Page 17 of My Demanding Duke (Forbidden Love #2)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

ANNA LAY AS still as she could manage on the coarse straw mattress. Her wrists ached from the tightness of the ropes binding them, a gag cut into the corners of her mouth, though all this was tolerable when compared to the fear she felt. She tried not to think of what might come next when Gravesend returned. Lord only knew what the madman had planned for her.

Despite her current discomfort telling her otherwise, Anna still could not quite believe that Gravesend had kidnapped her. His note asking to meet at Green Park to discuss news of her father had seemed innocent enough. Perhaps, if she had not been so determined to be angry with her husband, she might have felt some vague suspicion when he insisted he needed to speak out of earshot of Josie. Gravesend had thusly manhandled her into a waiting carriage, even waving a pistol at her when she had put up a fight.

She now found herself tied like a hog and deposited in some cheap boarding house room in Cheapside, all because she had refused to believe that her husband wanted to protect her.

She scoffed inwardly at her own stupidity. Well done, Anna.

To quell her nerves she began to pray that someone—anyone—would find her, but she soon gave it up as a lost cause. The boarding house was far from respectable and she doubted that anyone within its walls might feel inclined toward saving her. The landlady had barely raised a brow when Gravesend had stumbled through the door reeking of brandy, dragging Anna in his wake like a sack of coal. Any woman with decency would have demanded an explanation. The proprietress had merely jerked her chin toward the stairs.

Perhaps Gravesend paid well. Or perhaps she had seen worse. She tried not to imagine what scenes the woman had seen that were worse than her current predicament.

Anna swallowed around the cloth in her mouth and tried not to weep.

She had been so determined to mistrust Hugh, yet now she could see how right he had been. About everything , even the danger her father’s reckless behaviour posed to her. Though she still would not conceded that he had gone about marrying her the proper way. She might be tied up and potentially might be murdered, but that didn’t take away from the fact that he could even have made an attempt at courting her.

The door creaked open.

Gravesend entered with the swagger and scent of a man who had bathed in alcohol. His waistcoat was unbuttoned, and his cravat hung askew. Anna could not believe that she once thought the sweating lord a member of the Romantic set.

“Well,” he drawled, closing the door behind him and leaning against it, as if this were a lover’s tryst and not a grotesque parody of one. “You look positively tragic, Your Grace.”

Anna maintained a dignified silence, almost glad of the gag in her mouth. She could think of a few choice things she would like to say about his appearance.

He crossed the room in unsteady strides and leaned down to untie the gag.

“If you scream, I shall be most displeased,” he informed her as his fingers tugged at the knot.

Anna nodded, though the second the cloth fell from her lips, she drew a deep breath and let out a piercing shriek for help.

Gravesend reeled back, momentarily stunned, before lifting his arm to slap her sharply across the cheek. The sound cracked through the room like a rifle shot.

The pain was not hard enough to knock her senseless, but enough to sting, to humiliate. The shock of it silenced her far more effectively than the gag had. Any sense of bravado that Anna might have clung onto fled quickly; Gravesend truly meant to do her harm.

“You little bitch,” he hissed. “That was unwise.”

Anna tasted blood—her lip had split—but nevertheless she met his gaze.

“Why?” she gasped, wriggling at the rope that bound her wrists. “Why do this?”

Gravesend straightened and ran a hand through his hair, which had begun to curl with sweat.

“Why?” he repeated, as if surprised by the question. “Because your husband saw fit to tarnish my reputation. He humiliated me. He took away a lucrative source of income from me. We were not all born to inherit profitable estates like he. Now, Falconbridge will watch you fall, and be forever tormented by knowing your ruin is his fault.”

Anna blinked—what did he mean by watch her ruin?

“Hugh will never believe you,” she countered, surprised by the faith she felt for the husband she had just this morning disparaged.

Gravesend smirked, amused at her stupidity. “Men rarely believe their wives are faithful when the evidence says otherwise. When our audience arrives you’ll be compromised, Your Grace. And the ton loves a scandal. Especially when it involves a pretty face and a fallen woman.”

“You’re mad,” she whispered. “He’ll kill you.”

He looked at her for a moment—truly looked—and something flickered in his expression. Something darker. More resolved.

“Well,” he said, glancing at the fob watch he drew from his waistcoat pocket. “It’s nearly five. Our audience should be arriving any moment.” He clicked the watch shut with a decisive snap. “Might as well put on a proper show and be hung for a sheep as a lamb, if you think I will die for this.”

With a grunt, he tossed the watch to the floor and lunged.

Anna screamed again, twisting with every ounce of her strength. Her bound hands flailed; she kicked, bit, thrashed. She was no match for her opponent but she was determined to put up a brave fight. Gravesend struggled against her show of force, but eventually he pinned her to the bed, his weight too heavy to hold off, his breath foul with spirits.

Anna had just about given up hope, when the door burst open.

The noise startled Gravesend enough that he lurched back, just as Hugh strode into the room like a demon, his coat billowing behind him.

“Get away from her,” he snarled.

Behind Hugh stood another man—a stranger to Anna—with a soldier’s bearing and a cocked pistol in his hand.

Hugh crossed the room in three strides and wrenched Gravesend away, sending him sprawling to the floor with a crack of bone against floorboards. The second man strode forward, aiming his pistol at Gravesend’s sweating face.

“I have him covered, Falconbridge. See to your wife,” the man said calmly, as though he said things like this every day.

Anna drew in a shaking breath as her husband knelt beside her, his hands already at her bindings.

“I’m here,” Hugh said, his voice raw. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

This time, Anna did not fight the tears. She let them fall freely, as she fell into the arms of her husband.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, frantic now to let him know just how sorry she was for not trusting him.

“As am I,” Hugh whispered, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. A frown creased his brow as he noted her split lip. “We must get you home at once and checked over by a doctor.”

“It’s just a little cut,” Anna protested, not wanting him to worry. “He only had a chance to deliver one blow, before you arrived.”

Hugh exhaled a ragged breath and leaned his forehead against Anna’s. He then pulled her into his strong arms and delivered a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“I am glad to hear you remain mostly uninjured,” he whispered softly, stroking her hair. “Lets get you home and into a hot bath, you can tell me the rest when you’ve rested.”

She nodded, allowing him to assist her from the bed. Her limbs ached from being forced into the same position for hours, but otherwise she was well.

The sound of footsteps rushing down the hallway caused them all to freeze and glance toward the door.

“Beg your pardon, your Grace,” a man called, removing his hat as he sighted Hugh. “Is that Lord Gravesend? My master requested he be brought straight to him.”

“Who is your master?” Hugh asked.

“Mr Shatter, your Grace,” came the response.

Anna watched in fascination as Hugh shared a smile of amusement with his friend, who still stood guard over a dazed Lord Gravesend.

“Do you trust Shatter to mete out the appropriate justice?” Hugh’s friend asked softly, the pistol in his hand still pointing squarely at Gravesend’s chest.

“Shatter will deal with the physical retribution, Nate,” Hugh decided, “He never did get a chance to punish Gravesend for cheating the house. If he survives that, I shall see that social justice is delivered; Lord Gravesend will never be received in polite society again.”

Nate nodded with satisfaction, dropping his pistol and tucking it back into his coat pocket. “If that’s the case, take your wife home, Falconbridge. I can oversee matters from here. Anna, I do hope we will meet again under more civilised circumstances.”

“As do I,” Anna stuttered, Nate’s manners so flawless that if it weren’t for the sting of her lip and the aroma of boiled cabbage, she would swear they were in a ballroom and not a decrepit boarding house.

Without another word, Hugh threw his heavy coat over her shoulders and bundled her from the room.

“I’m taking you home,” he said firmly. From his possessive tone and the strong grip on her shoulders, Anna could guess that he would never let her out of his sight again.

Anna soaked in the warmth of the bath until her skin began to wrinkle. The heat had helped soothe her aching limbs, but it did little to calm the tangle of thoughts in her head. She was home. She was safe. Hugh had held her gently on the ride home, arms wrapped around her as though she were made of porcelain. He had not spoken much, merely kissed her hair and cradled her against his chest. So careful. So honourable.

Too honourable, she suspected, to come to her now.

As the heat began to recede from the water, Anna gingerly stepped out of the bath to dry herself. She toweled herself off, donned her familiar old nightrail, and set about brushing her hair. She sat by the fire awhile, as she waited for her hair to dry, contemplating her next move.

The house had fallen into silence, its candles long since extinguished. Anna glanced at her bed, unwilling to succumb to sleep. She wanted to speak with Hugh, to speak with him properly . Not only that, but she wanted to make love to him. To finally become his wife.

He would not come to her bed, she realised, while he believed she was convalescing. Not while he believed her fragile. Not while he still thought her unwilling.

She rose, wrapped herself in a woollen blanket, and padded barefoot across the room. When she reached his door, she hesitated for the barest of moments, then pushed it open.

Hugh stood before the fire in a long nightshirt, his dressing gown—a silk banyan—flowing open at the collar. The firelight cast shadows across his face, which was tilted toward the flames, as though deep in thought. When he looked up and saw her, something within her broke.

She ran to him.

He caught her at once, arms closing around her with desperate strength. She buried her face in his chest and let out a soft, shaking breath.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, hoping that those two words could convey just how sorry she was. She could not believe that she had been so careless with the feelings of the only person in the world who truly cared for her.

“No, I’m sorry,” he echoed, echoing her. “You were right, Anna. I’ve kept too many secrets from you. I wanted to shield you, but in trying to protect you, I pushed you into danger.”

He pulled back slightly and led her to the fire. They sat before it, the blanket slipping to her shoulders, her hand held tightly in his.

“I wish I could go back and do it all differently,” he said softly. “If I could start our marriage again, I would do everything right. Court you properly. Tell you the truth.”

“What truth?” she asked gently.

He hesitated, pain flashed across his handsome face and for a moment Anna could sense him retreat from her.

She waited, not wanting to press him. Then:

“Jack didn’t die in a hunting accident; my brother took his own life.”

She stared, stunned. No wonder he had hidden his grief from her—from the world—she could not imagine a more terrible pain.

“He left a note,” Hugh continued, voice low. “He’d lost everything at the tables. Debts I hadn’t known existed. He couldn’t face the shame, so he shot himself in the woods near our home. I found him shortly after. No one else knows, not even our mother.”

“Oh, Hugh,” she breathed, tears springing to her eyes. What a burden to carry for so long all alone. But he wasn’t alone now, she reasoned, he had her. She reached out for his hand, squeezing it hard in a desperate attempt to convey her love.

“I’ve kept his secret for over ten years,” he continued, his thumb brushing her knuckles. “When I first saw you I was struck by how beautiful you were—and then I learned of your perilousness of your situation from Bartie. It was madness but I felt I had to save you. I had to save someone . I just went about it the wr+ong way—I’m sorry.”

Anna reached for him then, cupping his cheek with trembling fingers.

“Today, I finally understood how vulnerable being my father’s daughter makes me. I see now what you saw,” she confessed, glad to tell him at last that he had saved her.

She hugged him then, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing him with all her strength. He was no more made of stone than she, she could not believe that she had once thought it.

“There is good news,” he murmured, as the embrace ended. “My footman returned from Whitby. Your father is there; repentant, according to the report. He claims to have seen the error of his ways.”

“I shall believe that when he proves it,” Anna said dryly. She had learned a lesson on trust these last few weeks. It should only be bestowed upon those who earn it—like her husband. Her heart filled with love for the man before her; devilishly handsome, slightly-misguided, ever high-handed, but a good man. Trustworthy.

A silence stretched between them, as they held each other tentatively. Anna realised she would have to be the one to break the invisible barrier between them, once and for all.

“Hugh?” she said, cheeks flushing as she lifted her eyes to his.

“Yes, my love?”

“If I asked you to take me now… would you?”

His eyes darkened, desire flickering to life.

“I have never wanted anything more than to make love to you,” he said softly, reverently.

He took her hand and led her to his bed. She stood before him, trembling as he untied the laces of her nightrail and let it fall to the floor. His eyes swept her bare form, not with lust alone, but wonder.

“I love you,” he whispered, bending to kiss her. “I love you so fiercely I scarcely know myself.”

The kiss turned hungry, hands roaming her skin with increasing urgency. He lifted her onto the bed and followed, stretching out beside her as he shed his clothing and drew her close.

He rained kisses down her neck and gently teased her nipples with his mouth, until she was slick and wet with wanting. She could guess, from the press of his erection against her, that he was wanting too.

“Take me,” she demanded, wriggling her bottom away from him to spread her legs in invitation. She did not care that it was wanton, her only desire was to feel him inside her.

“I will not last long,” Hugh warned, with a pained laugh. “Not after imagining this for so long.”

Anna smiled, drawing him down to her. “Then you must make it count.”

He was between her legs in an instant, the tip of his member pressed against her wet lips. For a moment, Anna knew a moment of panic, as she wondered how on earth she was supposed to accommodate his frightening girth. Hugh noted the flash of fear and kissed her lips softly.

“I’ll be gentle,” he swore. “Do you trust me?”

She nodded, “With my life.”

He entered her slowly, his size stretching her with an ache that whispered it would soon give way to pleasure. There was a brief gasp of pain as he breached her maidenhead, but he stilled, eyes on hers, giving her time.

She gave a sigh of contentment as the pain abated and she adjusted to the feel of him within her. She had not expected this sense of joining as he filled her—the perfect rightness of their two bodies becoming one.

And then he began to move; deep, rhythmic thrusts that stole her breath and made her clutch at him, gasping his name. She clung to his back, urging him ever deeper and deeper, lost in the dizzying rhythm of their shared need.

When her climax overtook her, it was sudden and all-encompassing; a shattering wave that left her trembling. She arched against him as a low, urgent pleasure rippled through her—unfurling, unstoppable, and utterly consuming.

Assured of her pleasure, Hugh groaned her name, driving into her once more as he reached his own release. He shuddered as he spilled inside her, filling her with his heat, his body taut with the force of it

They clung to each other afterward, still breathless.

She pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “I love you,” she whispered, and he smiled against her skin.

“And I you,” he murmured, his voice low and sure. “Now sleep, Anna. You are safe. You are mine. And, as I will be expecting to repeat that at least three times before sunrise, you will need your rest.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Anna whispered, with a delighted giggle.

“Yes, we established that already,” Hugh growled, as he pulled her closer to him.

And in the arms of her demanding duke, Anna finally slept.