Page 15 of The Duke Who Stole Me (Stolen by the Duke #4)

Chapter Fifteen

“ Y our Grace, a letter came for you. It only has the recipient’s address, though,” Lewis announced the moment Vincent stepped into his study after the ride with Juliana.

He had been mulling over the little moment they’d shared, and the anger he had felt when her tears spilled over. He’d wanted to pull her in his lap, wrap his arms around her, and hold her until she’d stopped crying, but he couldn’t.

Doing that would have undone the progress he’d made in regaining control over his body, and he couldn’t risk it.

But hearing about the letter had brought him back to reality. Curious, he took the white envelope from the butler and inspected it. True enough, the letter only had his address written on it.

“Thank you, Lewis. You may leave,” he muttered as he sank into his wingback chair, tearing open the envelope to reveal a letter written in a hand he knew all too well.

I found someone who claims to know Norfield’s whereabouts. It’s quite the journey. Meet me at Farmer’s Delight. Sunset.

S.

Vincent ripped the letter into shreds and tossed it into the fire, before hurrying to his chamber to prepare for the journey, however near or far.

Juliana stared at her reflection in the mirror for the umpteenth time since Eunice had finished styling her hair.

The young maid had arranged her thick brown locks in an unusual fashion—a middle part, with her soft curls piled atop her head. Juliana had deliberately chosen a champagne-colored dress that complemented her hair and eyes, making her seem a little lovelier than she knew herself to be.

Without waiting to be summoned by Mrs. Holt or a footman, she hurried to the dining room, a smile playing on her lips as she waited for Vincent.

As she dressed for dinner, she hadn’t stopped thinking about their time in the woods, how he’d comforted her and held her closer during their smooth ride back to the estate.

Despite their lack of words, they had understood each other. They had spoken about their vulnerabilities—more so her than him, but he also had in his own way—and she had loved it.

Her eyes flickered to the grand wall clock that hung in the dining room, counting the seconds until his arrival so she would indulge him in yet another conversation. But each second that passed without him appearing annoyed her, much more when Lewis came in and relayed, on behalf of his master, his apology for not being present.

“Did he say why?” Juliana asked.

If he wouldn’t sit at the dinner table with her, she at least had the right to know why.

“His Grace set out earlier, at sunset,” Lewis explained.

However, Juliana could see his poorly masked shock at her not knowing her husband’s whereabouts.

“Did he mention when he would return?” she asked, rising from the table.

The older man shook his head. “Forgive me, Your Grace.”

“It is hardly your fault. Thank you, Lewis. Kindly have Mrs. Holt send maids to clear the table. I have lost my appetite.” She forced a smile on her face and marched up to her room.

How foolish of her to think they had at least taken a few steps forward, a few steps away from merely tolerating each other to at least confiding in each other. But she’d been wrong and foolish.

Theirs was a marriage of convenience, and she had let a simple horse ride cloud her judgment.

He had told her he trusted no one, and she’d thought she was the exception. How foolish of her.

Vincent found out that Somerton had not been exaggerating when he said it would be quite the journey.

Two hours on horseback was how long it had taken them to arrive at Branton. Vincent wasn’t too pleased, so when he’d seen the ‘someone’ in question, he’d been filled with unimaginable anger—or perhaps he’d been burning with anger since the ride began.

He had wanted to spend more time with Juliana—especially tonight, especially after she had opened up to him about her life—without any funny business involved, of course. He simply wanted to be there for her, since she’d never truly had anyone care for her the way she cared for others.

“Tell us what you know about Norfield,” Vincent asked bluntly.

The quicker he got the answers he needed, the faster he could return home.

The man, a lanky type with a full dark beard and dead eyes, had the audacity to laugh. “I didn’t believe the rumors that Norfield was a hot commodity, but it seems fitting. He had always boasted about his importance in yer ton at taverns,” he said in a broken tongue.

“I do not care for your musings. Tell me what you know.”

“If ye wish to get answers, I expect ye to be respectful, big man,” he slurred.

Vincent snapped. He grabbed the man by the collar and landed a blow on his face. “When I ask you a damned question, you give me a fitting answer. Tell me what you know about Norfield.”

Somerton stepped forward immediately. “Allow me.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room in the run-down inn they were in was the sound of Vincent’s ragged breathing and the man’s broken cry. Then, Vincent released the man and stepped away, pulling out a cloth from his pocket to wipe away the little bit of blood on his knuckles.

“I only know that he planned the attack at his engagement ball. He paid the gang and gave their location to the authorities! Damned rat!” the man spat.

Somerton’s head whipped in Vincent’s direction.

Damned rat, indeed .

“He is bolder than I gave him credit for,” Somerton commented.

Vincent nodded. He let out a breath and took out a pouch from his coat pocket, before tossing it to the ground.

“Leave England if you value your life.”

Juliana had been sitting in the parlor for hours, waiting for him in her silk pink nightdress, when he stepped into the room.

“Duchess?” His eyes widened.

She folded her arms over her chest, trying to tamp down her anger. “Where have you been?”

“I had business to attend to, although I am not quite sure why I have to tell you that.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “The last time, you had accused me of infidelity when I called Norfield by his given name. Do you mean to tell me I have no right to demand the same when you return home at such a late hour?”

Vincent furrowed his brow. “Are you accusing me of infidelity?”

She rose from her seat and approached him. “You tell me. After all, it is easier to fall in the arms of a stranger and keep your wife at bay, considering what you have told me.”

“You will not insult my character under my roof, Juliana!” he thundered, closing the distance between them, his breathing ragged.

“Then tell me the truth, so I know what exactly my role is in this marriage!”

“I have no reason to respond to such impertinence, but I will give you an answer this once. I have no lover, and I don’t sleep around. If I wish to fulfill my desires, I shall come to you.”

“What about my desires?” she shot back and immediately gulped, regretting her words.

Vincent’s eyes locked onto hers, dark and intense, as he took another step closer. The space between them was practically nonexistent now. His presence was overwhelming, and she could feel the heat radiating from him, his proximity igniting something deep within her.

“What about your desires, Juliana?” he repeated, his voice dropping, a dangerous edge creeping into his words. “Tell me what you want. What you desire.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, her lips parted as she fought to gather her thoughts. But it was no use—his mere presence was enough to scramble her mind. She glanced down, her gaze falling to his lips, before quickly darting back to his eyes.

“I want…” She faltered for a moment, before she took a steadying breath, determined not to let him see her vulnerability. “I want to be wanted, Vincent. Do you even want me?”

A flicker of something unreadable flashed across his face, but it was gone before she could decipher it.

He reached out, his fingers grazing the side of her jaw as he cupped her face gently. But his grip was firm, possessive, as though he were staking his claim.

“I want you, Juliana,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “Every part of you. Come here and let me show you.”

Without giving her a chance to respond, his lips captured hers in a kiss so fierce, so demanding, that all the air left her lungs in one single gasp.

She melted against him, the heat of his kiss burning through her, and at that moment, she knew—there was no escaping him, no escaping the storm he had ignited between them.

Vincent’s hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her roughly to him. There was no gentleness, no hesitation in his kiss—only raw, burning need, a possessive force that claimed her entirely.

His hands roamed over her body, the possessiveness in his touch leaving no room for doubt. He was in control. He always had been. He always would be. And she had no choice but to submit to him, to his desire, as he took everything he wanted from her.

With a ragged moan, he trailed his fingers down her jaw, over her collarbone, down to the underside of her breasts through her silk nightdress. His palms cupped her breasts, his fingers tweaking her nipples, teasing them.

A bolt of pleasure shot through her, and she gasped. Vincent released her mouth to press kisses to her shoulder, her chin, down to the sensitive hollow at the base of her throat, and then slid the straps of her nightdress down her arms until it pooled at her legs.

A hot blush bloomed on her cheeks as she stood bare before him, but it was quickly replaced by a delicious shiver when he leaned in and sucked a pebbled nipple into his mouth.

“Oh!” she gasped, her fingers running through his midnight curls.

He let out a hungry growl at the sound. His lips closed around her sensitive nipple, his teeth scraping, his tongue licking. Heavens, she wanted more of his tongue, more of his body on her.

“Breathe, my sweet,” he urged.

“Vincent,” she moaned raggedly, unaware of the sweat beading on her skin.

Desire burned away all uncertainty and filled her with a ravaging hunger that desperately needed to be assuaged.

One of his hands slid around to her back and down to her backside, which he gripped tightly and squeezed, warming her in the most pleasurable way. The other hand slipped between them, and his fingers stroked along her inner thighs to the wet, aching center of her.

She gasped as his thumb stroked up the inside of her thighs, creating little sparks of sensations that shot directly to the throbbing flesh between her legs.

“Yes, that’s right, my sweet. Enjoy it,” he whispered in her ear.

He dragged his fingers down and then back up, never touching that empty place where she desperately needed him, and yet the pleasure he was stirring inside her made her head spin.

With a soft glide of his fingertip, he stroked over her wet folds slowly, and she jolted at the contact. His fingers slid over her aching nub more firmly, and then he pinched it.

“Vincent!” she cried.

“Juliana,” he murmured tenderly, pressing a kiss to her lips even as his diabolical fingers worked at her nub, rubbing and circling, driving her mad with want.

Powerful quakes racked her whole body, and her breathing quickened. Then, he slid two fingers through her folds, and she sucked in a breath.

“Look at me,” he commanded softly.

When their eyes met, he notched his fingers at her entrance.

Christ, she had never felt such pleasure in her life.

“Please,” she whimpered, pressing herself against him, aching for more.

“Mmm,” he purred, “you sound so good when you beg, wife.”

Her hips moved in rhythm with his fingers until her body tensed up, her inner muscles contracting as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. She trembled against him, growing sensitive from his ministrations. When the last pulse of pleasure had left her body, she slumped against him, spent and satiated.

With a resigned, pained sigh, Vincent withdrew his fingers from her wet folds and moved away from her.

“Vincent?”

“Go to bed, Juliana,” were the only words he could muster as he rushed out of the room.