Page 17 of Duke of Pride (Sinful Dukes #4)

CHAPTER 17

Rematch

S tephen was hiding in his study. Again. For the same reason. Again.

No. This time, it was worse. This time, he had crossed a line. Crossed? He took that line and annihilated it one touch at a time, one demand at a time.

What did I do?

The question was a mockery. He remembered with excruciating clarity. He knew exactly what he did. He remembered everything. He couldn’t forget even if he tried. He didn’t want to forget.

He could still feel her in his arms, could feel himself trapped by her. Her sighs, her pleas, his name rolling off her tongue rang in his ears. The feel of her skin beneath his lips, of her wet core beneath his fingers, still lingered. The taste of her lips, her flavor, still sustained him.

How did he allow himself to go that far? Oh, he knew the answer to that, too. The moment she uttered his name, the instant she suggested she would accept Blackwell’s proposal, he snapped. Logic was thrown out the window, rules were obliterated. He had never been like this in his life. Not this demanding, not this dominant, not this controlling. And the more she wouldn’t submit to him, the more he lost all sense of judgment.

“Lunch is served!”

“Be right there, Alfred.”

And now he had to face her again. In a house full of people who were blissfully sleeping while he had his hand between her thighs, urging her to climax for him. While his mother and baby sister were sleeping, for crying out loud.

And underneath it all, another kind of guilt washed over him. He could rationalize all he wanted, perhaps even weave a perverted version of him doing this to protect her from a dangerous rake like Blackwell.

But the bottom line was that he was improper, downright wrong. He, the pillar of propriety, had compromised a lady. And that didn’t sit well with him. This wasn’t who he was.

He put on his coat and went downstairs for lunch. The dining room was filled with people—his guests. But now, more than ever, he wanted everyone to be gone.

There was one person in particular who wasn’t there. Her . He frowned. He still remembered the look in her eyes as he guided her back home, back to her room.

The pang of guilt dug deeper into his side. Of course, she would hate all of this. He talked about finding her a husband, and yet he forbade her the one man she found agreeable. He kept pestering her about respectability the moment he set foot in Colborne House, yet he went ahead and behaved like a brute.

“Stephen!” His mother must have missed him this morning.

He leaned in for a quick peck, the same one he gave Annabelle, then sat rigidly at the head of the table, his fingers clenched around his cutlery. The dining room buzzed with idle chatter, forks clinking against china, laughter ringing too loud in his ears. He couldn’t touch his food.

Then, the door opened. Victoria stood there, slightly breathless, her cheeks flushed as if she’d raced downstairs. Their eyes locked. A jolt of heat speared through him, sharp as a blade. She looked flustered. Not angry. Not disgusted. Flushed and uncertain, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her skirts before she forced them still.

“Victoria!” Annabelle exclaimed. “Come sit with me.”

She patted the chair next to her, which meant Victoria would be seated close to him, in front of his family.

“Miss Victoria,” Blackwell protested. “I thought I would have the honor of your company today.”

Stephen’s fingers tightened around his fork. Victoria’s eyes darted to him for one endless second. She could accept, provoke him, openly defy him. His blood boiled at the thought, and he was afraid he would make a scene, appearances be damned.

“You’re too kind, Your Grace,” she said, her voice carefully light. “But I’ve already promised Annabelle.”

A lie. A beautiful, calculated lie.

Stephen’s pulse roared in his ears as she moved toward them, her steps measured, her posture flawless. But he knew. And, God help him, the sheer perversity of it all sent a rush of dark satisfaction through him. Victoria did as he asked her to.

She made her way to his side of the table, just Annabelle between them. She took her seat, all polite smiles and clever retorts about her tardiness, but Stephen could see the tightness of her movements. And he knew the real reason. She couldn’t sleep either.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” she greeted in a slightly hoarse voice.

Did she catch a cold, after all?

Stephen panicked.

“Good morning, Miss Victoria. I hope you are in good health.”

“My health is good.”

She gave him a clear answer.

It was not her health. It was everything that was in disarray. Stephen was equal parts intrigued and guilty. He made her feel this way with his actions, his decisions. He was a gentleman. He shouldn’t have behaved like that. Did she lay awake, thinking of her situation and how her reputation would be ruined?

Or was she thinking of what they did in the greenhouse, reminiscing about the way he made her feel? Did she chase after the same heights of pleasure on her own, alone in her bed?

He coughed to mask the moan that rose from deep within him. Now, that image would be etched into his brain forever.

He dared a look her way while she talked with his mother. He was shameless to have such thoughts of an unmarried lady under his protection. His mother and sister were on either side. But there was no stopping the emotions, raw and naked as they formed.

His hands twitched. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to reach for her and feel more of her, have her finally bare to him, open, pliant under his body.

Stephen!

He wanted more than that, and that was scary. Desire and lust were the basest of instincts, but those he could understand. He was a man, she was a pulsing woman. But he needed to hold her, smooth the lines of worry on her forehead, and promise her that nothing would ever harm her.

Stop!

This was most improper. And it stopped now. He was a man of honor, and he allowed himself to soil that honor. He permitted too much smear on his integrity. And hers. This stopped now. Only one solution remained.

“So, today’s program!” Dorothy touched his hand to draw his attention. “Croquet!”

She was vibrating with mischief, reminding him of that fateful day he yelled at them from the window.

“Then, Miss Victoria.” Blackwell smiled. “You can make up for leaving me desolate during breakfast by being on my team.”

Stephen would bludgeon him with the mallet.

“Miss Victoria will join me,” he declared, eyeing Blackwell over the rim of his cup.

“Most unfair.” The rake had the audacity to question him. “You can enjoy Miss Victoria’s company anytime you want, since she lives under your roof.”

“Trust me, it’s more for your safety. Miss Victoria can be lethal with the mallet.”

Dorothy snorted at that. Victoria gave him a look that said she couldn’t believe what was happening.

“I think,” Blackwell said in a voice that dripped with fake sweetness, “I can handle Miss Victoria just fine.”

Duels were so outdated and illegal, but Stephen was willing to be called unfashionable and a criminal just to have this outrageous man at gunpoint. He took a deep breath, his eyes flicking to Victoria.

“It was presumptuous of us to talk about Miss Victoria as if she has no opinions of her own,” he said sincerely. “She is totally capable of making her own decisions.”

Victoria was shocked to hear him say those words. Shaken by the fact that he had remembered what she truly desired—to be the one dictating her life. He was openly giving her this choice. No coercion, no corrupting power games.

Her lower lip trembled as she swallowed.

“Well…” She struggled to maintain her light-hearted composure as all eyes turned to her. “I must help His Grace defend the honor of Colborne House. From what I have seen, he is the one hopeless with the mallet.”

The table erupted in joyful laughter at the banter.

Victoria looked up at him, her gaze clear but loaded. She chose him. Again.

“Then I must insist, Miss Victoria.” Blackwell was determined to ruin the moment. “That I have your first dance tonight.”

Victoria looked at him with a polite smile. “This is the tradition we started at this house party, is it not?”

Stephen knew that she had to give the rake something. To deny him a third time just to take Stephen’s side would raise suspicion. It didn’t mean that it stung less.

Stephen leveled Blackwell with an ice-cold look that spoke volumes. The rake just smiled, satisfied.

* * *

The morning sun shone brightly on the lawns of Colborne House. A tent was set up at one side to provide shade and refreshments while chaos ensued. The idea of a competitive game had lifted the spirits of everyone, and soon mallets were swinging too hard, balls were ricocheting off tree roots, and laughter was ringing across the lawn.

Stephen was suffering all this racket, but he drew great pleasure from outmatching Blackwell. The rake had teamed up with Adelaide, who had sought after what she thought would be easier prey. However, Victoria was doing everything in her power to make them lose this game. Not on purpose. No one could ever play that bad on purpose.

“Miss Victoria, if you—” Stephen tried to instruct her.

She seemed determined to let out all of her frustration by hammering the balls, and she didn’t heed his directions. He didn’t really mind. He just watched her play with unbridled joy, with wild bliss.

So, he was not surprised when she hit the ball so hard that it vanished behind the thicket of trees at the edge of the lawn. Victoria shaded her eyes and looked into the distance with a huff. Thank the Lord she didn’t hike up her skirts and run like she did last time.

“Wait here,” Stephen said and made his way to retrieve the ball.

“It was my shot,” she argued, “and I shall bring it back.”

Victoria didn’t wait for his permission. She was already marching toward the copse, her spine rigid, her skirts snapping with each furious step. Stephen followed, his pulse a dull, heavy drum in his ears.

The moment they crossed the first line of trees, the chaos of the game dissolved into nothing. It was as if they were the only people in the world. Stephen didn’t even pretend that he was looking for the ball. He just realized that this was the perfect opportunity to do what he had decided to do. What his honor dictated he did.

“Victoria,” he said firmly.

“It has to be somewhere here.”

She actively searched for the ball in the overgrown grass, oblivious to his disquietude.

“Can you forget about the ball, Victoria?”

Her back stiffened. She didn’t move. She didn’t turn to look upon him. He drew closer but still kept a decent distance.

Stephen didn’t trust himself to come any closer. He needed to do this right, not ruin it the way he had every time they found themselves alone.

“Look at me, please,” he added softly.

Victoria turned to him, her hands resting on her mallet. A warning? Stephen smirked before the gravity of the situation dawned on him once more.

“We need to talk, Victoria.”

She shivered but found it in her to lift her chin. Still, she said nothing, waiting for him to elaborate.

Easier said than done.

Stephen was dizzy from the whirring of his thoughts. What he wanted to say, what he needed to say, what he was supposed to say, all was spun by a tornado of emotions. He had to pick up something. He picked the safest one—the familiar mantle he wrapped himself with all his life.

He straightened his coat and adjusted his cufflinks, yearning to look like his old self—the Duke of Colborne, the gentleman who valued propriety and decorum, respected and feared by most. A man who would never cross the line with a lady and walk away from his obligations.

“Miss Victoria Crawford,” he started.

“Oh, my full name,” she joked rather weakly. “I did not think that a stray ball would warrant such formalities.”

Stephen chuckled. Victoria Crawford was, for sure, a force to be reckoned with.

He coughed to bring back the gravity of the situation. She frowned, sensing the shift in the air. He looked at her somberly, masking the tempest inside him, praying that the drumming of his heart didn’t reach her ears.

“Miss Victoria Crawford,” he repeated like an imbecile. “Will you marry me?”

The mallet hit the grass. Victoria stared at him. One beat. Two beats. Then, she threw her head back and roared with laughter. Stephen’s jaw tightened.

“When I mentioned I would miss Euclid, I didn’t mean that you needed to go to such lengths to accommodate me,” she said, almost in tears.

Stephen tucked his hands behind his back and straightened to his full height in perfect ducal composure. He waited for her to read his face and realize the truth.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, shaking her head.

“I am.”

She scoffed and bent down to retrieve the mallet before she resumed her pursuit of the lost ball.

“Victoria!”

She looked up, almost angry. “This is not a laughing matter, Stephen.”

“I agree.”

She searched his face intently.

He remained unmoved, letting the significance of his words get through to her. He knew the instant they did. Her eyes widened, and she drew a deep breath.

“Stephen…” Her voice trembled.

“I fail to comprehend why you are surprised.” He took a step toward her. “After everything that happened, you must have known where this was going.”

She shivered as she shook her head in disbelief. It was delicious to see her shaken like that, to see such a stubborn, sharp-witted lady at a loss for words. The dappled sunlight through the leaves painted intricate patterns on her elegant face.

Stephen felt his body stir again, leaning in already.

Cease this immediately!

The voice in his head sounded too much like his father’s.

“You are serious. You are asking me to marry you,” she said in disbelief. “But why?”

“Why?”

“Yes, why?” she pressed. “Up till now, you were set on marrying me off. Don’t tell me you just now heard my joke that if you want your mother happy, you should keep me here. Because I was not?—”

“This is not about Euclid and not about my mother.” His tone was somber. “This is about me.”

“You?”

There was something raw and unguarded in the way her gaze searched his. In the way her voice dropped to a mere whisper.

Tell me this is true , Victoria pleaded silently, her eyes full of hope.

His jaw tightened. His hands behind his back were sweating. It was merely the right thing to do. That was all this was—just the right thing to do.

“Yes, me.” He paused. “As a man of honor, I can no longer in good conscience continue our acquaintance without offering you marriage.”

His tone was so cold that Victoria took one small step back. He didn’t allow her to comment.

“It is my duty, as the Duke of Colborne, to rectify the wrongs done to your virtue.”

The light was snuffed out, and her faint smile dropped. Her wide eyes narrowed as she regarded him with doubt. His face remained carved from cold marble.

She sighed with cold mirth and shook her head. Her jaw ticked as she pursed her lips. She looked down at her feet before looking up at him.

It was his turn to be hit with an icy look.

Victoria’s expression hardened. The warmth in her eyes, the hope that had flickered there just moments before, vanished, replaced by something colder. Sharper.

“How very noble of you, Your Grace.” Victoria wielded that honorific with the precision of a seasoned swordsman. “Rectify the wrongs done to my virtue,” she mockingly repeated. “This is the reason for extending such a generous offer?”

“It is my?—”

“Duty,” Victoria added with a raised eyebrow. “Yes, I heard you the first time. I just wanted to see if you?—”

For a moment, her hard facade cracked. She swallowed and looked over his shoulder, as if she wasn’t able to withstand looking at him without breaking down.

“How stupid of me to assume you’d value anything more than duty .”

Stephen’s chest tightened. He should say something. Anything. But the words wouldn’t come out. He remained unmoved, watching her struggle. Digging her nails into her palms, almost shaking, overwhelmed, she turned to him.

Stephen knew even before she opened her mouth.

“I am afraid I must turn down such a magnanimous offer.”

“Victoria…”

“You see, Your Grace.” Her voice was as sharp as an executioner’s axe. “I was always candid with you. I do not wish to marry.”

Her eyes darkened, and she lowered her chin to make herself look more menacing.

“And least of all a man like you. No, that is not accurate. I would never marry you .”

Stephen went utterly still. The world narrowed to the sharp planes of her face, the unflinching resolve in her eyes. She was rejecting him in the most shattering way possible. She wasn’t coy, she didn’t employ shyness or excuses. She made it personal and clear.

The truth of it lanced through him. He had miscalculated. Badly.

“Victoria, listen to me,” he tried. “I was just?—”

“You speak of duty, of honor, yet you think so little of me that you believe I would resign myself to a life shackled to a man who sees me as nothing more than an obligation?”

Victoria chuckled. The coldness of the sound could make summer itself hurry to hide away. Yet, her throat was working hard, and she was blinking her eyes too fast.

Is she going to cry?

Stephen took another step toward her without realizing it. His body separated from his cold logic, and it demanded he rectify the wrong he had committed. But Victoria fisted her mallet, spotted the ball, gathered it, and walked away from him. She didn’t look back.

“We should return before they send a search party,” she uttered. “Wouldn’t want to add to my already tattered reputation.”