Duke of Treason Read online

  “It is not so big as the most famous of them.” He commented, inflated by her obvious appreciation of the place. It made him jealous of that pile of rocks.

  She turned to him to find his murky irises almost green fixed on her. Cheeks flushing, she gyrated to explore the church.

  “I calculate they built it around the fifth century, soon after the Romans left.” His grave tone made it all the more enchanting.

  “It is contemporary of the first Arthurian legends, then.” Her fingers ran over the tower, reverent.

  “It is possible.” He had neared her. “My ancestors did not bother to conserve it.”

  “It must have been in decay by the time they gained the land from the Normans.” She perceived his feet moving towards her. The memory of his arms around her the day he chased her after his meeting invaded her inexorable.

  “You are right, I deem. This church had been here for almost six hundred years.”

  When she directed her eyes to him again, he stood just a few steps from her, the proximity causing her insides to become lax. Brisk, she walked to the stone cross, admiring the rounded shape at the top and carved patterns down the length of it.

  The whole place became even more magnificent with the backdrop of the sea in a shade of pale blue with the morning light. The salty sea air in her nostrils, the seagulls crying loud, the cool wind on her face completed the scenery.

  Feet advancing to the edge of the hill, she looked down at the waves smashing against the rocks. She found this collision of the elements fascinating. Annabel wandered around the ruins, losing track of time. She could sense Romulus’ attention on her, causing her awareness of him to reach uncomfortable levels.

  A sudden slap echoed in the air, and she turned in time to see the blasted Duke by her mare. “What are you doing?” She pleated her brows, bewildered.

  He slapped the horse’s flank again, sending her mount running over the fields. “Sending her home.”

  “What the darned for?” She clomped down the hill in a feeble attempt to stop the horse.

  “To do something I have wanted to do for… eight years.” He beguiled her with that impossible lopsided grin on his atrociously sensuous mouth.

  “Which is…?” Her hands flew to her waist.

  His glare collided full with hers, murky hazel. “To ride with you.” He paused when his scrutiny found her cushioned lips. “Astride. For a second time that is.”

  Those words induced a whole chain of reactions in her body. “You must be mad!” She regretted the high pitch it came out. It bared the keenness in her to him.

  Scorching heat entered his gaze, making it go almost green. “Yes.” He braced his legs, his tall frame for her appraisal. “And you have a lot to do with that.”

  The scoundrel knew how to tempt a woman to ruination. “I will walk.” She determined. Better a three-mile walk with a wide riding habit, than melt to a puddle for the unnerving man to witness.

  “Of course not.” He extended his hand to her, inviting. “You want it, too.” His stance assumed that of a wolf ready to pounce.

  “Your arrogance is outrageous.” Her glare focused on his long fingers. She could almost feel the warmth of them, without even touching him.

  He took her hand and pulled her to his muscled length, lacing her with firmness. She lifted her head to his, as he lowered his to hers, their noses touching. “We can stay here all day.” He murmured hoarse. “I can think of numerous… pastimes for us to engage in at the moment.” Their breaths mingled, her eyes ogled his lips. “All involving both our persons. Together.”

  “Damn you!” She hissed hotly.

  “Yes, I am damned, indeed.” His hands spanned her waist and lifted her to the high horse as if she weighed nothing.

  He mounted behind her, his arms holding her to him. He gave her the reins. “Ride.” He commanded without the least compunction.

  To ride a horse like that was all she ever wanted, had she the chance. That he afforded it was the bitter-sweet irony of her life.

  She kept the horse on a slow pace as she did not know it well. The heat of the Duke on her back, behind her legs, on her… oh.. the ridge of him. Her breath hitched, whilst she made a conscious effort not to moan.

  “This is what you do to me.” The hoarseness of it pouring on her like warm honey. “What you have always done to me.” He tightened one arm and his other hand palmed her ribs, going perilously up her torso.

  With a mix of shame and greediness, she counted the seconds for him to palm her breast. It had been delicious when he did it in the armoury, her mounds touched for the first time in earnest.

  He reached her breast at last, and it rejoiced even under the layers of fabric. The sensations so intense, her head fell on his broad chest with a sigh. That made it easy for his mouth to find her jaw to rasp it with his bristle. Her breasts swelled, her skin burned, her heart raced.

  She was doomed.

  A sudden hand was hitching her skirt over her right leg, his hand sneaking under it to her…

  “One day it is going to be me you will ride, not a horse.” He rumbled before he took her ear between his teeth.

  Ride him? How? She did not have the chance to ask aloud because his right hand caressed the inside of her thigh, where the stocking did not cover. The skin impossibly sensitive, his fingers impossibly smart.

  There was not a chance of not moaning. He drove her to a compete blackout, transformed her in a bunch of sensations, mindless, hungry. And then his fingers found her drawers’ slit. Worse, they gaped it to find her… goodness! He delved in, yes, delved, for she was so… so wet!

  “Did your husband do this to you?” Her ears jubilant with his rasp.

  Her body all lax, she barely encountered forces to shake her head on his chest with feeble admission.

  “I did not think so. He sounds like a dullard.” His open mouth found her throat.

  By now, she became a brainless body with soaring temperature and completely pliable under his ministrations.

  When his finger touched where she ached, it brought on excruciating pleasure and gnawing starvation. A gross sound escaped her lips, she did not even care. She moved on the saddle to give him more access to parts she never knew to be there.

  Merciless, his finger mocked her self-control, moving without shame, without restraint.

  “This is what I wanted to do that first time.” He rasped again. His fingers sank deeper. “But I deemed debauching a debutante too dishonourable.” He nibbled her other ear.

  Heat spread over her skin as his fingers tormented her to unbearable point. “Romulus.” She did not recognise her voice.

  “Yes, call my name, Annabel.” He should have pity on her. But he never ceased the torture.

  “Please.” She begged, as her thighs parted even more for him.

  Tension increased, a furnace grew inside her, she could not breath, could not think, could only revel. The ache soared, her world darkened, her muscles locked. Then the universe deflagrated in one shattering explosion and she screamed to the wind.

  His finger never stopped up to the moment she collapsed on him, eyes closed, lips parted and a laxity she never imagined before today.

  Riding astride never would have the same meaning again.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  He would never forget her expression at the height of her pleasure. Ever. It haunted him through the night. A night that passed restless, hot. And hard. The sounds she made, her body on his, her complete abandon kept replaying in his head. He wanted to see it while he moved in her. Blind, fast. Hungry.

  “Romulus Fabien!” Aunt Charlotte shrieked. “Are you even listening?” It slashed him out of his daydream right into the reality of seeing his aunt off on her journey.

  “Certainly.” It was clear he did not absorb a word, but he maintained his attention on his beloved relative all the same.

  “You do not let this girl escape, you hear me?” She continued, as she adjusted her enormous hat, with an endless feather
, on her diminutive head.

  “I could not fathom what you mean.” His serious features gave nothing away.

  “She is your match.” Her blue stare pierced him sharp. “In everything that matters.”

  If she only knew the hellion. “I will keep it in mind.”

  “No! You keep the girl, you rapscallion.” She admonished.

  The carriage approached and she climbed it.

  “I promise to consider it.” Romulus said vague.

  If he kept the woman, he would be in trouble for the rest of his life.

  His aunt snorted none too convinced before the footman closed the door and the coachman drove by the path.

  When the carriage and six disappeared, he headed to the solar. Not much time elapsed before Miller came in the room.

  “Your Grace.” He bowed and placed a paper on the desk. “We found this.”

  Letter open, he passed his eyes over it. “And the man?”

  “In the dungeon, milord.”

  “Excellent. Thank you, Miller.”

  The man bowed and left.

  After bidding a warm farewell to Lady Derby and committing herself to visit her in London, Annabel entered her room. To put on her walking boots, having a mind to enjoy this lovely spring morning.

  Sun seeped through the drapes, bathing her chamber in suave light and making the temperature cosy. Her floral soap in the air as she enjoyed a bath that morning.

  She was in the act of picking her hat when she heard the door snap open. She swivelled to it startled to see Romulus standing there, a furious stance.

  “How dare you invade my room?” She demanded.

  But he was already marching into it like a soldier on a campaign. “What is this?” He growled, holding a letter in front of her.

  She recognised her seal on it. Blood fled her face and faintness threatened to overcome her. “I could not tell.” Even trying hard, her voice came in a thread.

  The seal broken, he read what it contained.

  He stopped in front of her, strong legs braced, muscled arms crossed over broad chest. The same chest she fell on as his fingers tormented her just yesterday. A predator stood there and she could not help the sensation of being his prey in more than one manner.

  She breathed in deep to regain composure.

  “Do you really think I would let your footman roam my lands unattended?” A panther loomed in his stare.

  Darn the man! How would she make word reach London?

  Without giving her time to reply, he turned to the door where only now did she see his men of affairs. “Search the room.” He commanded.

  Eyes bulging on the men invading her space, rage took over her. “You have no limits!” She hissed as he treated her with a scornful raised eyebrow.

  But they were already tearing at her things. Drawers pulled, clothes flown over, armoire thrown open, everything upside down.

  “The mattress.” He barked low and dark, is murky attention digging suspicious on her.

  They ripped that off the bed and it dropped halfway on the carpet, tilting from the bed frame. The men looked under that

  His watchdogs would find nothing. She had been careful not to leave any trace of her mission scattered anywhere.

  Then Miller and his henchmen found her small clothes. And she lost control. Catching the Duke unawares, she bunched his shirt in her fists and crashed him against the wall, his hair bouncing on his face. “Tell them to stop!” She breathed hot. Their glares clashed for long seconds in a battle of wills neither intended to drop.

  “Leave us.” He conceded, but the predatory stance remained in her.

  Miller and the others walked out, closing the door in silence.

  Romulus closed his fingers on the hands that clutched his collar and tore them from him. “Explain the letter, Anabel.” He said, deep and menacing.

  “I have to explain nothing.” Indignant, she would not cede ground. “You must do the explaining.” She said emphatic.

  He chuckled a derogatory sound. “Me, in my own lands?”

  “Yes, you!” She pointed a vehement finger at him. “You are a traitor to king and country.”

  “I never knew you had a delusional trait in you.” He boasted a controlled, unyielding expression.

  “So you deny you and your cronies are plotting to free Napoleon from that island?” Certainty and self-righteousness all over her.

  A fleeting flick of surprise flashed in his murky eyes, wiped out in a blink. “Who are you working for?”

  “You do not get to question me.” She fisted her hands beside her. “You are the criminal.”

  “I see what you are doing.” Deep voice, he leaned on the wall, crossing one ankle over the other, his sleek hair falling on the sides of his rugged face. “You accuse me of a crime so that, in your head, you can justify your betrayal of me.”

  How on this blasted world did he twist their conversation so he pointed a finger at her?

  The wrath she kept in check up to this minute exploded like a long due volcano. “You died!” She shouted at the top of her lungs.

  Her allegation hit him like a blow from the most experienced wrestler. “What are you saying?”

  Romulus possessed no doubts she had been up to something, but to go as far as mention Saint Helena? Whoever sent her here acquired high secret information. He did not want to confront her on this matter. The less she knew, the safer she would be.

  He must clear what she just said though.

  “We heard people in London saying you perished in battle. They did not even find your corpse!” Her face scarlet, her torso rigid, her eyes flaming.

  Of the things she could have thrown at him, this listed as the most unexpected. “Who did you get it from?”

  “There were rumours, and after those, I got no news, nothing from you.” Her liquid stare locked on his, indisputable.

  He skipped social life. As soon as he witnessed her married, he rushed back to the front, bitter and uncaring. And there he stayed until his brother’s demise. Unlikely he would be aware of any rumour.

  “To send letters to and from the camp became difficult at times.” His conciliatory tone did not reach her.

  “I mourned for months.” Peremptory now. “I waited for something, anything that would show me they were wrong.” Her hand rubbed over her brow, she paced restless. “I was a wreck! I did not eat, I did not sleep, I locked myself in my chamber.” As she stanched, she turned to him, shooting daggers. “My mother was worried sick. I had to tell her everything and show her your scarce letters, so she would not deem me crazy.”

  “Annabel.” He muttered, in an attempt to take her out from that place to where her bad memories transported her.

  “I went into a state of numbness.” She continued as if he did not utter her name.

  “I did not know.” He rasped, hurting the way she must have hurt those years ago.

  “Desperate, my parents foisted Charles on me in the hope I would forget you.” Her eyes shone with unshed tears which she fought back. “For me nothing mattered. When I saw, I was married to him.”

  Romulus moved from the wall, moving in her direction, arms stretched to hold her, give her solace.

  She would have none of it though. “When we met at that ball it was to face your accusatory silence.” Her sadness morphed into renewed outrage as she advanced on him, hands on her waist. The whole of her transmitted a will to thrash him. No blame on her; he would want to do the same in her place.

  His feet marched back not wishing for any of them to regret things afterwards. But she continued on him single-minded. Everything inside stood in a mess, her things littered throughout the room. He fell on the tilted mattress, legs on the bed, head toward the carpet.

  Not relenting, she came over him skirts and all. “Does this satisfy your unfair accusations?”

  Oh, it did, without a shadow of doubt.

  But then, her body touched his and the meaning of satisfaction changed in a radical way in his mind. Eyes me
rged on hers, he emitted a throaty “Yes.”

  She never diverted her ogling, hot and vexed. Her hand came to his neckcloth and undid it with mastery. The same mastery with which she got him hard and ready. This inclined position of his body sharpened his senses. Her woman scent invaded his nostrils, worsening his hunger for her.

  “I should pillory you.” She breathed fervent,

  He never wished for something more in his life than that. It carried a promise of delights untried.

  His neckcloth cast somewhere, she still devoured him, keeping him in a state of expectation that drove him to a madness of want. His breath sawed in tempo with hers, as he lifted his hand and plucked her hairpin, causing her midnight ringlets to shower riotous on him.

  All of a sudden, she dived in on him, open-mouthed to assault his hair-dusted chest, grazing it through the V of his shirt. He sucked in air, his eyes closing, the sensation too intense, as her warm breath distributed pleasure on his skin. His impulse was to grab her, pin her under him and thrust in her hard, fast and sweaty. But he endured her torture. She dispensed no mercy, though, because her warm, moist mouth closed around his skin with gusto, her teeth nibbling it. He saw stars. His hands fisted on the bedclothes, he forced himself to lie still, to let her enjoy him as he enjoyed her in the armoury. Then, she directed her tormenting attention to the other side, and it became atrociously difficult not to move, for he feared he would explode in shameful uncontrol.

  The woman was a powder keg; he wanted her to detonate and take him with her.

  You would fathom she would have pity on him by now. Deject mistake. Her torso abandoned his chest to give chance for her fingers to reach his breeches fly. That undone, she found his ready-to-go-up-in-the-air erection.

  “Yes, Annabel.” He breathed, husky. “Use me, take your pleasure, your vengeance. Anything.” He lost air as she took him in her hand.

  She looked up at him and came to lie on his shoulder, her body as inclined as his towards the carpet, one leg over his. Heaven met hell when she fisted him.

  “No, Annabel.” In the end of his forces. “Take me for you, your delectation. Not mine.” Though he knew he would not last.