Page 31 of Two Secrets to Surrender (Blackwood Legacy #2)

Chapter Thirty

G igi woke up to a strange sensation. At first, she thought she was dreaming, but then she felt the heated glide of familiar lips along her neck, the prickle of stubble. Her lips curved as she registered that she was lying on her side, her spine nestled against Conrad’s chest. He had an arm slung over her hip, and his hand was busy doing wicked things between her legs. When he played with her little button, she sighed, pressing back against him.

“Good morning, husband,” she said breathlessly.

“A very good one at that, wife,” he agreed.

Feeling his erect member against her bottom, she giggled.

“Do you wake up like this often?”

“Every morning.”

Her eyes widened, and she twisted her head to meet his amused eyes.

“We get to do this every morning?”

He flashed a grin. “A man can only hope. However, being the considerate bridegroom, I must ask: are you sore, love?”

After a quick assessment, she said regretfully, “A little.”

He rolled her onto her back, kissing her on the nose. “I was too greedy last night.”

He hadn’t been the only one. She’d lost track of how many times she came, the night a blur of ecstasy. After he’d taken her the first time, they’d refreshed themselves with champagne and fed each other leftover cream puffs. He’d teased her for getting cream on her nose, then licked it off. When he bit into a cream puff, filling had squirted out and landed squarely on his member. Warmth flooded her as she thought of her boldness. Of the way she’d bent down and teasingly licked the cream from him …

“Although I wasn’t the only one with an appetite, was I?”

Conrad’s knowing smirk made her blush even harder.

“You need time to recover. Moreover.” He cleared his throat. “There is something we need to discuss.”

His somber expression gave her pause.

“This sounds serious.”

“It is rather. Here, allow me to see to your comfort first.”

As he arranged the pillows for her, her wariness grew.

She sat up. “Have I done something wrong?—”

“No.”

He pressed her gently against the fluffed pillows before settling against the headboard beside her. He took her hand, interlacing their fingers.

“The only thing you’ve done is to make me the luckiest bastard alive,” he said.

While that was reassuring, she sensed his brooding tension. “Then what do you wish to discuss?”

“I have something to tell you. It will not change anything between us, but it…it will change things. In general, I mean. And for the better, I hope.”

Conrad was nervous, she realized. As he was rarely so, her anxiety increased.

“Just tell me,” she begged.

“The truth is, Gigi…I am not who you think I am.”

Startled, she said, “Would you care to clarify?”

He drew a breath. “I was not born Conrad Godwin.”

Alarm jolted her. “Then who are you?”

“I am going to tell you all of it, I promise,” he said earnestly. “But I must start at the beginning for this to make sense. Please bear with me, sweetheart. You have my word that you have nothing to worry about?—”

“Nothing to worry about?” Her voice trembled. “The morning after my wedding, the man I married is telling me he isn’t who he claimed to be!”

“I am Conrad Godwin. It’s just that I am…well, I’m someone else, too.” He tightened his grip on her hand. “When you asked about my family, I told you my parents died when I was young, and all of that is true. My mama was a beautiful but poor commoner. She was hired to be a nurse to an older gentleman who was her senior by three decades. The two fell in love, and despite the objections of the gentleman’s three sons from his first marriage, he married her. A year later, I was born.”

Gigi absorbed the information. “You are the son of a gentleman?”

“I was born into your world,” he confirmed. “However, I did not see much of it. My papa had a frail constitution, so Mama and I spent our days cloistered on his country estate. I wouldn’t have minded it, except my half-brothers also resided with us. They resented Papa’s new marriage and took out their hatred on Mama and me. The eldest, Robert, was in his twenties at the time, and he led the charge. He and my other half-brothers bullied me at every opportunity. They said my mama was a whore and that I was another man’s bastard. They beat me where no one could see the marks, destroyed things that were valuable to me. I was a child and could not fight back against any of it.”

Despite her bewilderment, empathy pulsed through Gigi.

“How could they be so cruel?” she murmured. “Did you tell your parents?”

“Papa was too weak to do anything about it. Even if he could, he was an indulgent father and would not believe his own flesh and blood capable of such meanness. Mama was afraid that stress would worsen his ailing health and kept most of it from him. She told me she would handle it. She couldn’t, of course. When Papa died—I was seven at the time—things went from bad to worse.”

“What happened?” Gigi asked.

“Robert inherited everything. Now that Mama and I were dependent on him, he showed his true colors. What he’d done before had been but a taste of the cruelty of which he was capable. By his orders, my mama and I subsided on meager meals and wore castoffs that the servants would not touch. Everything we had, we had to beg for. Sometimes he made us kneel and kiss his ring as a sign of fealty and respect.”

Shock filled Gigi at the despicable treatment Conrad had received at the hands of his own brother. With a tremor, she remembered his nightmare in the cavern—had that been of Robert abusing him? She squeezed his hand, wanting him to know that she was there with him as he revisited the shadows of his past.

“I was prideful, and I didn’t want to do it.” He curled his free hand into a fist. “But Mama told me to keep my head down and do as Robert wanted. She would find a way out for us, she said. I just had to be patient. We had each other, and that was what mattered.”

As Conrad wrestled with his demons, Gigi waited, patient and anxious.

“About a year after Papa’s death, Robert called us into the study. He informed my mother that I was to be sent away to boarding school. A remote place called Creavey Hall, where the upper classes sent their troublesome sons to be reformed. Mama begged him not to separate us, but that only made him gloat. I still remember his words.”

Conrad’s throat rippled, his voice emerging with foreign malice.

“‘ I have the power to do whatever I please ,’ my brother said. ‘ And it pleases me to see you suffer. To take away everything that means anything to you. ’”

“What an evil man,” she exclaimed. “To hurt his own kin?—”

“He enjoyed our pain. My two other brothers were afraid of him and followed his lead. My mama wept, vowing that we would run away and live in a village where Robert couldn’t find us. Even then, I knew she had no power to follow through on her promises. I was eight when they took me away to Creavey Hall. My mama sent letters full of plans for our future together, but I never saw her again. She died a few months after I arrived at Creavey. Her spirit and heart had simply been…broken.”

“I’m so sorry.” Overwhelmed by the tragedies that he had suffered, Gigi cuddled closer, wrapping an arm around his torso. “I cannot imagine what it must have been like to lose your mama and your home.”

He put an arm over her shoulders, holding her close.

“It wasn’t easy, but I learned to survive.”

Peering up, she saw the ice in his eyes and shivered.

“Were the boys at Creavey Hall…were they bullies like your brothers?”

“Some were. Others had been housed there because they were not like other boys, and their families wanted them kept out of sight. A few were like me: sent there to be ‘reformed’ by Creavey Hall’s system.”

Gigi’s nape prickled. “What did the system involve?”

“Punishment,” he said succinctly. “Administered by the headmaster, Obadiah Grimshaw. He was a sadistic bastard who hid his proclivities behind a guise of piety. He enjoyed pain—enjoyed inflicting it on young boys. In his mission to ‘reform’ those in his charge, he had all manner of tools at his disposal: birches, paddles, a cat-o-nine-tails. His system involved beating you until you admitted guilt, even if you hadn’t done a bloody thing. Most boys learned to confess to sins they hadn’t committed. I was one of the hard-headed ones. That was how I earned these scars.”

He sat up, twisting to show her his back. It stunned her that she hadn’t noticed them before…that he’d somehow kept them hidden from her. That he’d felt the need to. Pale lines of knitted skin crisscrossed his strong, sculpted back, and her heart cracked with the knowledge that he would forever bear the marks of his abuse.

“You asked me once how I learned to be a prizefighter. This is how. Thanks to Grimshaw’s lessons, by the time I escaped that hellhole at age seventeen, I’d learned to tolerate pain better than most. I could take a beating and still give a good fight.”

At his shrug, anger welled inside her.

“Don’t you dare make light of this.” Her voice trembled. “No boy should ever suffer the abuses you did. Grimshaw ought to be put behind bars?—”

“He got his comeuppance. Don’t you worry about that.”

The mildness of Conrad’s tone made the statement somehow more menacing.

“What happened to him?” she asked.

“It was a few years after I absconded from Creavey. Grimshaw had retired to the countryside. One day, he returned home from his duties as a church deacon and discovered neighbors thronged around his cottage. They were gawking, whispering, pointing to the pages papering the outside of his home—pages taken from the books in his hidden stash. Entire volumes of pornography depicting extreme acts of sadism covered every inch of those walls. His favorite mementos from his days as headmaster—the whips and birches, the paddles and rods—were hung like decorations for all to see.”

Gigi swallowed. “I suppose that is what one calls just deserts.”

“No, just deserts was when Grimshaw took his own life,” Conrad said coolly. “When he discovered he couldn’t bear being a pariah, the old hypocrite hung himself.”

Gigi shivered at his ruthlessness. At the same time, she couldn’t bring herself to feel pity for Grimshaw. The bounder had abused vulnerable children in his care, and he’d reaped what he’d sown. Thinking of the damage he’d caused—of the suffering he’d inflicted on Conrad, a vulnerable boy who had no one to look after him—made her sick to her stomach. Finally, she understood the root of Conrad’s issues with trust: he’d been betrayed by those closest to him. His brothers, Grimshaw, even his past lovers.

“When I escaped Creavey at age seventeen, I changed my identity so no one could find me. Do you know why I adopted the name Conrad Godwin?”

She shook her head.

“I chose Conrad because it sounded strong. Like a man bullies would think twice about taking on. And Godwin…”

At the faraway look in his eyes, she whispered, “Where did Godwin come from?”

“It was the name of the furniture maker that built Grimshaw’s punishment bench,” he said flatly. “Every time I was forced to submit to his beatings, I would see the maker’s mark. And I would repeat it to myself to distract from the pain. One could say Godwin helped me to survive, so that is who I became.”

Heat pushed behind her eyes, words failing her.

“Does knowing this piece of history make you think less of me?”

Conrad’s features were impassive, yet his eyes burned with emotion. He’d laid himself bare in a way he never had before, and it horrified her that he might mistake her reaction for anything other than what it was.

Fury at his abuser. Admiration for him. Most of all, love.

“Quite the opposite.” She pushed through the hitch in her voice. “To know that you’ve survived this, it…well, it quite breaks my heart. You didn’t deserve any of it. Not the treatment from your brothers, not the abuses from Grimshaw. I wish your mama could have protected you and herself, even though it wasn’t her fault that she could not.”

“No,” Conrad agreed. “The fault was not hers.”

“I’ve always admired your strength of will. Even when it drove me mad. But now I am grateful because it helped you to survive a past that would have brought others to their knees. While I am sorry beyond words that you had to go through such travails, it made you the man you are today: Conrad Godwin. The man I love with all my heart.”

She touched his jaw, feeling its rigidity. The tension of everything he’d held back.

“Thank you for sharing this with me. Given all you’ve survived, I understand now why trust does not come easily. Why it has been difficult for you to share your secrets.”

“I trust you,” he said roughly.

His declaration felt like the greatest gift.

“That bodes well for our future,” she said softly. “We are bound now, and as husband and wife, there shouldn’t be any secrets between us.”

“About that.” Conrad tucked a stray lock behind her ear. “Do you recall how I started this conversation?”

Lost in the warm, green pools of his eyes, she had to cast her mind back.

She tilted her head because it suddenly occurred to her. “What was your birth name? Who was your papa?”

“I was born Christian Beaufort,” he said. “My papa was Hugh Beaufort, and my eldest brother is Robert Beaufort.”

She blinked as the names sank in. “The Duke of Grantley…he is your brother?”

“He is. And I am his heir.” Conrad’s gaze glittered. “Despite his attempts to destroy me, I survived. My middle brothers died one by one, and Robert’s wife, Lady Katerina, has given him only daughters.”

She tried to comprehend what he was saying. “You’re going to be a duke one day?”

“Within weeks, according to my sources. Robert is dying of syphilis, and he doesn’t have long. Soon I will be the Duke of Grantley.” He lifted her hand, kissing it. “And you will be my duchess.”

As she digested that information, a thought struck her.

“Since we met, you’ve been calling me duchess,” she said, bemused.

“Yes,” he said tenderly. “Every time I did so, I was actually calling you mine .”

Her heart melted. “Why didn’t you tell me this before we were married?”

“Would it have changed your decision to marry me?”

“No. But was it because you didn’t trust me fully…until now?”

“Sweetheart, when you showed up on my doorstep yesterday, I wasn’t thinking about my past. My primary objective was to make you mine before you changed your mind. And to get you into bed as quickly as possible.”

“I am not going to change my mind,” she said softly. “ Ad Finem Fidelis , remember?”

“I remember.” He cupped her cheek, his eyes intense. “It was selfish of me, dragging you into this situation with danger still swirling?—”

“That is the point of being faithful until the end. From now on, we stick together through thick and thin, the good times and the bad. No matter what the future brings, we face it together.”

“My brother might be trying to kill me.”

She gawked at him. “You think Grantley hired someone to push that statue?”

“I don’t think he knows I am alive. But if he does,” Conrad said matter-of-factly, “I am a threat.”

“How so?”

“He’s been working to broker a marriage between his eldest daughter, Anne, and his presumptive heir, Harold Stockton. Stockton is our distant cousin, and he’s made a fortune with mills, which is a good thing because Grantley has emptied the duchy’s coffers. He needs Stockton’s money to provide for his wife and daughters after he is gone, and he has convinced Stockton that the marriage would be mutually beneficial. Coming from trade, Stockton has little experience with high society, and having Anne to guide him would ease the transition. When Stockton discovers that the title won’t be going to him, he will renege on the engagement for Anne has neither looks nor a dowry to recommend her.”

“That is unkind,” Gigi said. “I am acquainted with Miss Beaufort, and she is an intelligent and agreeable lady. In fact, she purchased a crate of Chuddums water.”

“At seven-and-twenty with no offers in sight, she probably thought that was her only hope of finding a husband,” Conrad said wryly. “She takes after her mama, whom Grantley did not marry for looks.”

“She is your niece. Or half-niece anyway,” she said hastily when Conrad’s jaw tautened. “Shouldn’t you be nicer toward her?”

“She is the daughter of my enemy. The man who sent my mama to an early grave and me to an institution where I was beaten daily. And you expect me to be nice ?”

“While Robert deserves your animosity, his wife and children do not,” Gigi said gently. “They are innocent and not to blame for his dastardly behavior.”

“Then it is their misfortune to bear his name.” Conrad’s chest heaved. “Tomorrow, Grantley is giving a ball to announce the betrothal. I plan to use the opportunity to reveal who I am, and the outcome could get ugly.”

Seeing his agitation, she knew further argument would be futile. Conrad was a fair man; once he was calmer, he would listen to reason. And maybe she could help smooth things over between him and Robert’s wife and children.

She squeezed his hand. “I’ll go with you. You will need the support.”

“I had hoped to have this business behind me before we married. But know this: I would lay down my life to protect you. At the same time, you must be aware of the danger. My family is not like yours. There is no love between me and them. Now that you are my wife, you must be vigilant—you must trust me to know what is best, even if you don’t understand.”

“I do trust you,” she said.

“You are the dream that sustained me through my darkest days,” he said fiercely. “At the same time, you are better than any fantasy. Now that I have you, I cannot lose you, Gigi.”

She touched his jaw. “I’m here. And I am not going anywhere.”

Something primal flashed in his eyes, then his mouth crashed onto hers. His hunger was insatiable and fueled her own. He shoved aside the bedclothes, her spine arching against the headboard as he kissed his way down her body. He touched and tasted her with a wildness that made her blood rush. Pushing her thighs apart, he examined her sex with wolfish approval.

“Just what I wanted for breakfast,” he said.

She expected him to bend his head. Instead, he flipped onto his back. Clamping his hands on her hips, he maneuvered her, positioning her over him so that she faced his toes, her pussy hovering over his mouth.

“This way?” she said in shock. “Are you certain…oh my stars .”

He’d yanked her down on his face. His hot licking forced a moan from her lips.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he said thickly. “Ride my tongue.”

Heat washed over her as she did exactly that. She abandoned herself to the pleasure of her husband’s masterful loving.

“Your pussy is my favorite meal. Can you feel my tongue inside you?”

“That’s so wicked,” she panted.

“But you love it, don’t you?”

Speared upon his tongue, she gasped her agreement. She balanced herself on his hard torso, grinding against him, decorum vanquished by mindless delight. She gazed at her husband laid before her like a buffet: his sculpted chest, sinewy legs, and long, thick cock. Strings of desire tugged at her core, releasing some inner floodgate. Despite the heady bliss, she was embarrassed by her gushing response and tried to dismount.

He held her fast.

“I’m licking my plate clean, duchess,” came his muffled growl. “But if you are hungry, feel free to have your own feast.”

At his suggestion, her gaze flew to his massive member. Did he mean that she could…that they could do this simultaneously ? The image from the book flashed across her mind’s eye. Before she could lose her nerve, she inched forward, circling her fingers around his shaft. His cock was so hard that she had to pry it from the ridges of his abdomen. The head was red and swollen, lustrous with his essence.

Leaning forward, she licked the dripping tip.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Suck me.”

With a hum of excitement, she did. He was delicious—salty and male, so hot and hard in her mouth. His earthy words of encouragement, muttered against her own quivering flesh, emboldened her. She took him deeper, urged on by his guttural praise.

“What a hungry little nymph I married.”

Delirious with desire, she wriggled against his mouth as he slid inside her own. He pushed her forward, impaling her mouth on his spear even as he filled her with his tongue. She pumped his shaft, sucking and sucking as he ate her pussy. The pleasure built and built, and when she felt his finger breach her forbidden entrance, she let out a squeak.

“All mine, remember?” he said thickly. “Even here.”

What he was doing felt too naughty, too good. With feverish abandon, she cupped his stones, and his growl spilled like honey through her veins.

“You have the sweetest touch,” he gritted out. “The sweetest mouth…”

She tried to take more of him as her pleasure reached a zenith.

“ Christ. Move, Gigi. Or I’ll spill in your mouth?—”

The notion was enough to send her over. She pulled him from her lips with a pop , pumping his shaft with jerky movements as ecstasy rolled through her. A heartbeat later, he roared and exploded…thick, milky fluid jetting from him. It splattered her cheeks, chin, and lips, and she reveled in his hot pleasure. She nuzzled his still-hard cock while he kissed her thigh. They rocked together, taking and giving, until the crisis passed.

Afterward, they lay face-to-face.

“I didn’t shock you, did I?” he asked.

“Which part are you referring to?” She felt oddly lighthearted. “The fact that I married a duke’s heir, or what we just did?”

He laughed.

“I should have known you had hardy sensibilities.” His eyes brilliant, he ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “If I live to be a hundred, duchess, I will never have enough of you. You are my deepest fantasy…and more.”