Page 29 of The Duke of Swords (The Highwaymen #4)

“Even if it looks like something awful befell him, why not simply assert that it was likely he was set upon by ruffians?” said Rae.

“If I go directly there, right to the spot, and then claim I don’t know how he got there, I think it might be suspicious,” muttered Rutchester. “It’s still a risk, especially with your father running about trying to prevent our marriage on the grounds that I am a violent and horrifying man.”

“True,” said Rae, tapping her chin. “Well, then, we need a special license, and Seraphine needs something from us.”

“What makes you think I have any sway with getting special licenses?” said Seraphine.

“It’s only that I thought I heard some rumor about you and the archbishop,” said Rae.

Seraphine sighed. “Well, all right, perhaps I might be of service.”

“Then it’s a bargain,” said Rae. “We get our marriage. You get your widowhood. Yes?”

“All right,” said Seraphine.

“Yes, all right, done,” said Rutchester. “And then, you’ll get the fuck out of my house.”

Seraphine laughed softly. “Done, then.”

WHATEVER CONNECTIONS THE marchioness had worked quickly, because Rae discovered that they had the license by the next evening.

Rutchester said that with that license, they could get married anywhere, including right here in his sitting room.

They did exactly that, then.

Seraphine was one of the witnesses and so was Rutchester’s neighbor the Viscount of Elney.

They brought in a vicar who sped through the vows with a smirk on his face, making comments under his breath about dukes and their special licenses. He gave Rae several nasty winks that made her feel soiled, but he did the job.

They were married.

She was a duchess.

Then, her brand new husband kissed her lips, barely lingering, and took off with Seraphine for Bath.

She tried to convince him that she should come along, and he wouldn’t hear of it.

He told her it would be an awful business, that they must travel with Seraphine, and that they would all three be cooped up together in a carriage together for at least two days of travel.

He said that he deserved such punishment but that she didn’t, and he would not confine her to it.

But their wedding night, she thought, except she couldn’t find the courage to say that aloud.

And then he was gone.

Last night, she’d been very tired, and she’d barely had time to notice the grandeur of the rooms she’d been given, which were the rooms reserved for the mistress of the house.

She was the mistress of this house, after all, and the mistress of four other estates, one of which would be hers alone, he said—had she been foolish not to insist upon that deed before agreeing to the marriage?

She had trusted him? Had she been wrong to do so? She supposed only time would tell.

The room was large and ornate and had more furniture than the rest of the place. She supposed Rutchester had not been in here destroying things as he had everywhere else. He must not throw fits of passion in these rooms.

She had slept easily last night in the large bed, but that night, she did not. She lay awake, thinking that perhaps she should try to go after them, that she should take a horse and gallop off into their wake. She should not have allowed herself to be left behind.

When she woke in the morning, she had only had a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. She had a girl named Nancy who was meant to be her maid. The girl helped her dress and asked if she wanted a breakfast laid out in the parlor or just something brought up to her room.

Every time Nancy addressed her as “Your Grace” it startled her.

I am a duchess, she thought, and she could hardly believe it.

She had her meals brought up to her ornate room, and she only went out once, to seek the library. She came back with a large stack of books and she sat in front of the fire and read.

He was back the following night.

Late, though.

He came into her room and she was still up by the fire, still reading, though midnight had come and gone.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” he said, standing inside the doorway. He was large and his shoulders were broad and his long hair was tangled. He tried to comb his fingers through it but they got stuck. “I was only going to look in and make sure you were all right.”

“You’re back quite quickly. Could you have really been to Bath and back?”

“We changed horses a lot. Slept in the carriage.” He shrugged. “I wanted it over, I suppose.”

She closed the book and got up. “Well, is it? Over, I mean?”

“We brought his remains back, yes, what there was left.” He grimaced.

“Did it look like he’d been set upon by ruffians?” She was concerned.

He shook himself. “I don’t wish to speak of it with you. You wouldn’t have wanted to see it.”

“Was it ghastly?” She had some morbid curiosity of it, she found. “Rotted and bloated and—”

“No, that stage of it had passed, but it—the flesh—sliding like it had turned to—please, let us leave this.”

“Apologies,” she said. Then, considering, “Well, it looked as likely as to have been an accident, then.”

He nodded once, curtly.

It was quiet for some time.

“The marchioness was unmoved by the sight of it. Said she’d seen worse things in her time.” He raised his gaze to look at Rae. “So, she will have a funeral and she will be a widow. She is happy. I…” He stepped further into the room, looking at her with a grim expression on his face.

“You are not happy?” she breathed.

“I feel I may have just illustrated a point that was made to us over and over by the Comte Champeraigne,” he said. “Spoiled rich boys, he always called us. Spoiled, pampered noblemen who get away with murder. What have I done, anyway? With you?”

“I’m not displeased,” she said, taking a step toward him.

“No, not displeased, as I come back to you after rooting out a corpse,” he said.

“We needed the special license,” she said. “I already knew you killed him. I already—”

“Yes,” he said, cutting her off.

It was quiet again.

The fire was warm. She glanced into it, into the flame, the flickering of the oranges and reds. She drew in a breath. “I know about you, Oliver.” Saying his first name, it seemed right here, bathed in the light of the fire, the two of them alone together. “I already know.”

“Yes,” he said, his tone ironic. “You know I can take anything I want.”

She swallowed. “What do you want?”

“You, obviously.”

“Get over here and take me, then,” she said, speaking so quickly she practically tripped over her words. “Husband.”

“Why do you like it?” he said. “You shouldn’t like it with me.”

“Maybe it’s you who shouldn’t like it with me.” She lifted her chin.

“Good point,” he said, and he crossed the room in four steps and pulled her into his arms. He put his mouth on hers.

She sighed into him.

“Is this it, then?” he said. “Our happily ever after? Just like that?”

“Has it been so simple, Your Grace?” she breathed. “Has it not been hard won?”

“Are we happy?” He traced her features, looking at her. “Is this what happy feels like?”

“Maybe,” she said, with a little shrug. She put her hands to the falls of his trousers, bold. She started to undo the buttons. “Want to see this again. Maybe I miss it.”

He chuckled darkly. “Oh, do you?”

“Does it miss me?”

“Quite,” he said, and he practically growled it.

There wasn’t much talking after that, and most of it was of the variety of bits of awkward throwaways. ( Did I catch your hair? Have I trod on your toe? Oh, was that all right? You didn’t mind that? )

They took off each other’s clothes, and they fell onto her bed.

She tried to touch his prick, and he wouldn’t let her, saying that thing he’d said the first time— You don’t have to do that —and when she tried to say she wanted to, the words got stuck in her throat.

So, then, when he tried to toy with her the way he had done before, she said the same thing back to him. You don’t have to do that.

“You don’t like it when I touch your clitoris?” he said.

“I just mean you don’t have to,” she said.

And he gazed at her with his dark, bottomless eyes, and they glittered, reflecting back the light from the fire, gazed at her with no expression on his face and left off touching her there.

So, then he fucked her, and it wasn’t as nice as the other times, but it was fine, she supposed. He spilled on her belly, not inside her, which was because they weren’t having children. That was fine, too. She supposed.

Was this it?

Was this happily ever after?

She fell asleep in his arms, their naked skin pressed against each other, their limbs entwined.

But when she woke, she was alone.