Under A Duke's Hand (28 page)

“We are in accord then,” she giggled,
fluttering her eyes closed. This felt so perfectly warm and cozy,
the way a marriage should.

“Yes,” he said, palming the sore spot on her
bottom cheek. “At long last, we are in accord.”

Chapter
Seventeen: Right of Possession

Aidan woke before her, and saw the servants
had been there. The fire was tended and the curtains closed against
the daylight so they might sleep. Gwen sprawled beside him, still
clad in his voluminous shirt. He couldn’t help noticing that one
side of the neckline gaped open, displaying an alluring expanse of
breast.

He slid off the bed, taking care not to wake
her, and went to his desk and dug out his sketch book and charcoal.
He hadn’t drawn a thing in months, but he wanted to draw her this
morning. He wanted the memory of her sweet slumber, and the way she
looked in his shirt. He wanted the memory of their new beginning,
here in this quiet room with the fire crackling in the hearth.

He began the sketch with bold lines, black
hair and white linen. Her arm rested against her waist, the other
curved by her head. He took special care to form her delicate
fingers, and then he started on her face. Dark lashes and a pert
nose, and lips like an angel’s. A smattering of freckles. He moved
closer, thinking to count them, but there were too many, more than
he thought.

He regarded the sketch. It was a very good
likeness. He would show it to her later, perhaps even draw her
again with her pretty eyes open, lounging about in his bed. Or
perhaps tied to his bed.

Hmm. A compelling idea.

He put down his book when he heard a tap at
the door. Mrs. Fleming peeked in.

“I’ve tea, Your Grace. Would you like some
luncheon?”

Luncheon already? He nodded to the
housekeeper as Gwen stirred. Two maids brought trays of buns,
cakes, and sandwiches and set them on a table next to the tea. By
the time they left, Gwen was awake, peering at him from her bundle
of covers.

“My goodness,” she said. “Is the bread still
warm? It smells wonderful.”

“Will you have some?”

“Yes, Sir...er...Aidan.” She smiled
sheepishly. “I promise I’ll get better. It’s something about the
way you look sometimes.”

He made her a cup of tea and handed it to
her, and carried the food over to set it on the bed. “Do I look
like a grand and haughty duke?” he asked, teasing.

“Yes, you do, even shirtless, in your
breeches.”

“I fear I’ve intentionally honed my
aristocratic air of condescension over the last twenty years.” He
held out a bun slathered with preserves. “You must be patient with
me, if I am still lofty sometimes.”

She took a bite, and ended with a bit of
blackberry on her lips. He could not resist kissing it away.

“I must try to accept you as you are,” she
said, looking at him from beneath her lashes. “You said something
to me once. ‘We deserve one another’s kindness.’ If only I’d
listened to you then.”

“If only I’d listened to myself. But as I
recall, you were rather preoccupied with the horse I’d just shown
you, and I was still fuming about that letter you wrote.”

“Oh, that letter.” She popped the rest of the
bun in her mouth and shook her head. “That was an awful thing to
do. You were right to punish me for it.”

“I try to only punish when it’s warranted. I
try to be fair. That was not a fair letter, though it helped me
understand how homesick and desperate you were.”

She took a cucumber sandwich and added a
slice of ham. She looked so pretty and fresh and rested. He
desperately wanted to tumble her. He would, when she had eaten a
little more.

“If things ever get that way again,” he said,
“perhaps you might address a letter to me. You may be as cruel as
you like, provided you are honest.”

“I don’t want to write you any cruel
letters,” she said.

“You don’t right now.” He suppressed a smile.
“But you may wish to in the future. Marriages have ups and downs.
We can’t expect everything to be perfect. We can only try
to...”

“Be kind?”

“Yes. We must care for one another, as well
as our future children. They will want to have parents who love one
another.”

“Our children.” She put her hand to her
waist. “I hope we’ll have children soon, Aidan. I wonder if we will
have boys or girls, and whether they will have your temperament or
mine.”

He laughed at that. “Sometimes I think we
share the same temperament. We’re both headstrong and
stubborn.”

Her green eyes glinted with humor as she bit
into another bun. He fondled a lock of her ebony hair.

“Perhaps my fairy queen will give me a
dark-haired fairy princess.”

“Or perhaps we’ll have a little boy who looks
like a Viking,” she said.

Aidan grimaced. “I think one Viking duke is
enough.”

She laughed, a beautiful sound. He looked
down at the tray, which he had mostly ravaged. She had eaten a good
amount too. “How are you feeling now?” he asked.

“Much better. Perfectly better.”

Her gaze shone with contentedness. How long
had he wished her to be content and happy? If only it had not taken
a brush with death to snap him out of his idiotic behavior. He felt
her forehead and cupped her face. “You are really better?”

She looked down, shy again. “I feel very
well. I apologize for giving you such a scare. I suppose if I ever
deserved punishment, it is now.”

She peeked up again and met his gaze.
Everything inside him clenched: his heart, his soul, his cock. He
wanted her so badly.

“I suppose you do deserve some consequences
for your actions,” he agreed. He picked up the trays from the bed.
“Go in my bathing room and take care of your necessities. I’ll be
waiting for you here.”

Her eyes went wide. Well, she’d practically
begged for it, hadn’t she? She responded with equal parts dread and
excitement, lovely girl, and scurried off to use the privy. When
she returned, he was ready with four lengths of sturdy rope.

“Take off that shirt, darling, and lie back
on my bed.”

“What are you going to do?” Gwen asked,
staring at the ropes and then back at his face.

“I’m going to tie you up for a little while,”
he replied. “It seems an appropriate consequence for someone who’s
run away.”

“Oh.”

There was a world of emotion in that “oh.”
Fear and reluctance and curiosity and longing, and the same lustful
craving he felt. She draped his shirt over a chair and climbed onto
the bed, and lay back upon it. Ah, those long legs, those supple
breasts. His cock bucked within his tightening breeches.

“How long will you tie me up?” she asked as
he gathered her arms and raised them over her head.

“As long as I wish. I fear I may still be a
lofty and commanding master when it comes to your body.” He made
quick work of the knots, taking care not to bind her wrists too
tightly. She might still be weak as a kitten, but he wanted her to
feel tied down, conquered. He knew she loved that feeling.

And he, of course, loved conquering her. In
this, there were no apologies to make, no pleas for second
chances.

“Open your legs,” he said.

She inched them apart. He made a soft sound
of amusement and palmed her quim.

“Don’t pretend to be a shrinking miss. I can
feel how wet you are. Open your legs for your husband. Open them
wide.”

She made such a delectable picture, spreading
her legs as he probed her slick, heated folds. She arched against
his hand, still trying to be ladylike about it. He’d have her
writhing and begging soon enough. For now, he applied himself to
tying her ankles to the bedposts. When he was finished, she lay
beautifully open to him.

“There,” he said in a teasing voice. “That’s
what happens to young ladies who try to run away from their
husbands. Are you sorry for what you did?”

She tugged at the ropes, until he could
barely restrain himself from mounting her.
Soon. Don’t rush
through, when things have just begun again.
He wanted to play
with her a while.

“Answer me,” he prompted, putting a hand to
the falls of his breeches. “Are you a sorry little duchess?”

She nodded, putting on an adorable show of
dread. “Yes, Your Grace. I deserve to be punished.”

“You certainly do,” he agreed in all
seriousness. “But you are still recovering, so I can’t dole out the
severe corporal punishment you so richly deserve.”

“How unfortunate,” she murmured, as he
released his cock from its confinement. “About the punishment, not
the recovery.”

His organ sprang forward, fully aroused. “You
shouldn’t push your luck. Not in your position.”

“Yes, Sir.” She stared at his cock and tugged
at the ropes again. “May I still call you Sir in these sorts of
situations?”

“I would recommend doing so. But only in
these situations, if you please.” He crawled onto the bed, between
the legs of his willing victim. He cupped her breasts and stroked
her nipples, and ran his palms down over her hips, and thought how
very beautiful they made women in Wales. Her shining black hair
spread out, dark and wild, upon the pillow.

“Now, what shall I do with you?” he asked. He
teased her pussy, entering it with his fingers to make her moan and
arch. “How shall I make certain you never leave me again?”

“Goodness,” she whispered. “You frighten me
sometimes.”

“Why?” He pressed his fingers deeper. The
ropes creaked as she squirmed from the stimulation.

“Because of the way you make me feel.”

He leaned down to place a kiss at the apex of
her sex. “Don’t be afraid. Just enjoy it.”

He placed a palm on either side of her
trembling thighs and explored her quim, teasing her with his lips
and tongue. She groaned and arched her hips as he delved between
her folds to her little thrusting pearl. He loved how her breathing
sped up, and her movements intensified. She was so alive when he
touched her. She opened herself to him as no other woman ever
had.

“You like that?” he asked, looking up at
her.

“Yes.” She nodded and squirmed some more. “I
like it. I do.”

“I’m going to put my cock inside you next.
I’m going to press inside you and make you mine.”

“Like...a...”

“What?”

“Like a...marauder,” she said breathlessly.
“Claiming me.”

He grinned, basking in the scent of her
femininity. “Yes, an English duke marauding a Welsh stronghold. I
shall take the baron’s only daughter for my own.” He ran his hands
down her inner thighs, to the rope about her ankles. “I’ll force
her to my will, and once I’ve been inside her, no one will be able
to deny my claim.”

She trembled as he palmed his cock. “Perhaps
a...Viking duke,” she suggested. “You look more like a Viking than
an Englishman.”

He laughed. “Such imagination. A Viking duke
then, with a fairy queen tied to my bed, completely at my
mercy.”

“A fairy queen? Not a baron’s daughter?”

“I get to have my fantasies too.” He laid
over her, nudging against her entrance. She pretended to struggle,
embroiled in their game.

“You can’t escape me, my wild, exotic queen.”
He grasped her bound hands to settle her, and held her gaze. “And
when I take you, then I shall be king by right of possession.”

“Release me,” she cried.

“Never.”

He pressed inside her, arching over her with
his best Viking-duke expression of carnal mayhem. “How does it feel
to fall to your enemy?” he taunted. “I’m going to make a baby
inside you. An Engli—er—Viking baby so that our family lines are
linked forever. You’ll never get away from me.”

“Oh, please.” Her hands fisted as she
strained at her bonds. “How ruthless you are.”

By now, his fairy queen had submitted
completely to her Viking invader, arching her hips, squeezing upon
his cock.

“You’re mine now,” he said as he drove
repeatedly between her tied-open thighs. “Mine forever. How does
that feel?”

“It feels very...very...wonderful,” she
gasped.

“Show me how wonderful.” He kissed her neck
and nipped at her nipples and breasts. His thrusts quickened,
sending pleasure deeper and thicker within his body as she bucked
to meet him. “Show me how fine it feels to be claimed by your
Viking king.”

She dissolved into ecstasy, and he felt a
victorious sense of satisfaction, as if he really were a marauder,
only his captive was willing, and the dynamic between them felt
perfectly right. He came inside her, pure male contentment. His
woman, his love, and eventually, the mother of his children,
children who would be born of two very different parents who had
finally discovered they belonged together after all.

Even if one of them occasionally needed to be
tied down to the bed.

* * * * *

Gwen watched her husband with the usual mix
of complicated feelings. Lust, embarrassment, pleasure, excitement.
But mostly lust. Second chances felt very, very good.

He looked as satisfied as she. Rather than
untie her right away, he touched various parts of her body,
stroking, caressing, lingering over the curve of her hips. He
brushed her hair back and leaned his forehead to hers.

“I love you,” he said. “As a Viking and an
Englishman.”

She giggled at his seductive grin. “I love
you, too.”

Yes, love. That was the other part of what
she felt, aside from the lust and embarrassment and excitement and
all of that.

“You needn’t untie me yet,” she said as he
reached for the ropes. “I mean, if you don’t wish to.”

His grin widened. “If I had my choice, my
greedy wanton, I would never untie you. But we’ve a crowd of
friends downstairs who are doubtless worried about your well-being,
not to mention my state of mind. And my valet is surely beside
himself, that I haven’t called for his help in days.”