Page 18 of Courting the Duchess (Spy Society #1)

T he marriage of the Duke and Duchess of Morton progressed quite quickly after that first evening. This was, of course, not to say the two did not have their disagreements—the intercourse was astonishingly wonderful, but it was not magic. Alaina remained her feisty, strong-willed self and Sterling continued to learn patience; still, they wound up panting in each other’s arms every night and then curled together in sleep.

Perhaps Sterling’s greatest character reference was his ongoing determination to continue wooing his wife even though they’d finally shared a bed—he was convinced nothing would ever be enough for him where she was concerned. The letters Alaina had written to him continued to prove useful in that regard.

He scoured them like a man possessed, filtering through the words for hidden tidbits that might further endear him to his wife. Of course, he’d read them all time and time again but viewing them through a new lens was proving highly informative.

He’d already been reminded of the peonies and continued to ply her with a steady supply of them with a standing order that Morton House be filled with them no less than twice a week. He discovered the name of her preferred bookseller and—after making a trip there and meeting with the manager—he was able to discern which books were her favorites, which she already owned, and which new ones she might enjoy. Those he left waiting for her in her favorite sun-drenched spot in the library and on the cushion of her bedchamber window seat. He snuck to the kitchens and asked Cook to surprise Alaina with her favorite chocolate tart for dessert one evening; the reception that gesture had received was warm, indeed. His favorite had been the trip to the theater.

There was a production of Hamlet being put on by the renowned troupe at The Mask if it would please you.” It was nearly impossible for Sterling to breathe. “I want to taste you—”

“Yes,” he croaked. “Yes, it would please me. Greatly.”

Alaina nodded once very thoughtfully, and then shocked him to his core when she hiked up her skirts and spun to kneel on the floor of the carriage as best as she could in the cramped space.

“Oh, God, Alaina…” Sterling gasped. “Now?” Her fingers were already working on the fastenings of his breeches, her knuckles and the back of her hand brushing the thick ridge of his immediate, raging arousal. He didn’t know if he’d ever become so hard so fast before—it left him lightheaded. She batted his hands away when he would have stopped her. Very little would have pleased him more than his wife so overcome with passion for him that she cared not when or where the act took place, but the last thing he wanted was for her to feel obligated.

“Whyever not? By my estimation, we’ve plenty of time before we reach Morton House.” The wicked gleam in her eyes was—would forever be—his undoing. “Would you deny me?”

“Never.” And it was the truth. Sterling was at her mercy, body, heart, and soul.

The ruddy head of his sex sprang free from the confines of his clothing, proud and erect as it begged for her attention. Alaina’s nails raked along his thighs, making his cock twitch in anticipation. Her eyes widened at the sight, but she was far from backing down.

Ever the brazen intellectual, she carefully wrapped her fingers around his length, testing his girth and the slide of the silken skin over the hardness beneath.

“Like this?” she asked after several seconds of tentative strokes.

Sterling grunted in choked delight.

“You can grip me tighter,” he ground out as he braced his heels on the rocking floor. He covered her hand with his to demonstrate.

“So hard? I do not wish to hurt you.”

“Darling, your cunny is twice as tight as that little fist of yours and I’ve survived that several times over.” His low growl finally served to sway her composure. Her cheeks flared a brilliant pink evident in even the carriage’s poor lighting. Sterling sat back and allowed her to find a rhythm; he couldn’t watch her too closely or the sight of his wife touching and stroking him would quickly send him over the edge.

He almost lost himself entirely when he felt her hot breath on the sensitive head of his member and then a sweet, tentative kiss on the slit.

“Bloody—” He made a strangled curse and slammed a fist on the squab beside him.

“Did that hurt?” Alaina almost backed away, so he responded hastily.

“No! No. It didn’t. Keep going. Please.”

Satisfied, Alaina leaned forward once more and peppered his sex with slow, tender kisses, beginning to stroke him once more while she did so. He trembled when he heard her inhale the scent of his skin; he nearly died when her lips parted and her tongue darted out to taste the little pearl of moisture beading there.

When her mouth closed around the head, he saw stars. She was warm and wet and sweet, so deliciously delicate as she began to lick and suck. Head falling back in helpless abandon, Sterling gave himself over to Alaina’s ministrations. She was bloody amazing, his wife.

She’d already learned to listen to his moans and growls, continuing what made him squirm and his hips buck. It was everything he could do not to thrust himself deeper into her throat until she took all of him.

His hand flew to her head when she performed a particularly creative swirl but stopped just shy of wrapping his fingers in her locks and holding her there. He made the mistake of looking down to see her wide luminous eyes and golden blond head as she looked up at him from where she knelt between his spread legs. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked him, her dainty fist working in tandem with her mouth from root to tip. Then, she did the unthinkable and reached up to bring his hand to her hair, letting him know it was alright to touch her. And Sterling was lost.

He cupped the back of her head and helped guide her in a rhythm that quickly had his hips bucking, thrusting as deeply as she could take him. “You are amazing,” he panted. “Your mouth…God…” A gasp was wrenched from his chest. “You have all of me, Alaina. Every bit. I am at your mercy. I am yours…” He continued his praise of her and desperate, nonsensical pleas as she continued her relentless worship of his body.

When she moaned around him, the vibrations tickled every inch of his glistening cock. It took him only a few more thrusts until the telltale tingling began in the base of his spine.

“Alaina,” he growled. “Alaina, I’m going to—” Clumsier than he’d ever been in his life, he tried to pull her off of him so he didn’t finish in her mouth, but she steadfastly continued her pace and met the desperate digs of his pelvis. His body throbbed and she took him as deeply as she could just as his orgasm ripped through him with violent abandon.

His legs may have been numb, the rest of his body may have been left weak and depleted, but Sterling still managed to haul Alaina into his lap and kiss her deeply, savoring the heady saltiness on her tongue.

He loved Alaina.

He loved this woman, and he suspected he always had.

But he stopped before the words passed his lips. There were still repairs to be made in their relationship and he didn’t want her to feel any unnecessary pressure. He was truly content in that moment, and he was more than happy to have her in his arms while he marveled at how far they’d already come and looked forward to where they would go.

Sterling took every opportunity to make passionate love to Alaina. They frequently spent hours exploring new and exciting ways in which they could worship one another.

Not that he’d doubted it, but Alaina proved to be just as voracious and intense in the bedroom as she was outside of it. And it delighted him to no end.

He’d allowed his wife so far beneath his skin that even the men at his club had commented upon the spring in his step. The Duke of Morton was a man obsessed, and he cared not one bit who knew. He’d waited his entire life to feel settled in marriage—to feel like he had someone by his side—and he’d be damned if he didn’t enjoy it.

Currently, Sterling was seated at his desk in his expansive study. It was often difficult to focus on the orderly columns of numbers and ceaseless parade of correspondence on a good day. However, with Alaina perched upon his lap, her bottom nestled securely against his rapidly swelling groin as she ran her lips along the lightly stubbled edge of his jaw, well, it was damn near impossible to see straight, let alone do anything productive.

His hand flexed against the soft flesh of her hip as she nipped the point where his jaw met his throat. She’d pay for that, to be sure. In fact, he quite looked forward to bending her over this desk and—

A knock at the study door rudely interrupted Sterling’s train of thought. He barely stifled a groan of disappointment and had to clear his throat before he could speak…all while his wicked wife continued her teasing.

“What?” It came out more harshly than he’d intended, but it was difficult to maintain any composure when she wriggled against him like that.

Overall, the servants seemed to have caught on to Sterling and Alaina’s reconciliation and called a silent truce with his presence in the house. In response, they’d gradually come to respect his word and afford the two of them a much greater level of privacy Sterling sincerely appreciated.

Thank God.

“A gentleman is here to see you, Your Grace,” came Maxwell’s voice through the door. The man was aware Sterling wasn’t alone or he would have otherwise opened the door rather than raise his voice to be heard through the barrier. “A Mr. Grey. He has no card, but he insisted you were expecting him.”

Sterling sobered at the name and his body grew taut for an entirely different reason. “Five minutes and then show him in, Maxwell.”

Sensing the abrupt change in his demeanor, Alaina leaned back. He met her arresting eyes and, though he was loath to do so, he gently removed her from his lap and set her on her feet.

“I need to see what the man wants, darling.”

“I understand.” Alaina sighed dramatically, straightening the skirts of her bright blue morning dress. He received a rather glorious view of her breasts and the valley between them as she bent to do so. She was wicked enough that she likely did it on purpose. “I have correspondence of my own I’ve been sorely neglecting,” she added with a rueful sigh. Sterling caught her hand before she could step away and pressed a kiss to her palm.

“I’ll find you when I’ve finished.”

She cocked a haughty brow at him. “And who is to say I’ll have time for you? I am, after all, a very busy lady.” Her coy smile followed by the elegant sway of her hips as she left the room sent a new knife of lust straight to his cock, and Sterling was forced to remain seated and use the desk to mask his arousal until his ardor cooled.

The butler shortly thereafter showed in the tall, dark, caller. The man went by many names, each one suiting a persona and geared toward a singular aim. To call him a gentleman would be considered laughable amongst the titled elitists; he had no breeding to speak of and little formal education. Sterling, however, trusted the man with his life and had done so and more for the past eight years.

His cold gaze met Sterling’s, both of them remaining silent until the butler’s footsteps could be heard retreating down the hallway.

Sterling hadn’t expected this unannounced visit and had—thanks to Alaina’s considerable charms—all but forgotten he’d sent a missive to the man to take a discreet inquiry into some of the numbers Sterling had come across in the ledgers. The abrupt change in Sterling’s marital situation had created a hazy effect on the rest of his world. It wasn’t smart and it wasn’t safe, but it was a pleasant change from the constant stress and dangers he’d endured while on the Continent. He had rather enjoyed the unguarded way he could simply be with Alaina—when she wasn’t trying to take off his head, that was.

“A drink?” Sterling offered and gestured to the upholstered seat on the opposite side of his desk.

“Thank you, no,” was the curt reply. The man’s eerie silver eyes darted around the room, examining the gilt finishes, the polished wood, the expensive woven rug beneath his feet. It was odd having both of Sterling’s worlds colliding at once—his past and his present mixing together like disparate paint on an artist’s palette. “I’ve other business I need to address.”

“I take it you’re only passing through Mayfair, then?” Sterling tilted his head and leaned back in his chair, affecting a more relaxed persona than he felt.

The other man eyed him for several silent moments before his mouth split into an expression as close to a smile as Sterling had ever seen from him. “You know how it is. Besides, I’ll develop a rash if I spend too long a time amongst all this frippery.”

Sterling chuckled. “You never were comfortable on this side of the servants’ doors. How is it being home? Settled back in yet?”

The two of them had spent every single day in each other’s company for the last eight years. They knew one another better than some siblings and watched one another’s backs more closely than brothers. Their lives had depended upon complete and utter vigilance and honesty. Hardly any moment passed where Sterling hadn’t been grateful that Ramsay had paired the two of them together. Their first meeting had been mere weeks before Sterling and Alaina’s wedding. Ramsay had informed him that this man would accompany him on his travels by playing the part of his valet. Where Sterling would obtain information from the noble and wealthy, his partner would have access to back rooms and gossiping servants. This turned out to be a masterful arrangement with one or both of them able to acquire valuable intelligence and report back to England. Working so closely together for so long necessitated a deep level of trust—one that did not simply disappear because the mission concluded. They came from two very different worlds, yet they’d become as close as brothers bonded by blood.

The man lifted one shoulder in a shrug as he strode forward and dropped into the chair to which Sterling had gestured earlier. Despite his impressive size, he moved with the innate grace of a jungle cat. “I’m no more at home here than I was on the Continent. Not all of us have a life and a home like this to return to. Or a wife such as the duchess.” With that, the man pulled some folded papers from the inner pocket of his coat and placed them on the desk between them.

Sterling eyed them as if a barn cat had just dropped a dead rat at his feet.

“You always were one to get straight to business, Black,” Sterling commented flatly. Oliver Black, alias “Mr. Grey” (among numerous others), former street urchin, one-time gang runner, and current espionage professional specializing in undercover assignments, was the only man Sterling knew he could trust with the task of tracking down his wife’s movements and where, exactly, she was funneling money…who this Mrs. Worthy was.

He’d known there were few men skilled enough, subtle enough to ferret out the information he’d requested without sounding an alarm…he just hadn’t known how badly he’d hoped to be disappointed until that very moment. Never in his life had he considered preferring ignorance to knowledge.

As if sensing Sterling’s hesitation, Black leaned forward and placed his fingers on the papers between them. He began to drag them away slowly. “You know, this can disappear even more easily than it was acquired.”

Sterling’s hand smacked down atop the corner of the stack and they both froze, the sound of his palm on the wood echoing in the room. Black sat back once again while Sterling pulled the papers toward him and began to skim the information scrawled there.

He learned that “Mrs. Worthy” was a South Bank all-girls orphanage and Alaina had been making substantial donations for a number of years. On its own, this wasn’t an odd thing for a titled woman to do, but it was interesting that the payments were being made outside of the funds directly earmarked for donations.

Sterling’s family had long been benefactors of various charities. Technically, he was even on the board of a couple of foundations, though he’d never even met the members or attended functions—the position was more ceremonial than anything. He had no qualms about making donations and, in fact, there were sums set aside in the Morton accounts for just such things. Surely Alaina knew this…it wasn’t exactly a secret, and she tallied the household accounts herself.

Why, then, did it seem as if she paid special attention to this orphanage? What vested interest existed?

Even stranger, there were notes that she made near-weekly visits to this particular girls’ home and stayed for several hours each time…and she’d never mentioned it to him before. In fact, he quite vividly remembered at least one of the recorded dates where she’d told him she had a meeting with her modiste. He ran a mental recap of her schedule and, sure enough, there were a few other times he recognized where she’d been out, or he’d been attending to business and hadn’t been around to witness her comings and goings.

“This orphanage…”

“Clean. Well-appointed as far as those places go.” Sterling watched over the edge of the paper as his visitor sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “When asked, the matrons and teachers alike had only the most wonderful things to say about the duchess. In fact, they seemed more than a little wary about any man’s intentions that he would inquire after her. She appears to be quite the dedicated and charitable woman.”

Sterling heard Black’s words, the compliments he paid Alaina, but his mind spun and spiraled. The pebble in his boot returned to prod him with a vengeance. Any number of possibilities flashed before his mind’s eye—everything from the innocent to the absurd. Alaina could simply be going above and beyond the normal expectations of a titled lady with charitable inclinations, couldn’t she? The donations were so large; could she have been blackmailed into making them? Could “Mrs. Worthy’s” be nothing more than a disguise for the deposit of the funds? He’d seen stranger things in his life…but it made no sense. Why, then, would she make such religious visits to the girls’ home and stay? What drew her there?

His wife addled him, spun him around, turned him upside down. He was not a man who normally lacked in confidence, but she shook him. The fact that he’d been blind to these activities of hers—had dropped his guard enough for this to slip by him—was more than mildly unnerving to a man whose very life had depended upon his ability to remain observant. That she’d continued to hide these behaviors from him despite their recent rapport shattered the illusion he’d begun to craft that his wife was starting to care for him…to forgive him. Her trust in him was nothing compared to what he’d placed in her. Foolishly.

Sterling’s stomach crashed through the floor as if it were attached to a lead anchor. His mind began to flail and scramble for purchase most uncharacteristically; he turned his eyes back to the words on the papers before him but saw none.

So much of his life had been nothing but secrets. His relationship with Alaina had been riddled with them, but he finally knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of one and he liked it not one bit. It set him back on his heels. It made him lose sight of what he thought he knew and the truths he’d held onto fiercely for eight years. He didn’t know his wife. They’d laid themselves bare, and still, she withheld something from him.

To be fair, he’d done the same to her.

His eyes focused back on the most damning bit of information listed at the top of the very first page: The donations began a little more than three years prior…right around the time her letters to him had stopped.

He didn’t believe this to be a coincidence. Something about Mrs. Worthy’s had absorbed her attention and a not-insignificant amount of money.

Fed up with subterfuge, Sterling knew he needed to go to the source.