Under A Duke's Hand (14 page)

Gwen found Eira prancing sideways in the
paddock, her reins dangling as she tossed her head. Her saddle was
somewhere farther off. Apparently she’d bucked the thing from her
back. Gwen wondered if she’d bucked off a groom. There was no one
about. She whickered to the horse and held out a hand.

“Come here, beauty. Come, Eira. Come see your
mistress. I promise I’ll be kind.”

Eira turned in her direction. Gwen stood very
still, meeting the horse’s gaze with all the placid calm she could
muster. She made another soft sound, a sweet, welcoming cluck that
held the horse’s attention a few more moments than before. “Please
come,” she whispered. “Let me stroke your mane. I won’t ever hurt
you.”

Eira’s ears flicked up and back, and she
started toward Gwen. Oh, she wished she had brought some treat, a
carrot or apple, but the mare didn’t seem disappointed when she
arrived and found her palms empty. Gwen reached slowly, so slowly
to pat her sleek neck and tangled mane.

“What a pretty girl,” she said in her most
soothing voice. “You aren’t bad at all, are you? You’re only
misunderstood. You want to gallop about and be free, and they want
to truss you up in harnesses. They are awful here about things like
that.”

Eira nodded her head up and down as if she
understood, and pushed her muzzle under Gwen’s hands. Gwen laughed
and stroked her some more, gazing into her liquid eyes.

“I can’t wait until we can ride together
every day,” she said. “You know, I’m from Wales, where the ladies
can ride as well as the men, or better. I’ve ridden horses much
wilder than you, naughty girl. When you learn to bear your saddle
and bridle, we’ll have so many adventures, and be best
friends.”

Now that Eira was calm, Gwen ducked under the
fence and stood beside her, petting her withers. The horse neighed
in approval and tossed her head again, and twitched her shoulders
until Gwen giggled.

“Yes, I understand you’ve got personality.
You’ll make a fun pet, and you’re so lovely and strong. Look at
those muscles! I wish I could climb up on your back and ride you
now, the way I did with Effie when she was younger. Will you let me
on your back, if you won’t tolerate that tiresome saddle? We can
take a stroll around the paddock if you promise you won’t toss me
off.”

“Guinevere!”

Gwen heard the duke’s voice from far away,
somewhere near the house. Somewhere too far away to stop her, at
any rate. She climbed up on the fence, which she’d done many times
as a child, and hopped onto Eira’s back. She’d always preferred
bareback to saddles, because she loved to feel the strength and
movement of her mount.

“Beautiful girl,” she crooned, patting Eira’s
neck. “How kind you are, to let me climb atop you. How still and
polite you’re being.”

“Guinevere, get down. Get down at once,” the
duke shouted. “Palmer! Gandiston! See to the duchess!”

Her husband’s voice was closer now. In fact,
he was running full speed to the paddock, his coattails flying out
behind him. A groom stuck his head out of the stable and came
running too. Gwen could feel Eira go tense. Gwen didn’t want to
attempt to get down, not while the horse was agitated. She said her
name softly and stroked her mane as she gathered the horse’s
dangling reins.

“Guinevere!”

Eira sidled away as the duke arrived at the
fence. Gwen met Arlington’s gaze, surprised by the depth of his
alarm.

“Please stop shouting,” she chided. “You’re
frightening her.”

“Frightening her?” The duke was still
yelling. “You’re frightening me. Get down from that untamed beast
before it snaps your neck.”

“I promised her a ride around the
paddock.”

“She’s not yet fit to ride. She isn’t even
saddled.”

One of the grooms approached from the other
side of the paddock. Eira danced around to watch him, spinning
between the duke and the groom. Gwen imagined it must be terrifying
to the mare, to be surrounded and yelled at in such a
confrontational fashion. Gwen leaned down and whispered in her ear.
“Go, Eira. Let’s go.”

The duke snatched at the reins but couldn’t
reach them. “Don’t dare.”

“A short jaunt only,” she told him.

“Don’t dare!”

But Gwen did dare. She nudged a heel into
Eira’s side and urged her forward. The mare needed little
encouragement. Within a pair of strides the horse had gained speed
and accelerated to a gallop.

Poor thing, to be restrained all the time
when she only wanted a good run. Eira’s legs pounded, carrying them
on a collision course with the paddock fence. Gwen heard shouting
behind them but she didn’t turn around. “Fly for me, girl,” she
whispered instead, and the horse went up and over, smooth as silk,
strong as the sun. Gwen laughed with the joy of motion as her hair
came loose from its pins and tumbled back over her shoulders.

“Go, go, go,” she urged as they streaked
toward the woodlands. “The duke will be angry, but there’s nothing
for it. Fly while you can, my darling, as far as you can go.”

* * * * *

Aidan was struggling in this marriage, and he
didn’t know how to fix all the things that were wrong. He had
always been good at everything. He had always been well-liked, the
sort of chap people were pleased to count as a friend. Even in his
rakish exploits, he had always been fondly regarded by the
ladies.

Now he was failing. Two weeks into this mess,
he was failing at marriage, failing as a husband, failing at
protecting his wife. Despite his orders to the contrary, she’d
swung onto her wild horse’s back and galloped away. They were gone,
run off into the woodlands toward the thickest area of trees. His
wife would be killed, he was sure of it. What would he tell
Guinevere’s family? What would he tell the king and queen, who were
expecting them at audience in London?

He never should have bought the horse. The
mare was beautiful, yes, but she was too wild. He never should have
shown her to Gwen in the first place. And damn him, he shouldn’t
have ignored Gwen in the hallway. He should have swept her up and
taken her to bed instead, and put an end to the freeze between
them. He might be putting a child in her right now, instead of
galloping out with the grooms in pursuit of a satanic horse which
may or may not have trampled his wife by the time they caught
it.

He should have locked her in her room. If she
survived this, he would lock her in her room for the rest of her
life.

“There she is,” said one of the grooms,
pointing into the distance.

Gwen was still on the mare’s back, thank God.
Aidan gestured toward the tree line. “We’ll go around. They’re
headed for the lake.”

“It’s a young horse, Your Grace. If the
duchess can keep her seat, the beast’ll get tired soon enough.”

Aidan’s eyes stayed riveted to his wife as
they sped in faster pursuit. Through his panic, through his anger,
he realized Gwen was a magnificent horsewoman. He’d never seen an
Englishwoman ride like that, bareback, neck or nothing, hunched
over her mount with the reins loose in her hands. The wind caught
Gwen’s black hair and whipped it behind her like streaks of dark
lightning against the horse’s white coat. She was a fairy queen on
her enchanted steed.
Please, please, please, don’t stumble.
Don’t lose control.

“The horse is slowing, Your Grace.”

Aidan nodded, looking over at the white-faced
grooms. Now that the race was over, now that Gwen had apparently
survived, Aidan could not seem to collect his emotions. He rode
into the clearing by the pond, where the mare drank and his wife
stood beside it, stroking its neck.

He slid down off his horse, so weak with
relief he was not certain his legs would hold him. Gwen glanced at
him, saying nothing. They had said nothing to each other all
week.

“Walk the mare back,” he said to the grooms.
“I would speak privately with my wife.”

His men took the reins, and the now-tired
horse followed them without resistance. Gwen stood with her chin
high and her hands clasped before her, and Aidan thought for the
hundredth time that he would never understand her. Why was she not
afraid of him, especially now? Why was she not in awe of him like
everyone else? Why was she always doing things that made him want
to shout at her?

“Well,” she said. “You have that look about
you. Are you going to spank me again?”

“If I had control of my temper, I would. That
horse might have killed you, you know. If you ever pull such a
stunt again, rest assured I’ll whip you to within an inch of your
life.”

“I don’t understand why you’re angry. You
said she was mine.”

He wanted to murder her. He did. “Do not be
obtuse. You heard me yelling at you. You heard me say the horse was
not fit to ride.”

“But she was fit to ride. She carried me
beautifully.”

“Beautifully?” He stalked toward her. “She
ran from the paddock like the devil was at her heels.”

“Because you shouted at her and startled
her,” his wife retorted, backing away.

“You’re lucky she didn’t break your head open
and snap your bones under her feet. I thought you’d be dead. I
thought I’d come upon your broken, lifeless body, God damn
you.”

He had no more words, only emotion choking
him inside. He’d grasped her arms without even realizing it. She
infuriated him beyond reason but he didn’t want her to die. He
pulled her down to the ground and trapped her hands over her head,
and yanked up her skirts. She didn’t resist him, and he didn’t look
at her face. He only knew he had to be inside her, because she was
alive and whole, and not in a thousand bloody pieces.

“Oh,” she said as he yanked at his breeches
and released himself. He pushed into her hard. He might have hurt
her if she hadn’t arched to him, if she wasn’t already wet. But of
course she was wet. He’d learned in their marriage bed that she
liked force. She liked sexual wildness and abandon. It was one of
the only things they had in common. Perhaps that’s why he ravished
her now, because it was the only way to reconnect with her, and
they needed to reconnect.
You scared me. I care about
you.

He would not say he loved her. She wasn’t
lovable in the least, the way she constantly challenged him, but he
should have been going to her bed all this time. Five days lost,
when he might have been between her legs, giving her the only thing
she seemed to want from him: a hard, rough fuck.

He dug his knees into the grass, surging
inside her, lifting her, taking her in an animalistic temper. He’d
never fucked a woman angry before, never. Not until now.

Their clothes would be ruined by dirt and
grass. Everything would be ruined, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t
think of anything beyond taking her as he ought to have taken her
earlier. He’d never pass by her again without dragging her into
some room and possessing her. Perhaps he’d fuck her on sight, then
and there, pull her beneath him in the corridors, in the parlors,
or push her up against a marble column in the main hall.

At some point he’d let go of her hands. He
wrapped himself around her so she couldn’t get away, but she wasn’t
trying to get away. She gripped and pulled his hair as she strained
against his front. He wasn’t taking the first care for her
pleasure, but she was ardently aroused. It made him angrier, and
the anger spilled over into passion for this hellion who was not
the wife he expected to have.
I hate you
, he thought, but he
meant,
I love you, and I don’t know why.

She cried out and bucked beneath him. He
fucked her harder, cursing, biting off oaths as she climaxed. Her
sheath tightened around him in rhythmic, ecstatic ripples that
signaled her release. He sought his own, driving into her so firmly
she panted for breath. No, it was not civil, not well done of him.
As soon as he emptied himself inside her, he became aware of how
barbarous he’d been. He’d never fucked a whore so violently. He
should not have done so to his wife, not for any reason. He made
himself look at her, and endure her righteous outrage.

But there was no outrage. She closed her eyes
a moment, then blinked them open again. She unwound her fingers
from his hair, and let her arm drop back about her head. It was a
sensual pose, lazy and content. He didn’t understand her. He would
never understand her.

“Aren’t you angry?” he ground out.

He felt her squeeze around his cock.

“You were the angry one,” she said. “Do you
feel better now?”

Did he feel better? He couldn’t tell, and it
didn’t matter. “I shouldn’t have taken you in anger. That was not
respectful of me.”

“I suppose it turned out all right.”

He realized then why he could not be pleased.
It was because a proper lady would not gaze up at him and say
I
suppose
it turned out all right
. A proper lady would not
gain pleasure from being ravished beside a lake. But his lady
did.

So what was he to do? He could not be angry
and rough again, that was certain. And he couldn’t ignore her,
because it only made things worse. He couldn’t change her, not
without a great deal of angst and willful disobedience. He didn’t
have the answer, and he always had the answer.

He sighed and rose on his elbows, and pulled
away. When he glanced down to fasten his breeches, he saw crimson
on his cock, and her thighs, and experienced a sickening jolt of
horror. “I’ve injured you,” he said. “There’s blood.”

“You didn’t injure me. I believe my courses
are upon me. They were due.” She pushed down her skirts to hide the
stains. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Why are you sorry?”

“Because I haven’t yet conceived your heir. I
know that’s all you need me for.”

He pursed his lips as he did up his breeches.
“You know nothing of what I need. Nor do you care.” He stood and
held out a hand. “Get up.”