her spine.

“Right now, I’d like nothing more than to savor you…”

As he brushed his thumb over her nipple, his mouth descended on hers. She was completely lost in sensation, his hands gliding across her body, his lips doing wicked things to her soul.

This
was the man she was meant to be with—always and forever. Fate had brought them together, but it was love that would unite them as one.

And then he slid a finger inside her, testing, before sliding another and another inside her slick channel. Sweet heaven! Three fingers and she was bucking beneath him, her hips moving with the rhythm to his slow, measured thrusts.

“Are you ready to take me?” he asked, voice strained.

She moaned, unable to speak past the building tension. Need flooded her…desperate, urgent, undeniable need that only
he
could fulfill.

Angling himself above her, the tip of his shaft pressed against her wet, aching center. In one powerful thrust, he pushed into her, taking her deep. She sucked in a sharp breath, balling the sheets in her fists as he drove into her. The pleasure was so immediate, so shockingly intense, she almost wept in relief. It was precisely what she needed. The feel of him filling her,
claiming
her in the most primal way, was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. It was powerful, soul gripping, and she never wanted it to end.

He paused, settled deep within her, his breath quick and shallow. “Am I hurting you?”

She shook her head sharply. “Please, Ashton. Don’t stop.”

Hooking her legs around his hips, she urged him closer, deeper. They were connected now, forever entwined, their hearts coalescing into one symphonious beat. They were
meant
to be like this, as one.

They belonged to each other—undeniably, unquestionably. Irrevocably.

He was hers, and she was his. Fate had seen to that.

With a growl, he pulled back, then rocked forward, taking her deeper and harder with each powerful thrust. Soon, that familiar tension began to build, threatening to cast her over the edge, into sweet, heavenly oblivion.

Finally with one last thrust, she erupted. Wave after wave of undulating heat washed over her, pulling her deeper into a swirling abyss of pleasure. Somewhere through the haze riotous sensation, she felt him pulse deep within her, and her channel clenched tight, claiming him.

It took several long minutes for the world to come back into focus. When it did, she slumped back against the pillows, exhausted. He rolled to the side and gathered her into his arms. “We were always meant to be,” he whispered into her hair, his voice filled with emotion. “I have never been happier than I am now, at this moment.”

She lifted up onto her elbow and kissed him warmly on the lips. “I love you, Ashton, more than you will ever know.” She traced his bottom lip with the tip of her finger. “And to prove it, I have a wedding gift for you.”

“Oh?” His lips tilted up into a wicked smile. “What do you have for me?”

“It’s still early…” She took his hand and moved it to her still-flat belly.

Her courses were usually quite regular, but last month they’d failed to arrive altogether. She’d consulted a doctor, who’d confirmed what she’d already known in her heart. A babe was due to arrive in the spring.

Shock, joy, and disbelief flashed across his handsome face all at once. He stretched his large hand across her belly possessively. “Are you certain?”

“As certain as one can be about such things.”

With a whoop of joy, he dropped a quick kiss on her lips, then bent to feather several kisses across her belly. “I believe we shall be very happy, my duchess.”

“Yes.” She smiled, her fingers tangled in his hair. “Yes, I believe we shall.”