Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
“ H e must miss it,” Lucy said to Ophelia as they walked into Barndale House.
There were already at another ball held less than a week later.
“What?” Ophelia asked.
“Boxing.”
Ophelia’s steps slowed. Behind, Freddie and Maxwell accompanied them. “I did not know how frequently he boxed. You mean that he must miss it in between fights?”
“No, I mean that he has stopped altogether.”
“Maxwell has stopped boxing?”
Lucy caught her eye, blinking. “You did not know? He resigned at the Cliff’s Edge this week. Rumors have it that he has stated he no longer needs to box—whatever that means.”
Ophelia glanced over her shoulder. Her husband was talking with Freddie, but when he noticed her looking at him, he gave her a handsome smile. She returned it before turning back to Lucy as they walked into the ballroom.
She could not help but think of her encouragement the night they had first indulged in one another.
“Take me like you fight. Take me as though I could lodge something within you, a lasting sense of calm endurance. Take me like my body will soothe that darker part of you.”
Since then, they had found pleasure beneath one another’s hands, and Maxwell had apparently given up boxing. Was it true that he was finally feeling more at peace?
Was their love finally quelling the anger in his veins, as she had hoped?
Before she could ask, Maxwell walked forward, matching their stride.
“Cousin,” he said, “there are many suitors here tonight who are more than eligible. Allow me to dance with you so they may all see you.”
Lucy’s cheeks flushed. “I… Maxwell, I do not think that is a good idea. I do imagine the suitors are repelled by your presence and reputation.”
“Then let us put an end to that by showing them that we Hardings enjoy a dance, just like any other family.”
“You, enjoying a dance?” Lucy laughed. “Dare I ask what you have done with my cousin, Duchess? I hardly recognize him. Very well, Maxwell. Let us dance.”
Ophelia could see that Lucy was still shy, but by the end of the night, she hoped the young woman would find herself in the arms of at least one dance partner.
“Then I shall ask the beautiful Duchess for a dance,” Freddie chimed in. “So we might exchange at the end, Maxwell.”
Ophelia agreed, and the two couples went to the dance floor. It was strange to be in Freddie’s arms, to dance with him. Several pairs of eyes landed on them. Everybody watched when the Hardings appeared, and Ophelia could only feel for Lucy, who often wilted beneath the attention.
“She will be fine,” Freddie assured her, following her gaze. “Unless it is your husband you worry about.”
“Is there anything to worry about regarding him?”
“Not at all. I heard Lucy telling you that he had stopped boxing. Does that upset you?”
Ophelia shook her head. A lifetime of dancing let her talk with no concern for her movements. “No. If anything, I am relieved. It was not easy to see him come home many nights with bruised knuckles and wounds. I saw a lot more than he realized.”
“You did?”
She nodded. “In the first days of our marriage, I could hardly sleep. I often kept vigil at the window when he disappeared in the night. It is silly, but I feared he had a mistress.”
Freddie barked out a laugh. “Maxwell cared too much about you, even in those first days—you just did not see it.”
She bit her lip, letting herself be spun around. “And Lucy? What about her? Do you think she will be fine?”
“Lucy can handle herself,” Freddie said. “She is shy and meek because of her father’s abhorrent treatment of her, but she is more than capable. She has… overcome many things in her life. One must do what one has to do to survive sometimes. Lucy forgets that she has stared her demons in the face and yet she remains here to tell her story.”
Ophelia’s breath caught.
Freddie knows what Lucy did .
She was sure that was what he meant.
“She is here,” Ophelia agreed slowly. “As is Maxwell.”
“Maxwell… he would always return to Stormcliff. For Lucy, it is a haunted place. The sooner she marries and leaves, the better. I hope these balls serve her well in finding a suitor.”
Freddie had expressed that sentiment many times, and as always, it was accompanied by a wistful glance in Lucy’s direction.
“It is true, however, that many men are deterred by Maxwell’s reputation,” he continued, sighing. “That is why I have offered to dance with her many times. If the Viscount Rowe trusts the Hardings enough, then hopefully others will, too. I hope my gleaming reputation enhances theirs.”
Ophelia nodded. “Indeed.”
“I believe it is time to switch partners, Your Grace.” Freddie gave her a wink, and in a moment’s blink, she found herself face-to-face with her husband.
Maxwell’s hands went around her waist immediately, and he stepped with her into the next dance effortlessly. “Wife,” he murmured.
“Husband.”
“It is rather different from our village festival, is it not?”
Ophelia thought back to their time in Stormcliff Village the day before. They had drunk wine, and she had laughed as she danced around the maypole, as she had that first time in the village. Maxwell had held her, far more relaxed than usual, and he had taken her back to an inn where she had let herself fall into another blissful haze with him.
“It is,” she agreed. “I much prefer the festival. At least there, I could wear a much more comfortable gown.”
Maxwell smirked at her. “If you are uncomfortable, perhaps I could take you elsewhere after this dance and loosen your dress.” His mouth brushed against her ear. “Allow you some time to relieve the tightness.”
“You are audacious to suggest such a thing here.”
“Judging by our dalliance in the woods, I do not think you are as scandalized by the idea as you pretend to be.” He raised an eyebrow, knowing he was right.
In truth, Ophelia did like the idea, and she found herself growing hot.
“I have been thinking,” she said, eager to change the subject lest she embarrass herself, for her thoughts were written all over her face. “Perhaps we should host a ball. We have not hosted one as the Duke and Duchess. Lucy wants to find a husband, and both you and Freddie wish to help her. Why not host it at Stormcliff? It allows people to visit the castle, see both of you, and set aside their judgments. It will be the perfect solution to everything!”
Maxwell’s mouth tightened. “No.”
“Surely you see that it is a good idea?—”
“No, Ophelia. I am sorry, but no. I do not want strangers in Stormcliff, especially strangers who have already judged my cousin and me before they got to know us.”
“This is exactly why the ball should be held—so they can get to know you?—”
“No.” His voice was gentler. He slowed their dancing, giving her an apologetic smile.
“Very well,” she conceded, but an idea was already forming in her mind.
The following morning, remaining only in her chemise and robe, Ophelia snuck down to Maxwell’s study, having been told he would attend his work soon enough. She swept aside the paperwork and other writing material on his desk and arranged herself artfully in his chair.
Her hair was loose, and the full heaviness of her breasts was on display, and with the looser dress, she had plenty of room and comfort to move.
Soon enough, Maxwell walked into the study and paused as soon as he saw her. His expression turned from thoughtful focus to surprise.
“Well, this is unexpected,” he commented. “I did wonder why you were not at breakfast.”
“I…” Ophelia bit her lip as he came closer. “I wish for a different kind of breakfast.”
His lips curled into a smile. “Is that so?”
“Come, sit.”
She stood up, allowing him to sit down at his desk before she settled herself comfortably on his lap. Her thighs slipped on either side of his hips, and she began a slow, steady rocking movement.
“Will we be disturbed?” she asked.
He shook his head. “My study is often left undisturbed. My servants respect my space unless it is urgent.”
“Then let us hope nothing urgent arises,” Ophelia whispered, softly biting his jaw before she slid off his lap and kneeled between his legs, on the floor, hidden beneath his desk. She looked up at him, her hands already reaching for his breeches.
“Ophelia—”
“Let me,” she urged softly. “You have pleasured me so much. Now, it is my turn.”
Maxwell gazed down at her, his palms coming up to cup her face. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She leaned into his touch for a moment before she took his length in her hand and lowered her face to him.
“I have… not done this before,” she told him, although he knew. “I might not be?—”
“You will be perfect,” he interrupted, both an assurance and a promise. “Pleasure me as you wish, Ophelia. Serve your Duke.”
“With pleasure.”
She took him in her mouth. He felt different in this way, and her eyes immediately teared up at the fullness of him between her lips. He was heavy on her tongue as she stroked the tip, kissed the shaft, and let herself find comfort in bobbing her mouth up and down him.
She found that when she tightened her mouth around the tip of his length, he grasped her hair tightly. He handled her roughly, as he always did, but there was something about the way he tugged on her hair that had her moaning around his length. It was a combined pleasure, and she ached for it, even if she was not being touched where she ached the most.
Ophelia pulled away, catching her breath and taking in her husband’s relaxed, blissful look.
“You are talented at this,” he told her, his voice gruff. “As you are with all manner of things.”
“Indeed,” she purred. “I am a fast learner.”
Her fingers closed around his length, and she continued stroking him.
“Keep doing what you are doing.”
She smiled up at him, noticing his eyes flicking down to her full, heavy breasts. “I wished to ask you again about hosting a ball at Stormcliff.” Before he could answer, she tightened her grip on him. “I think it will be most beneficial. Think of the advantages. You wish for us to be a strong union, do you not? Let the people of Stormcliff and the ton see that we are stronger than your past. Your future outweighs it. You do not wish to cower in here forever, so let them see such a thing.”
“Right now, I can assure you I am not thinking of the ton,” he groaned.
“I am sure you can see my side of the argument.”
She took him in her mouth once again. She brought him close to the edge and tried to pull off, but he cupped her face in his hands once again, his hold tight and firm.
“Hold still,” he instructed, and then his hips began to move, thrusting into her mouth.
He used her like that, and she gave herself over to that pleasure for him and kept her eyes closed. Muffled noises escaped her while he groaned above her.
“You are perfect, Ophelia,” he moaned. “You take me so well.”
She leaned closer, tucked further into him. His boot subtly found itself between her legs, and she fought the urge to relieve herself on it.
Soon, he was gasping, his breath coming shorter as he chased his climax.
“Ophelia!” he called out, one hand pulling on her hair, the other gripping his desk above her.
His hips bucked as he spilled his seed once he pulled out of her mouth. Ophelia remained there, nuzzling his thigh as he caught his breath.
“You…” he breathed, shaking his head. “You are a seductress, come to ruin me. Have you not?”
“I have,” she teased. “So, what do you say about the ball?”
“I do not like it entirely, but you are right. It will be advantageous for Lucy. Very well, we may host a ball.”
She sat up, landing in his lap once again as he tucked himself away. Ophelia languished there for a while, relaxed and happy. Soon, she slid off his lap, allowing him to work while she went to get dressed properly for her day.
Hannah was going to accompany her to the bookshop later, where she hoped to find a gift for Lucy to pair with the ball announcement.
But as soon as Ophelia emerged from her chambers, a steward approached her, along with a familiar figure behind him.
She gasped, dropping the reticule that she was filling as she walked out of her chambers. “Bridget!”
The name tore out of her throat. For standing there was her friend and former lady’s maid. Bridget was visibly pregnant, but her face was bright even as pale and drawn as it was.
“Bridget!” Ophelia could not help but repeat in disbelief.
“I was going to send word to you, Your Grace,” the steward said, “but His Grace instructed me that if I found Miss Jacobs, I was to bring her to Stormcliff immediately. She has agreed.”
“Thank you,” Ophelia said to the steward, breathless and overwhelmed.
She embraced her friend after the steward bowed and left. Careful to avoid Bridget’s swollen stomach, Ophelia held her tightly.
“Thanks Heavens!” she cried. “Bridget, I was so worried. When I heard?—”
“Your Grace, it is more than all right,” Bridget assured her. “I was fortunate enough to receive some help. Lady Kirkland’s cook realized what was happening. She and the rest of the staff helped me find an asylum where I could at least rest—but oh, Ophelia, I am so glad you found me! They would have taken my baby had I remained there long enough to give birth! Had that letter not arrived…” She shook her head.
“A letter?”
Bridget nodded, producing a piece of paper with the Duke’s seal on it. Ophelia took it and read it.
Her husband had indeed offered Bridget a position in Stormcliff Hall after he discovered why Ophelia had been searching for her.
I understand your predicament. It is my fault that you were not provided the security Ophelia wished to give you, so allow me to extend it to you.
“Once my baby is born,” Bridget whispered, “I am to remain here, to be your lady’s maid in full once again. For now, I am to share the lighter duties.”
Ophelia could not help but weep and hold her friend once more. “It has been so long.”
“It has,” Bridget agreed. “And I believe you have so much to tell me.”