Chapter 31

31

Julian stared down at his cards. The Queen of Hearts smirked up at him, taunting. He resisted the urge to crumple her in his fist. Christ, he needed to focus. Lives depended on the information he aimed to extract tonight. But at that moment, most of his blood had rushed decidedly south, leaving scant capacity for lofty thoughts of queen and country.

All because of the vixen across the smoky gambling hall.

His wife.

When she’d first sauntered through the doors on Leo O’Sullivan’s arm, Julian had barely stopped himself from dragging her from the room. Never mind that such a display would draw the attention they wished to avoid. Never mind that she’d gut him for attempting such high-handed tactics before a crowd of ogling dandies.

In that heated moment, none of those practical considerations mattered. Only the primal urge to remove her from the view of so many prying eyes. To conceal all that skin from their hungry stares.

Mine.

The thought clawed at his throat. With effort, Julian wrenched his fevered gaze back to his cards. But the words remained, pounding through his veins with each furious beat of his heart.

Christ, he hardly recognised her. She was masked and spilling out of an onyx silk dress, swathes of flawless skin exposed. Except that he knew, beneath the gown, she bore the injury meant for him. His wound. The one he’d traced just this morning with trembling lips, reminding himself of how close he’d come to losing her.

His wife possessed a talent for provoking both savage and tender urges within him, often with minimal effort. Even with her features obscured behind an ornate black mask, Julian would know her anywhere. Seeing Caroline in that intoxicating scrap of silk tested the bounds of his sanity. Skin meant only for his eyes, his hands. His marks.

“Trouble in paradise, Hastings?”

The sly taunt wrestled Julian’s attention back to the table. To the circle of gentlemen watching him over their fanned cards, sharp with speculation.

Julian flicked a pointed glance towards a man groping a giggling tavern maid. “Nothing I’d care to discuss in present company. Just appreciating the varied amusements Whitechapel has to offer this evening.”

“We all get restless for variety, duke. Nothing to be ashamed of.” The Viscount Brandon chortled.

“Of course.” Julian watched his wife across the haze. “What man doesn’t?” he replied. He tossed back the rest of his drink, relishing the burn. But it did nothing to dull the fierce longing rising within. “Now, I believe you owe the pot unless you’re bluffing, Brandon.”

Grumbling, Brandon tossed his cards down to reveal a losing hand. The younger peer pushed a pile of notes towards him as he stacked his winnings. All the while, Julian’s senses remained trained on his wife. Laughing at remarks that likely concealed groping hands. Submitting her graceful neck to their ogling regard.

When Caroline turned those beautiful, shrewd eyes on Pritchard, every man at the table perked up. Jackals scenting prey, eager to move in for the kill. Ravenous. She was exquisite and lethal and not theirs to touch.

Fury and lust warred within him. Julian wanted to gouge out their leering eyes, to stake claim to what was his. The most primal parts of him strained at their tethers, the urge to rip into them was a madness in his blood. The stoic duke hanging on by a thread, always thinly veiled beneath a veneer of civility that she – only she – tore to shreds.

And now she approached the table in a rustle of silk, scent wrapping around him – an invitation in her gaze.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she all but purred.

The men’s reactions were instant, visceral. Their focus homed in on her, to the exclusion of all else. Drawn forward by some primal magnetism. The game, the cards, the coins – all forgotten.

Because his wife was magnificent.

Only Julian remained as still as stone. Outwardly bored, an aristocrat inured to feminine wiles. He forced a flat tone. “Out for a night of sport, madam?”

I am going to punish you later.

I am going to pleasure you until you can’t move from my bed.

“Out looking for a bit of trouble tonight. And I believe I’ve found it.” Her full lips curved.

Julian’s muscles coiled tight. He focused on keeping his breathing even despite the fury clawing his insides. Chaos always followed in her wake. She was chaos herself.

His chaos.

One sly, sidelong glance through lowered lashes ensnared Pritchard instantly. “What about you, sir? Are you feeling adventurous this evening?”

Pritchard’s grin turned wolfish. “Always ready for a bit of sport, me.”

He hauled her onto his lap. She let out a breathy squeal, settling on his knee as if she belonged there. His arm curled around her waist, moulding her against his chest.

Only Julian noticed the way she hid her pain as Pritchard jostled her wound.

He wanted to punch something.

“A lost little lamb, are you, sweet?” Pritchard murmured, bringing one hand up to toy with the beaded edge of her mask. His fingers then traced lower, grazing the exposed swells of her breasts in an intimate caress.

Julian gripped his cards, crumpling the edges. The painted faces blurred.

Caroline laughed, arching into the crude embrace. “Oh, not a lost lamb at all, sir. I know precisely what I’m doing this evening.”

“Do you now, lovely? Then I mean to have you. Over and over until you can’t walk straight.”

Over my dead, rotting corpse.

Another husky laugh escaped her lips. “That sounds like my idea of trouble. But are you sure you can afford me?”

His smile widened. “Darling, my recent ventures could keep you dripping in rubies.”

Good God. She’d just got him to admit his money was recent.

Caroline bit her lip and released it slowly. “Is there a place we can continue this conversation in private? After you gents finish your card game?”

The table had fallen silent as the drama unfolded, all pretence of gaming abandoned. The men watched the debauchery play out before them with keen interest.

As Caroline insinuated herself deeper into Pritchard’s embrace, Julian considered the many advantages of murder versus a lifetime in gaol. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth and inhaled through his nose, clinging to a fraying thread of control.

Pritchard gazed at her heaving breasts as if ready to devour her whole. “I’ve a mate with a set of rooms close by. Discreet, like. He’ll shove off until I’m through with you.” Another suggestive caress. “A pretty little treat like you might earn herself a few shillings extra if you take my meaning.”

She laughed again, husky and low. A private sound meant only for him. “With such a generous offer, how could any girl resist? How close is it?”

“Osborn Street, love,” he said. “Just above the Hound and Hare. No more than five minutes.”

“Perfect,” she whispered with a brilliant smile. “How soon until you’re finished here?”

Even amid his red haze of fury, Julian admired how easily she’d extracted information he might not have learned even after plying the blackguard with drink.

“Lads,” Pritchard announced, “deal me out. I find myself suddenly very preoccupied.” He lowered his face to her exposed cleavage.

Julian laid down his cards. Yes, he was absolutely going to murder this man – and enjoy it.

Pritchard made to stand, no doubt meaning to hustle Caroline to his seedy rooms.

O’Sullivan finally intervened. The Irishman yanked her off Pritchard’s lap and eased her back a pace. “Leave off. This one’s spoken for tonight.”

“She said she was leaving with me,” Pritchard spat.

O’Sullivan’s glare was lethal. “And I just said she’s spoken for. If you value your jaw remaining in one piece, you’ll either sit back down or get the hell out.”

Pritchard cleared his throat and sat, clearly in no mood to take on a former bare-knuckle fighter over a woman.

“That’s what I thought,” O’Sullivan said. To Caroline, he murmured, “Come with me. Now.”

Pritchard growled out a protest, but O’Sullivan had already pulled her into a side room. Safely out of reach.

Thank God for Nick Thorne’s factotum. He’d saved Pritchard from getting his neck snapped.

But fury and possession continued seething beneath Julian’s skin – a raw-edged madness he’d leashed. It would no longer be restrained once they were behind closed doors without the constraints of duty or appearance.

After waiting several torturous minutes for decorum’s sake, Julian turned from the card table.

He stood, the movement fluid as a blade pulled from its sheath – nothing to suggest the reckless violence roiling just below the surface.

“My apologies, gentlemen. Another hand will have to wait.”

The mask of civility slipped further with each step, the gentleman receding as the feral creature within clawed closer to the surface. Mine , it growled, the word etched by razor claws across his mind. So close now, the object of his hunger. Mine, mine, mine—

Julian shoved open the door.

O’Sullivan and Caroline were locked in a heated debate that ended as they both turned. Whatever she read in Julian’s stark expression made her straighten in comprehension. In unspoken challenge.

Good , he thought. Let her see. Let her reckon with the consequences.

“You—” Julian speared O’Sullivan with an arctic glare promising retribution. “Are lucky you still draw breath.” His focus shifted, raking his wife with a look that coloured her cheeks. “You. Outside,” he bit out. “Now.”

He didn’t wait for her response. Just grasped her wrist and yanked her through the rear door. Outside, the bracing air did nothing to cool the fever beneath his skin. Spying their carriage, Julian bundled her inside.

“Home,” he barked at the driver. “Take the long route.”

Julian followed her into the concealing dark and pulled her into his lap. The space was reduced to mingled breaths and pounding hearts, two bodies straining in the carriage’s confines. Her nails raking his back through his shirt and waistcoat might have been pleasure or pain. Both. Neither. A provocation urging him closer to that seductive loss of control. She was his most tempting sin given flawless shape.

Mine.

“You’re meant to be healing.” He dragged his teeth along her pulse, then soothed the sting with his tongue. “Not letting scoundrels paw at you. That wasn’t what we agreed on tonight.”

A breathless laugh escaped her. “Let me worry about what I’m meant to be doing. And I got the information we needed, didn’t I?”

Julian sucked in a harsh breath as her leg slid up his thigh, blissful pressure on his aching arousal. He tore the wig from her hair and twined his fingers through the blonde strands beneath, giving them a sharp tug.

“You are a menace.” The words escaped through clenched teeth.

Here in the shadows, stripped of disguises, they were laid bare. Two primal creatures, raw edges exposed.

He would ruin her and remake her in a thousand different ways, mark her so deeply that no one could look at her without witnessing his claim etched into her bones. No other man would ever know the taste of her.

Julian used his grip on her hair to arch her throat back like an offering. Sank his teeth into the frantic pounding of her pulse until her breath fractured.

“Duchess,” he growled. “After seeing him put his hands all over you, I find I’m not a civilised man tonight.”

She bit his lip. “Good. I don’t want you civilised. I want you feral.”

Grasping her jaw, he forced her to meet his stare. “Then get on your knees.”

Caroline sank to the carriage floor. Anticipation sank barbed hooks under his skin at the picture she presented – lush and willing.

“Be a good girl and open that pretty mouth.” He made quick work of his trouser buttons.

Her eyes caught his as she parted her lips and took his cock in her mouth. A low groan rasped in Julian’s throat as wet heat enveloped him. Clever tongue tracing maddening patterns, threatening to sever the last tethers in his formidable control. She sucked hard, gaze locked with his.

A tight breath hissed between Julian’s teeth. “Just like that. Take me deeper, duchess.”

She would ruin him, render him wreckage; Julian read the intent in her feverish eyes. Her hunger matched the beast writhing beneath his skin.

He thrust between her lips, his fingers still tangled through her hair. Guiding her as she worked him. So beautiful. So ruthless, her self-control as arousing as her submission.

When her hand crept between her thighs, Julian caught her wrist.

“None of that,” he chided. “I told you I’m not feeling civilised tonight. So you don’t get to find your pleasure yet.”

Fever-bright eyes lifted to clash with his. “Julian—”

“Beg me for it,” he whispered.

She smiled. “No.”

Julian felt himself grinning slowly in response. She was just as uncivilised tonight – revelling in her chaos, the power she had over him.

He yanked her back up into his lap. Their mouths crashed together, the kiss all teeth and grasping hands. Savage. Possessing. Marking. She would wear proof of his claim for days.

Then her lips were at his ear, her voice a temptation in the dark. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’ll finish myself off in your lap and leave you unsatisfied.”

Julian’s tenuous control snapped.

He claimed her mouth again as he positioned her hips above his rigid cock. He swallowed her cry as he pulled her down hard, burying himself in one ruthless stroke. She was perfection – slick, tight heat.

Nothing civilised existed here in the shadows – nothing but wet heat and fevered skin and harsh breaths. The slick friction threatened Julian’s reason as the beast inside roared in triumph. She was his, only his, to fuck and take and mark. Nothing existed but the push and retreat of their joined bodies – no past, no future. Only the relentless present.

Mine , Julian’s hands said. Mine , his teeth echoed against her throat.

Caroline arched and shuddered in his arms, as desperate for him as he was for her.

He withdrew, then surged back inside. Pounded into her, forcing his cock deeper. He grasped at her hips, bruising pale skin beneath his fingertips as he guided her movements in time with each punishing plunge. The rhythmic drag and friction swelled exquisite pressure low and deep, threatening to shatter them both.

When her eyes drifted shut in bliss, Julian grasped her chin. “Look at me.” He would not allow retreat or half measures. Not from her. “Eyes open, duchess.”

Eyes locked with hers, Julian slipped his fingers between their joined bodies. Stroked her nub in relentless circles even as he thrust into her.

“I want to see you break.” His voice was a ruined rasp against her ear. “Now.”

Caroline’s body went taut. Her sharp cry was ecstasy and agony as she found her peak, shuddering through each merciless wave. Watching her come undone around his cock splintered the last of Julian’s control. His own release slammed into him with brutal force, and the world dissolved into fractured light as he spilled himself inside her.

*

Much later, after the long carriage ride ended, Julian sat beside Caroline in bed and peeled back the cotton bandage on her side, exposing the healing gash. He wet a cloth in warm water from the basin and dabbed away the dried blood, cleansing the aggravated laceration.

When the injury was cleansed to his satisfaction, Julian selected a tin of salve. He coated his fingers and leaned in again, keeping his touch featherlight. But Caroline still tensed, breath escaping in a pained hiss.

“I’m sorry for aggravating this,” he murmured. “And for losing control earlier.”

Caroline regarded him evenly. One pale brow arched. “Since when have I objected to you losing control? I believe I specifically requested you be more feral.”

“Be that as it may, your health is paramount,” Julian said. He brushed the softest kiss onto her wounded skin. A benediction. “I’ll be more careful in the future.”

“And I suppose making wild, animalistic love is off the table until I fully recover?”

A rough noise rumbled in Julian’s chest. He lifted his gaze to hers, wry amusement flickering. “If you’re angling for another round already…”

“I’m always angling for another round. I missed you.” She gave him a wry smile. “Did you miss me back?”

Missed her? As if his searing, visceral need to reclaim her was anything less than the desperate thrashing of a drowning man. Yes, he’d fucking missed her.

Julian exhaled slowly. “Every damned day. Of every damned year.”

Her palm found his jaw, turned his focus back to meet her searching look. Something tender moved behind those perceptive eyes. “I have a confession.”

He brushed his lips to the delicate skin of her inner wrist, overcome. “A serious one, I take it. Very well, then. I’m listening.”

She took a slow breath. Gathering courage, steeling herself. “I want to have children with you.”

Everything slowed. His pulse. His measured breaths. The world beyond their solitary orbit ceased to matter. There was only her words – impossible, unbelievable words – shattering the oppressive silence between them.

Julian searched her expression, awaiting the usual signs of evasion. But Caroline returned his stare without pretence.

“You’re sure, my duchess?” he managed at last.

She offered a tremulous smile. “Yes. I think I’d like that very much.”

Julian smoothed his knuckles along her jawline. Then he gathered her close – and kissed her.

Made promises etched silently into her skin.