Chapter Eighteen

If she wasn’t seated in the most exquisite position of her life, Astrid would have laughed at her own absurdity. Here she was, half naked in the arms of a very virile man, who happened to be her husband, copulating in a deserted garden in the most magical setting possible, and all she could talk about was women’s rights.

Thane didn’t seem to mind.

Not now, when his eyes were closed and his head was thrown back, the thickness of him lodged inside her, foreign and pulsing and utterly wonderful. Lord above, he felt good. It had been a tight fit—given it was only her second time—but her body had been ready to ease the way. More than ready. Astrid squirmed slightly, adjusting her position, and he let out a ragged groan. The corded muscles of his neck stood out in stark relief.

“Are you well?” she whispered.

Eyelids parted to reveal stormy golden discs. His jaw was rigid, the muscles in his forearms braced against the stone bench even more so. “Yes, but I’ll come if you move.”

“Isn’t that the point?”

He huffed a laugh. “Equals, remember? This has to be good for you, too. Wouldn’t be sporting of me to renege on my promise so quickly, would it?”

This man.

Astrid’s chest squeezed. In that moment, she wanted to give him everything. Her body, her soul, her brain. Her heart. And she wanted all of him in return. But then all conscious thought fled her mind as her husband began to move, his hands grasping handfuls of her hips and lifting her up, withdrawing himself almost to the edge of her body. And then he released her, startling matching moans out of them both, as she hurtled back down for him to fill her again. It was better than the first thrust, now that her body had adjusted to his size.

“Again,” she commanded.

He arched an eyebrow at her high-handedness but complied. “Bossy.”

“I know what I want, and you’re not a mind reader,” she said and gasped with pleasure as his body sank home a third and fourth time. “I call it leadership.”

“I love the way your brain works.” He thrust again. “And I love a woman in control.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but his lips closed over hers right then. Astrid sighed into the embrace. He tasted of strength, brandy, and spice. She loved kissing him. He was a formidable man who held nothing back, and his driving passion fed the fire inside her. Part and parcel of him being a captain on the battlefield. It made her feel powerful to have a man like him acquiescing to her every want.

His tongue challenged hers, luring it into his mouth and then catching it gently with his teeth. He nibbled at her lips and then sipped from them as if they were something infinitely precious. The sweetness above belied the ferocity below—of him completely and unequivocally possessing her with shorter, more uncontrolled thrusts. The two extremes drove her wild.

“You feel like heaven,” he murmured.

He groaned, closing his eyes, his control seeming to slip as his pace increased. Thane’s hand slid between them, burrowing under the layers of her skirts to where their bodies were joined. He stroked his thumb gently against the slick bundle of nerves, and Astrid almost fell off the seat as white-hot sensation streaked through her body. He did it again, but this time a delicious roll of his hips accompanied it. And suddenly everything inside her coalesced—every thought, every feeling, every sensation—into one giant ball of tension that made her feel like she was being pulled apart in a thousand different directions.

“Please, Thane, I can’t take it…”

“Almost there, love. It’s yours.”

And then it was. The pressure built blindingly and then shattered, spilling through her in waves and waves of undiluted pleasure. Astrid muffled her scream with his mouth, holding on to his shoulders for all she was worth, her body feeling like a limp noodle, aftershocks quivering through her. Thane drove home once, twice, and then his entire body jerked and went still as he clutched her to him.

“Holy hell,” he whispered against her hair.

Astrid bit at her lip, wondering if his paroxysm had been half as ferocious as hers. The thrill of discovery had heightened every illicit second. From the dazed look on his face, she suspected it might have been. “Was that good?”

“Very fucking good.” His eyes snapped open at his hasty words. “I’m sorry, I—”

“No, I like it.”

His eyebrows launched into his hairline, his lips curling at the corners. “Do you just? What would your dear Ms. Austen say?”

“Ms. Austen, were she still alive, probably would have had some choice words to teach you, having to write about such conceited, dull, moody men and their fragile male selves. I’d wager she might have whispered one or two filthy oaths in her time.”

He laughed. “I think you may be right.”

Astrid kissed the bridge of his marred nose, her finger gently tracing the thick, roped scar that cut across it from his right brow to his left jaw. He was so many extremes, this man. Savage on the outside, a passionate but thoughtful lover on the inside. And he did not make her feel foolish with her unconventional thoughts and ideals.

“We should probably be getting back,” he said, ducking free of her light caress.

“Yes.”

Neither of them moved, unwilling to go back to the ballroom…and to being newly wedded strangers. In a sense, the masquerade had allowed them to drop their defenses and come together as if the battle between them were on hiatus. But such a truce wasn’t meant to last. Lines had been drawn, sides formed. She would go back to being the smart-mouthed bluestocking cataloging his antiques, who had married him for security. He would go back to being the recalcitrant irascible duke. And all would be well with the world.

Thane exhaled, seemingly caught up in his own thoughts, and gathered her close before lifting her gently to set on the bench beside him. Astrid tugged her bodice into place as the duke set himself quickly to rights and removed her a small linen square from his jacket pocket.

“What’s that for?” she blurted out and then blushed as he knelt. “Oh, you don’t have to do that.” But he was already dabbing her sticky thighs.

Thane was frowning when he removed the handkerchief. “I should not have been so careless.”

She blinked as she belatedly recalled that he’d withdrawn their first time. “It’s fine.”

“No, it was foolish.” He stood and tucked the linen into his pocket. Astrid’s blush heated at the thought of something so intimate and marked with her essence being on his person. “We cannot make this mistake again.”

“Mistake?”

He stared at her as if she were dull-witted. “I do not want children, Astrid.”

The chill of the evening settled on her shoulders. Or maybe it was a chill blooming from inside her…from a place she’d thought well and truly buried. She hadn’t thought of babies with Thane before, but suddenly someone telling her that she wouldn’t have a choice in the matter made it seem so final. So absolute. She did not deal well with ultimatums.

Astrid’s chin lifted. “And what if I want them?”

His lips flattened, and his eyes dimmed to frosty amber. The change in him was swift and remarkable. Ah, there he was—her husband, the detached, blackhearted Duke of Beswick.

“If it’s company you seek, a pet will do just as well. Might I suggest a foxhound.”

“A foxhound?” she echoed in disbelief.

As if he hadn’t just destroyed her with his cruel, awful words, he offered her his arm. “Yes, they’re loyal and agreeable animals. Shall we?”

Astrid gathered her pride, wrapped herself in it, and rose. “You’re a bastard, Beswick.”

…

Thane downed yet another glass of whiskey. His fourth. Or fifth, he couldn’t recall. He hadn’t moved since he’d come back into the Featheringstoke ballroom, holding up an unobtrusive pillar near an alcove and watching his wife.

Queen Titania…holding dominion over her court.

Astrid had been shyly reserved when he’d first arrived, conducting herself as a married duchess would, but now, it was as if the very devil had gotten into her. Every time her laughter rang out, he flinched. Every time he saw her smile, it was a bladed fist to the gut.

She remained within the bounds of propriety for decorum’s sake, never dancing with the same partner twice, but she accepted a handful of dances from others, including close friends of his like Thornton and Roth, that made him sick with jealousy, when he had little reason to be jealous. He was the one who’d asked them to be solicitous of her in his stead.

God, it wouldn’t be long before she grasped how trapped she was in this marriage with him, and then she would hate him for it, more than she already did. It was only a matter of time before she realized he didn’t deserve her. That she deserved more. One of those gentlemen. Unscarred. Unbroken. With their soul intact. He never should have let her in, wedded her, touched her, and now it was too late.

You’re a bastard, Beswick.

She was already pushing him away, wasn’t she?

Thane gulped his whiskey and signaled for another.

“You’re going to keel over if you keep that up,” a soft voice said to his left. “Nephew.”

“Aunt,” he greeted, turning to kiss the duchess’s powdered cheeks, unsurprised that she had recognized him. She’d known him since he was in short pants. “Or should I say, Cleopatra. You look lovely tonight. How did you know it was me?”

“I saw you disappear with your wife.” Mischief glimmered in her eyes briefly. “For quite some time. I was about to send out a search party.”

Her scolding made Thane feel like a disobedient schoolboy. He’d lost control along with all sense of time, it seemed. They were lucky they hadn’t been discovered. The scandal would have been dreadful, worse yet if their identities had been discovered—the Beast of Beswick forcing his beautiful new bride to service him in public view. Because of course, no one would believe she’d been willing. He was much too hideous for anyone to want him.

But Astrid had wanted him. Until he’d ruined it with his callous response about children, but that was one topic on which he could not be swayed. No child deserved to have a father like him. Just like no wife deserved him for a husband. And he’d gone and married her anyway.

Mabel frowned at him and followed his gaze. “Astrid is having the time of her life, at least on the surface, if one didn’t know her.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, catching a glimpse of voluminous white silvery skirts as she twirled past.

“She’s your duchess, Thane. The only one she should be enjoying is you, which seemed to be the case until she returned to the ballroom looking quite beautiful, furious, and thoroughly ravished—to the trained eye, that is.” She tilted her head. “What did you say to her?”

He scowled softly under his mask and drew his aunt into the quiet alcove behind them. “Why would you think I’ve said anything to her?”

“Because you’re you,” she said. “And you’re absolutely incapable of not ruining things for yourself.”

“She wants children.”

“So give her some.”

“I cannot.” Thane huffed a breath. “And you know why.”

If there was anyone who knew more about the self-loathing that filled him, it was Aunt Mabel. She had been there in the years no one else was, not even his father. There when he’d smashed every mirror in the house. When he’d locked himself away for weeks. When he’d screamed and growled at everyone like an animal. She’d stroked his stitched face, soothed his volatile tempers, and loved him anyway.

“A child will love his father no matter what, Thane.”

“And what of everyone else?” He wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose between his fingers, to ward off the beginnings of a throbbing headache, but the stupid mask was in the way. His scars had pulled tight with the tension crawling all over his body. “I won’t allow any child of mine to be ridiculed. Isn’t it bad enough I married her and forced her into this?” He gestured to himself. “I’m angry and broken, Aunt. I can’t love or let anyone close without hurting them. I don’t know how to.”

“You let me in.”

He sighed and scrubbed at his face. “You’re different.”

“Have you considered that you might be pushing her away before she has a chance to leave you?”

Thane stared at her, fingers curling into fists, the familiar bitterness rising like a volcano inside him. He wasn’t the paste that kept things together. He was the club that broke them apart. His darkness owned him, inside and out. People ran from him because he made them. All of his friends—save Roth—Lady Sarah Bolton, and most of his servants. They’d all left.

And Astrid would, too…one day.

Allowing her in would only be setting himself up for heartache. But what was the alternative? Letting her go? That he could not fathom.

“I must go,” he said tightly. “Forgive me, Aunt. You’ll see Astrid home?”

“Of course, dear boy.”

…

Astrid knew the instant Thane went. It was like a great energy had departed the room—as if he were the sun, and she, some lonely oscillating planet, remained helpless in his gravity. Her false smiles and laughter felt heavy, the weight of them unbearable, but she’d forced herself to dance and converse, even knowing that he stood there, watching. Brooding.

How could he be so heated one moment and so frigid the next?

How could he whisper such tender words and then cut her so deeply?

For a few shared heartbeats out in the garden, he’d been unguarded. He’d let her in. She’d let him in, too. But perhaps it’d been too much too soon for both of them. His scars went way past his skin, breaking him irreparably on the inside.

She couldn’t save him. Couldn’t fix him.

After the last quadrille, Astrid should have sought out Mabel, but instead, she headed to the retiring room, where she patted a length of toweling to her cheeks and stared at her reflection. Her hair was hopelessly mussed, though Queen Titania wouldn’t care. Behind her white silk demi-mask, her eyes were overly bright, like two frozen aquamarines in her face, and her lips were still swollen from her husband’s kisses. She touched the tip of her index finger to her lower lip, reimagining his caress, the stroke of his tongue, and tore her hand away.

Enough, you dolt.

She turned to leave when a cloud of satin nearly bowled her over. “Oh God, Astrid, it’s so wonderful to see you,” Isobel squealed. “We only have a moment. I managed to lose Aunt Mildred in the refreshment room. The woman is like a leech!”

Astrid clutched her sister close, her heart swelling with love and relief, her already chaotic emotions untangling within her.

“How have you been?” she blurted out, pushing Isobel back so she could assess her sister’s well-being for herself. Her sister looked…well and happy. She seemed composed. Older, even.

“Good,” Isobel said with a bright smile. “Uncle Reggie has commissioned me a whole new wardrobe in the hope I find an acceptable suitor this Season.”

“Isobel, you can’t trust him,” Astrid said with narrowed eyes. “You know how he is. He only wants to control you, and giving you all these things is his way of doing that. I’m sure Beaumont is still sniffing around.”

The happy smile faltered. “I’m aware, Astrid. I know it’s a bribe.”

Astrid huffed a breath. Did she truly? She was so guileless, and their uncle only had his own best interests in mind. Not Isobel’s or anyone else’s. And Beaumont was not to be underestimated, either. She frowned. “Beswick will approve the match when the time comes.”

“We don’t need the duke. I have everything in hand.”

“Please don’t be naive, Isobel.”

Her sister looked stung. “I’m not a fool.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Astrid said, reaching for her, but Isobel shifted out of the way, her face crumpling. “I think you have a soft heart and you want to believe in the best of everyone, including Uncle.” Her voice softened. “Isobel, you’re my whole world. I’ve always looked out for you, and I’ve always been truthful with you about Beaumont and everything else. I only want you safe, you know that. I want you to come and live with the duke and me at Harte House. The duke is your legal guardian now.”

Her sister’s blue eyes went dull with something like disappointment. “You’ve married, then?”

“Yes. You knew that was the plan all along.”

Her sister’s lips trembled. “But I didn’t want you to have to marry him! That was the whole purpose of this.” She waved an arm. “Of my coming to London to find a suitor, so you wouldn’t have to.”

“It doesn’t matter now, Izzy. You’re safe, and that’s all that matters.”

“But you’re not! You’re married to a man you don’t even want because of me.” Isobel’s face filled with despair. “Heavens, I waited too long. I should have come to London weeks ago, and then you wouldn’t be caught in this predicament. This is all my fault.”

“No, it’s not. This is what we had to do.”

Astrid pulled her into a hug, but Isobel shook free. “I never wanted this at the expense of your own happiness. Didn’t you read my letter? I wanted to do this. For us.”

She stared at her sister, seeing the frustration and misery sparking in her blue eyes, and her heart tightened with emotion. “I know you did, and I love you for that more than you know. But it’s done now. Please come home with me. You’ll be safe under Beswick’s protection. You can have a real Season, and you won’t have to worry about Beaumont.”

The offer hung between them, but then Isobel shook her head, a determined gaze meeting hers. “No, I wish to stay with Uncle Reggie and Aunt Mildred.”

“Izzy—”

“Please, Astrid,” she said, a stubborn note in her voice. “If you and the duke are newly married, my place isn’t with you, at least not right now. I will be all right for the rest of the Season. You needn’t worry about me.”

“It’s not safe,” Astrid said. “I must insist.”

“No, sister, I’m where I should be.” Isobel smiled softly and kissed her on the cheek. “I have to go. Aunt Mildred will be looking for me.” She squeezed Astrid’s hands and stood, a grown-up, confident angel. “I love you, Astrid, no matter what happens, but you have to let me go. I need to spread my own wings. Find my own future. And you need to take care of you for once. Find the happiness you deserve, and if that’s with Beswick, then so be it.” She walked toward the door and paused, her expression wry. “Even with his rotten temper. I tried to prevent you from marrying him for my sake, but deep down, I think he might truly care about you.”

Astrid didn’t bother to correct her sister that Beswick’s idea of caring was tantamount to getting a dog. She swallowed the rush of bitterness. But the minute the door closed behind Isobel, Astrid sank into a nearby chair. Everything was spiraling out of control…Beswick, Isobel, her marriage, and there seemed to be not a damn thing she could do about any of it.

And to top it off, she was on the brink of losing the only family she had left.