Stolen by the Ruthless Duke (Stolen by the Duke #2)

Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

“ M axwell, she is beautiful!”

Ophelia clapped a hand over her mouth as she gazed up at the midnight-black horse that the stable boy had brought out. This was her surprise—the very thing Lucy and Freddie had been laughing about the day before at the beach.

“She is a Friesian,” Maxwell explained, gesturing to his own horse. “Just like mine.”

“I know the breed,” she murmured, not wanting to best him but to tell him she’d been educated.

“I see your father taught you.”

“He did.” She nodded, unable to take her eyes off her horse.

“Then he would be proud to see you with such a glorious mare. What would you like to name her?”

“Valoria.”

Maxwell barked out a laugh. “My horse is named Valor.”

“I know.” Ophelia glanced at him. “Our horses match. Their names can match, too.”

She thought it was oddly romantic, but she noticed how Maxwell’s face softened as she insisted on her choice.

“Very well.” He stroked a hand down the horse’s inky nose. “Valoria it is. Would you like to ride her today? I thought we could take the bridle path towards the cliffs. It veers off towards the woodland, but I thought we could test the two of them side-by-side.”

Ophelia’s excitement bubbled up as she nodded. “I would love that.”

They took the route from the beach, right across the sand, to a bridle path that ascended towards the cliffs. The village spread out far below, and Ophelia could not help thinking of when they would attend the festival.

But first, there was the wind in her hair, her powerful horse galloping towards the woods, and her husband beside her, his face stoic in concentration. The wind dragged its fingers through the strands of her hair, tossing it in a stream behind her.

She guided Valoria closer to Maxwell’s horse, letting the two race.

“Where shall we meet?” she asked, stifling a wide smile.

“Whatever do you mean?” Maxwell called. “We are riding together.”

“Not if I race ahead,” she teased and urged Valoria onward, overtaking Valor.

Maxwell let out a curse before he urged his horse to gallop faster, keeping pace.

Soon, they were racing each other, thundering down the path, scattering debris and pebbles. Ophelia let out a peal of laughter, freedom blooming in her chest. The cliffs lay to her left, the crashing waves below. The path veered off to the woodland as Maxwell had said, and to her right, another path led to the village beyond a large field.

“Your horse is rather slow,” she called over her shoulder. “It must be a sign of his master’s skill.”

“You irk me, Duchess,” Maxwell shouted back, but his lips curled into a smile. “I merely do not want to punish the beast in order to keep up with your reckless racing.”

“It is not reckless!”

Ophelia and her horse jumped over a fallen log, entering the woods as Valoria galloped onward. Somewhere in the distance, Ophelia heard a bubbling river and headed in that direction. Maxwell followed behind, Valor’s hooves powerful and thundering.

There was something about seeing her husband ride so hard, his face so focused, that had her almost watching him more than the path ahead. Maxwell’s hints from the day before had her mind racing, and as she approached the river, she slowed her horse, throwing a triumphant smile over her shoulder—only to watch Maxwell fly past and direct Valor to leap across the river. It was a small stream that cut through the earth, easily cleared by their horses.

As Maxwell hopped off his horse and tethered him to a tree branch, Ophelia clambered down, stubbornly keeping to her side of the river.

“I do believe this means that I win,” Maxwell called out from the other side.

“No,” Ophelia said. “It means you cheated and that you must now cross the river to me.”

“And not you to me?”

“Do you not wish to claim your prize?”

“What would my prize be?”

Ophelia dared to lift her skirts a little. “That would be me.”

Maxwell took her in, and a small smile played on his lips. “Then I must cross to you, but I cannot possibly get all these clothes wet. It would hardly be fair to ride Valor back in sopping clothes.”

“That is true.”

Heavens, she sounded breathless. But what else could she do when her husband shrugged off his jacket and took off his waistcoat before undoing his cravat and shirt?

He yanked them off, bundled them up with the rest of the garments, and threw them over Valor’s saddle.

The full expanse of his muscles was now bared to Ophelia. That heat between her legs flared at the sight of him, her nipples pebbling against her corset.

“I see you are breathless.”

Her chest rose and fell, and she nodded as he took one step into the river, wading easily through the shallow water. He scooped up a handful of water and let it pour over his head, soaking his hair and chest. Ophelia’s heart stuttered, at a loss for words as he neared.

“I think, perhaps, we are both winning a prize,” she murmured as soon as he stepped out of the river with a push.

She stood close enough that her dress got splashed, but it did not phase her. Not when her husband came out dripping wet as he had that day on the beach.

He slowly unfastened his breeches.

“Do you wish?—”

She did not get to finish her question, for he pressed a finger to her lips.

“I want to taste you,” he said. “And I want the trees and the river and the earth to hear you cry out so beautifully when I touch you.” He stepped closer to her, easily towering over her. “So do not hold back, wife. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He lay down on a flat rock and looked up at her. “I want you to be on all fours, draped over me.”

“Why?” she asked breathlessly.

“Do not ask questions.” He raised an eyebrow at her as if to say, Well?

And Ophelia, Heaven help her, was not impervious to his whims. “I shall do as you ask. Willingly.”

He patted his thigh, and she released a shaky breath as she lowered herself to his lap, spreading herself over him as he had asked. Her face burned as he pushed up her skirts, his hand slipping beneath them the rest of the way until his palm rested on her backside. He stroked one cheek and then the other, humming.

“You are perfect here,” he told her. “You are perfect everywhere, but I cannot resist how you feel right here.”

His touch was soft, but it was nothing compared to the sting of his palm as he brought it down on her backside.

“Good?” he asked, his voice rough.

“Very good,” she admitted through her burning humiliation that felt more pleasurable than she would have thought.

“I do not wish to do this for long,” he said. “But I could not help but notice the sound you made when I did it briefly in the past. I needed to hear more of it.”

He did the same to the other cheek, and Ophelia’s cry came out tight and hoarse, desperately broken as she lifted her hips, eager to feel more of him. Her walls clenched around nothing, thoroughly empty.

“Touch me,” she begged. “I do enjoy this, but I ache to be touched.”

“Do you ache to ride , Ophelia?”

“Yes,” she sighed, heating up from the inside.

“Then ride me. I am your willing husband.”

Ophelia wasted little time in reaching for the hard length in his breeches, tugging it free. She slid her hand up his shaft, stroking him to full arousal, which was not hard to do when he was already at half-mast. He groaned, pressing a fist to his mouth.

She pulled it away.

“I wish to hear you too,” she whispered as she sank down onto him, right there beside the river, as he braced himself back on the rock.

Maxwell let out a guttural moan, as Ophelia did not give herself a moment to adjust to his size as she had their first time. He had teased her in the parlor after dinner yesterday with words and suggestive looks, and the way he had taken her the night before had been like nothing she had ever thought was possible.

Her breathing was labored as she rose and fell onto his length. “You—you have awoken a hunger in me,” she gasped, chasing her climax. Maxwell’s lips parted as she rode him hard. “And now I find myself starved every day we are not doing this.”

“And what is this?”

He grabbed her wrists, pinning them behind her back, forcing her to only use her hips. She could not use his shoulders for support either.

“Pleasure,” she moaned. “Desire. Finding such things in one another that would make anyone swoon with shame.”

“And do you not feel shame, wife?” he teased, his voice dark, rough .

“No,” she admitted, although some parts made her blush furiously. “No. My need for you is too great. My need for the pleasure you give me is— ah, there—is too great and overpowers everything else.”

“Say again how you want me to ruin you.”

“It is true,” she groaned. “I want you to ruin me, over and over and over again.”

“Then I shall.”

His words were punctuated with a growl as he tightened his grip on her hands and used the leverage to thrust his hips up against her, burying himself even deeper inside her. When he hit that spot that had her crying out, he continued to thrust into her, unraveling her, making her lose her mind to the onslaught of pleasure. He was thick inside her, and she could not help but squeeze him as she neared her orgasm.

“Come for me,” he told her, his mouth slotting over hers. “Cry out my name as though it is the last thing you will ever speak.”

She was about to ask him to do the same, but he thrust into her so fast that she was helpless against the shivers that overtook her as she climaxed, the pleasure shattering through her.

“Maxwell!” she moaned, throwing her head back, arching her back as her backside pressed against his thighs and she ground her hips in the last throes of pleasure.

Moments later, Maxwell bucked up into her for the last time, spilling his seed into her with a deep groan.

For a moment, he simply pressed his forehead to hers, his breath coming hard and fast.

Ophelia’s legs were shaking as she stood up and fixed her skirts, and she shivered as she recovered from her climax. Maxwell quickly tucked himself away for modesty, and it hit her how they may have been discovered.

It only served to make her blush with desire.

“I admit that was a prize.” Maxwell laughed, shooting her a satisfied grin.

“I agree,” she sighed, sitting beside him, splaying her fingers over his chest and sliding them up to his bicep. “And my prize is that as well as admiring you naked.”

“I will have to retrieve my clothes soon,” he told her.

“I know, but for now, I am enjoying the view.”

He laughed and took her hand, kissing her palm.

“You are… strangely affectionate when you wish to be,” Ophelia noted.

“I never said I was opposed to it.”

“You…” she trailed off. “I simply thought you were?—”

“A monstrous, emotionless husk?” he asked, a teasing note in his voice. “No, Ophelia. I… I admit that I hold back because of fear. And gentleness is… somewhat foreign to me. But I am beginning to learn it.”

It unlocked something in her, to know that she had inspired that in him.

“I did not think you emotionless,” she muttered. “Only that you would not care for such affection.”

He pressed more kisses to her palm. “Well, it looks as though we have a long life ahead of us where I might continue to surprise you in many ways, then.”

His promise reverberated through her, and for a moment, she imagined what their future would look like, living in Stormcliff. Lonely in some ways, for neither of them had family they could extend invitations to. But they would have Lucy, and Freddie, and one another. And when James came of age, they would have him as well.

Ophelia did not voice her thoughts but kept them close to her heart. Especially when she began to picture children—a girl with Maxwell’s dark hair and a boy with her blonde hair, both of them taking care of one another as they grew up and entered Society.

“What are you thinking of?” Maxwell asked, kissing her cheek.

Ophelia hummed. “Nothing in particular.”

He gave an unconvinced frown but kissed her breathless in the next moment nonetheless.