The Duke’s Stolen Bride (Stolen by the Duke #1)

Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

I t had been a very long time since Evangeline had allowed herself such liberty to say what was on her mind—and that time had been with her sister only. Taking Lady Cavendish down a peg or two had been a pleasure.

And by the look on Hugh’s face, he was enjoying the moment just as much as her.

“Pray excuse us,” she said to the momentarily speechless Lady Cavendish. No doubt she would soon regain the use of her tongue, and Evangeline didn’t want to be present when she did. “I’m a little thirsty. Hugh?”

“Of course,” he said, always the gracious husband.

She found herself oddly pleased that he hadn’t taken it upon himself to interfere when he had seen her being challenged. The fact that he trusted her to hold her own, let her take the lead, and supported the way she chose to defend herself, meant more than she could quite articulate.

If he had wanted, he could have stepped in and silenced Lady Cavendish with a word or two. But he had allowed her to handle it.

“Thank you,” she said.

He offered her another glass of champagne—she would have to limit herself to ensure she didn’t drink too much.

“You are more than welcome,” he said. “It was an underhand thing for her to have said.”

“It’s clear she wants you for herself.”

He shrugged, the gesture lean and graceful.

“Perhaps.” By his tone, he suggested he thought little of the notion. “But she will be unsuccessful.”

Evangeline didn’t bother giving voice to the thought that she had been successful in the past. That had, no doubt, been long enough ago that it was almost entirely consigned to time and memory. No need to taint their present with it.

Across the room, she glanced up to see a familiar head. It was a little graying and very distinguished; a head she had decidedly not expected to see there.

She had come to the ball knowing that there was a good chance members of the ton would be there. After all, it was a large, extravagant affair, and the cream of English society could hardly resist such a thing. Not to mention that the manor itself was large enough to house any number of guests who might have traveled a long way to be there for the ball.

But she had not come there expecting to see her father’s close friend. And beside him, his daughter, a lady Evangeline had come out with. Miss Amelia Peckington. They had not been close, per se, but they had been friends.

Nostalgia rushed through her. The last time she had seen Miss Peckington had been during the final ball of the Season. They had talked behind their fans, both unmarried and hoping for better luck next year. She had been ready to retire to her father’s country estate, but Evangeline and her mother had been forced to stay in London with their father; they had no estate to speak of. At least, they had not then.

“Evangeline?” Hugh asked. “Are you quite well?”

“I have to…” She moved as if in a dream, walking toward Miss Peckington and her father.

The moment Amelia saw her, she smiled and threw up her hands. “Evangeline! I mean—Your Grace.” She dipped into a low curtsy. “I heard rumors that you were at this ball.”

“No, please don’t curtsy like that.” Evangeline took Amelia’s hands, drawing her fully upright. “I’m just the same girl you knew last year.”

“No, now you are a duchess.” Amelia’s eyes flicked behind her. “And that must be your husband. My, but he is brooding, isn’t he?”

“He doesn’t always look like that.”

“I wouldn’t mind if he did. He is awfully handsome, isn’t he? Makes up for the rest, I’d say.”

“No, that’s not fair,” Evangeline said. “Truly, he’s not as bad as everyone made out back home. But how’s Clara? I’ve heard so little of her.”

“Well, she’s making a fine come-out this year. You’d be pleased, I think. And maybe even impressed. Now you’ve married a duke, gentlemen are lining up to dance with her.”

Evangeline’s stomach lurched uncomfortably. This was good news, so why did it feel as though she was running off the edge of a cliff?

“Is she happy?”

Amelia waved a hand. “I think so. Heaven knows she’s taken all the beaus, so Mama sent me north with Papa to see if I could claim a husband amid the wild Northmen.” She giggled. “At least they are handsome.”

Frustrated, Evangeline twisted her hands in her skirts.

Clara—all this time she had been settling in, she ought to be thinking of Clara. Now her parents had money, they were using her as an accessory to their wealth. One daughter married to a duke, and the other married to the highest rank they could find. Clara was still so young, and Evangeline hadn’t thought she would be so absent, so unable to guide her.

“I—excuse me, Amelia. The air is so stuffy. Let me just take a turn outside.”

“Oh, of course, do as you please.” Amelia shrugged, already distracted. “I must find a gentleman to dance with. Who do you suppose would be an adequate partner?”

Evangeline sucked in a breath, but Amelia didn’t need a response, so she merely turned blindly for the door. Any door. A set of double doors were open to the patio, and beyond the moonlit lawn, and she headed blindly for them.

Clara was all alone to handle the trials of a London Season, and Evangeline missed her. She missed her bedchamber, their conversations, the place that she had in the household. She missed London with its bustle and its bookshops and its people .

But most importantly, her sister.

“Evangeline.”

The voice was familiar but unwelcome. She didn’t want Hugh to see her like this, or even for him to know the extent to which she missed her family back home.

Home .

Her home was in the north now. London was in the past. She ought to have moved on. So why did she feel as though her heart was breaking?

Hugh stepped up behind her. She felt his presence as certainly as she knew her own breath. It was as though their bodies had aligned, and she could feel him somewhere deep inside herself.

His hands brushed her shoulders, drawing her back into his warmth and solidness. “Tell me what happened.”

“I saw my friend.”

“I know that much. What did she say to you? Did she hurt you?” His voice rumbled through her, low and intent. Threatening. “Would you like me to return inside and show her, in precise terms, the mistake she has made?”

“No.” Evangeline sniffed, closing her eyes against her tears. “She did nothing wrong.”

“Then why, dearest wife, are you upset?” It felt as though he was vibrating behind her, eager and ready to launch himself into the line of fire in her defense.

Her heart broke a little, both for him and for the betrayal she felt in missing a home that was not hers and would not be any longer.

“She spoke of my family,” she said.

“Are they unwell?”

“Not that I know of.” She twisted in his arms. “My sister Clara is in London. Do you remember Clara?”

“Naturally.” His voice was quiet, and he looked at her with unwarranted softness. “She came to your defense, I believe.”

“She did. We are—we were very close. I understand why things have changed, but it means that…”

“You miss her.”

“I do. I know that this is my home now, and I am happy here, I am, but when I think of her and everything she must have to endure without me… I feel as though part of myself is still in London.”

The harsh lines around his face softened and he touched her chin. “It’s acceptable to miss a sister you love. What do you think she’ll have to endure?”

“Oh, Society. My friend tells me that Clara is doing well and that she is inundated with gentlemen wishing to marry her, but I can’t be certain they are doing so for the right reasons. If I were still there, I could protect her, but she’s so young—how can she protect herself?”

“What of your parents?”

“I know better than to expect anything from them .” She snorted. “You mentioned how hard they try to be accepted by the ton despite my father’s bad choices and our poor financial situation. That is all they have ever cared about, and as far as they are concerned, we are mere accessories to the same.

“ The main reason they wanted me to marry you was so they could have a duke as a son-in-law. So that they may take a little of your power for their own. Neither cared about my happiness, and they will do the same for Clara. I know it.”

He frowned a little at that. “So, your childhood was not… happy?”

“I had my sister,” she said defensively. “And that was enough. We found ways to be happy and independent from my parents. After all, one cannot rely on them for happiness or security. For most of my childhood, I barely saw them. A mother cannot see her children much when she is forever attending parties.

“We were brought up by an assortment of nurses, and when I was finally ready to be presented, I was forced to contend with the true selfishness and small-mindedness of my parents.” She sucked in a long breath. “But of course that hardly matters. I shouldn’t speak that way about my parents.”

“I hardly see why not.” Hugh drew her close again, taking her hand in his, smoothing her palm open and grazing his fingers along her wrist. “If they were negligent, then you should openly admit to it. Both to yourself and to me, as your husband.”

“You can’t fix it.”

“Perhaps not,” he said. “But I can help you now.”

She drew in a short, sharp breath. “How?”

“Well, why don’t you tell me more about your childhood?” His eyes glinted in the moonlight as he smiled. “And then I’ll make you forget.”

“Forget?”

“Trust me.”

Strange to say it after everything, but she did.

“I don’t know what more there is to say,” she said. “About my childhood, I mean. Mama was in and out of our life. She would sometimes ask for us to be shown into the drawing room for an hour or so after dinner, but the moment we creased her dress, or ceased to entertain her, she asked our nursemaid to take us away again.”

“When we were older, she would sometimes ask to see how our accomplishments were coming long.”

Evangeline rested her head against Hugh’s shoulder, the feeling natural as though she had been doing it for a long time—and would be doing it for a long time to come.

“At the time, I only wanted to impress her, but the older I became, the more I understood it was because she was assessing how accomplished I would be, and how much she could boast about me to other mothers and young ladies.” She sighed, the tension draining from her body. “And what husband she could secure for me, at what price.”

“And your father?”

“He was far too preoccupied with his business ventures to consider us at home. He hardly saw Mama either, for that matter, but I suppose that wasn’t so bad, seeing as she didn’t seem to enjoy his company much when they were together.”

She glanced up at Hugh through the darkness.

Overhead, the sky was deepening enough for stars to peep through.

“I didn’t want my marriage to be that way.”

“What way?”

She swallowed, daring herself to hold his gaze. “As though I was disposable.”

“Do you think I treat you that way?”

“I think you would have married any lady if she had been on the brink of marrying George,” she said. “That was why you did it—out of honor.”

His fingers brushed the hollow of her throat, the gesture almost unsure. “You sound very certain of that.”

“I am. I don’t believe you even knew who I was before you came to London—nor did you care. I was a wife you were obliged to have, and perhaps the wife you needed, but you could have exchanged me for any other lady in England and it would have been the same.”

“Evie.” Her name was sugar-sweet on the air between them, and she tried to count how many times he had been this sweet to her. “Is that what you’ve been trying to achieve in your time here, to make yourself invaluable to me?”

“I was invaluable to my sister, but now we’re apart and she has no one. I must be useful, Hugh. I must have a purpose.”

“I see,” he murmured, leaning down. “What if I told you that although I didn’t know who you were when I came to London, and I would have married any girl at the altar with Sandhurst, I am extremely glad it was you.”

“I would wonder if you believed it,” she said, searching his gaze as though she could see the truth there the way the future was written in the heavens. “I know we haven’t had a particularly smooth ride as husband and wife.”

“We have not. And yet my opinion remains unchanged.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “And I’m sorry your family made you feel as though you were disposable. That never was and shall never be my intention. Regardless of my motives for making you my wife, or my feelings at the time, you are my wife, and I will not have you being miserable in my home.”

She attempted a smile. “You would not have said so when we were first married.”

“If I may say so, that was because you were being a royal pain and going out of your way to infuriate me.”

“You were ignoring me,” she pointed out.

“I happened to be busy with business.”

She gazed at him, wondering if he would draw the parallel between his actions and those of her father’s. Wondering if he meant what he said about being thankful it was her and no other wife.

“But,” he conceded, “I see your point. You are not disposable; you are a duchess. My duchess.”

His . The thought made something stir inside her.

“You said you would make me forget,” she said.

“Ah, yes,” he said and kissed her.

Evangeline would have sworn that the world had stopped around them. The music faded into the distance and there was nothing but Hugh’s lips on hers and his hands on her waist.

He was right. This was a method of forgetting. She would have sworn that the world faded away until the only thing that still existed was his lips, his hands, and the soft skin of his jaw, which she explored with her fingertips.

There was no one else out on the patio, and they were hidden by the billowing curtains, but Evangeline knew she wouldn’t have cared even if there had been someone there. Let them think what they liked—she was married. She was a duchess. This was her husband.

Her husband .

Hers.

And she was his.

He broke away, skimming his mouth along her jaw. “Not here,” he said, his voice scraping out of him.

“What?”

“This is too public.”

Hmm. Not what I had been thinking .

Still, if they were going to get any more carried away, she would be grateful for somewhere a little more private.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Come with me.” His hand around hers, he led her back into the ballroom, ignoring the people who called out to him, attempting to claim his attention.

She followed in his wake, feeling as though she was a dolphin following a cresting ship, almost powerless to do anything but drift behind him.

Or she would have been had it not been for his firm grip on her.

Without him, she felt as though her heart had been bruised enough for her to float away. With him, she knew she would be perfectly content if the rest of their lives were to follow this pattern.

Once they left the ballroom, he led her down a corridor as though he knew every inch of this place like the back of his hand and led her into a darkened room. Upon his lighting a candle, she saw it was a small parlor, the blinds were drawn and the air stale.

“Come here,” he said, setting the candle down. “Let me help you forget.”

Dreamily, she went to him, and he pulled her into another scorching kiss that drove her sadness from her mind. Her body responded as though she were a puppet, and he had pulled her strings; her arms came up around his neck and she pressed her chest against him.

“Don’t leave me wanting this time, Hugh,” she whispered, feeling an odd build-up of emotion in her throat. “Not this time.”

“No, love.” His hand was gentle as he brushed her cheek. “Not this time.”

She didn’t know how to articulate how much she had needed his tenderness. How much she had needed this . The slow way he undid the laces at the back of her dress. To prevent someone from walking in on them, he had braced a chair by the door, but she trusted that no one would go looking for them.

“Tell me if this is what you want,” he said, his voice low. “Tell me you want this.”

“Yes.” Her voice couldn’t rise higher than a whisper.

She wasn’t entirely certain what he was referring to when he said this , but she knew beyond all doubt that she wanted anything he had to give her.

Anything. Everything. All of it.

“Tell me what to do,” she said.

He glanced around the room before his gaze alighted on a sofa opposite the fireplace.

“There,” he said, nodding. “Sit there and spread your legs for me, Evie. Let me see what lies between.”

This had been how it was in the carriage, except for the fact that his face was illuminated by candlelight and there was far more space for them to be—and far easier for him to see her.

There would be no more hiding.

Her stomach quivered with anticipation as she sat herself down on the sofa and spread her legs, drawing her skirts up to her hips. Unlike in the carriage, he kneeled before her, one hand braced against the crook of her knee, holding her legs apart.

“Beautiful,” he said as he looked into her most intimate part. “And already glistening for me.”

“I want this,” she managed.

It was both a relief and alarming to know that whatever she wanted to keep from him, her body would betray. He knew how to read her better than she knew how to read herself.

“I want to kiss you there.”

“Where?”

He trailed a finger through her slickness, holding it up so she could see the liquid gleam in the candlelight.

“There, love,” he said, holding her gaze. “I’m going to kiss you there and lick you there until you squirm and come apart in my hands.”

“You—”

“And you are going to like it.” He nipped the tender skin of her thighs. “You’re going to beg me for more when I’m done with you.”

“I never beg,” she said, though it was her last show of defiance.

“Liar.” There was a smile in his voice.

For him, she knew, she would beg, so long as he did all the wonderful things to her that she needed.

But there was no need to assure him of that fact when it was clear his power had already gone to his head. He was lightly restraining her, holding her down as he bent his head to kiss her there . Even if she had wanted to, there would be no escaping.

Not that she wanted to escape. Instead, she longed to understand what he was going to do to her. All she knew was it would be as good as the last time they had been together.

His tongue pressed flat against her, and she gasped at the heat of it, the unfamiliarity of it. The pleasure.

“ Oh ,” she said.

He raised his head a little. “Oh?”

“Keep going.”

There was a laugh in his voice as he said, “As you wish.”

He returned to her with a thoroughness that brought her alarmingly close to the edge all too soon. But as her back arched from the sofa, and she dug her nails into his hair, he paused, trailing his fingers along her legs.

“Patience, love. I’m far from done with you.”

“Hugh,” she moaned.

“Did you expect me to use my mouth and only that?” He pressed the tip of his finger against her entrance. “Tell me that you only ever desire me in your bed, Evangeline.”

“I have only ever desired you in my bed,” she gasped.

“Tell me that you are mine. You submit to me.”

“I submit. I am yours.”

“Good girl,” he said, and slid his finger inside her.

There was even less resistance than last time, and she sucked in a breath at the intrusiveness of it. When he crooked his finger, sensation spiraled through her, and she let out a long breath.

“Not yet,” he said, blowing against her sensitive bud. “You cannot come yet.”

He immediately made that command all but impossible to follow as he licked her again, flicking his tongue just where she needed him the most, where the pleasure was building, the pressure growing. Heat . The feel of him inside her and all around her was intoxicating.

She strained, clenching around him, holding her breath as though she could somehow prevent the inevitable. Wanting to obey him and yet wanting that rush of pleasure.

“Just a little longer,” he said against her. “You’re so responsive, Evie. I love the way you react to me.”

“Please.”

“Are you begging for me?”

She tossed her head, but denying it would be pointless, and foolish. There was no denying this. “Yes.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to make me feel the way you did before.”

He chuckled, but after a moment, he inserted another finger inside her and gave her a lazy lick. “Five.”

“What are you doing?”

“Counting down. Four.”

She squirmed. Stringing thoughts together when he held her on the edge like this was near impossible. “Counting down for what?”

“Until I’ll allow you to come.” He paused for a terribly long time. “Four.”

“ Hugh .”

“Three.”

“This is cruel.”

“Two.”

She concentrated on not falling apart under his ministrations, even though he hadn’t let up, as though he was trusting her to obey him even when he was giving her every means of not doing so.

She strained, but her control was slipping, the heat was spreading, and there was nothing she could do to hold back any longer.

“One.” He looked up through his lashes, past her skirts, at her. “Now, Evie.”

At his words, her climax barreled through her, stronger than the others had been, more intense than anything she had ever experienced. The world became a white noise, there was a roaring in her ears, and the world could have been on fire around her without her noticing.

When she finally came back into herself, stitched back together, it was to the sight of his amused expression and the single candle flame that bathed the scene in gold. He was still sitting before her, back on his haunches now, and from the bulge in his breeches, it was very evident that he had enjoyed what he had seen.

“Thank you,” she gasped.

“You’re welcome.” His smile softened his face until she could have almost believed that he was a soft-hearted, kindly man. “Now I believe it’s my turn.”

“Your turn?”

His smile turned wicked. “Did you think I would be the only one to use my mouth?”