Page 6 of Promised to the Worst Duke in England (Disreputable Dukes of Club Damnation #2)

Later that night

Averly Hall

Kent, England

Alan shoved a hand through his hair. Somehow, removing to his country estate hadn’t changed his mindset or his mood. It had only made him more annoyed with his situation.

“You realize that I just styled your hair, don’t you, Your Grace?” Mild aggravation went through his valet’s voice as he, once more, took a comb to Alan’s locks.

“I apologize, Williams.” Truly, he hadn’t meant to destroy the aesthetic. “I’m afraid my mind is wandering, or rather, I’m stewing.” He met his valet’s gaze. “It’s damned inconvenient to be married.”

The other man, a few years younger than him, who had an eyepatch over his left eye, nodded. “I wouldn’t know, Your Grace, since I haven’t been as fortunate as you to find someone to marry. However, you haven’t been wed even twenty-four hours. How are you so out of sorts this early?”

“Don’t be a nodcock. You know why.” The valet had been in Alan’s employ for nearly eight years. Within that time, his sister had died as well as his fiancée and his father. “The short answer is that I’m bitterly angry to be forced into this situation.”

“To say nothing of constantly feeling that each time you allow yourself to feel close to anyone, they leave you for whatever reason.”

Hmm, he hadn’t brought that thought to the forefront of his mind, but it fit. “Yes.” It was damned foolish how well this man knew him, but then Williams was closer to him than a brother at times. “However, I do not plan to grow close to my wife.” It sounded insane the second the words came out of his mouth.

“Why did you marry, then? Such a union seems a disappointment to you both.”

Of course he would think that. “Perhaps that is my lot for being a duke.”

Williams snorted. He held up an evening tailcoat and waited for Alan to slide his arms into the sleeves. “Just because you are a duke doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love.”

“I will beg to differ.” After the past several years, he rather doubted he deserved anything except contempt and disgust. “It is my wedding night, Williams. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

The valet stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Surely you know, Your Grace. Bed the woman, of course.”

The conversation was so ridiculous that Alan couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yes, of course I’ll bed her.” After what she’d done in the traveling coach earlier in the day, that was a given. Each time he thought of her display, he was by turns aroused and livid. He shouldn’t want her on principle, but here he was. “I meant for the rest of my life.”

“I don’t have any advice for you other than keep an open mind. She might surprise you.”

“I would rather not have any more surprises during my time on this earth.” As he did up the silver buttons, he sighed. “I am dreading dinner.” In fact, he should have already been downstairs to meet his bride for their first meal together since he’d skipped the breakfast.

“For what it’s worth, the staff here is wildly excited to have you in residence as well as with a duchess in tow. We are looking forward to coming to know her.”

“Fair enough.” Alan nodded. There was no more time to stall. “Thank you.”

“Remember, Your Grace, that this is early days yet. Give your marriage some time.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Then he left his rooms for the dining room.

But when he arrived in the space, his wife wasn’t there. The dark-stained furniture lent a heavy, masculine air to the room. A sideboard, shelves, a curio cabinet as well as the table that could seat ten without being expanded were all familiar to him from his early visits to the property, but damn, he hadn’t been to Kent since before his father had died. Heavy navy drapes hung at the windows while navy and ivory striped wallpaper covered the upper portions of the wall with dark wood wainscotting below.

He glanced at the two footmen who came into the room. “Where is Lady Averly?” he asked of them both.

The older of the pair—Henry—shrugged. “I couldn’t say, Your Grace. Perhaps she hasn’t come down yet being fatigued from traveling.”

“Nonsense.” A wave of hot annoyance went through Alan’s chest. “The journey wasn’t that strenuous.” He pinned the younger footmen—John—with a glare. “Go fetch her.” If he made the damned effort of dressing and then arriving for dinner, she could as well.

The footmen glanced at each other with trepidation before John scurried from the room.

While he was gone, Alan paced about the space. Henry set the table with silverware and china. Crystal glasses and silver candlesticks were placed just so, and as he lit the candles, John returned… alone.

“Where the devil is the duchess?” he demanded while glancing to the doorway behind the footman.

John’s Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. He tugged at the knot of his cravat. “Um… Lady Averly has declined to join you tonight and wishes to take her meal on a tray.” As he cleared his throat, a red flush climbed his neck. “She also said that if Your Grace wishes to know why, you can come up yourself and ask instead of being a coward.”

“Fucking hell.” Heated anger slammed into Alan’s chest. She couldn’t give him the respect of sharing dinner? A growl of annoyance rose in his throat. “I’ll return in a few moments with the duchess. Go ahead and bring out the first course.”

By the time he arrived at the double doors to the duchess suite, which was located at the opposite end of the corridor to his, his anger was ready to explode. He shoved open both doors with such force that they crashed against the wall. Immediately, his gaze alighted on his new wife, who stood in the middle of the bedchamber, fully dressed in a gown of light blue silk, and wearing an expression that clearly announced she was ready to do battle.

“Why the devil aren’t you downstairs and joining me for dinner?”

“Why did you assume that I would? Travel has exhausted me.” She glanced at her young maid. “You’re free to go, Agnes. Thank you.”

The younger woman fled into the adjoining dressing room, and the soft snick of the corridor door announced that she’d left the suite.

Yet she had dressed for the occasion. “I demand that you come to dinner with me. This is our first night together, and we need to establish some sort of plan for our days here.”

“Oh, that would assume you wish to have anything to do with me.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, which pushed those charms against the low, lace-edged bodice. The garment was much more becoming than her traveling dress and spencer; it certainly hugged her body in all the right ways. “After our last conversation in the coach, I had the distinct impression you loathe me.”

“No, I loathe this situation. You, I don’t know well enough to form an opinion.” Shit. That was the worst thing to say, for her eyes narrowed and fury lined her face.

“Get out, Averly. I wish to be alone.” Twin spots of color blazed in her cheeks. Candlelight glimmered on the strawberry blonde strands of her hair. “I would rather die than spend another moment in the company of such a pompous, ego-inflated, self-absorbed duke.”

“You knew what was expected of you the moment we said vows. Hell, you knew that all along, I’ll wager.”

“That doesn’t give you leave to ignore your manners or any of the other niceties.” Annoyance roiled in her eyes. “I’d thought there might have been a sliver of hope, but when you decided to ejaculate all over me in the coach, I knew then that you don’t value me at all, regardless if I am your wife, so I will act accordingly.”

While what she said was true, and he was a tad mortified that he’d become such a beast over the years, the heat of embarrassment sneaked up the back of his neck and into his face. Absolutely, he would not back down or give up power to her in this battle of wills.

“Come to dinner with me,” he demanded in a slightly softer voice than he’d used before. “We both need to eat.”

“No.” She waved him away. “I shall take my meal on a try, as I said. Perhaps we can start over in the morning.”

To hell with that. He might not have wished for a wife, but damn it all, this was his wedding night, and he would show dominance to this woman who’d dare to challenge him in every way. Especially after what she’d got up to in the coach. That had consequences. Without another word, Alan closed the distance between them, tossed her over his shoulder, and then physically carried her from her suite to the dining room on the second level.

“How dare you,” Imogen fumed as she beat upon his back. “Set me down this instant. I told you I don’t wish to eat with you.”

“That matters not. We have an image to keep up.” Unceremoniously, he dumped her onto a chair. “You are my wife, which means you are expected to at least spend some time with me, hatred be damned.”

“Like hell I will.” The new duchess immediately sprang up from the chair at the same time that the soup course landed on the table. The savory scent of the cream of chicken soup infiltrated his nostrils and made his stomach growl. “After such treatment as you’ve given me, I am not hungry and have no appetite.”

He was naught much more than a fool, for each time she defied him, flames of desire lit within his blood. “Neither am I, at least not for food.” It had been some months since he’d had a woman in his bed, and it was his wedding night, so there was no scandal in consummating the marriage. It was expected, really.

The glare she leveled on him both pushed the limit of his anger, but it also sent a blazing wave of lust through his body. How the devil was he so attracted to her without even knowing her? Of course, the physical need for a release ever since she’d sucked him off in the coach was much different than having any other sort of feelings for the woman.

“Ha. If you think to bed me tonight, you are mistaken.” His wife crossed her arms once more beneath her breasts, and he knew a powerful urge to see those charms once more. “I might legally be your wife, but this union will be in name only. I never wanted you, nor this life regardless of what our fathers wished.”

Henry and John stood at the sideboard with identical expressions of shock and fascination.

There was far too much truth in those words that resonated with him. “Ah good. In this we are in agreement, for I never wanted a wife either—regardless of whether it was you or another—but your face and form are pleasing enough, and I will take what’s due to me as your husband.” He hadn’t meant to show himself as such a prick so early on, but there was nothing for it. If he didn’t take her in hand now, the balance of power would be askew and he would lose face.

A slight gasp escaped her as her eyes rounded. Apprehension reflected in those blue-gray depth. “You wouldn’t.”

He was too far gone to beg off now, but then, he was a member of Club Damnation for a reason. “Let’s discover if I will, shall we?” After growling a dismissal to the footmen, who fled with shock and anticipation, he stalked toward his wife. “How dare you defy me in front of the staff. Bad form, my lady.”

“You would know.” As she made to walk around him, she said, “I’m leaving.”

“I rather think you aren’t.” Feeling at turns daring and foolish, Alan caught her by the arm. “You’re mine to do with what I will, and after the display you treated me to in the coach, I would say we’re only continuing that which you started.” The faint scent of lilies of the valley wafted to his nose, and damn but the fragrance suited her, fired his need.

She attempted to wrench her arm away. “I am not property, Averly, and I said no.”

God, her continual defiance of him acted much like an aphrodisiac. “And I’m a duke, so my word is law, especially here.” To drive home his point, Alan shoved at some of the dishes on the table. Cutlery, water glasses, soup bowls, wine glasses and other things sailed across the polished surface. Some tipped over, some fell to the floor, but he ignored the mess. “You can either agree or not, I care not.”

She was so close to him that her exhaled breath warmed his chin. “Despite the rumors surrounding you, I doubt you would take me against my will.” When she tried again to wrestle away, he tightened his grip.

There was something fascinating about being challenged at every step by this woman. “You gave me all the permission I need by what you did in the coach.” He gave her arm a slight shake. “Think to tease me? Then don’t claim hysterics when the circumstances change, and you reap what you sow.”

Somehow she managed to pry his fingers from her arm. “You already got off earlier. I’d say we are square.”

“Oh, no. Not even close.” But he appreciated her tart mouth. “I want more.” So saying, he took hold of her bodice and yanked it down. The silk garment was easy to tear and would leave more of an impression than anything else. Since she hadn’t worn a petticoat, it was quite easy to free the ivory globes of her breasts from the shift and stays beneath even while she batted at his hands. “Shall we commence to the act, or do you want the pleasantries?”

“Well, the rumors about you weren’t wrong.” Fear reflected in her eyes, but there was also longing and anticipation deep in those stormy depths. He didn’t need to hear her consent in words; it was already there, even if she didn’t realize it. “How shocking that you wish to skip steps; you probably cheat your mistresses and courtesans of anything that might give them pleasure, hmm?”

“You know nothing about me or my whims in the bedroom.” Her criticism made him more incensed. Then he commenced to giving her at least some foreplay. Gripping her hips, he lifted her then plopped her arse onto the dining table. “But you will, and soon.” How would she react to his penchant for using Italian dilettos or even being tied to various pieces of furniture?

“Are you depraved or merely bored, Your Grace?” To her credit, she didn’t shrink away from him, and when he took her breasts in his hands and squeezed, she gasped but didn’t slap his face.

Her bravery, her confidence, intrigued the hell out of him. “Perhaps a bit of both.” As soon as her nipples hardened, he wasted no time in giving each one a pinch. Was she a woman who enjoyed ordinary foreplay or would she welcome more intensity in carnal play?

A gasp eased from her throat, but she didn’t shy away, and that made his curiosity surrounding her past flare. “Did your mistress instruct you, or did you learn your skill well before you sought her out?”

“Keep her out of this.” Not wanting to meet her gaze, Alan ducked his head and took one of those turgid tips into mouth, sucking hard before releasing it and then teasing the nub with his tongue and lips. He wasn’t ready to share anything about his life with this woman, but intercourse was a different animal indeed.

A slight moan came from her, and when she put a hand to his nape to encourage him onward, he chuckled. His new wife certainly wasn’t shy when it came to carnal play, and that pushed white hot need through his blood. “I mean what I said, Your Grace, that you need to give her up, at least for a while.”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he spent copious amounts of time enjoying her breasts. Just slightly past modest in size, they were very nearly perfect, and the soft, perfumed skin drew him onward. The dark rose-colored nipples matched the hue of her lips, and when he rolled one of the buds from root to tip, she trembled and gasped. Clearly, she wasn’t averse to being put through her paces.

“Even in this you will prove a bastard?” she asked in a soft voice even as she reclined backward onto her elbows.

“I can do nothing less.” Once more he manipulated her breasts and nipples, gave them a thorough teasing and a bit of torture. Did she like the pain mixed with pleasure? It was difficult to tell, for she gave nothing away, damn her. With a chuckle as he took one tip back into his mouth, he fought his way through her skirting with the other hand, encouraging her thighs more fully apart with his hips.

It took little effort to glide his fingertips through her slippery folds and ease them open to uncover the swelling bud at her center. The second he brushed them over that nubbin, she gasped and squirmed on the table. “God, I can’t wait to taste you.” If she were as uninhibited about intercourse and pleasure as she’d exhibited in the coach, coupling with her and exploring what made her scream would prove every bit as entertaining as he hoped.

“Then you are destined for disappointment,” she managed to say around gasps as he continued to torment that tiny bundle of nerves at her center.

He kept his own counsel about that, for he would prevail. Need shot through his shaft to harden it almost painfully. It wouldn’t be long now. Damn, but battling wills with her was as exhilarating as exploring her body, and he was enjoying it far too much, as was she even if she fought trying to not show it.

Seconds later, she inhaled sharply. Her body went taut momentarily before she let loose a half-strangled cry as she fell into a release. A flush rose up her chest into her cheeks, and when she opened her eyes, the dislike of him was still there. “You’ve had your fun, now let me go.” When she attempted to try and wriggle off the table, he once more stopped her with a hand on shoulder.

“I think not.” Until that moment, he wasn’t certain what he would do, but the second she had nearly slipped from the table, he flipped her body over. Her legs dangled off the side until she was able to barely touch the floor with the toes of her slippers, but as she cursed his name to the devil, Alan shoved up her skirting to reveal her delectable arse. “What is this?” He gave her backside a pinch where a red birthmark resided on her right cheek in the rough shape of a crescent moon.

“I have had it all my life.” She wriggled her hips, tried to push off the table, but he held her in place with a hand on the small of her back. “Let me go.”

“Not a chance, duchess. I’m claiming you as mine tonight.” As he spoke, Alan manipulated his frontfalls, wrenched the buttons from their holes, and when his engorged length tumbled out, he took himself in hand.

She glanced at him from over a shoulder. The stormy depths of her eyes showed shadows, but he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—analyze the emotions. “Please, don’t do this.” The graveled sound of her voice went from his chest to his stones.

“You know why I must… why we must.” Then, after spreading her legs wide, he fit his tip to her wet opening. In one powerful thrust, Alan penetrated her body, went stones deep and then paused merely to enjoy the feel of her tight passage as it sucked greedily at his shaft. “Damn.”

A cry broke from her throat, but he couldn’t tell if it was out of fear or pleasure. It didn’t matter, for he would have what he wanted. “Averly, stop. This isn’t what I…” When he moved within her, she shivered. “…want.” Her fingertips scrabbled for purchase on the smooth tabletop.

“You are my wife, Imogen, and that entails my right to bed you.” He’d chosen this position so he wouldn’t have to see her face; didn’t want her in his life so wished to mitigate any sort of friendship or understanding between them. At the back of his mind, he was terrified of being his father, who was a horror greater than he was. And with the ghosts of his sister and fiancée haunting him at every turn, he’d done his damndest to push everyone away. That would include his wife.

Yet he’d married her with the faint hope of companionship at best. Married her for the sake of his title, for its future, because he had none outside of the duke he’d always been meant to be.

A whimpering sound escaped her, but he ignored it in favor of gripping her hips and stroking into her hot passage, deep and fast, claiming her again and again. All too soon, frantic need tingled through his shaft and stones signaling that completion was near, but he ignored that too. Fucking Imogen wasn’t supposed to feel this good. Yes, he had a mistress back in London and she was well skilled in the carnal arts, but this was a wholly different experience.

He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t decide if he welcomed it.

Over and over, he thrust into her passage while holding her hips, keeping her toes just off the floor. When she uttered another half-stifled cry as she found bliss, the spasming of her inner walls ushered in his own. That urgency roared through his shaft, and after one last push, Alan pulled out just before his release could take hold. Seconds later, his seed splattered all over the smooth cheeks of her arse as his shaft jerked and pumped.

Soft, muffled crying reached his ears, but he didn’t care if it was from joy or horror. This was life. Ton life. She had been born and bred for this. So had he. Society didn’t care about the people, only the titles and the wealth that came with it, as well as the connections or alliances. It was a dim view at best, but one that couldn’t be denied.

As he stepped back from her and widened the gap between them, Alan stuffed his semi-flaccid shaft back into his evening breeches. He’d refused to come inside her body, for he wasn’t certain that he wanted children, and if he were being honest, he should talk to her about that same thing, since it would affect her life. Yes, he needed an heir, but even in this, they both should have the choice.

He wasn’t quite the monster, was he?

That was debatable. Not sure what to say, not that words could even hope to bridge the quickly widening animosity between them, he was about to turn away from the delicious sight of her still draped over the table when her next words stopped him cold.

“You, Averly, are a coward.” When he thought she would ignore him, Imogen slipped from the table. She straightened and shook out her skirts, stood on wobbly legs, and gave him a withering glare. “Claiming your wife from behind so you don’t have to look at my face, see into my eyes, not even once trying to kiss me?” She shook her head. There was no mistaking the hatred in her expression. “Cowardice. Now I know why you haven’t married all these years, and I’m extremely disappointed this is the sort of man I’m bound to for the rest of my life.” Before he could form a defense, she grabbed one of the soup bowls and hurled it at him.

The white soup slapped against the side of his head, still warm as it dribbled into his face while the bowl bounced off his shoulder and fell to the floor, shattering upon impact. He wasn’t surprised about the broken china, but her temper and violence had his eyebrows rising.

“You know nothing about me to make such accusations,” he said in a quiet voice that rumbled with a growl as he strove to keep his expression bland. She couldn’t know how much disappointing yet another person in his life cut him to the quick.

As he stood with soup dripping down various places on his person, Imogen marched across the room toward the door. “Don’t you ever touch me again, you great oaf, and if you do, I have no qualms in rendering a certain portion of your anatomy ineffective.” Then, with her chin in the air, she held her torn bodice over her breasts and ran from the room.

Once she’d cleared the doorway, he hung his head. Would he ever make anyone proud? Would anyone be glad to see him, to know him simply for who he was?

With a cry of rage, Alan swept everything from the table to the floor. The satisfying crashes soothed his troubled soul, but not enough, so he then tore down the curio cabinet, threw a chair through the window, then after grabbing two bottles of brandy from the sideboard, he exited the room from a door opposite where she’d run, determined to spend the night in the library, drunk.

What a fucking coil, and quite the prison sentence.