Chapter Thirteen

This time, Julia knew there would be no stopping. He was going to take her upstairs and have his way with her, and she was going to love every minute of it. A full morning’s physical work had gotten her out of her head, where Julia tended to live. Now, her body aching with want for Gregory’s touch, her thoughts had blissfully quieted.

She couldn’t bloody wait.

As Gregory carried her into the house and made for the staircase, though, Peele arrived.

“Devil take you, Peele, can’t you see I’m busy?” Gregory snapped. The butler didn’t seem surprised to find the duke carrying his bride around.

“Beg pardon, Your Graces, but there are three callers who wish to speak with the duchess.”

“They’re for me? Is my stepsister among them?” Julia asked. If so, she’d have to send regrets and tell Susannah and probably Laura and maybe even Constance to come back another time. In a few hours, say, at the earliest. Or maybe tomorrow morning.

“No, Your Grace. They are all dressed in mourning, I might add.” The butler offered a silver tray of calling cards while Gregory set her on her feet. The description of women in mourning tended to dampen the fire of arousal. Julia wondered if she could kick grieving widows out of her house, but it seemed wrong.

“Mrs. Woodhouse. Mrs. Pankhurst. Lady Clifton. Do you know these women?” Julia glanced at her husband. One glance was enough. Based on the tightening of his jaw, Gregory must know these women intimately indeed.

“We’re acquainted.”

Julia felt a strange surge of frustrated jealousy. These women were more “acquainted” with her husband than Julia herself.

“Shall I tell them you are, er, otherwise engaged, Your Grace?”

Gregory extended his hand for hers, ready to lift her back into his arms and carry on with the deflowering in merry peace. Julia narrowed her eyes.

“No, Peele. See them in and make them comfortable. Let me make myself more presentable and I’ll be down in fifteen minutes.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

“I believe there are other matters which require your urgent attention.” Gregory seethed with impatience, though he struggled to maintain composure before his butler. It was beautiful to watch.

“I won’t be able to concentrate on such matters if I’m wondering what these particular women want to see me about.” That was the truth. Also, it gave Julia diabolical pleasure to thwart the duke’s passions. If three of her husband’s past mistresses had come to gawk at her, then Ashworth could fume until Julia was prepared to alleviate his agony. “Why don’t you go upstairs, my dear, and wait for me?”

Peele’s face turned a tomato-ish red with barely suppressed laughter. Clearly, this was a rather amusing reversal of positions. The duke probably was used to having his women tied up in knots, in every conceivable way. Gregory glared at his amused servant.

“Et tu, butler?” he muttered. Then, with a beleaguered sigh, said, “Fine. Tell your maid to hurry it up, and not dress you in anything too complicated. I’m impatient enough as it is.”

His eyes blazed with desire, the sight of which almost made Julia send the women away. But she was too damn proud and too damn stubborn to submit to even the most enticing man she’d ever met.

“That reminds me. I’ll need to hire a permanent lady’s maid,” Julia said as she hurried up the stairs.

“You don’t have a what?” Gregory snapped.

…

Exactly fifteen minutes later, Julia swept into the morning room where her guests had been made comfortable with tea and biscuits. The women all stood as she entered and curtsied to her. It was so unusual to see anybody curtsy to her, but then as a duchess Julia outranked virtually everyone she met.

“Your Grace.” One of the callers, a smiling, attractive blond woman in her early thirties, stepped forward. “Oh, congratulations!”

“Yes!” The other two cheered. One even applauded. The sight of three women dressed in full black—one even wore a veil of mourning—was strange enough, but to see them all so high spirited only added to the insanity.

“Thank you?” Julia said.

“I’m so thrilled to meet the woman who accomplished the impossible.” The blond lady clasped Julia’s hand in both of her gloved ones. “Elizabeth Woodhouse, Your Grace.” Julia tried to place the name, but couldn’t. It was so strange, because she was certain she’d seen this Elizabeth Woodhouse before. Something about the woman was so familiar. “Forgive the intrusion, especially as you were only just wed, but we couldn’t keep ourselves away. You’re all our club has been able to discuss for nearly a month now!”

“Ah. Yes. Your club.” Julia looked from grinning face to grinning face and tried to understand. “What precisely is your society?”

“The Carter Club, of course!” A taller, dark-haired woman sighed. She looked positively blissful as she glanced at the ceiling, lost in a haze of memory. “His Grace gave me the three most pleasurable weeks of my life down in Bath.”

Julia did not consider herself much of a prude, if at all. She supported all forms of women’s liberation, socially as well as educationally. But even for her, this was bizarre. An entire society founded upon the recollection of extramarital activities with her husband was one thing; having three of the members come to tea was quite another.

“I hope you ladies won’t be offended, but calling here seems a little perverse.”

“I told you she’d find it odd,” the third woman hissed. She crunched a biscuit apologetically.

“Oh, we’re not here to intimidate you, Your Grace. We only wanted to congratulate you! And, I confess, to glimpse the remarkable woman who managed to tame that savage beast of a man.”

Elizabeth Woodhouse snapped open a fan and fluttered it, having apparent palpitations with the memory. Julia didn’t know whether to be proud or horrified. Strangely enough, she was leaning toward proud. These women were…unusual, to say the least, but they seemed sincere and quite friendly.

“This is like a most marvelous day at the zoo,” the biscuit-chomping woman said before chomping another biscuit.

Well. What a fascinating compliment.

“Is it true?” Elizabeth asked. “How you and the duke met? Did you really lose a slipper in your flight from the ball?”

“Every word is true,” Julia said. The women all tittered (except the biscuit eater, who crunched).

“I do love a good Cinderella story,” the brunette said. “Though I must say, the duke is far more of a catch than any boring old prince.”

“I quite agree,” Julia said faintly.

“Is he not the most marvelous lover?” Elizabeth heaved a sigh.

“I have no one to compare him to,” Julia said, which was true. Carefully evasive, but true. “And I don’t wish to be rude, but this is teetering on the overly personal.”

Far from being offended, Elizabeth rolled her eyes in rapture and clasped her hands to her breast.

“I see how the two of you make such a splendid match. Ashworth does enjoy a challenge.”

“Indeed. He loves to take on a strong-minded woman.” The brunette, who’d introduced herself as Lady Clifton, lifted an eyebrow. “That is, provided she succumbs in the end.”

“And she’s always happy to!” Elizabeth fanned herself again. The women shrieked and giggled with delight. “Ah. I must admit, the Carter Club’s been a bit disheartened since Ashworth was scooped up.”

“Hence the, er, mourning?” Julia asked.

“Yes! Our hearts are not broken, you understand. But we are grieving for other parts of our anatomy.”

Julia didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

“Well. Thank you for calling, ladies,” she said. It verged on outright rudeness, but if ever a circumstance allowed for a little discourtesy this surely was it.

“Oh yes! We won’t disturb you any longer. Is Ashworth upstairs? Awaiting you?” Elizabeth might have drooled. She dabbed a quick handkerchief to conceal it. “Oh, you lucky thing. Do give him our best!”

“And our congratulations!” Lady Clifton said.

“Would your cook be willing to part with this recipe?” Mrs. Pankhurst had finished off the plate of biscuits.

“Whenever you emerge from your cocoon of newly wedded bliss, we would like to make you an official, lifetime member of the Carter Club!” Elizabeth beamed as the women headed for the door. “The perpetual guest of honor, in fact.”

“Er. Thank you.”

“Oh, and have you tried the Neapolitan Knot yet?” Lady Clifton whispered.

“No. Not yet.”

“Well. If I were you, I’d request it. It’s ordering off the menu, as it were, but you’ll be so satisfied.” The women winked, and giggled, and chattered as Julia led them down the hall and Peele ushered them out the door. When the ladies had gone, the butler frowned.

“Are you well, Your Grace?”

“What’s a Neapolitan Knot?” Julia muttered.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing, Peele. Thank you.”

Julia walked up the stairs, the skirts of her pink silk day dress bunched in her hand. At the top of the stairs waited her husband, a man so prodigious in the bedchamber that three of his most devoted fans had come simply to cheer Julia on in her conjugal endeavors. The thought of Gregory waiting for her, and the thought of his clothes coming off, his hands upon her skin, her breasts, and between her legs turned her almost giddy with anticipation. Many men liked to imagine themselves great lovers, but Julia doubted that most men of the ton had women who recalled their time together with ecstatic fondness.

Gregory wasn’t just an adept lover. He was clearly sensational if he left these women not only physically but also emotionally satisfied.

It almost frightened Julia, because it kept reminding her of how damned inadequate she was in this department. And it became clear yet again how easily Gregory moved from one woman to the next. To pleasure them, yes. To thrill them, oh yes. But there was nothing Julia could offer this man that would excite him more than the legions of women he’d already had.

Women wanted a husband who knew what he was doing, but maybe they wanted one who didn’t know, well, everything. There was nothing that Julia would be able to teach this man, certainly, and nothing they could experience for the first time together. She would be one more on a long list of conquests.

You didn’t want romance. You told the man yourself that all you wanted was freedom! Was that a lie?

No. It hadn’t been. Julia had to march in there, consummate the marriage, and then Gregory could be on his way. They would both be so happy, all their dreams fulfilled.

When Julia opened the door to Gregory’s chamber, she entered and found the room empty. The bed before her lay pristine and vacant.

“Gregory?”

Julia jumped as the door shut behind her. Gregory leaned against it, a wicked smile playing upon his lips.

“You startled me,” she said.

“That’s a fair place to begin.” He prowled toward her. “But I’m aiming for shock. Then rapture. Then perhaps ecstasy. We’ll see where the day takes us.”

Lord, somehow this man could tear past all her usual defenses and reduce Julia to some insatiable creature. Every time he kissed her, it seemed more heated than the last. At this rate, she’d melt before he’d finished taking her. She must not let that happen.

“Ah.” She whimpered as she tilted her head back and his lips traced the line of her throat. Her husband bit lightly upon her neck, and sucked so that she knew it would leave a mark. A badge of their passion for all to see.

A way to show the world that she was his.

“What did the ladies have to say?” he growled in her ear.

“They wanted to congratulate me.” Julia leaned back in his embrace as Gregory’s mouth continued to do the most marvelous things. “I’m married to the most sensational lover in England, apparently.”

“Not just England. Those French bastards think they’ve got the market cornered on pleasure.” To Julia’s shock, Gregory lifted her up. Her legs instinctively clasped about his waist, and she felt her blush deepen as one of his hands cradled her bottom. “But the English always triumph.”

She thought he’d lay her on the bed, but Gregory pushed her up against the wall. Julia moaned as one of her feet found the floor, and as his hand disappeared beneath her skirts. Again, she felt his touch on her thigh. All the way up to her sex.

Again, she groaned with pleasure as she felt him cup her.

“We never got to the best part last time,” he whispered against her lips.

“What—? Oh.”

He opened her. He slid one finger inside of her body. Julia clenched around him in surprise, which made him growl with delight.

“That’s very promising.” He gazed deep into her eyes, masterful. The playful, witty side of him had vanished. This was the beast emerging. “I’ll be inside you soon enough. But I need to make you ready.”

“H-How?” She hated how weak her voice sounded. But she’d never known such pleasure and couldn’t imagine how it might be topped.

Until approximately three seconds later.

Julia had read that women experienced an “ecstatic union” in all her trashy Gothic pamphlets, but she’d had no idea how that worked.

Now she did.

While his finger thrust in and out of her in slow, rhythmic strokes, Gregory pressed a thumb to the very apex of her thighs. She could feel it, the pressure on a little nub of flesh.

That pressure created a feeling of the most massive excitement. She felt as if she were racing down a hill, the wind in her hair, and near the bottom as she went faster and faster her slippers began to lift from the earth. She was starting to fly.

“Oh God. Oh,” Julia gasped.

“Is that good?” His voice was low in her ear, husky with need.

“Gregory. God.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He continued to trace his thumb around the little bundle of nerves, and then, as she started to lift off the ground and into the heavens, he pressed hard in exactly the right spot.

Julia screamed as she shuddered, as her body clenched. Gregory laughed in triumph when she tightened on his fingers, as she rippled around him. Julia screamed again, her whole being electric until finally she was reduced to bonelessness. She slumped in his grasp, her head upon his shoulder, trying to catch her breath.

What had he done to her?

Please, let him do it again.

“What a promising start,” he whispered in her ear, his voice hot as sin. “Let’s proceed.” He carried Julia to the bed and sat her upon its edge. “Remove your boots.”

She wasn’t the type of woman who took orders from anyone, but Julia did exactly as requested. When he made her stand and turned her around, she didn’t breathe a word of protest. The pleasure was still pulsing through her.

“Women’s clothing is much too complicated.” Gregory undid her frock with ease and let the garment pool about her feet. He made quick work of the stays as well, and soon Julia stood there in only her shift. “Now.”

His hands slid to her hips, then inch by inch he began to ruck the fabric up around her thighs. Julia shivered when she felt him undo the untidy braid of her hair. Her curls spilled around her shoulders.

“Better by the second,” he hissed.

Julia turned around and kissed him. The duke kissed her back, his hands touching everywhere on her body. She allowed him to shove her backward so that she bounced upon the bed. Gregory took her by the hips and dragged her so that her legs dangled over the edge. On instinct, she again wrapped her legs around his waist. Though he was still clothed, she could feel the rod of his manhood throbbing against her. They were almost united.

“Should I take you like this first?” The duke’s lazy smile and the wicked glint in his eyes both vanished. Surprise, even concern, replaced them. “Julia? Are you all right?”

“F-Fine.”

Only she wasn’t. Against her will, her body had begun to shake as though she were freezing. Her teeth chattered, though she clamped her jaw shut to fight it.

“I don’t think that’s true.” Now his brow furrowed. “Did those women do something?”

“No.” She swallowed, managing to keep her chattering teeth under control. But she couldn’t stop the shivers. Again, she was on the very precipice of everything she wanted—and she wanted it so badly, both the consummation and the security it would bring. But she was back in her head, exactly where she did not want to live right now. Her thoughts wouldn’t cease churning, and she kept recalling “Neapolitan knot” and the memory of walking back in to Pennington Hall, sodden from the rain and sobbing with a broken heart.

People wanted her so long as she could be useful to them. As soon as she wasn’t needed, they discarded her, or else treated her badly. Julia had never been like Susannah, adored for the mere pleasure she brought to everyone’s lives. She’d always known that she had to be functional and practical, because anything else was setting herself up to be a fool.

She knew all of this. So why was she so frightened?

Because I care what he thinks of me? Do I want him to like me? Respect me?

Not love her. Never that. She wasn’t an imbecile. But what if she enjoyed it too much and felt the sting of rejection once he left her? What if she came to miss him?

“If we go on like this, I’m going to die of a heart attack.” Gregory released her legs and leaned against the bedpost, breathing out in a long, slow stream. Julia waited for him to begin reproaching her, chastising her for not doing her duty as a wife. That was how husbands were supposed to act when disappointed in this way. Julia prepared herself to fight back, to tell him that she needed more time.

Instead, the duke looked at her with evident concern.

“If you don’t like something, you can tell me,” he said.

“I do like it. Very much.” That was the truth.

“I’m pleased to hear it. Then what’s wrong?”

Again, she should just talk to him about what she felt, and again she came up short. She couldn’t even tell him of her failed elopement. Julia had never thought herself much of a coward, but she was too cowardly even for that. Instead, she came up with a logical excuse. Something calculating, something he’d expect of her.

“Those women reminded me of how close we’re being watched by society. If we consummate and you leave tomorrow or the next day, they’ll be able to tell something is amiss. I wanted the security of a position and the freedom to live my own life, but I don’t want to be an object of scorn for the entire ton in order to get it. I don’t want to be known as the jilted wife, the spinster who trapped a rake and had him leave her soon after.”

“I see.” Gregory winced again as he shifted his body. His arousal didn’t seem to be going down. “What do you propose?”

Julia bit her lip and thought.

“They expect us to go on a wedding trip of some kind. Take me back to Lynton Park. It’ll look like we’re off on our honeymoon. We stay a few days over there, finally consummate our union, and then you can travel to the coast and set sail. Meanwhile, I’ll remain at the Park and sit out at least a month of the Season. When I return, your absence won’t look so egregious.”

Gregory raked a hand through his hair.

“Sometimes I wish I hadn’t married a woman with such a damned competent brain.”

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “We need at least one of those in this marriage.”

“Such a barbed tongue, too.” Gregory bade her stand. Julia could feel the power of his heartbeat as he pulled her against his body. God, she wished she could give in. Just submit and let the demons of her past die. “Very well. I’ll have our bags packed and order the carriage. We’ll leave as soon as possible.”

Her cheeks colored. So, she was to have a honeymoon after all. A strange and abrupt one, but one all the same.

“In the meantime.” He released her and looked down at his still evident arousal. “I’ll have to manage this.”

“Perhaps I should do something to help.” She cleared her throat. Her voice sounded weak, which she despised. “It’s my duty, after all.”

“I don’t want duty from you.” Gregory lifted her face to his. She had never seen him so utterly serious. “I want passion. I want you burning with desire in my arms when I take you. Anything else would feel unearned.”

“Oh.”

“But.” He kissed her, his lips tracing hers as he spoke. “I’ll have that passion before too long. And then, my lady, there’ll be no force on earth powerful enough to stop me from having my way with you.”

With that, Julia left him and returned to her own chamber. She rang for the servants and instructed them to pack her trunks. While they worked, she went out into the hall and shut her eyes, trying to still her thoughts.

He wanted her passion? The bloody fool didn’t know he already had it.