The Duke Redemption Page 17

  Stunned, he realized he couldn’t answer the question. Yet he had to bear some responsibility.

  “Even if I couldn’t have stopped her murder, I should have been better to her,” he said heavily. “I ought to have shown more care for her feelings—perhaps then she wouldn’t have become overwrought. Perhaps she would have thought more clearly and decided against engaging in the business that got her killed.”

  “You cannot take responsibility for someone else’s actions,” Beatrice said softly. “Perhaps you could have done better. Maybe you would choose to act in a different manner if given the chance. Yet the fact remains that you would still have no control over the choices Monique made.”

  He frowned, trying to absorb her words.

  “Was Grigg’s death my fault?” she went on. “If I hadn’t interfered with his beating of that boy, and he hadn’t whipped my horse, would my brother have left him alone? Would Grigg then still be alive today?” She shook her head. “I’ve asked myself these sorts of questions countless times—enough to make myself mad. In the end, I have no answer except that Benedict did what Benedict decided to do…just as Monique acted in accordance to her judgement.”

  Beatrice’s insight permeated his consciousness. It illuminated his darkest corners, pushing back the shadows of his shame. It seemed so simple, the way she said it.

  “Even if her death was not my fault, I wish I had acted more honorably,” he said gruffly.

  “You made mistakes.” She looked him in the eyes, not letting him off the hook. “But you were a young man back then, and the important thing is that you’ve changed, grown up. Knowing you as you are now, I can vouch for the fact that you are a true gentleman, one with a keen sense of honor.”

  “You think I’m honorable?”

  After baring his ugliness to her, he didn’t believe it possible.

  “I know that you are.” She brushed her fingers against his jaw, her touch like a benediction. “Wick, you’re the first to give aid when someone is in need. You intervened when that man assaulted me at the masquerade, and you stormed a burning barn. You’re doing your damnedest to protect me and my property even though it is against your company’s interests.”

  “I would never let anything happen to you,” he said fiercely.

  “I know because that is the kind of man you are. A man who not only protects others but who shows kindness to people who are different—who, indeed, need compassion the most.”

  He was stunned by her assessment of him. Her words resonated like a church bell, expanding his chest with wonder. With the knowledge that somehow, despite his failures, she still saw the best of him.

  “And let’s not forget that your honor prompted you to propose to me, and you’ve been hounding me about marriage ever since.”

  Her smile told him that she was teasing.

  “Would you mind if I hounded you right now?” he murmured.

  With his thumb, he traced the path of her scar, felt her tremble as he followed that heart-shaped curve. Reaching the bottom, he continued upward, creating his own invisible line until the heart was complete.

  Whole…the way she made him feel.

  “I want to marry you, Beatrice,” he said, his voice roughened with emotion. “Not just because of honor but because…I care for you.”

  21

  I care for you.

  His words and touch penetrated her like warm rain, seeping through years of disappointment and pain, landing on the parched surface of her heart. He didn’t profess his undying love, and she was glad because she didn’t know if she would have believed him. But the wonder in his voice, the way he turned her scar into something beautiful and whole caused hope to bloom within her.

  “Beatrice?” He dropped his hand, his brows edging together. “How do you feel…about me?”

  Now that she knew about his past, she understood his uncertainties. Wick’s problem, as she saw it, wasn’t a lack of honor but an excess of it. He’d made mistakes in his youth, and his noble nature made it difficult for him to forgive himself, even when he’d clearly spent years making amends and turning a new leaf.

  He’s such a good man, she thought achingly.

  “I care about you,” she whispered. “So very much, Wick.”

  He let out a breath, one that she hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “You do?”

  She nodded, her eyes dampening.

  “Enough to marry me, lass?” He didn’t miss a beat in pressing his advantage, but then she liked that about him. Liked that his will and determination were a match for her own. “You know my faults, the mistakes I’ve made. But know this too: if you take me on, I will do my best to be a man who is worthy of you.”

  He was offering more than she’d hoped to have, the promise of something lasting and true. Even though she recognized the risk—the danger of trusting in happiness—how could she resist this magnificent male?

  “Yes, I will,” she said. “I will marry you.”

  No sooner had she said the words then he was kissing her. She kissed him back, joy and desire combusting inside her. Then he was carrying her to the bed, her arms looping around his neck as he claimed her mouth with masterful thoroughness.

  He tossed her onto the mattress, the primal light in his eyes making her giggle. He reached for the belt of his robe: apparently now that they’d laid themselves bare, it was time to bare other parts of themselves as well. In a flash of insight, she understood that it hadn’t been easy for Wick to expose his emotions to her—and now he meant to re-assert his manhood in other ways.

  She was gleaning that beneath her husband-to-be’s civilized exterior lay the dominant instincts of his ancient Scottish ancestors. As Wick stripped, bearing all those hard, lean edges and sleek muscular bulges, she could well imagine him as a Highland warrior and she a product of his midnight raid. The fantasy shivered through her as he stood before her, proud and strong, so fiercely virile.

  He clasped his huge erection, and watching the casual motion of his fist made her pussy clench with need. His mouth took on a feral, hungry slant.

  “You’re getting an eyeful of what you’ll be getting soon,” he said in a deep voice. “Now give me the same. Undress for me, angel.”

  Inflamed by his command, she knelt up on the bed, unfastening the pearl buttons at her throat. Just enough so that she could pull the voluminous nightgown over her head. She wore nothing beneath, her core melting as he raked a hot, proprietary gaze over her nakedness. She felt the same possessive hunger watching the slow glide of his fist along his fleshy sword.

  “The monthly visitor’s gone, I take?” he inquired silkily.

  The hard glint in his eyes told her it mattered naught to him one way or another, and that depraved thought stirred her even further.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Good. Then show me how wet your little pussy is for this big, hard cock of mine.”

  Goodness. Inflamed by his naughty words and her own throbbing need, she slid her hand between her trembling thighs. As she encountered her own wanton slickness, a whimper left her lips.

  “That’s a pretty sound, love. Do you like touching yourself?” At her blush, his lips curled in a wicked grin. “You needn’t be shy with me, the man who’s to be your husband. I want you to enjoy your beautiful body. Lay back, and give me the pleasure of watching you play with that pretty cunny.”

  Her cheeks hot, she wasn’t sure she could do something that depraved. He came to stand by the side of the bed, looking into her face, his looming maleness kindling her most brazen impulses. He continued to frig himself, and with each controlled stroke of his fist, he made her hotter and hotter, burning away her inhibitions. She found herself reclining against the pillows, her fingers moving to her intimate cove.

  “That’s it, love. Rub that nice pink slit,” he said. “Don’t forget to pet your little pearl.”

  She gave herself up to his sensual command. To the delicious sin of what she was doing.

  “Did you miss me w
hen I was away, Beatrice?” His voice wrapped around her like dark velvet, blocking out everything but him. “Did I distract you the way you distracted me?”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “I thought of you often, Wick.”

  “What about at night, when you were alone in this big bed? Did you think of me then?”

  Dew gushed along with embarrassment. “Yes.”

  “Did you touch yourself?”

  Fire blazed in her cheeks and her sex. Lord, she was hot and needy…

  “Answer me, angel. Did you masturbate thinking of me? The way I did thinking of you?”

  “Yes,” she gasped.

  “Did you play with your tits and your pussy, make yourself come?”

  With a wild nod, she took his suggestion. She squeezed the aching tips of her breasts with her free hand as with the other she made wet swirls over the center of her sensation. She was so close…

  “My naughty angel.” His heated approval took her to the brink, her toes curling into the coverlet. “Are you going to come for me now?”

  His gaze swept over her, his biceps flexing as he jerked steadily on his erection.

  “Yes.” Her climax broke free, and she soared into bliss.

  She’d barely caught her breath when his hand slid into her hair, bringing her to the edge of the mattress. With his other hand, he guided his erection to her lips, the fat scarlet head glossy with his desire.

  “Make it wet,” he coaxed. “All over, lass, so it will fit into that tight cunny of yours.”

  With a moan, she parted her lips, and he thrust inside. This was the second time that they’d done this. The first time, he’d instructed her, at her request, on how to suck his cock. She’d thought she’d done quite well, yet now she realized how much he’d been holding back. Before, he’d let her explore at her leisure: she’d lapped at the flaring dome, trailed her tongue along the intriguing ridges of the shaft, kissed the velvety weight of his balls.

  This time, he was fully in control. He dictated the depth and speed, his hand holding her head still as his hips set the rhythm. Rough noises scraped from his throat as he took her mouth the way he did her pussy…and she loved it.

  When he drove too deep, her throat clenched reflexively around his hardness. With a savage groan, he pulled out of her mouth. He mounted the bed, his hard, hairy chest teasing her nipples, making her squirm with anticipation. The head of his cock prodded her cleft.

  He looked into her eyes. “I want to be inside you with nothing between us, love. I won’t come in your cunny; I’ll pull out before that happens.”

  In answer, she arched her hips, painting her wetness over his thick crown.

  His pupils dilated, he bent down to kiss her. At the same time, he notched his cock to her opening and pushed in. They both moaned at the perfection of the fit. He stretched her, filled her, taking away the empty ache. He seated himself so fully that she felt his stones pressed up against her.

  He nuzzled her ear. “Good, love?”

  “So very good,” she sighed. “Don’t stop.”

  He began to move. Deep, soulful plunges that made her gasp with delight, that made her realize the vast difference between self-pleasuring and this shared ecstasy. She ran her hands down the undulating musculature of his back to the taut, flexing hills of his buttocks. She dug her fingers into his hard arse, and he growled.

  “Want it harder, angel? Want to take my cock deeper into your tight little hole?”

  Staring into his beautiful, hungry face, she said, “I want everything you have to give, Wick.”

  “Such a good, greedy lass you are.”

  He pounded into her. He slammed his hips, drilling his shaft into her core, his stones slapping wetly against her swollen folds. She came, her pussy rippling along his steely length, gasping as liquid pleasure burst inside her.

  “You squeeze my prick so nicely when you come.” He didn’t stop thrusting, his hazel eyes fierce. “I want to feel you do it again.”

  His thumb found her pearl, circling and pressing it against his pistoning cock. She felt herself responding, her hips lifting to meet his thrusts, the heat inside her building once again. Then he bent to capture her nipple between his lips. The suction blazed to the part of her crammed full of him, setting off new convulsions of delight.

  “Now I’m going to spend for you,” he rasped.

  He pulled out, and despite her sated state, she tingled at the sight of him: kneeling between her spread legs, his thighs ridged with muscle, his fist jerking on his thick, glistening stalk. She saw the instant the pleasure overtook him, the bulging sinew on his neck and upper arms, the gritting of his teeth against a shout. He exploded, directing the sensual geyser at her breasts and belly. His seed rained upon her, and she dipped her fingers into his essence, rubbing it into her skin. He watched, his chest heaving and nostrils flaring.

  Afterward, he cleaned her up with a towel. Gathering her close in bed, he kissed the top of her head. With her cheek pressed against his chest, sated and warm, she fell asleep.

  She woke to darkness and the sound of knocking.

  Beneath her, Wick stirred sleepily. “Is that someone at the door? What time is it?”

  She fumbled to light the lamp. “I’ll go see what’s going on.”

  Slipping from the warm cocoon, she quickly tugged on her nightgown. She went to the door, opened it. At the sight of Lisette’s distraught features, a cold droplet slid down her spine.

  Dread gripping her throat, Bea said, “What is going on?”

  “Mr. Sheridan’s here, my lady,” the maid blurted. “He’s looking for Miss Sheridan. She was working in the village last night and didn’t make it home.”

  22

  Nearing midday, there was still no trace of Fancy Sheridan.

  As Wick headed back to the manor house, his mood was grim. He’d organized search parties to look for Fancy, and his own team had gone through the village from top to bottom. All he’d discovered was that Fancy had left the inn where she’d been hired to help in the kitchen around eight o’clock. Her brother Godfrey, who’d also been working at the inn, was supposed to walk home with her, but he’d ended up dallying with a barmaid.

  Rather than waiting, Fancy had headed home alone.

  From there, Wick had the reports of several people who saw her walking down the main road back toward Camden Manor. She hadn’t made it to her family’s cottage at the edge of the estate. In his gut, Wick knew that something sinister had happened to Beatrice’s friend.

  Wick’s hope that someone else had located the missing girl vanished when he entered the manor’s drawing room and saw Beatrice. She’d just returned from searching some nearby fields with her team, which consisted of her tenants, George and Sarah Haller, and the curate, Frank Varnum. All four had bleak, pinched expressions. Mr. Haller was comforting his blonde wife, whose reddened eyes betrayed the fact that she’d been crying.

  When Wick went up to Bea, the others wordlessly gave them space.

  “No news?” he asked quietly.

  “Everyone’s back except for Mr. Sheridan’s group and Knighton’s,” she said tremulously.

  Knighton had delayed his departure to help look for Fancy, and Wick was grateful. They needed all the help they could get. With each passing moment, the chances of Fancy’s survival grew dimmer.

  “I don’t know what to do, where else to look.” Bea swallowed. “I can’t bear to think of Fancy alone and afraid somewhere or even worse…”

  Her voice broke, and he put an arm around her waist, drawing her close.

  “Keep your chin up, for Fancy’s sake,” he said.

  “I’m trying, but I’m scared, Wick,” she whispered. “What if her disappearance is related to the fire, that threatening note? She could be in terrible danger…and it’s my fault.”

  “Even if Fancy’s disappearance is related to those other threats, there’s nothing you could have done.” He headed her off at the pass. “You are not responsible for whoever is carrying out the
se heinous acts.”

  “I am responsible for the welfare of all who live at Camden Manor. And if someone is trying to hurt me by harming those I care about, then this is my fault. Fancy is my best friend. I should have made sure that she understood the danger, that she had an escort, but instead I was distracted by…”

  She bit her lip, but he knew.

  “By me. Is that what you were going to say?” he asked.

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” she said, her voice quivering.

  He tipped up her chin. “It’s all right if you did. But you’re wrong, you know. Your happiness has nothing to do with Fancy’s disappearance.”

  “I…I know. You’re right. But the thought of something happening to her…” Her gaze went past him to the window. At her widening eyes, he turned to see what she was looking at.

  Knighton’s carriage had pulled up to the house. He was getting out.

  With Fancy Sheridan in his arms.

  “Fancy,” Beatrice breathed. “Oh, thank God!”

  An instant later, she was running for the door, Wick following behind her.

  “I’m fine, Bea,” Fancy murmured sleepily. “Stop fretting. I just need me rest…”

  The laudanum that the physician had given Fancy took effect, and she drifted off. Gently, Bea brushed a strand of hair off her bosom chum’s cheek. As her fingers trailed over the angry purple swelling at Fancy’s temple, her chest burned.

  Who did this to Fancy and why? she thought with helpless rage.

  Tucking the coverlet around her sleeping friend, she left the guest bedchamber and went to the family parlor where Wick, the Duke of Knighton, and Mr. Sheridan were waiting. Wick and the duke were in the wingchairs by the fire, while Fancy’s papa had the divan. They all rose when Bea came in.

  “Fancy’s asleep now,” Bea told them.

  She joined Mr. Sheridan on the divan. Seeing the anxious furrows on the tinker’s brow and his ashen cheeks above his beard, she took his hand and gave it a squeeze.