Page 8 of Promised to the Worst Duke in England (Disreputable Dukes of Club Damnation #2)

June 26, 1815

Alan breathed deeply of the relatively cool early morning air. One of his favorite things when he was at one of his country estates was going out for a ride before the world came awake. A bit of fog clung to the dewy ground, but it would burn off if the sun decided to poke out from behind the clouds.

While he gave Thunder—his stallion—his head to run through a meadow, Alan’s mind felt far too cluttered with a hundred thoughts. What the devil was he to do with the problem of his wife? Just thinking about Imogen caused his shaft to slightly harden. They’d been married all of four days, and inside those boundaries, he’d fucked her twice. Well, three times if one considered when she’d sucked him off in the traveling coach. And while he thought he wouldn’t want to kiss her, he’d done just that yesterday after she’d found him in the portrait gallery.

To his surprise, he’d enjoyed it more than he’d anticipated. The only woman he’d shared such intimacies with before was his mistress, and while Miriam’s kisses had always held his attention, there was something about Imogen’s lips that made him crave more of her that went beyond her tart mouth and penchant for plain speaking.

After their nuptial ceremony, he had been determined to ignore his new wife with the exception of bedding her, but then he’d pivoted and had withdrawn before spending due to the fact he wasn’t sure he wished to reproduce. Then she’d caught him at a vulnerable point yesterday in the portrait gallery, and he’d shared a few bits from his past he’d no intention of doing. And damn her, but he’d felt a bit of relief after that, even more so when she said she understood. Now he wanted to know why she had said that.

Beyond that, he couldn’t have enough of her. After months of not having his carnal needs fulfilled, doing so with his wife had taken him by surprise, and damned if her body hadn’t welcomed him even if she had not.

And that was what rankled, for he wanted her to see him as more than the depraved duke he’d made certain the world saw. After years of building his reputation into what it was as a way to distract him from feeling anything deeper than carnal satisfaction. For so long, he’d wished to remain numb to everything around him for fear of being hurt again, but now, with the woman he’d been forced to take to wife, he couldn’t help but think he teetered on a precipice and that depending on the direction he fell, everything would change.

Did he want it to?

At the moment, there were no answers. Which was why he’d taken to riding over his acreage before the world around him had properly awakened. Would he continue being a complete arse to Imogen? That remained to be seen. If he was truthful with himself, he missed seeing Miriam, for she’d been a constant in his life for nearly four years.

How can I give her up because my wife demands it?

Without a mistress as well as cutting back on drinking at the same time? Damn, talk about having a temper… But he couldn’t renege on his word. Leaning over his mount’s neck, he stroked the side of his horse. “Keep going, Thunder. Our time is not spoken for.”

With a soft wuffle, the horse bobbed his head while continuing to gallop over the earth. There was something so freeing about riding through the fog that clung to the ground. He adored the power of the animal moving between his legs, loved the rhythmic sound of the hooves as they pounded the ground, welcomed the slight sting of the horse’s tail whenever he flicked it against his legs, appreciated the fresh scent of crushed grass and wildflowers as they tore through the meadow.

Did Imogen like to ride?

As he reached the hedgerow that delineated the end of his property, the unmistakable sound of a rifle shot rent the air. Seconds later, the whizz of a ball went past his head, but before he could react, Thunder became spooked. When his mount would have reared, Alan took the reins firmly in hand and tried to calm the horse by talking in a low voice.

He’d nearly soothed the horse, but then a second shot rang out, and this time, the ball came far too close. The high-pitched whine buzzed in his ear the same time a sharp pain of burning made itself known on skin at the top of the shell. “Damn it all to hell! Who the devil is shooting at me?”

His outburst, coupled with the shots, completely had Thunder undone. He reared with a terrified cry. It didn’t matter how good of a horseman Alan was or how much an expert in seating an equine he was, once Thunder wanted him off, that was the end.

Moments later, he was pitched from the back of his horse. “Ah!” Temporarily airborne, he marveled at the slight feeling of being weightless, but then time sped up once more. He came back to earth hard and struck his head against a junior sapling that grew alongside the hedgerow. With the wind knocked out of his lungs, and darkness encroaching on the edges of his vision, Alan lay there in the meadow, hidden by foliage.

Is this where I meet my end, then?

How rubbish was that?

“Averly?” His shoulder was jostled, but somewhere in the jumbled madness of his brain, he heard his name being called. “Averly? Wake up, Alan.”

How truly odd. It sounded as if it were his wife imploring him to wake, but that was impossible, for he wasn’t in bed and it wasn’t nighttime, was it? When she tapped his cheek, slightly harder than necessary, he forced open his eyes and pushed himself through what felt like a heavy, dark cloud in order to focus on her face as she sat on her knees beside him in the meadow grass. Concern clouded her blue-gray eyes, but he couldn’t understand why.

“Imogen?” What the devil was she doing out here in the morning fog? Then the memories drifted back to him. “How did you know where to find me?” He attempted to struggle into a seated position, but dizziness assailed him, and he remained where he was.

“I hadn’t even known you went out riding this morning, but when your mount returned to the stables without you, the stablemaster grew concerned, especially when he found drops of blood on your saddle. He told Landers, then the butler came and found me while I was going over the proposed menus for your ball. I’m supposed to meet with the housekeeper and cook soon with any changes and to discuss decorations for the ballroom.” If there was a note of annoyance in her voice, he overlooked it, for he had tasked her with an enormous responsibility.

“Blood? There was blood on the saddle?” Ah, that explained the throbbing at the top of his left ear.

“Yes. It looks like you’ve had an accident of some sort.” Her gloved fingertips drifted over his forehead to the injured ear. The ivory kid came away streaked with crimson blood. “And you have a bit of a bump at the back of your head, but it’s not bleeding.”

More memories filtered into his brain. “Thunder reared because he was spooked.” Feeling stronger, Alan once more tried to sit, and this time he succeeded with minimal dizziness. “I couldn’t keep my seat and was pitched off. I think I hit my head.” With a glance around the immediate area, his gaze alighted on a youngish tree. “There.”

She peered at the tree then back at him. “Do you ride this path often?”

“Every day when I’m in Kent.”

A frown tugged her kissable lips downward. “What happened to spook your horse and see you injured?”

“I could be wrong, but I swore I heard the report of a rifle.” He sent his gaze around the area, yet there was no sign of a hunter. “The first shot came close but the second was the one that grazed my ear and caused Thunder to bolt.”

“Someone shot at you?” Some of the color leeched from her face.

Why? Surely, she wasn’t that concerned for his health or safety, for just yesterday, she’d been annoyed by him. “So I assumed. It’s too early for hunting, and there were no other animals about, no deer, no pheasant, nothing. Besides, there was fog in the area which would obscure prey to begin with, and Thunder never had issue before.”

Her eyes rounded. “Yet someone shot at you.” Concern filled the stormy depths. “Perhaps you angered someone in your past and they’ve come after you, or perhaps one of your neighbors has taken exception to you.”

“That is entirely possible. There are many people in England who probably wish to see me dead.” Again, he took a glance around. The fog was still in place, but it was thinning. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I didn’t. So I asked the stablemaster where you might have ridden this morning.”

“You walked this whole way?” From his position to the manor house, it was nearly two miles.

“It is not that far, and I didn’t wish to trouble a groom to saddle a horse when I didn’t know what I’d find.” As she spoke, Imogen dabbed at his ear with a lace-edged handkerchief. The floral scent of her wafted to his nose while she moved. The little nicety caught him by surprise, and he rather enjoyed having her fuss over him. “Are you well enough to walk back to the house?”

“I’d like to hope that I am.” Yet he couldn’t help but wonder why she appeared so concerned. They were still very much strangers, and he’d given her no reason to care for him. God, what a failing on his part. “Do you feel I’m still in danger?”

“Who can say? This isn’t an isolated area by any stretch, and the hedgerow isn’t so thick that someone could hide inside indefinitely.” She scanned the immediate area, but with the lingering fog and the overcast skies, an intruder wouldn’t be visible.

“Perhaps one of the people with the traveler’s fair decided to bite the hands that are feeding them,” he mused as she assisted him into a standing position. “Though that would be foolhardy on their part, for if it’s true, I’ll not invite them back, which will ultimately hurt them more than it will me. Some of my neighbors aren’t as accommodating to folks who aren’t from England.”

One of Imogen’s eyebrows rose with surprise. “I find it difficult to believe that you would willingly help someone else. It goes against everything I’ve heard about you.”

“That is your fault for listening to gossip.” He took a few steps forward, and when his equilibrium remained steady, he nodded. “Though I haven’t been in residence here for more than a few years, I give authorization for the fair to be hosted on these grounds annually. When he gestured toward the southern portion of his property, he said, “In fact, they should be setting up as we speak. I especially enjoy some of the food tents.”

“Interesting.” She took hold of his arm, whether to keep him steady or keep him in line, he couldn’t say, but he welcomed that touch, that visceral connection that they hadn’t had since they married. It was unexpectedly… calming. “Do you also visit with the fortune teller?”

“I haven’t, but perhaps I should.” Knowing what was ahead of him might prove comforting. Would his marriage last? Would he and his wife ever reach a point where they weren’t at each other’s throats? Would he find happiness again?

When her stomach rumbled, she snorted with laughter. “I apologize. I haven’t had breakfast yet.”

“Uh, if you wouldn’t mind, we can take it together.” What the devil was he about? He didn’t wish to make inroads into being friends with his wife, did he?

“I…” She glanced at him, and only then did he realize she hadn’t worn a bonnet. Her strawberry blonde hair had been caught back in a loose chignon with fine tendrils dancing in the slight breeze. “That would be acceptable.”

It was ridiculous but the answer made him grin. A slight one, but there it was. “Good.” They were still well away from the manor and quite isolated in the meadow that was full of tall grasses and colorful wildflowers. The breeze rippled through the vegetation in much the same way that wind made waves upon water. Walking beside Imogen, feeling the warmth of her against his side, had him craving her body again.

What the hell was wrong with him that he continually wanted to fuck her? Wasn’t the relationship he had with his mistress better, both physically and mentally? On the other hand, he had the distinct feeling that Miriam had been pulling away from him for a long time, and there was no reason for it.

Then it didn’t matter, for she was his wife. He didn’t need a reason. “Thank you for coming out to check on me, Imogen.” It was one of the first times he’d used her given name, and it felt rather lovely on his tongue. Before she could respond, Alan brought them both to a stop. After gently tugging her into his arms, he cupped her cheek, tilted her head back, and then claimed her lips with his own.

Every damned time he kissed her—and he should do that more often—it was as if he were being welcomed home to some place he’d never known he was searching for and knew not the path to reach it. How was that possible? Though he’d been engaged to her since he was a twelve-year-old boy, he knew her not at all, but in each kiss? Oddly, there was hope, and he hadn’t had that for longer than he could remember.

When she pulled slightly back in order to stare up into his eyes, he held his breath, waiting for only God knew what. For long moments, he looked back, wondering if the whole of his future rode on this very tenuous thread, then she nodded, and there was so much heat in her eyes that it fueled his own. With a sigh, she pushed her palms up his chest to lock lightly behind his neck. Then she fit her lips to his, and it was she who kissed him.

Seconds later, he was well on his way to being lost… if he could manage to give up control.