Page 5 of The Duke’s Defiant Angel (Dukes Gone Dirty #1)

5

R aff leaned back in the armchair in his study with a smug smile. His gaze found the clock on the mantel as he tapped his fingers on the desk’s edge. He’d waited long enough to claim his prize, hadn’t he?

He shoved back from the desk, his smile widening with anticipation.

He’d given Evangeline hours to adjust to her new suite of rooms, her lady’s maid and the rest of the servants coming and going from her quarters as she was bathed and readied for him.

And now, at last, it was time.

He stretched his arms overhead as he strode toward the stairs. This wait had felt like an eternity. But then again, he’d never had to wait before. Not for anything. Not even the dukedom, thanks to his father’s early demise.

He’d had the world at his fingertips ever since. Not a bad way to live, really. And soon enough, his bride would come to see all the perks that came with being a duchess.

He grinned as he headed up the stairs toward her rooms. At last, the time had come. His little dove must be beside herself with nerves. She’d been frightened all day, poor angel. His friends had taunted him endlessly about his bride-to-be’s pallor after the fact. At their wedding breakfast afterward, Malcolm, Benedict, and Hayden had taken every opportunity to point out that she wasn’t eating.

Of course, she hadn’t been eating. Bloody hell, she’d barely been standing on her own two feet. But it was merely nerves. Her mother had said as much when he’d gone to Evangeline’s side to see if he might be of assistance.

Her mother had assured him she’d be well just as soon as all the fuss was behind her.

His new wife, meanwhile, had merely blinked up at him as though he were a stranger. Which, to be fair, he supposed he was.

He reached for the doorknob. But he’d not be a stranger for long. After tonight, they’d be intimately acquainted.

And once she was with child, they could go their separate ways if their feelings were not compatible.

He felt confident that a young lady so well-bred as Evangeline would have no issue adapting to the running of a household such as his.

Yes, all was going exactly to plan. And all would be well indeed once he’d taken her to bed and helped her past her silly fears.

He knocked once but did not wait for an answer before striding into the room.

He stopped short at the sight before him.

His angel. He’d never been more aware of her ethereal charms than he was right at this moment. With her long, pale blonde locks hanging down her back, her slim frame and lush curves silhouetted through the thin fabric of her night rail by the flames flickering in the fireplace behind her.

She was exceptional.

She was exquisite.

And she was his.

A surge of triumph had him striding toward her, slowing only when he saw her stiffen. Her features were cast in shadow, but he did not need to read her expression to know she was terrified.

Poor little dove had been scared witless all day.

“You can relax, Angel,” he said in a voice as soothing as he could manage, considering the way he strained against his breeches.

Reach for her. Take her. Make her yours.

He gritted his teeth against his baser urges. She was a virgin, of course. But the fact had never been so painfully evident as it was right now as she gazed up at him from wide, innocent eyes, her full lips parted in a way that was so unknowingly provocative it sent a surge of heat straight down to his groin.

“Why do you keep calling me that, Your Grace?” Her voice was soft.

Everything about her was soft. Inviting. So feminine and delicate, it made his hands twitch with the effort to keep from touching her.

He would eventually, of course, but he’d put her at ease first. It was the least he could do as a considerate husband.

Husband . The word made his insides twist oddly, trying to digest this new information. Him. A husband.

“Why do I call you Angel?” he asked as he moved toward the tray he’d had the servants leave for them. He opened the bottle of wine and poured them both a glass.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Your Grace . He smiled down at the glasses in his hands before turning to offer her one. “I am your husband now, Angel. You may call me William, if you’d like. Or Raff.” His tongue felt unexpectedly thick under her watchful gaze. “My friends call me Raff.”

Her gaze dropped to the glass of wine he was still holding out to her. “I don’t imbibe, Your Grace.”

He stilled. Your Grace again. Was it just nerves, or was she trying to keep him at arm’s length?

But one look at those big eyes, those soft lips…

No. This sweet thing wasn’t cold, just shy. Her father had said as much time and again as they’d worked out the final contract. The memory of that meeting had his hand dropping along with his smile, and he set the wine glass down on the mantel beside her.

The move had him close enough now that he could smell the scented oil from the bath she’d taken. It mixed with her natural feminine scent and went right to his head, more heady than any wine could hope to be.

“Do you not like the term of endearment?” he asked.

“I do not understand it,” she said.

He was close enough to see the flutter of her pulse at the base of her neck. Poor little lamb was so frightened. “What’s not to understand?” he said, laughter edging his words. “Your beauty is not of this world, and your temperament…” He allowed his words to fade off, giving her a gentle smile.

“What do you know of my temperament?” she asked.

Again, so mild, so sweet, and yet…

She shifted, and her eyes glinted with firelight. For a moment, it seemed like anger.

No...fury.

He blinked, and it was gone. She was once more a docile lamb. He drew in a deep breath. He was meant to be the steady hand here. She was an inexperienced virgin, after all. It was only natural she would be on guard.

“The first time I saw you, I was struck by your unworldly beauty. Then, when I spoke to your father, he called you Angie.” He smiled. “I thought Angel made for a fitting term of endearment, but if you’d prefer?—”

“Do not call me Angie.” Her voice was unexpectedly hard.

He blinked. “Right. Very well.”

“Angel is fine,” she continued. “But I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”

His shoulders sank as his muscles relaxed. Ah, so that was it. “You could never disappoint me, Angel.”

Her brows hitched up slightly. “You seem awfully certain.”

Oh himself? Or of her?

Either way… He moved closer. “I am known for being a decisive man, Evangeline. I know what I like, and once I have my heart on something, I never waver. You should know this about me.”

Her chin came up a little higher. “Oh yes. I am well aware of your tendency to take what you believe to be yours.”

His head jerked back at the sudden change in her tone. It wasn’t just hard. It was frigid.

He narrowed his eyes to peer at her. But that couldn’t be right.

He shifted toward the fire, changing the angle at which he viewed her for a better look at her.

Bloody hell, she was obscenely gorgeous. She was temptation itself standing before him with those curves and those lips, her eyes glittering like diamonds in the firelight, her cheeks flushed with…

With what?

By the way her chest heaved, making her lovely breasts rise and fall, he’d have said passion. Excitement. But that didn’t explain the way her eyes hardened as she met his gaze.

“Evangeline,” he said slowly. “It would be quite understandable if you have been overwhelmed by the excitement of the day.”

She made a soft noise that could only be described as a snort of disdain.

And then, to his amazement, she reached for the glass of wine and tossed it back in one go. “Perhaps you were right,” she said as she set it back down with a loud clink. “Perhaps I do need some fortification for what is to come.”

As she said it, she slid a narrowed glare toward the bed as if the piece of furniture had just insulted her family.

For the first time in his life, Raff was speechless.

More than that, he was thoroughly confused. What had happened to the soft, sweet, docile little angel he’d met on the dance floor? The one so overcome with intimidation in his presence, she could hardly string two words together.

But as he watched her, he saw that fire grow in her eyes until it was blazing beyond reason.

It was fetching, to be honest. It turned her from a pretty angel to an awe-inspiring goddess. But it had his own blood boiling with anger in return.

This was his home. She was his wife. They hadn’t even lain together yet, and she was turning on him like some nagging fishwife?

That was not how this night would go.

He set his own glass down, slower but with no less force. “Are you trying to tell me that you did not wish for this marriage?”

Her lips parted, those sparkling blue eyes widened. For a moment, he thought she might cry, and he braced himself for it.

Instead, she laughed. It was a bitter sound and not at all pleasing to the ear. “Is that an honest question?” she asked. “It cannot be. You must know I did not want this. I made that clear from the start. Surely my father told you of my feelings on the matter.”

He stared at her as his stomach churned.

Bloody hell.

She was in earnest. Her father had said as much the first time he’d paid a visit, but he hadn’t believed him. And the second time he’d come to see her father, a proposition and contract in hand, her father hadn’t deigned to mention again that his daughter was opposed to the idea.

And so he’d thought…

He’d just assumed…

Oh, Christ. What a mess.

She spread her arms wide, and once more, he was reminded of an angel—an avenging angel—a fiery paragon of virtue sent to strike down powerful men like him.

“You knew I did not want to marry you, and yet you claimed me anyway. Why? I cannot understand it,” she said.

Her pretty lips pushed out in a pout that was at once childish and absurdly tempting.

He cursed under his breath as his cock strained toward her, as if those lips were puckering up to take his hard staff into her mouth.

His cock couldn’t have been more wrong.

Raff’s nostrils flared. His hands clenched. Never in his life had he been chastened in such a manner, and certainly not by some young lady who knew nothing of the world or his responsibilities.

“I suppose you wanted my dowry, is that it?” she continued.

Those words were a douse of cold water on the flames of his rising anger.

For a moment, all he could do was stare at the girl as the truth settled like a cold weight in his bones.

She didn’t know.

Her feckless, weak father hadn’t told her the truth.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her now. He hadn’t received a bloody shilling of her dowry because her dowry didn’t exist. Her father had lost it all. Gambled it away, along with everything else he’d inherited.

The old coot had planned on marrying her off to one of his friends he owed money to. He’d told Raff as much plainly.

Did she truly not know that? Had she not at least guessed?

He raked a hand through his hair. He couldn’t be the one to tell her. Not now when she was already distraught.

Besides, she likely wouldn’t even believe him.

She turned away from him with a huff, and despite his irritation, he watched those glorious, sumptuous breasts rise and fall as she took a deep breath. From this view, he could see the dark shadow of her nipples as they pressed against the fine fabric.

His gaze dropped of its own accord, taking in the swell of her bottom, and as she shifted to face him?—

He just barely swallowed a groan.

There was that dark V between her thighs. The hint of salvation for his poor, straining erection.

Her sharp inhale had his gaze lifting, and her cheeks caught fire. They were so red it looked painful. Quickly, she covered her breasts with one arm, her free hand covering her mound as she whimpered.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “You’re my wife, Evangeline.”

She visibly swallowed, and her earlier anger seemed to give way to fear.

A sick twisting sensation in his gut had him backing up a step. He’d bedded countless women over the years, but never once had a lady cowered before him.

Never once had she been unwilling.

His lip curled up in a sneer. “Rest easy, Angel. I am not about to force myself on you.”

“Why not?” she shot back. “It’s your right. And we both know you have no qualms about claiming whatever it is you want, regardless of who gets hurt.”

Who gets hurt?

She truly believed she was some sort of victim here. The thought struck him like a blow and then settled under his skin, into his blood.

“I made you a duchess .” It came out louder than intended. Despite all his best efforts, the smiling charming facade slipped. He gestured around the opulent suite of rooms to the grand townhouse that lay beyond. “I took you away from a fate that was beneath you?—”

“How do you know what my fate might have been?” Her chest was heaving now, and her voice was breathless with emotion. “How do you know what you have kept me from?”

He stared with an open mouth as his mind struggled to catch up.

It was on the tip of his tongue to inform her exactly what he’d kept her from. Being sold off to pay her father’s debts to someone too old, too cruel, too poor…

But once again, he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

He might be a callous, presumptuous arse, but he wasn’t about to kick the girl when she was down. He wasn’t that low. The girl was clearly heartbroken, after all, and?—

A new realization stole the air from his lungs as surely as a punch to the gut.

She was heartbroken .

“You had another suitor.” It wasn’t a question.

She didn’t deny it, just looked away toward the fire. But her sadness spoke for her.

It couldn’t have been one of her father’s wealthy friends. Her father wouldn’t have been so eager to leap on Raff’s offer to pay off his debts if his daughter truly wished to marry another man of wealth who could save them.

Not even her poor excuse for a father would be so cruel.

He crossed his arms and leaned back to study her. “Who is it?”

She did not feign ignorance. Instead, her chin came up, and her eyes glinted with anger. “That is none of your concern.”

“You are my wife, which means you are my concern. All of you.” His gaze raked over her. His jaw worked as he strove for calm, but possessive jealousy had his heart hammering in his chest. “Evangeline, tell me now. Have you let another man touch you?—”

“No!” She fairly shouted it. So quickly and with such horror, he did not doubt her word.

“That is what I meant.” Her lips quivered for a moment before she tilted her chin up in defiance. “You may have power over my body, Your Grace. But you will never have my heart. That belongs to another.”

“Your heart?” He couldn’t keep the mockery from his voice. “What use do I have for your heart?”

Disdain flashed in her eyes before she looked away from him.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. Wonderful. His new wife was a romantic nitwit and, apparently, given to mawkish displays of emotion as well.

“That was quite the speech,” he said, his voice low and sharp with anger. Indeed, it had sounded like a speech she’d rehearsed. While he’d been biding his time waiting to take her to bed, she’d been rehearsing her rejection.

She’d been thinking about some other man.

His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “Now tell me, who do you pine for, wife ?”

She wet her lips, the only sign of nerves as she dropped her gaze. “That is none of your concern,” she said again.

“None of my concern ?”

She stiffened at the cold rage in his voice.

“You are my mine now, Evangeline. You are my concern. You are mine to care for, mine to protect. You are mine .”

He took a step back, trying to regain his composure. Trying to regain the use of his mind—difficult to do when she was striking such an erotic picture in front of the fire.

The bed was right there. All he needed to do was pick her up and throw her down. His jaw clenched at the thought of turning her anger into passion.

He could hitch up the skirt of her night rail and touch her, tease her. He knew how to bring a woman pleasure, and the thought of erasing that accusatory look in her eyes and replacing it with dazed, sensual pleasure…

It was tempting. And she’d allow it because, as she said, it was his right.

Bloody hell, he didn’t need her to tell him his rights. He was master of this house.

He stalked closer. He was master of her .

He reached out and cupped her cheek. She flinched even though his touch was as achingly gentle as if he were touching glass. She felt just as smooth. But where glass was cold, her skin seemed to flicker and glow with heat.

Her lips parted as her gaze met his and held.

He shifted closer, just enough so the tips of those high, round breasts rubbed against his chest. He ached to get even closer, but he held still, watching her eyes widen and darken.

She felt it. His Evangeline might look like an angel, but she was no saint.

She had a temper he hadn’t expected. Bravery, too, if he were being honest. And the way her eyes darkened, the way her nipples hardened as he leaned in closer…

Oh no, she was no saint. She wanted him physically, even if she wouldn’t admit it.

She had to. Because lust had wrapped around him like a second skin, just as it had the very first time he’d laid eyes on her. He wanted her even more now than when he’d held her in his arms on the dance floor.

The fire in her eyes only made her that much more appealing.

“You think I wanted you for your dowry,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm despite the storm inside him.

She blinked, her gaze focusing. “Didn’t you?”

He leaned in closer until her breath fanned across his cheek, a harsh whisper in his ear.

“I didn’t want you for your dowry, Evangeline, nor your family connections.” He pulled back so he could meet her gaze. “Make no mistake. There is an endless supply of young, pretty, wealthy, titled ladies in this world who would have fought to the death to be my bride.”

Her eyes flared with emotion. Anger, no doubt.

It was likely beyond crass to point out how many other women he might have had. How many women he had enjoyed. He cut himself off before he could offend her further by telling her how many women he planned to enjoy once she was round with his child.

“So? Why did you not marry one of those foolish girls instead?” She arched her brows in defiance, and for just a moment, his anger was rivaled by a surge of amazement at her reckless courage.

If he were a different man, a crueler man, he’d have had her over his knee by now and taught her what it meant to have a master. Then he’d flip her over onto her back and show her what it meant to be the possession of a man such as him.

He moved in closer, finally giving in to the urge to tug her close, so the hard length of his erection pressed against her soft belly.

Her gasp rent the air, and he gave her a humorless smirk in response. “I chose you because I want you, Evangeline. And you were right.” His lips curved up in a humorless smile. “I always get what I want.”