Dark Duke (11 page)

“Edward? What are you— Heavens! What is
that
for?”

“You thought to tease me?” He dropped the items on the bed
and came over to the chair to release her legs. He released her hands too, but
did not untie them. “Lady, I shall show you teasing. A teasing you will never
forget.”

And then he slipped a blindfold over her eyes.

It really should not have had such an effect on her, that blindfold.
A mere scrap of silk. But it plunged her into a dark fantasy where she was
utterly helpless, in the clutches of an evil stranger who had wicked designs
upon her person. Anticipation crawled up her spine. She shuddered.

“Yes,” he murmured, rubbing her throbbing nipple. It peaked
to an unbearable tautness. “Consider this research for our book, sweet. You are
Fiona. The flame-haired maiden. Taken and held captive by England’s most
notorious brigand.”

Something brushed her cheek, something soft and tantalizing.
A feather? It trailed over her face, sending prickles along her skin.

“And now, he intends to tease you mercilessly.”

“M-mercilessly?”

A low chuckled thrummed. “Mercilessly. He will make you
moan. Beg. Quail for release. Do you like that?” The feather skipped down to
her exposed thighs, danced over the bare flesh. She tried to arch up into it,
strain for more, but he did not allow it.

“He shall likely torment you for hours.”

A moan, ragged and needy, passed her lips. A gush of desire
bubbled from her.

“God, you’re a tempting little piece.” His voice was just as
ragged. Just as needy. Then he snorted, a harsh eruption. She heard him clomp
away. When he returned, when his touch returned, it was not soft in the least.

He dragged something over her skin, in the same pattern as
he had with the feather—but this object had a hard, bristled texture.

She flinched as it scored her nipples, one after the other
in turn. “What is that?”

His breath kissed her ear. “Hush, darling. The brigand has a
gag. He would love the excuse to tie it over your pretty mouth. Or perhaps not.
Remember Asha’s punishment when she spoke out of turn?”

Kaitlin stilled and pressed her lips together.

Edward laughed.

Having silenced her so effectively, he proceeded to tease
her, gently torture her with a variety of objects. Each heightened her arousal
until she trembled with an unbearable tension.

It was nearly a relief when he unstrapped her legs and
released her hands—but he didn’t untie her wrists.

“Stand up.”

She did not think she could. Her knees were far too wobbly.
But she tried. He supported her and led her, blind, across the room. He fiddled
with something and then she felt a tug. Her arms rose over her head until she
stood nearly on her tiptoes.

“Edward?” A quivering whisper.

“Hush, darling.” He patiently unbuttoned her bodice until it
fell about her waist. “I’m not Edward. I’m a highwayman, remember?”

“W-what shall I call you?”

He stilled. She felt his presence behind her, his warmth,
his breath, his intensity. “You know what I like to be called.”

She shuddered.

“Say it.” A low hiss.

“S-sir?”

“Ah.” She knew she’d pleased him. She could hear it in his
voice.

“Please Sir?”

His chuckle was tight. “Don’t tease me now, Kaitlin—I mean,
Fiona.”

“T-tease you?”

“Yes, darling.” As he spoke, he pulled up the back of her
skirts and somehow secured them up about her waist. She shivered when he pulled
up the front as well. “If you call me ‘Sir’ too many times, I may just lose
control.”

A naughty imp whispered that would not be too awful—until he
continued.

“It would displease me to end this too quickly.” He leaned
in and whispered, “You wouldn’t want to displease me, would you?”

“N-no Sir.”

In response, a sharp lash fell on her exposed bottom. She
lurched forward. This was unlike anything she’d ever felt. Not a quirt—a crop
perhaps? It was thin and supple and the crack
stung
. She couldn’t hold
back her cry.

“Did you like that?”

Even as he asked the question, the sting warmed to something
unbearably pleasant, leaving only an ache—but it was an ache for more.

“Yes Sir.”

“Excellent.”

He moved away once more. She heard him rummaging about in
the armoire. She shook with the realization that he was hunting for something
she had not seen.

“Spread your legs.”

She pressed her thighs together and shook her head.

“Come, Fiona. Don’t be disobedient.”

She shook her head again.

He sighed. Kaitlin thought she caught a hint of satisfaction
in his tone.

“Do you know what I have in my hand?”

“No. Sir.”

“A very interesting little invention. For women just like
you, Fiona.” He tied something around her leg, just above the knee. It felt
like a garter. Then he kicked her legs apart and did the same to the other.

To her horror, she realized she could not bring her legs
together. No matter how much she struggled.

Though she was blindfolded, she felt the heat of his gaze
upon her. She certainly heard the noise he made deep in his throat as he
watched.

A mind-melting excitement sizzled through her. She was bound.
Blindfolded. Helpless. And her legs were tied apart.

“W-what are you going to d-do?”

“Hmm.” He’d gone back to the bed. When he returned she felt
something cold and smooth nudge against her slit. He rubbed it along, dampening
it, nudging at her aching button. She shuddered. “Don’t come, now. Fiona. You
remember Asha’s training? She wasn’t allowed to come without permission.”

But—

“Fiona never read those books.”

An ominous silence descended.

A shark
crack
filled the room even as a heat the
exact size and shape of his hand flooded her bottom. “Firstly, don’t talk back.
Secondly, we are going to assume that Fiona has, indeed, read those books. And
I wasn’t lying about that gag, my dear.”

“I’m sorry.” She wasn’t. Not really. But he did expect her
to play along. And she really—
really
—wanted to know where this was
going. Needed to know.

For the illustrations, of course. She needed to know so she
could create this scene in glorious detail.

“Now. At the risk of repeating myself, you may not come.”
This he said even as something—that cold, hard, slick object—eased up into her
cavern. Her body clenched in reaction. Rejection of the invasion, perhaps. Or,
perhaps not.

It felt strange. Uncomfortable.
Large
.

“Hold it in.” He gave it an extra push.

“Edward—”

Another crack, but this time, not his hand. It was the crop
again. She flinched.

“But I can’t!” Whatever it was, it was heavy. And slick. And
each time her body seized, it seemed to slip out another notch.

“You must. If it falls out, I will assume you are asking
for,” his voice lowered to an ominous tone, “a punishment.”

She whimpered and tried to tighten her hold. The phallus
slipped out.

His response was immediate. Three quick lashes on her bottom
in a crisscross pattern, causing her flesh to burn. Then he shoved the thing
back in.

This time, as it nudged up against her quivering walls, a
spasm took her. It was a small crisis, a tiny flood of bliss, but he noticed.

“Did you just come?”

“N-no, Sir.”

“Liar.” But his words held no heat. He thumbed a nipple.
Pinched. Delight shot from her breasts to her weeping slit. Her entire body thrummed
with every beat of her heart. His hand made a slow path down her body, over the
gathers of her skirt, and found the damp nest between her thighs. He toyed with
her pearl as he eased the hideous phallus in and out and in again.

“Please!”

“Nice.” He nuzzled her neck. “I love when you beg, sweeting.
But now it’s time to get serious.”

“What!?”

He didn’t answer. She hated that he stepped away. Hated the
absence of his heat. Hated his absence altogether.

When he returned from his rummaging, he lifted the ruffles
of her skirt and fit a thick belt around her waist, tightening it until it cut
into her flesh. It was cold. She couldn’t imagine what it was for, but he gave
her little time to wonder, drawing an unseen strap between her legs and
securing it to the belt in front and back. It held the phallus in place. Inside
her. Cradling it.

Her head went a little woozy with relief—because she would
no longer have to work so hard to keep it from falling out—but perhaps there
was a touch of dismay slithering through her as well. Because it was wedged up
inside her. Filling her. Tantalizing the screaming nerves of her channel.

And she couldn’t come.

Edward—the
brigand
—hadn’t been joking when he said he
was ready to get serious. Now, having so completely prepared her for his
salacious attention, he went to work.

She could see nothing. Only feel. So each lash, each kiss,
each agonizing caress was a surprise. He varied them. Harsh to sweet to
unthinkably devious. She had no idea what items he was using to ply her
trembling body with such unrelenting bliss. He kept her constantly on the edge
of a taunting release.

He smacked her nipples—each in turn—with the leather flap of
the quirt, keeping up the barrage until they were hard and taut and swollen
beyond belief. Then he would take them in his mouth and soothe them with sweet
suckles, or fill his mouth with cool brandy and cause her to flinch and gasp as
cold kissed scalding heat.

As he licked and lapped sweetly above, he barraged her with
gentle slaps over and around the strap covering her most tender button. The
thick strip covered her, but as the phallus slipped lower and lower—though
never completely falling out—the strap tightened, increasing the pressure on
her pearl. When the leather slipped between the folds on her labia, the burning
smacks fell directly on her lower lips.

And when her breathing quickened, when her body quickened,
he would stop. Just stop. She could tell he was still there, probably staring
at her, definitely sipping his brandy now and again as she heard the glass
settle on the table before he returned, but he said nothing.

Her body was on fire. Her mind in a whirl. Her gut curled
into a knot—a knot of want.

Tears streamed down her face, dampening the blindfold.

She did not know how much longer she could bear this.

“Edward.” Her voice was hoarse from her cries. Something in
her ragged tone spoke to her desperation. “Edward.”

He came to her side at once. “Darling? Are you all right?”

“I need… I need… I need.”

Gently, he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, tucking
it behind her ear. “I know. I know you need.”

“I can’t… I can’t…”

“Not much longer now. You’ve done very well.” His lips were
warm against her brow. He licked the tears from her cheek. “Not much longer
now.”

He released the belt and the phallus fell to the floor with
a thud. His palm skated over her burning bottom. She shivered as he pulled a
cheek aside and something slick nudged her—oh, heavens. Something slick nudged
her pucker. Eased in.

She groaned. A sound dredged from the depth of her being,
from the deepest, darkest well. The strangest wash of pleasure flooded her as
he eased a slender rod into her arse.

“No!”

“Yes.” He silenced her denial by plunging three fingers into
her cunt. She sucked in a breath and fought the welling insanity, the clawing
desire to release.

“I-I…”

“Hold on. Just hold on.”

She nearly fainted when he released her legs and wrists. He
led her across the room and bent her over a rounded bar. She realized it was,
of course, the footboard of the bed. He tied her wrists again—to what, she did
not know. But when he pulled the rope tight, her hands lifted toward the head
of the bed.

He strapped her ankles to either side of the bed as well,
completely opening her.

A shard of anticipation snarled through her. Because she
knew what was coming. She was in a position for the one thing she wanted more
than her next breath.

She was positioned for his cock.

He did not make her wait any longer.

He thrust in, a hard, hot invader, taking her, possessing
her, completing her.

Her body seized. “I must… I need…”

“Ah. Kaitlin.”

She whimpered as pleasure scored her. She was no longer
Fiona. She was Kaitlin and he was Edward and he was in her and it was bliss.

“Yes, darling. Yes, my love.” He pounded into her again and
again, each plunge more feral than the last. “Come for me.”

It was all she needed.

Her control slipped its leash and she exploded around him,
clasping him and riding him and drawing him into her insanity. She hissed and
growled and then whimpered as she came, uncontrollably tightening the path
through which he forged.

His cock swelled and she came again as his rigid length
battered that tender bundle of nerves deep in her fortress, scuttling her
reason, her thoughts, her wits until there was nothing left, nothing left but
sensation and passion and absolute adoration.

God yes. As he bathed her with his seed, she was flooded
with an undeniable knowledge, the burning, scalding truth.

She loved him.

Edward Wyeth, the Dark Duke.

She loved him with all her heart and soul.

And she would until the day she died.

From then on, they worked at home, in the third floor study
of his mansion. It was much more convenient and a lot less distracting. Though
Edward did allow himself to be distracted with satisfying frequency.

They were a good team, he and Kaitlin, sharing ideas and
inspiring each other and disagreeing regularly. She was fast, and because she
was there, his little ginger muse, he was fast as well.

They finished
Brigand
in three days, though once
she’d read it, she made him change the title to
Ravaged
, which she
insisted was far more gripping. They moved on to
A Midsummer Night’s Tempest
,
a lurid play on Shakespeare’s work, because she enjoyed the bard and she really
liked drawing fairies. And then, because she insisted, they started
The
Pirate’s Booty
.

His writing was better with her around. So much steamier.
And easier.

And he wasn’t all alone anymore.

He liked it very much.

The staff liked it very much as well. Because he sent them
on holiday, all but a skeleton crew to keep them fed—and Transom, who refused
to leave.

He enjoyed having Kaitlin all to himself.

Their idyll was shattered when, one day three weeks after
he’d left, Ned returned. He was exhausted and pale—for he had ridden from
Scotland on horseback, stopping only when he was ready to drop.

Thank heaven Edward and Kaitlin were hard at work in the
study when he arrived, and not engaged in some other pursuit. He burst in on
them with Transom on his heels.

“Your Grace! It’s a disaster! You must come to Scotland at
once!” the boy gasped.

Transom threaded his fingers. “I did try to stop him, Your
Grace.”

Edward nodded to his butler and led Ned to the wingchair and
made him sit, then poured him a brandy. Ned refused it with a shake of his
head, but Edward insisted. The boy was trembling.

“What is it, Ned? What’s happened?” Kaitlin asked after he’d
had a sip and caught his breath.

“It’s Violet. She’s been kidnapped!”

A hard ball formed in Edward’s gut. Violet was a sweet,
gentle soul. Visions of her in the hands of evil men flickered through his
mind, making him feel ill.

Kaitlin went pale. She wobbled a little. Sat with a plop in
the companion chair.

“She was taken by Callum MacAllister.” Ned flicked a look at
Kaitlin. She paled even more. Pressed her lips together. “He told Aunt Hortense
if Kaitlin didn’t come home, we would never see Violet alive again.”

Kaitlin gasped. “He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t hurt her. He
wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“Your Grace, you must come at once.”

“Of course. Transom? Transom!” he bellowed.

“Your Grace?” Transom said from his elbow, making him start.
Oh yes. He’d come in the room with Ned, hadn’t he?

“Ready my coach.”

“At once, Your Grace.”

“I’m coming with you,” Kaitlin said.

“No you’re not.” He kissed her brow, ignoring the fact that
Ned watched his every move with a prickly look on his face. Ned could find his
own muse.

“I
must
go.”

Edward shot her a look. “I thought you couldn’t return to
Scotland?”

“That doesn’t matter now. I know why Callum took her. And I
know who has her.”

Confusion coiled through him. How could she? How could she
possibly know? “Who? Who has her?”

“My betrothed.”

Something vile and nasty slithered through him, nesting in
his chest. “Your
what
?”

“My betrothed. The man Callum sold me to.”

“He wants to
marry
you?”
Fuck
. He hadn’t known
that. If he had, he never would have—well hell. Yes he would have.

She glared at him. “Why do you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like no one would ever want to marry me?”

“I didn’t mean it that way. You said he had sold you to a
brigand. I assumed—”

“What?”

“That he sold you to a brothel.”

Her mouth formed a charming little “O”. Unfortunately, she
was not in that kind of mood. And they had
visitors
. “Edward Wyeth. For
shame.”

“Why do you presume this
betrothed
would have
Violet?” And God it rankled that Kaitlin had one. That someone, somewhere, was
waiting to
marry
her. He didn’t want to work out why.

She huffed out a breath. “Callum isn’t stupid. He knows our
home is the first place Ned would look.”

Ned nodded. “We went there, of course. He laughed at us.
Said she was somewhere we’d never find her.”

“So he gave her to the McCloud.”

Edward froze. “
The
McCloud?
Ewan
McCloud?
That’s the man you’re supposed to marry?”

She nodded. The little hairs on his nape rose. Edward knew
Ewan McCloud. They’d had…dealings. Years ago. When they’d both been quite
young. McCloud was deeper and darker than Kaitlin could ever imagine.

“You’re not marrying him.”

She sighed. “That’s why I left. But now he has Violet. I
have to go back.”

“I will handle this.”

“Honestly, Edward. You can’t fix this.”

The hell he couldn’t.

He could. He would.

* * * * *

They left for Scotland immediately—he and Ned and
Transom—and because she insisted on coming, Kaitlin came as well.

But he wasn’t happy about it.

They didn’t stop much, during their headlong flight to
Scotland, just the occasional pause to change horses and pick up food or use
the facilities. He and Transom took turns driving the coach, sleeping when they
were not on the box. Kaitlin slept in his arms, nestled against him as though
she had the right. As though he had the right to hold her. Edward ignored Ned’s
dark looks across the cab.

But the boy said nothing. Until they found themselves alone
in the courtyard of a dingy Scottish inn just on the border. Transom was
dealing with the innkeeper, arranging for lunch baskets, and Kaitlin was inside
washing up.

Ned’s impudent question came at him from the blue. “What are
your intentions toward her?”

Edward winced. He should have been annoyed, insulted to be
interrogated by someone so much younger, but he wasn’t. It was clear Ned truly
cared for Kaitlin.

Still, it galled him.

Because he wasn’t sure of his intentions.

As he hesitated, Ned’s fists opened and closed, as though
preparing for an assault.

Edward decided to dissemble. “Why do you ask?”

“I see the way you look at her. The way she looks at you.
She’s a good girl, despite what happened with Dougal. A decent woman. She
doesn’t deserve to be debauched by a—” His ears turned pink.

“A degenerate? It’s all right, Ned. You can say it. I’ve
heard it before.”

“Your Grace…”

Edward sighed. “Please. Call me Edward. We are cousins after
all.”

Ned tugged down his waistcoat. “I cannot be familiar with a
man who takes advantage of helpless women.”

“She’s hardly helpless.”

“You know what I mean. What would happen to her, should
unfortunate consequences arise?”

Edward looked down at the ground. Kicked a tuft of scraggly
Scottish grass. He meant if there should be a child. Why that prospect snagged
his attention, sent a little shard of pleasure through him, he didn’t know.
“She will be taken care of. No matter the consequences. I assure you.”

“She deserves better.”

“She’ll never have anything but the best.”

“As what? Your mistress?” Odd how that word seemed to hiss from
his lips.

“There are worse fates.” Kaitlin would make a fine mistress.
She was already almost trained. He certainly wasn’t letting Ewan have her.

“There is no worse fate. Not for a well-born girl.”

Edward stilled. “She’s a
companion
.”

“A well-born girl. Who
became
a companion.”

His heart thudded. Once. “How well-born?”

“Her father was an earl.”

Holy Hell.

The snake was back, slithering around in his belly, spitting
venom.

In his world, a man did not debauch an earl’s daughter. He
did not tie her to a chair and make her scream with pleasure. He certainly did
not toss up her skirts and paddle her behind with glee. He did not incite her
to make naughty sketches of illicit activities.

Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.

But wait…

“Her father is dead, isn’t he?”

Edward never saw it coming.

Ned’s fist landed flat in his face, sending him hurtling
into the dust.

A pity that, because it was his turn to drive.

* * * * *

When they arrived at Agnes’ estate on the outskirts of Perth
it was late. Still, everyone was up. All the lights in the house were burning.
Hortense met them at the door. She stopped short when she saw Edward. “What for
mercy’s sake happened to your face?”

“Ned punched him.” Kaitlin stripped off her gloves and set
them on the table. “I cannot think why.”

“We had a disagreement.”

“Hmm.” Hortense’s bosom rippled. Edward suspected a
smothered laugh. “Well, do come in. We’re in the drawing room.”

The entire family was assembled, all the boys, but unlike
any Wyeths of Perth Edward had ever seen. For one thing, they were silent. And
still. Hamish and Tay sat together on the divan hanging their heads. Sean
brooded by the window and Dennis stood beside him fingering the drapes. They
all looked as though they’d lost a part of themselves.

It was heartbreaking.

“Have you notified the constable?”

“Naturally.” Hortense took her seat. Even she looked beset.
And here he’d thought her unflappable. She dabbed at her eyes with a
handkerchief.

“The constable’s a drunkard,” Malcolm, hunched in a chair by
the pianoforte, grumbled.

Hortense snorted. “True. He’s not much help.” Transom
entered the chamber, carrying the small bags they’d packed. “Oh good. You
brought reinforcements.”

“What shall we do?” Malcolm wailed. “Whatever shall we do?”

Edward had thought a lot about this, and had formed a plan.
“I’m going to visit Colonel Sterling straightaway.” It was nearly the middle of
the night, but he didn’t care. Sterling had been with him and Ewan, in France.
“If anyone knows how to contact the McCloud, it would be John Sterling.”

Transom nodded.

“What about Callum?” Kaitlin asked. “Shouldn’t I go and see
him?”

“No!” He didn’t mean to bark but this Callum fellow had
already kidnapped one woman. If he even knew Kaitlin was here, he would take
her too. That, he couldn’t bear.

“But Edward, I can reason with him.”

“He does not seem like a reasonable man.”

She put out a lip. “He’s quite reasonable…just desperate.”

“We will deal directly with the McCloud.” That was the heart
of the problem—that Ewan wanted Kaitlin in exchange for Callum’s debt. He would
meet with Ewan and very logically offer him twice the amount due to let both
Kaitlin and Violet go.

If he knew Ewan—and he did—he’d take the money.

Then Edward would take them both, take them all, back to
London and everything would be fine. It would. He would work this out.

“You should go to bed. You’re all in.” He kissed Kaitlin on
the forehead before he’d realized what he’d done. He turned to find every eye
fixed upon him. Hortense’s was particularly sharp.

“Hmm,” she said, her gaze flicking back and forth between
them.

Malcolm put out a lip.

Ned glared.

Hamish and Tay gaped at him.

Dennis’ fingers stilled on the drapes and Sean growled.

Hell. He’d done it now. “You should all go to bed.” Again he
barked. “Transom and I will handle this.”

“Come along boys. Come along.” Hortense clapped her hands.
They stood and filed into the hall, each pausing to narrow their eyes at
Edward. As though he’d stolen one of their toys.

Between this, and the conversation he’d had with Ned, he was
feeling decidedly uneasy about his relationship with Kaitlin. It was annoying,
because he really liked his relationship with Kaitlin and didn’t want to lose
it, or her. Also, he’d never disappointed anyone before. Not anyone he’d really
cared about.

Ah. That was a surprise. He did care about them, the Wyeths
of Perth. Even surly Malcolm and slightly feral Sean. When had that happened?

Still, it was a relief when they tramped up the stairs and
Edward was released from their discomfiting perusal.

They all tramped upstairs—all but Kaitlin and Ned.

“Aren’t you going to bed?” he asked of the young man. Ned
had been traveling for nearly two straight weeks with very little sleep.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “She’s my sister. I need to go with
you.”

Edward had never had a sister, but he couldn’t refuse Ned.
He could see the desperation in his eyes. So even though they were still quite
uncomfortable together, and probably always would be, he nodded.

“I’m going too.” This from Kaitlin, in a now-familiar
intransigent tone.

He froze. “You’re not coming.”

“Of course I’m coming. Edward, what do you think this is all
about? Callum wants to trade me for Violet.”

A hard ball curled in his gut. “He’s not trading you for
anyone. I will negotiate for Violet’s return with the McCloud.”

She surveyed him. The sad look on her face wrenched his
heart. “The McCloud does not negotiate.”

“He will negotiate with me. You are not going.”

“I must. Edward.” She set her hand on his arm. “It is my
duty. Violet is my dearest friend. She was taken because of me. Don’t you see?”

“You’ll be safer here.”

“I shall be perfectly safe. The McCloud won’t hurt me. He
wants to marry me.”

“You are not marrying him.” Why he snarled, he didn’t know.

“I don’t see any other way. If only I had made enough— Oh
bother. Edward. Take that look off your face. We both knew this wouldn’t last
forever.”