The Other Duke Page 6

  “Hello, Wife,” he said with a smile he hoped would reassure her.

  Instead, she seemed to go stiff as a board. “Your Grace.”

  “Your Grace,” he corrected with a laugh. “Duchess Hartholm—how does it sound after all these years?”

  She didn’t smile, and her gaze went faraway. “Like someone else’s dream realized.”

  Rafe shook his head. “Speaking of which, where is your father?”

  She pursed her lips. “Off to crow and brag at the club, I suppose. He left an hour ago, foxed as can be. Did he not say something to you?”

  “No,” Rafe admitted.

  Her cheeks turned crimson. “Badly played, Father,” she muttered beneath her breath.

  Rafe leaned in. “I’m not offended,” he reassured her. “And it’s just as well he is gone.” Rafe offered her an arm. “I think we’re both ready to have the rabble out of the house.”

  Her eyes went a little wide, though she didn’t resist as he led her from the room. He took her upstairs to the chamber he had only taken over just a day before. It still contained the remnants of Cyril’s life, down to the clothing in the closet, but the bed was big and comfortable and suddenly that was all that mattered to Rafe.

  He released Serafina and shut the door behind them. She moved to the middle of the room and stared at the bed, cheeks pale and hands clenched behind her.

  He gritted his teeth. He would have to be slow and gentle with her, for she was an innocent. That wasn’t his normal indulgence. But he wanted Serafina to like what they would do together, not see it as the awful duty she had described just a few days before.

  He moved to stand in front of her and saw that she her entire body vibrated like a leaf in a strong wind. He frowned and reached out to take one of her cold hands.

  “I promise you, you have nothing to fear.”

  She turned her pale face, her frown telling him she didn’t believe him. “This is your right, Rafe.” Her voice was soft, but strong. “I have no intention of stopping you.”

  He shook his head. She remained so reluctant, as if she had been told by someone that sex was an act to fear. It made him want to double his efforts to make this a night she would not soon forget.

  He reached out and ran a hand along her uncovered collarbone. Her skin was like satin, and he nearly moaned with the feel of her. He wanted to taste that skin, to feel it pressed beneath him, writhing atop him, arching to his caresses.

  And soon she would be.

  “I’m going to unfasten your dress,” he warned, meeting her gaze as he found the line of pearl buttons that closed her wedding gown along the front.

  She stood stone still, her line of sight darting away, her cheeks pinkening as he unhooked the buttons one by one. The dress drooped open, revealing the elaborate undergarments that had been designed for her special day.

  Normally the reason he liked the day’s fashions was because they allowed such easy access. But as he pushed the gown down around her hips, he caught his breath at the sight of Serafina standing in only a lace corset and a short shift. Her stockings were fastened to the corset.

  He wanted to tear the clothes away. He wanted to pin her hands to the wall above her head and rut with her like an out of control animal. He wanted to claim her until she writhed in ecstasy and forgot everything but him.

  Instead, he bent his head and gently brushed his lips against her shoulder. He nuzzled up the side of her exposed neck, not tasting, just teasing.

  She tensed even further beneath him, her breath coming hard and fast as he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her against him. Her body molded to his, her curves fitting him like they were made to do so, and he let out a deep, guttural moan of pleasure that he couldn’t control.

  “By God, you are something,” he whispered against her ear as one hand glided from her hip to her stomach, then up and up until he brushed his fingers in the valley between her breasts. She made a tiny whimper at the touch, and he smiled and let his hand return to her stomach, her hip, her thigh. There he unhooked first one stocking, then the other.

  He dropped to his knees before her and began to roll the silk away from her smooth legs, over her knee, over her calf, and lifted her foot to remove it and her slipper at once. He repeated the action on her other leg and then leaned in to kiss her bare knee.

  He looked up her body to find her wide-eyed and pale, watching his every movement. Her expression was hard to read, but her breath came fast and hard, echoing in the quiet of the chamber.

  “Sera,” he whispered as he got to his feet. “Sweet, sweet Sera.”

  She nodded.

  “I want to make you feel so good,” he promised, dropping his lips to hers for another deep kiss.

  She relaxed now, finally letting her arms come around his neck, clinging to him as she opened herself to his touch. He smiled against her lips.

  When she was almost limp with the kiss, he went to work on her corset, unlacing the back, loosening the silken ties until it drooped between them.

  He broke the kiss and stepped back to tug the apparatus away. Serafina gasped, as if surprised he had undressed her without her knowledge. Good, that meant she had been momentarily lost in the pleasure. He wanted to keep her that way.

  He tossed the corset aside and stared at her. Her silken, rosy chemise was the only thing left to cover her now. A flimsy bit of fabric with thin straps that barely skimmed her slender thighs.

  With a possessive growl, he put his arms around her again, but this time he let his hands glide along her spine, push the fabric up, cup her bare backside as he kissed her yet again.

  She let out a gasp of surprise when he lifted her. He carried her to the bed and laid her out against the pillows. She blinked up at him as he lay down beside her and rested one hand lightly on her tightly clenched thighs.

  “Your skin puts the finest silk to shame,” he said, massaging the taut muscles of her legs with one hand.

  She turned her face away, but her red cheeks spoke volumes of her embarrassment. That was a feeling he wanted to wipe away entirely.

  “Your body,” he said, leaning in closer, pressing a kiss to her collarbone, “is meant to be worshipped, Sera.” He kissed lower, just above where her chemise covered her breasts. “To be adored. And I’m going to do that tonight.”

  Now he dipped his fingers below the chemise edge and gently stroked her already-hard nipple. She gasped and arched up beneath his touch. He grinned in satisfaction. He had begun to replace fear with sensation, desire. And there was so much more to come.

  “I’m going to make you quake,” he continued, and pressed his mouth to the hard ridge of her nipple, outlined beneath the silky cloth. He sucked until the fabric went nearly transparent and she gave a strangled cry.

  “I’m going to make you come,” he growled, pushing the chemise up so that he could finally see her naked breasts.

  They were small but perfect, with dusky rose tips that were dark and hard with her mounting desire. He cupped them both, loving the feel of them in his palms. He lowered his mouth and began to lick between them, pinching the nipples until she made a garbled sound of pleasure and lifted her hands to tangle them in his hair and draw him closer.

  He chuckled against her flesh, but followed her silent order. He chose the right breast and began to suckle, gently at first, with teasing licks, then harder and with greater purpose. Just when she began crying out in pleasure, he switched to the opposite breast and repeated the action.

  Her hips lifted beneath his shoulders, asking for what she did not know enough to request with her lips. And he so wanted to give her what she desired. But not until she was ready.

  He continued to suck her nipple, gently massing her breast with one hand and with the other, he traced the length of her body, stopping only when he covered her sex with his fingers.

  She bucked beneath him and stared at him with wild, wide eyes.

  “Shhh,” he soothed, thrumming over her nipple with his opposite thu
mb.

  She didn’t respond, but watched him cup her, stroking the outside of her sex, feeling the wetness that was beginning to grow within her, threatening to overflow.

  She was almost ready.

  He licked her nipple as he gently spread the outer lips of her sex. He licked her again while he let his thick thumb traced her entrance. She was so hot, so wet. He pressed against her clitoris and she cried out above him, her hands clenching handfuls of coverlet.

  He pulled away with a groan and swiftly stripped off his shirt and trousers. She stared up at him when he was naked and her blue eyes went even wider.

  “Don’t worry,” he soothed as he settled over her. He smoothed her hair back from her face even as he gently settled himself between her legs. The head of his cock found her entrance as if they were meant to fit together and he struggled to not just slide inside, claim her hard and fast.

  “I’m going to fit myself inside of you,” he explained softly as he positioned himself. “It will hurt for a moment, but I will make it feel good for you, I promise.”

  She sucked in air as he pressed forward slowly.

  “Rafe—” she began, her tone suddenly sharp.

  But she was silenced when he pushed forward.

  He slid home in one smooth thrust and stared down at her. Her eyes had filled with tears, but they weren’t tears of pain. He had not felt the barrier of her hymen, nor did she exhibit the signs that she had surrendered her virginity to him.

  Because she hadn’t. It was evident from the welcoming stretch of her body and the expression of guilt on her face.

  She had not been untouched when he married her.

  “Sera,” he whispered as he reluctantly pulled from her sheath and moved away from her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, rolling away to her side where she balled herself up. “I’m so sorry.”

  He reached out to touch her hip, stroking his fingers over her skin. Yes, he was disappointed. He hadn’t fully realized until that moment how much he wanted to be the one to introduce her to the pleasures of the flesh.

  “You shouldn’t apologize,” he soothed softly. “I’m not angry.”

  She moved to her back and stared up at him. “How could you not be? I am not the bride you thought you were getting.”

  “Of course you are,” he said, wrinkling his brow. “Your innocence was a fleeting claim, Serafina. I was not promising to marry you only so I could collect it.”

  She blinked at him in disbelief. “So you don’t hate me?”

  He shook his head. “Of course not. I certainly cannot judge you. When two people care for each other, things are bound—”

  She barked out an ugly burst of laughter and sat up abruptly. “Care? About Cyril, you mean?”

  He nodded. “Or course. After so long an engagement, it isn’t entirely surprising that you would go so far.”

  “Oh, but I didn’t care. And he certainly didn’t, Rafe.”

  He stared at her, watching her pained expression shatter even more. “I—what do you mean?”

  She swallowed hard past the pulse that fluttered in her neck. “Rafe… I… Cyril…he…he forced me. He forced me more than once.”

  00

  Chapter Seven

  Rafe recoiled at her confession and Serafina felt the tears she had struggled to keep from falling begin to slide down her cheeks. She hadn’t meant to tell him the truth about Cyril’s actions.

  Of course, she had intended to reveal that she wasn’t untouched before he claimed her, but then he had kissed her, stroked her, teased her so gently. It had been so confusing. Her body revolted at being touched, it awakened a deep and powerful fear in her.

  And yet, when Rafe was the one doing the touching, there had been moments when her anxiety was replaced by something far better. Pleasure. It was remarkable and her feelings, her unexpected reactions to him, had overwhelmed her reason and suddenly it had been too late.

  And now she had told him the truth one person in the world other than herself knew. Even Emma had only heard the kindest version of the ugly facts.

  “Rafe?” she whispered in the face of his continued silence.

  He stared at her, but she couldn’t read his thoughts.

  “Tell me everything that happened,” he finally demanded, his voice flat and hard like she had never heard before.

  She swallowed hard. Everything. That was a difficult order. But Rafe wasn’t like Cyril—the fact that he had withdrawn from her the moment he realized she was not an innocent, that he hadn’t attacked her for her lie of omission, proved it.

  He had once said they could be friends and she hadn’t believed him. Now she felt a strange desire to do exactly as he required. To give him her story and hope he would understand and protect it in the end.

  She cleared her throat. “My father and Cyril’s father were old friends and the two of them made their marital arrangement for us when I was just six. You’ve seen the documents by now, you know how title poor Cyril’s family was. In their minds, everyone would win with our match. Cyril’s family would have my generous dowry money, my father would be linked to what was once one of the most prestigious titles in all the Empire.”

  Rafe nodded. “And?”

  “I didn’t meet Cyril until I was ten and he was fifteen.”

  Rafe recoiled yet again. “Dear God, he didn’t—” he began.

  She shook her head swiftly. “No! No, he didn’t touch me then.” She shuddered. “But I was less than impressed by him. He was pimple-faced and snide. I also thought he was uncommonly stupid when he made fun of me for reading. He told me I would stop that when I was his wife.”

  Rafe’s lips pursed. “He was always a charming one.”

  “And he only grew more charming with time. Every year after that, our fathers would force the two of us to meet so that we would know each other a little when the time came to wed. I suppose it was meant to be a kindness, but as I grew older, Cyril’s attitude got worse and worse. He had a long list of things I would and wouldn’t do as his wife.” She took a long breath, trying to maintain control as she continued, “In time, he began to ogle, then g-grope me, when we were alone.”

  Rafe’s jaw set. “You must have told your father.”

  She turned her face. “I told no one. My father made it clear that this marriage would happen regardless of my feelings. The one time I danced around the subject that perhaps Cyril was not kind to me, my father slapped me so hard, my ears rung. So I never addressed the issue again.”

  Rafe pushed off the mattress and began to pace the room, utterly naked and not seeming to care.

  Serafina blushed despite the delicate subject she was now addressing and slowly slid the sheets up to cover herself. What she was going to say next left her exposed enough in spirit that she did not want to have her body revealed at the same time.

  “I was eighteen the first time Cyril—” She cut herself off, as she flashed back to images from the night she was about to describe. Rough hands, rougher lips, tearing fabric, pain.

  “Shhh,” Rafe said, crossing back to her. He leaned over edge of the bed and took both her hands. “It’s all right.”

  She blinked at the concern on his face, then looked down to realize she was trembling.

  “Can you go on?” he asked, his voice nothing but gentle.

  She stared at him, this unexpected man who had been forced into this situation even more than she had been and yet was nothing but decent when it came to his interactions with her. And she nodded even though she didn’t want to voice the truth. Rafe deserved to know it all.

  “The night I came out in Society, my father insisted that we attend the ball with Cyril and his family. We met at their estate to ride over together and he took me out on the terrace. He was going on and on about how pretty I was and then he was just…on me. Pressing me to the wall, holding me too tightly. His mouth was everywhere, his hands were everywhere and then he…”

  She gasped for breath, trying not to relive it all,
trying not to be swept away by the memories she had so carefully kept at bay in her everyday life.

  “He raped you,” Rafe said softly.

  She nodded, relieved he could say what she could not. “Yes. And then he took me inside, blamed my torn dress on a blackberry bramble on the edge of the terrace, and we went to my coming out ball together as if nothing had happened.”

  “My God,” Rafe growled beneath his breath.

  “Cyril danced with me, smirking the whole time, and before we parted that night he told me that I was truly his now and that there would never be an escape because he had claimed me.” She swiped at the tears that accompanied her unwanted memories. “No other man would want me even if I could convince my father to undo the betrothal.”

  “How did you survive the night after what he had done?” Rafe breathed.

  She shrugged. “I scarcely recall. It is all a blur. I went through the motions of my life, I suppose, without feeling or seeing what was around me.” She shook her head. “I think that became my mode of survival. It had to be because Cyril didn’t stop.”

  Rafe flinched. “Yes, you said he did this more than once.”

  “After that he went back to his usual intimidate and grope routine,” she said. “But every once in a while, he would go further. I dreaded seeing him because I never knew if this would be one of the times he would ‘exercise his husbandly rights,’ as he would put it. I only ever told my friend Emma—you met her today.”

  Rafe nodded. “Yes, a lovely woman, though a bit standoffish with me. I can see why now.”

  “She’s protective,” Serafina explained with a shake of her head. “She only knew the barest details. Once she encouraged me to tell my father.”

  “And?” Rafe pressed.

  “Of course, I couldn’t. I already told you why.”

  “Bastard!” Rafe snapped.

  “My father or Cyril?” she asked softly.

  He spun on her. “Both,” he growled, his blue eyes flashing with indignation, rage. All for her. It was a strange thing. She had never had a champion before.