Chapter 28
When they finally parted enough to breathe, Margaret remained in his arms. Her heart was still racing, and she could scarcely remember why she had been so determined to march upstairs and lock herself in her bedchamber.
"You are still an oaf," she whispered breathlessly, though the words lacked any true conviction.
Pierce's mouth curved. "And you are still troublesome."
She smiled despite herself. "Then we are both unfortunate."
"Extremely," he murmured, tightening his arms around her.
Margaret closed her eyes, allowing herself, for once, to believe him.
Perhaps he did not know how to love gently.
Perhaps he did not know how to reassure her without first making her furious.
Perhaps he would always be secretive and stubborn and maddeningly controlled.
But he had looked at her and told her she drove him mad, and that was enough to quiet every frightening thought in her heart.
Pierce bent and swept her into his arms. She gave a startled little gasp, instinctively winding her arms around his neck as he carried her from the entrance hall towards the staircase.
"Pierce," she protested, though there was very little protest in her voice, "I can walk perfectly well."
He glanced down at her, one blue eye and one green eye gleaming with amusement beneath his dark brows, and replied, "I know," before continuing upstairs as though her opinion on the matter had never been requested.
Margaret ought to have been annoyed by his high-handedness, yet the warmth of his arms beneath her and the steady strength with which he carried her made her heart beat faster.
After all the uncertainty of the evening, after all the foolish fears that had tormented her, there was something wonderfully reassuring about being held so securely by the man who had become her husband.
Once they entered his bedchamber, Pierce set her gently upon her feet and closed the door behind them. Margaret watched him with growing curiosity as he turned towards her and said, "Put your mask back on."
She blinked at him, certain she had misheard. "My mask?" she asked, touching the masquerade mask still dangling from her fingers.
Pierce nodded, his expression far too serious for whatever mischief he was contemplating. "Just do as I say."
Margaret narrowed her eyes at him but obediently lifted the mask and settled it over her face.
Pierce then reached for his own simple black mask and secured it in place, and the sight of him suddenly transformed her husband into the mysterious stranger she had first encountered at his masquerade.
Her pulse quickened. She remembered that night, the reckless kiss she had intended to steal, the danger she had been desperate to escape, and the very different danger she now faced in the privacy of his chamber.
"I have a series of instructions for you," Pierce announced, stepping closer.
Margaret sighed dramatically, folding her arms. "Not more rules and instructions." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously behind the mask as she added, "You do seem determined to organize every part of my existence."
A faint smile touched his mouth. "This is different," he assured her, and there was something in his voice that made her stomach flutter. "This isn't about routines and schedules."
Margaret swallowed and asked, "Then what?"
Pierce's gaze travelled over her slowly before returning to her eyes, and his voice lowered. "Sit on the chair."
The command was simple, yet the tone behind it sent a warm shiver through her. She obeyed, lowering herself onto the chair beside the bed while wondering precisely what sort of game her husband had decided to play.
"Remove one slipper," he instructed, standing before her.
Margaret glanced down at her shoes and then back at him. She lifted one foot, but Pierce immediately said, "Not so fast."
She froze, and he stepped nearer. "Slowly, Duchess." His voice was thick with lust.
Margaret felt her cheeks grow hot beneath the mask. Good heavens, he was teasing her. She had spent so much of their marriage complaining about his rules that she had never imagined there might be rules she would actually enjoy obeying.
With deliberately careful fingers, she untied the ankle laces of one slipper and slowly eased it from her foot before setting it aside.
Pierce watched every movement, and the intensity of his attention made her suddenly conscious of the smallest gesture.
She removed the second slipper with equal care, and when she looked up, she found his jaw slightly tense.
He stepped closer. "Place your foot on my thigh. Then, your stockings next, Duchess," he said, and Margaret's breath caught.
She could not believe how a few ordinary words could suddenly feel so intimate.
She lowered her gaze and raised one foot and set it against his thigh.
She pushed her skirt up to her waist and began untying the delicate laces of her thigh-high stockings, her fingers strangely unsteady beneath his watchful attention.
Slowly, she rolled one stocking down her leg and then the other, aware of Pierce shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
The small movement told her more than any declaration could have done.
He was affected by this too. That knowledge sent a rush of confidence through her, because for once she was not the only one trembling with anticipation.
Margaret had spent so much of her life believing that she was somehow less desirable than other women, that men overlooked her because she was too spirited, too outspoken, too much herself. Yet Pierce Sterling was looking at her as though she were the only woman in England.
"Stand," he said softly.
Margaret rose.
Pierce stepped behind her and began unlacing the ties running down the back of her gown.
He took his time, his fingers brushing her skin with every loosened fastening, until at last the gown slipped from her shoulders and fell in a soft heap at her feet.
Next came her chemise, until she was completely naked in nothing but the pearl necklace and mask.
Margaret stood utterly still, her heart hammering as she felt his warmth behind her.
Then his lips touched her bare shoulder, gentle at first, lingering long enough to make her close her eyes.
A shiver travelled through her, and she realized with startling clarity that she did not want to hide from this man any longer.
She did not want to be merely the duchess he had selected because Hugh needed a mother, nor the convenient wife who happened to suit his circumstances.
I want to be his. I want him to have all of me.
"Pierce," she whispered, turning towards him. Her voice trembled, but she forced herself to meet his gaze through the black mask. "I'm ready to be your wife." She drew a shaky breath and placed one hand against his chest. "Truly be your wife in all ways."
Pierce became completely still. For once, there was no command in his expression, no teasing confidence, only a sudden gravity that made Margaret's heart ache.
"Are you sure?" he asked quietly, reaching up to touch her cheek. "We can do what we did before."
Margaret shook her head. She had never been more certain of anything. "No," she whispered, moving closer until she could feel his breath against her face. "I want you, all of you. I have made my decision, and I expect you to obey that."
The words seemed to undo something inside him. Pierce drew a deep breath, and then his arms closed around her. “Yes, Duchess. As you wish.”
His mouth found hers with a tenderness that quickly deepened into yearning, and Margaret melted against him, clutching his coat as though she feared he might disappear if she loosened her hold. His hands cupped and massaged her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her rosy peaks.
Every kiss seemed to awaken another part of her, until her entire body felt alive beneath his touch, every nerve aware of him. She had once thought of the marriage bed as something to be followed through, a duty that must be attended to, but with him it felt different. It felt like an adventure.
His kisses moved from her lips to her cheek and down her chest to her breast, each kiss making her breath catch.
Margaret closed her eyes, surrendering to the warmth of him, and thought how strange it was that the man who had once seemed so cold could make her feel so cherished. His hand rested against her back, holding her close without demanding anything more than she willingly gave.
Margaret shivered and pressed closer, no longer caring about masks or rules or the uncertainties that had haunted her throughout the evening.
For tonight, there was only Pierce, his arms around her, and the astonishing certainty that she was exactly where she wanted to be.
She had spent weeks wondering whether he could ever truly want her, and now, beneath the mysterious masks they had chosen to wear, she finally understood that he had never grown tired of her at all.
He had simply been waiting, as she had, for them both to be brave enough to admit what they wanted.
He picked her up and placed her on the bed.
Then took her mask off. He disrobed, taking off his cravat, his coat, his shirt and trousers until he too was naked with his black mask still on.
She rested against the bed, and when his hand settled upon her knee, then moved down her thigh until it hovered over her mound, she moaned.
She gave a small gasp of surprise as his fingers began to massage her rosebud. His thumb pressed gently in slow circles, then moved up and down with careful pressure, easing the lingering stiffness from hours of standing and dancing.
"That feels very good," she whispered. Good? She laughed internally. It felt like lightning, like a spring storm.
He groaned in response and opened her thighs wider. He took off his mask and threw it. He placed his head between her legs. He kissed her womanhood.
He worked patiently, never rushing, his lips warm against her skin as he alternated between firm kisses and gentler licks.
Margaret closed her eyes and allowed her head to fall against the bed, thinking that there was something almost absurdly comforting about discovering that the formidable Duke of Ravenfield possessed such capable techniques.
"You are very good at that," she whispered, relaxing further as his tongue traced another slow circle.
Pierce glanced at her with quiet amusement and continued the massage. "I shall remember that," he replied, his voice low, and Margaret smiled because she knew precisely what he meant.
Then she felt the pulsing growing low in her belly. It moved through every limb as she reached a height.
"Oh! Oh Pierce," she shouted as an explosion shivered through her body.
She felt a release of complete bliss. Pierce moved up the bed and set himself beside her, placing soft kisses against her breasts as she quivered.
She reached for his throbbing shaft and began returning the favor, sliding both hands along before gently kneading. His rod was solid beneath her fingers.
As he groaned wildly, she worked up and down, using her thumbs to press along. Pierce watched her while moans escaped him, and Margaret felt a little thrill of satisfaction at knowing she could offer him pleasure as easily as he offered it to her.
"I must have you now," Pierce said.
Pierce moved between her thighs and placed his hands upon her hips, and entered her slowly. She arched her back up as he guided his manhood inside of her.
He began with slow, soothing strokes. His palms pressed gently into her hips, and Margaret felt herself sink deeper into the mattress with every movement.
He worked carefully, easing himself in and out of her. The pressure was neither too light nor too firm, and Margaret found herself breathing more slowly as the last remnants of tension seemed to melt away as she gave her maidenhood to him.
A shiver travelled through her, and she gave a soft, contented laugh.
"I believe I am yours," she whispered.
"That is precisely what I expect you to be, mine," Pierce replied, his hips continuing their unhurried rhythm.
Margaret smiled, feeling an almost overwhelming sense of bliss spread through her. It was not merely the physical pleasure of being soothed; it was the knowledge that Pierce was taking care of her, paying attention to every small comfort without her needing to ask.
Warmth seemed to move through her from head to toe, followed by little shivers that made her limbs tremble pleasantly. She felt utterly satisfied, not restless or uncertain, but peaceful in a way she had rarely experienced.
Then another wave built inside of her as he began to move faster and faster.
"It is happening again," she moaned.
"Good, I want it too. Release, do not hold back, Duchess," he said.
With those words, she moaned with bliss. She felt Pierce tense as his groans grew louder, faster, and he released his seed.
Pierce stopped and drew her gently into his arms. Margaret curled against his chest, too comfortable to protest when he pulled the blankets around them.
She listened to the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek and thought that perhaps this was what she had wanted all along, not grand declarations or perfect romance, but someone who she could have complete wild abandon with and then simply… be held.
Her eyes grew heavy as his arm settled securely around her waist. She managed one final sleepy smile before surrendering to the warmth of his embrace, and within moments she had fallen peacefully asleep in the arms of the man she had just given herself to.