The Fox: in his Henhouse (The Dubious Mates #1)

Chapter 47

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

“ C harles Merrinan, by God.” The Duke of Allendale held out a trembling hand to her from his sickbed. “If you aren’t the spitting image of your mother.” He beamed.

“Your Grace.” Charles curtsied deep as she instinctively kissed the Duke’s ring. He kept hold of her hand.

“Roland, I wish a word with her alone.” He waved his son off with his other free hand as Wells met Charles’s eye and winked before he exited.

“Sit, my dear,” the Duke commanded.

Charles sat on the edge of the bed, the old man now stroking her hand almost familiarly. She felt an odd rush of tenderness towards him, as if she sat beside her own father.

“You love him then,” he stated.

“I do, Your Grace.”

“But can you live with him, miss?” He watched her keenly.

“That remains to be seen, Your Grace.”

Which caused him to laugh, causing a fresh fit of coughing as Charles hastened to assist. He brushed her attempts aside.

“No, leave be. I am old is all.” He refused the glass of water she offered from his bedside. “I have managed to live with Roland’s mother all these years, my dear, by giving as good as I got; you’ll learn to do the same, I’m sure.”

“Your Grace is kind to speak to me so candidly,” Charles began.

His voice strained with effort. “You must give my regards to your father when you return to Cumberland, Miss Merrinan, for he was ever a friend to me, and the very best of friends to my brother. Roland tells me you carry Carlton’s timepiece with you now. I could not be more pleased, dear.” He squeezed her hand.

Charles blushed. “I promise to keep it safe, Your Grace. It is an honor to?—”

“The greater honor is that you’ve agreed to marry my son,” he told her firmly. “He could not have done better, Miss Merrinan.”

The Duke was beginning to fade; she could tell her visit taxed him.

“Be happy at the Abbey, be good to one another, and Charles . . .” He was almost whispering now, a faint grin about his lips. “He loves you too. I can tell.”

“I know, Your Grace.” Charles smiled as she let her lips, feather-light, brush the Duke’s forehead ere she tiptoed out.

“And what, pray, did he tell you, Fox? That I am an insufferable toad of a son you should never have agreed to marry?”

Charles playfully elbowed her betrothed, seated as she was beside him in the ducal carriage. Cuthbert looked a bit green in the face across from them on the seat. Apparently, he’d arrived just yesterday on the evening coach, exhausted and disheveled from nearly four days locked in a swaying carriage.

All things considered, he’d scrubbed up well.

“Your father, the Duke,” she calmly answered Wells, “was the epitome of kindness and grace, my lord. He is quite unlike you.” Her lips twitched before he pinched her through her dress, making her startle. He kept his arm snaked about her waist.

“Roland,” the Duchess disparaged, looking the very picture of a lady en route to a wedding, “I would prefer you refrain from manhandling your bride until after the ceremony is complete.” She arched her brow at them both, making Charles blush and Wells simply squeeze her tighter.

He leaned in to whisper, “She has no idea what I intend to do to you after the ceremony, love,” which made Charles blush only more.

The Duchess of Allendale turned her gaze to the window, an audible sigh escaping the lady’s lips, while Cuthbert kept his eyes shut tight against the world.

And then it was done. Lord Roland Rutherford Wellesley carried Lady Charles Adelaide Wellesley over the threshold of his parents’ London townhouse and straight up to his room, where he locked the door behind them. It had been a simple church ceremony without guests, and he’d eschewed his mother’s invitation to throw them a celebratory dinner after, or even a wedding luncheon the following day. In fact, he’d informed her he was done courting London society and hoped the gossipmongers spun at least six months’ worth of lurid tales in all the papers regarding his scandalous kiss, dramatic exit, and hasty, post-fête marriage.

His mother had merely scowled her disapproval, though it was clear to Wells she cared less for society’s rumors and more for seeing Lady Wellesley provide the Dukedom with an heir. She grudgingly promised not to disturb the newlyweds for the rest of the evening, or the coming days for that matter, which had only thrilled Wells more. He wanted his Fox all to himself; he’d waited bloody long enough.

“Roland . . .”

“Yes, love?” Wells mumbled from her bosom, burying his face there and inhaling her scent as one hand played loosely at her delectable hip, caressing.

“Despite my behavior these past weeks I admit I missed you terribly.”

“You mean you weren’t the least bit tempted to run off with Redstocking?” he teased, his voice still muffled at her breast.

“How the devil did you . . . ?” She pushed him away even as he grabbed her to him.

“He’s a friend, Fox. A newly minted Baron, the Baron Milton. I sent him to spy on you; Li told me your name for him.”

“You did what ?”

“Shh.” He kissed her silent. “I’d have murdered him if he’d taken advantage of you, love, and he owed me a favor, see, so you were never in any real danger while at Madame LeBrecht’s.”

“Well it certainly didn’t feel that way!”

“I know, darling, and I am sorry.” He could not seem to use enough endearments with her now. “I had to know if you loved me or if you merely meant to use some other man to?—”

“Roland.” She pulled away from him, frowning.

Ripe orbs , he thought, gazing at her breasts, twin fruits beneath a waterfall of strawberry silk tresses.

“How could you ever think I’d be another man’s mistress?” She looked appalled.

He tenderly traced her cheek. “Love, how could you ever think I desired Mowry’s dowry? Moreover, how could any man not laugh at a name like hers?” He chuckled over the assonance of those two words paired, seeing mirth return to Charles’s eyes.

It made him fall for her all over again.

“You alone, sweet chicken thief, satisfy my every desire for a wife, for you shall keep me on my toes and challenge my convictions. Demand I be a better man, not to mention exhaust me utterly in bed.” He grinned at her softening expression, his hands again roving, unable to keep from touching her.

“Oh I have not begun to exhaust you, Lord Wells.” She suddenly rolled atop him, pinning him beneath her to nip at his neck. “And I intend to punish you for wrongs committed.” She lapped his collarbone with her tongue. “I demand restitution in seed now, sir. Your seed.” She sank her teeth into his flesh. “So you’d best deliver, Your Grace , and service well my womb.”

And for once, Wellesley dared not argue with his Fox but did exactly as he was told.

When Charles awoke the next morning in her husband’s capable, strong arms, she suspected he’d been watching her sleep, for his face bore a strange expression, one she’d not seen before.

“Good morning, Lady Wellesley.” He kissed the tip of her nose.

She smiled. “Good morning, my lord.”

“There will be no more my lord , Charles.” He pulled her closer.

“That might prove difficult, sir.”

“There’ll be no more sir , either, woman.”

She laughed. “I can’t possibly go about the Abbey calling you Roland before the staff.”

“You do realize as my wife you will no longer be my housekeeper.” He crooked his brow. “You will oversee the house, of course, but no more scrubbing and polishing and?—”

“Roland,” she admonished, “you cannot forbid me to work on the Abbey if you continue to toil at the north wall. What’s more”—she placed a finger to his lips—“you cannot order me about anymore, so I may do as I wish, and if I wish to continue cleaning rooms alongside Ruby then I will continue to?—”

He covered her body, kissing her silent, then kissing her silly, until she was gasping for air. “And you cannot . . . Roland, you cannot?—”

“What love?” His hand teased dangerously. “Tell me what exactly I cannot do to you now that you are my wife and I am legally allowed to do anything I wish to you, darling. You do realize I may do anything at all to you, don’t you?” And the look in his eyes was so devilishly wanton, she blushed to her roots.

“Just what do you intend to do to me, sir ?” Charles whispered, aroused and afraid.

“All sorts of deliciously wicked, despicable things, woman. Things I promise you will like almost as much as I will. Almost, mind you.” His hand slipped to her core, causing her to gasp with delight.

“But before we begin a new day of marital wickedness, I have something for you, Lady Wellesley.” And just as quickly he leapt from the bed to rifle through the pockets of his waistcoat, which he plucked from the floor, their clothes long scattered about the room.

Charles sucked in her breath. “Roland, I have nothing for you, and I know it is customary for bride and groom to exchange?—”

He returned to bed to hush her with his lips. “Nonsense, Fox, you are all the gift I need.”

“As I need only you, too, love.” She stopped to see a bright chain draped over his palm, dangling. “My lord, you should not have?—”

“I have every right to give my wife a gift.” His face grew stern. “And I will brook no argument otherwise, young lady.”

“Back to ordering me about, are you?” She tsked. “I see marriage may prove difficult for Your Grace to learn you cannot?—”

“For God’s sake, Charles, take the bloody gift and thank me.” He glowered at her.

So she did, laughing at his expression until she looked down, overcome with emotion. “Roland . . .” Charles struggled to form words.

***

“Do you like it?” Wells asked, concerned. “It is not meant to offend, Charles, it is meant to remind us both, perhaps, of how we began. To remind me, at least, to be a better man, a better husband to you.”

A single tear rolled down her cheek, alarming him only more.

“Christ, love, I did not mean to?—”

“Roland, it is perfect.” She kissed him through her tears. “I am allowed to cry for joy, am I not?”

Wells marveled at her again as he watched his wife gaze upon the ivory pendant in her palm, a cameo finely wrought in the profile of a rooster. It was not so small as to be lost, nor so large as to be garish. She bade him fix it about her neck, which he did, letting it nestle between her breasts, the gold-encrusted rim reflecting the red-gold of her hair.

“You did not steal my chickens, Fox,” he told her softly, “you stole my very soul.”

“I believe I stole your cock, sir.” She flashed him a devilish grin. “Is that why you have given me a rooster for a charm?”

He laughed. “I did think a cock, perhaps, more apt to hang about your neck.”

“No string of pearls then, no gems, just a cock. I see.” Her eyes glittered anew as she began to inch her way down his chest with kisses, the cameo swinging loose between her breasts. “I must give proper thanks for so generous a gift, my lord.” Her mouth landed on his sex.

“Fox . . .” he groaned.

“I insist, love.” She spoke between licks.

“ Woman !”

“Husband.” Her lips teased further. “I do so love the gift.”

But those were all the words she uttered, her tongue otherwise engaged as Wells lay back in rapturous delight. He’d snared his Fox at last.