Page 84 of To Ensnare a Duke

Her soft snores are the only sound as I pleasure myself, keeping my grunts nearly silent. It takes an eternity, but soon, I spill onto the sheets next to her, letting my seed soak into the fabric. Weary, I slip back into my room and have my valet draw me a bath.

The morning notes and cards wait for me in the study. The very last thing I want to do right now is run into my wife, especially after venting all over her sheets like some uncouth youth. I flip through them, putting bills to one side and correspondence on the other.

One, however, makes my blood run cold. It's the same scrawl as the damned letter we all received. Opening it, I skim the contents, my throat nearly closing as fear for my bride washes over me.

Dearest Duke of Portswell.

I do hope your nuptials were everything you wished for and then some. I do find it odd that both you and your lady have a habit of frequenting a well-known establishment of ill repute. Could it be surmised that she is, in fact, a ladybird in disguise? But then, it is well known that the now Duchess of Portswell was once the daughter of a viscount.

But then, the others in question, Duchess of Blackport, Duchess of Birchleigh, Duchess of Foxford, and Miss Cynthia Campbell, are also from well-known parentage. They, too, seem to be at ease, gliding in and out of the same establishment. I wonder how the others in the House of Lords would take such information regarding the perversion unfolding in their very midst.

Or would their shock be tempered knowing that your bride has a penchant for playing the male as well? Such exquisitely fashioned breeches and shirts. They look as if they were made for her. But then, with the coin of a duke behind her, I suppose all is possible. Though, from the money she took from others, perhaps she's in no need of your funding?

Until we converse again,

Your Rosy Thorne in Your Side.

Hell and damnation. I toss the note down and pace about, my mind whirling. Whoever this is knows far more than I care to even imagine. And here I thought her unscathed from her foray the other night. I still have no idea how many times she's gone to that gaming hell or even dressed up as the boy for that matter.

One thing is clear. We are all being watched. Now, more than ever, it is imperative she mind her steps. It not only puts her in danger, but all of us as well. Until we know what this bastard wants, we have no idea how far he'll go to get it.

I fold up the letter and put it in my pocket before heading downstairs. The others will need to know about this. Thankfully, I'm the only one there, giving me time to collect my thoughts before my bride joins me.

Augusta glides in the room, her cheeks bright and cheery. If anyone were to examine her closely, they'd think she's in a bout of post-coital bliss. Her demeanor is quiet and relaxed. Demure even. But of course it is.

She has become skilled in taking care of her needs without me. Things are still tense with neither of us speaking to the other. At some point, this impasse has to stop, but I don't know how to break it.

I've never been skilled in this way. Before her, I took what I wanted without a care. That's how I and the women I played with liked it. But how do I give in when so much is at stake? Maybe once she's so beside herself with need, she'll come crawling back to me, begging me for forgiveness.

Granted, I should probably apologize too. I open my mouth, desperate to break the silence first, but she rises from the table and leaves. A chill rushes through the room as she disappears into the bowels of the house, leaving me alone once more. I finish up and go about my day, ensuring to station servants around the house to keep my errant bride from absconding.

I take the stairs two at a time and rap on her door. When she answers, her face lights up. "Well met, husband. Is there anything you require?"

"I am meeting with some men about parliamentary matters. I shall be home in time for dinner."

"Wait!" she cries out, grabbing my arm. "Isn't there anything here that can entice you to stay?" She runs her fingers over the swell of her breasts, drawing my attention to her body.

"Is there anything you have to say to me?"

She pulls back as if my words slapped her in the face. "What else is there to be said?"

"Then I bid you good day." I pull away again and tip my hat to her. "Oh, and you are restricted to the house. You are not allowed to set foot outside these doors without me or my expressed permission."

"So you think to keep me a prisoner?"

"No," I growl. "I think to keep you safe. Even from yourself."

"That's not fair. What about my friends? What about making this house our home? I must be about."

"You are technically on your honeymoon. You shan't be missed."

"And you? Are you not on your honeymoon as well? Wouldn't it look peculiar to be gallivanting about while your wife resides indoors?"

"No," I grind out. "And you know why? Because they will all assume your delicate sensibilities are still reeling from the hard fucking I gave you the night before."

Her eyelids lower as she pulls the shoulder down on her gown. "You could give them a reason to think that."

As tempting as her offer, I need to see to this threat. Even if it wasn't a matter of pride and punishment, I need to connect with the others and alert them to this new wrinkle. It takes a bit, but I extricate myself from her grasp and head out into the city.