Page 29

Chapter Twenty-Four

“ G ood girl. That’s it,” Dominic whispered, even as he tried to straighten up to adjust his breeches.

As much as he wanted to dive in again, he couldn’t.

Achilles barked. That one sharp sound had broken the spell Dominic had been under—the one that involved Marianne’s sweet taste on his tongue.

Then, he heard another sound. Something that would haunt his dreams from then on—Marianne’s gasps as she came down from her orgasm. Her cheeks were red, her eyes wide and her pupils dilated. She was still in the throes of pleasure.

Another bark could be heard. Yes, that should be Beowulf. It also sounded like he was growling.

The carriage lurched to a stop as Marianne tried to catch her breath.

Home. They were home.

Dominic could see that his wife was finally realizing it as she blinked and began adjusting her skirts. Her fingers trembled.

He managed to regain his restraint, sitting straight as if nothing had happened even as the door opened too suddenly.

Marianne tensed as footsteps approached the carriage, and Dominic quickly removed his coat and helped her cover her torn bodice.

She gave him a small smile.

Right then, a stable boy with a ruddy face and hair sticking at all angles peered inside.

“Y-Yer G-Graces,” he stammered with a quick bow. “Beggin’ yer pardon, but Perseus has been rampagin’ over the tulip beds again, and now he’s in the kitchen garden, running in circles.”

Dominic shook his head in disbelief. That damned goat, again.

Marianne sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear. His eyes followed her hands as she wrapped his coat around herself tightly.

He swallowed. He needed to stop looking at his wife like that, lest his servants noticed the evidence of his arousal.

“Perseus can be somewhat rowdy on occasion,” she grumbled.

“What the hell would that goat want in the kitchen garden?” Dominic asked, still dazed.

The only silver lining of this situation was that all this goat talk was dissipating his desire quickly, sparing him the embarrassment.

“He was after the lettuce, Yer Grace,” the stable boy explained. “He also raided through some of our carrots.”

“I suddenly have the appetite for goat pie,” Dominic muttered.

Marianne shot him a sharp look. “Perseus is not on the menu,” she said bitingly.

“Not yet,” he groaned, straightening his coat.

He finally stepped down from the carriage, bracing himself for whatever chaos awaited in his home.

Marianne followed but then hurried past him, lifting her skirts with purposeful grace as the stable boy led her toward the kitchen garden.

Dominic watched her go. Her shoulders raised to her ears, her back straight and rigid—a woman ready for battle.

He shook his head, a slow smile tugging at his lips. Marianne was a duchess by title alone. Beneath it beat the heart of a warrior, a woman fiercely devoted to the things she loved.

And beneath the armor, he remembered the softness of her lips against his—the fire they’d shared moments ago, fierce and raw, yet somehow tender.

That memory lingered, warming him against the chill of the evening—and reminding him that no matter the battles ahead, she was his.

As soon as Marianne reached the gardens near the kitchen, her eyes landed immediately on the notorious culprit.

Perseus had somehow managed to clamber atop a toppled wheelbarrow, looking every bit the victorious bandit. She could have sworn his beady eyes sparkled with mischief, and the half-chewed carrot dangling from his mouth was a trophy—his way of declaring total conquest.

Chaos reigned around him: overturned baskets, snapped stalks, and a decidedly displeased Serafina hissing like a tiny dragon on guard duty.

Two flustered footmen scrambled after the goat, one clutching a rope as if preparing for battle. One nearly tripped over a spade, his balance no match for Perseus’s cunning.

The housekeeper hurried over to Marianne, brushing dirt off her skirts with a look of exhausted desperation. Apparently, the war on Perseus had thrown the entire staff into disarray.

“We’re glad you’re here, Your Grace,” she panted. “He’s been terrorizing the gardens all morning!”

Marianne arched an eyebrow. “Your statement makes him sound like some fearsome warlord.”

The housekeeper nodded gravely. “He’s chewed every last sprig of lavender.”

Marianne’s mouth dropped open. “All of it?”

“All. Of. It.”

She sighed. Her day had been a whirlwind of emotions—annoyance, desire, confusion—and a pinch of shame she couldn’t quite shake, though she didn’t regret what had happened with Dominic.

She approached Perseus cautiously. “Come here, Perseus. We talked about this—no pillaging, no reckless rampages.”

She wasn’t sure how much he understood. She remembered the day she had brought him to Oakmere. She had done it to annoy Dominic, in part. But mainly, she had brought him because she loved the stubborn, little goat.

Perseus tilted his head, bleating loudly as if to say, Talk all you want. I’m the master here.

“Ah, so nothing I say means a thing to you?” Marianne huffed.

Instead of stopping, Perseus flicked his tail, tossed his carrot trophy aside, and darted toward the rose bushes.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Marianne hissed, hiking up her skirts as she gave chase.

“Is Her Grace actually chasing the goat?” one servant called out, amused and incredulous.

“Oh yes,” another replied with a grin. “And at quite the clip, too.”

“Husband and wife, both hunters in their own way,” a third observed.

“True,” the second said. “Though I doubt Her Grace plans to turn Perseus into dinner, no matter how much of a menace he is.”

Marianne finally caught up to Perseus, who gave one last bleat of defiance before she managed to corral him. She ignored the lingering chuckles of the servants behind her, focused solely on containing her willful, little warlord—for now.

As she steadied the goat, her mind drifted back to the heat of the carriage—the harsh kiss, the fierce possession in Dominic’s touch, and the way her body had betrayed her stubborn heart.

For all her protests, there was something undeniable in their fire, something that unsettled and intrigued her in equal measure.

She straightened, took a deep breath, and squared her shoulders. The battles of the day were far from over, but whatever chaos awaited, she would face it—because, whether she liked it or not, she wanted Dominic as much as he claimed to want her.

With Perseus finally subdued, Marianne turned toward the house, the wild disorder in the garden a strange mirror to the tangled emotions roiling inside her.