Chapter 12 #2
Having been a deuced poor read of people’s words and their meanings the whole of her life, at some point, Daria developed an ability to read the unspoken signals—as she did now.
She took in the paper-thin set to Gregory’s mouth.
The rigid tension about his angular jaw.
A mask was all it was. So much of him was, and she wondered if he even knew who he was.
The rest of her parting continued in a whir. Final hugs and felicitations from her mother and sisters. A composed Clayton, hanging on the edge of it all.
It is too fast.
Her heart clamored.
It was all too fast.
Then, with Daria’s brother, four of her sisters, mother, and sister-in-law lining the limestone steps of her childhood home and waving—mostly with false cheer—Gregory escorted Daria to his waiting carriage.
His carriage? A fresh surge of panic seized her.
Or was it now theirs, since the Barker and Company conveyance would be how Daria traveled from this day forward?
As Gregory paused to speak with his driver, Daria wandered close to the black, gold-trimmed coach and stopped.
With sick fascination, she took in the ominous crest emblazoned upon the gleaming panel.
Amidst a crimson wreath, a pair of snarling painted lions held the duke’s insignia aloft.
At its center: Firnus Maneo—I Remain Firm.
A strong but gentle hand touched the small of her back.
Daria startled. Heart thundering, she lifted unblinking eyes to her husband.
Gregory leaned in until his brow touched against hers. “Are you ready to take flight, little raven?” And then…his thumb brushed once along the base of her spine, a touch that somehow steadied and stirred.
She gave a shaky nod.
His lips curled in a smile, the rare real one that left her feeling a whole foot taller.
Gregory took her hand, warm and steady, and kissed her wrist as though to anchor her before letting go.
Just as he made to hand her up, they were swarmed by Kearsleys with words of well-wishes and tears intertwined.
Daria’s throat closed up, as her family’s display, on this heavily traveled street of London no less, threatened to drag her down.
Strong, sure hands wrapped about Daria’s waist—the touch electric, burning her through her gown and cloak.
And then they were inside with the panel closed. The Kearsleys vociferous display continued, only this time muffled.
Daria took in a deep breath and settled her hands upon her lap. As she collected herself, she studied this man whom she’d bound herself to in name and, soon, in body.
At the window, Gregory managed the wide smile and cheerful wave Daria could not. What reason would he have to do so?
She studied him in silence. If he was as unfeeling and cold as the world—and he—professed him to be, then why put on a display for her worried family? What did it—?
The carriage lurched and, along with it, Daria’s stomach.
“Wait!”
A child’s cry sharp enough to travel London went up.
The team settled.
As the Kearsleys raced after Eris, the little girl had already yanked the door open and flung herself at Daria.
Making soothing sounds, she held her sister close.
“You cannot die yet!” she rasped into Daria’s chest. “You have to live many, many, many, many years,” she said, with Daria stroking her back. “Until…until…your hair is white like Anwen’s!”
Her lips curved.
“And…you have to be happy with him. I think you might be. Or you could,” her sister rambled.
Daria’s gaze found Gregory. He wore the oddest look.
“And he does not strike me as such a bad chap. He is pretty good with children like myself.”
Stunned, she whipped her focus between her husband and sister. His eyes, shielded by the long fringe of his lashes, revealed nothing.
“And he knows Adam Smith and Charle—”
Clayton interrupted the rest of their sister’s fascinating revelation. “Eris, it is time for Daria to leave for her new—” Home. His voice betrayed him.
Eris looked at the three silent adults.
“Daria will live at his club?” The little girl twisted the blade deeper in their brother, and his features spasmed. “May I visit?”
A knot formed in Daria’s throat as that question hammered home the important detail she’d neglected to consider. Her sisters could never, would never, visit her—
“Eris,” Clayton said thickly, “we will talk—”
Gregory leaned across the bench to put his nose closer to Eris’s. “What if I promise you can meet your sister anytime you want, and at locations far better? Parks. Gunther’s.” Gregory did not barter or plead. He simply laid the world at Eris’s feet, as though it were his to give. “My London manor?”
Eris took that offer in with the same intent focus Daria did the exchange her husband and sister.
Daria did not move. She scarcely breathed.
Eris’s tiny freckled nose wrinkled. “I suppose that will suffice.” Dropping her chin into her hand, she released a sigh. “Though a wicked club sounds vastly more fun to visit.”
Her husband grinned.
“How about this, Eris?” he whispered, a conspirator worthy of the Kearsley family. “What if I make you a promise?”
Daria’s heart quickened—an instinctive warning she had learned never to ignore.
As intrigued as Daria herself, Eris eased off Daria’s bench and onto the duke’s. “What kind of promise?”
And, God help her, she understood. Like Plato in the cave, and a full light shown, she’d glimpsed the charm that’d won the Duke of Argyll enough hearts to fill the Thames. How could one close one’s mind from such a memory?
“I’ll allow extra sweets at the dull spots, and someday, when you’re a tad older, we’ll have another think about you visiting my club?”
He winked.
“And that will be all for now!” Clayton said. His voice climbed an octave and broke Gregory’s spell.
Daria released the breath she didn’t realize she held. Her heartbeat, though, refused to quit its dangerous rhythm.
Her husband stiffened. His gaze went from Eris to Daria. The grin he wore lost its warmth.
And with it, so went the soothing light in her own breast.
At last, her family was gone and the clip-clop of the horses, and grind of the carriage wheels against cobblestones, led Daria away from the only life she’d known—and to the unknown.
Being alone with a man who was somehow both a stranger and her husband should have set off a dangerous panic. Perhaps she would have been unnerved before. Before she’d seen his kindness with her sister and his patience with her family.
“Thank you for being kind to Eris,” she said softly.
Gregory draped an arm along the back of his bench and flashed a lazy smile. “You truly do take me for a monster.”
The pose was his protective one.
Her conscience pricked. She’d wounded him. He’d never say as much, on account he likely didn’t even realize she had. “I didn’t mean to suggest anything but gratit—”
Gregory curled his lips into a slow, dangerous smile.
“We are married, Daria,” he murmured, his husked baritone setting her belly to fluttering.
“Y-Yes.”
Who did that breathless reply belong to? Surely not her.
His rake’s smile confirmed the throaty response as Daria’s.
“And what was it you said on the night you proposed? Hmm?”
She tried to speak but couldn’t.
His rake’s smile deepened. “I suggested sealing our betrothal, little raven.”
Her throat thick with some foreign emotion, she needed to swallow several times. “I remember.”
A low chuckle rumbled from Gregory’s chest. “Ah, my little raven has the memory of that quite clever bird too. Unfortunately, my fetching bride, I’m the one in need of a reminder. What was it you said when I suggested we seal our betrothal with a kiss?”
“I…”
Whatever she’d intended to say trailed off.
He rested his palms on his knees, bringing her attention down—to the dense, defined musculature of her husband’s thighs, all an impressive display of masculine grace and beauty. But the enormous ridge tenting his trousers captivated.
Daria’s breath hitched. She’d seen a male member, accidentally.
Midnight, the black barn cat, birthed a litter, and one kitten hadn’t survived.
With the tiny creature still wet from his entry into the world and wrapped in a blanket, she’d headed to the lake for a proper burial ceremony—just as Lord Landon and Lord Scarsdale stepped out of the water.
Their members hadn’t been rampant and thick as Gregory’s, outlined in his fawn breeches.
Heat spiraled lower, languidly easing to that intimate place between her legs.
“Never say, my sweet Daria—”
Cheeks aflame, Daria snatched her focus from his manhood.
“You, who faced down my anger and mistrust, convinced me of the wisdom in wedding you, and who stood up to an irate brother and brokenhearted mama, should lose your courage now.” His blue eyes glittered with amusement.
He’d caught her staring. How could he not have?
But instead of proper humiliation, her body burned for a different reason.
My sweet Daria.
Daria traced her tongue along the seam of her lips.
Mirth died quick in Gregory’s eyes. The black circle of his pupil expanded.
The heat pooled between her legs became a sharp ache. Unbearable. Even with a virgin’s innocence, she felt the burn of desire in his eyes.
Desire…for her. Nothing feigned or false about it. What reason should the duke have to pretend? To know she’d somehow stirred him left her weak inside.
Her lashes fell heavily. “The kiss,” she whispered. “After our marriage.”
“That is right, wife. We are married now.”
Daria was already arching toward him at the same time he came forward.
Gregory’s palm found her nape, his long, powerful fingers forming like a silken manacle about her neck as he dragged Daria nearer.
His mouth covered hers, burning her. Marking her. Singing her. Stealing her breath.
On a soft sigh, she slipped under his spell.
Her body felt as if it were soaring—and then she was. Gregory brought her down gently upon his lap. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you like this?” The roughness of his voice was at odds with the gentle love he made to her mouth.
Dizzied, Daria shook her head frantically. There’d not been a shadow of anything but disdain from him until here.
“J-Just now?” she ventured, her voice thin and breathless from the intensity of his kiss.
The deep rumble that rose from her husband’s chest reverberated against hers. “Longer,” he said, trailing his lips along the corner of her mouth, and lower.
“We’ve only known one another tw—ooohh.” The rest of Daria’s reminder broke into a great moan as Gregory tipped her head, granting himself greater access to her mouth.
His chest moved wildly, and the evidence of his desire caused a deeper tightening between her legs.
Moaning, desperate to be free of the ache, her hips took on a will of their own.
Gregory glided his fingers along her jaw. “Open for me, little raven,” he crooned.
Biting at her lower lip, she nodded and granted him entry. She’d allow him anything.
The rush of terror that thought spurred was swiftly displaced as Gregory fully consumed her mouth. Soft like velvet but hard like—
He wielded that hot flesh like a master swordsman playing with a page.
With the tip of his tongue, he drew languid circles about Daria’s, guiding her.
Teaching her the way. And as she learned the dance, his attentions took on a sharper intensity.
The lash of that skilled flesh against hers sent her careening.
“Now, open for me in every way.” His ragged voice was a break in his usual calm.
The faint thread of desperation she recognized so well from her own suffering.
Gregory guided her more fully onto his lap, bringing her down so she was spread wide, her knees hugging his tight waist. Her skirts and cloak rucked about her waist.
And the feel of him…
His length, hard like steel, pressed against her womanhood.
The rock and sway of the carriage set a forbidden rhythm that centered Daria on a pressure throbbing there, as exquisite as it was excruciating.
Gregory deepened his hold about her nape; his fingers bit into her skin.
His breath came fast and frenzied as Daria’s. The evidence of his passion, as real as her own, threatened to make her weep.
“Yes, Daria.” His praise came in a sharp rasp against her neck. “Just like that.”
At some point, in a bid to ease the agonizing ache, she’d begun pumping herself against his length.
Mortified heat blazed across her cheeks. Wanting to hide her shame, she buried her head in the curve of his shoulder.
“Uh-uh, my brave Daria,” he cajoled. “Don’t hide from me, and do not deny yourself the release your whole body needs. You were made for this. You’ve been waiting for this.”
Moisture dampened her brow. Her senses sharpened painfully. She wanted to ask what he meant. To have him explain it for her. But words wouldn’t come. They couldn’t.
Gregory’s mouth claimed hers for another all-consuming kiss just as he cupped the globes of her buttocks in his strong fingers. He drew her tongue deep and sucked hard.
An unbearable pressure built up inside. Desperate for surcease, she sucked viciously at his tongue.
His primordial groan twined with her sorrowful moan. Gregory shot a hand up and struck his fist into the ceiling twice.
“You are going to come, Daria,” he rasped, “and it is going to be bloody wonderful.”
Befogged with desire, she felt the bite of his fingers gripping the underside of her buttocks. He tipped her up and drove his hips against hers.
Daria stiffened. Every muscle coiled. The world narrowed until there was nothing but sensation, her body drawing tight beneath it, too much, too fast…and then, all at once, it broke.
She screamed his name. “Gregory!”
With his mouth, he swallowed the refrain she continued to echo, and Daria came. Just as he’d promised. Over and over. All-consuming waves of surrender swept over her, sucked her under, until Gregory rang every last drop of pleasure from her quaking body.
A final, dying gasp left her lips.
Sweating, her body shaking, Daria collapsed, replete, into her husband’s arms. The wild thump of his heart under her ear eased her descent back to earth.
And as the fog of passion lifted, only one thought existed.
This is bad.