Duke of Desire (Maiden Lane #12)(43)

His kiss wasn’t gentle. He opened her lips with his tongue, invading her angrily. Passionately. How had she ever thought this man uninterested in bedding her?

His big, hot body pressed her against the seat and he scraped his teeth over her bottom lip.

But just as she felt herself melting, he was gone.

Iris opened her eyes to find him banging on the carriage ceiling, signaling for it to stop. He was out the door before they’d even properly halted.

The carriage started again.

Alone once more, her body cold after his warmth, Iris put a single fingertip to her lip.

It came away stained with blood.





Chapter Nine




“The flinty shades have stolen my sister’s heart fire and she is dying,” Ann said. “You must wrest it from them.”

“What will you give me in return?” asked the Rock King.

Ann’s eyes widened. It had not occurred to her that she would have to pay the Rock King for his labors. All she had was the pink pebble.

He raised a brow. “Have you riches?”

“No,” she replied.…

—From The Rock King





Raphael shut the door to the inn bedroom and strode to the stairs that night. He’d ridden the rest of the day after fleeing the carriage. Tomorrow he’d have to start the day on horseback—he saw no other solution. Not if he didn’t want to spend a third day arguing with his duchess. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could last with her constantly by his side. Constantly tempting him to do more than simply kiss her.

God. She’d tasted of oranges and honey and he’d felt her shake beneath his hands. He’d wanted to strip her right there in the carriage with his men riding outside.

She was driving him mad. He couldn’t look at her anymore without feeling the pull. And yet he could not send her away—everything inside him rebelled at the thought. She had to stay with him so that he could protect her.

So that she could illuminate his darkness just a little.

She must think him a foul, unnatural beast by now.

He made the lower floor and turned toward the back of the inn, slamming his fist into the wooden beam of a doorway as he strode through. Damn it! What was he supposed to do when she started talking to him like that? Speaking of cocks and her tongue with those pretty pink lips? He’d been hard. He’d wanted her. And he couldn’t have her.

He found himself in a dark passage that led to the kitchens, where he startled the maids. They stifled shrieks and pointed the way to the stables. He nodded his thanks, ignoring their stares, their whispers.

He had long been inured to the reactions to his face.

At last he stepped out the back door and into the night air, which cooled his temper a little.

He tilted his face to the moon and the stars overhead.

He’d sworn, on all that he believed in, on all that he loved, on his very soul, that he’d never become his father. And yet today he’d argued with his duchess. Had threatened her. Had made her go pale.

Was he no better than an animal?

Worse.

Was he no better than his father?

Raphael shook his head and made for the stables, a low building enclosing the yard on three sides. He ducked to enter under the ancient, thick wood lintel, inhaling the scent of horses, hay, and manure. Most of his men still tended to their horses, and Bardo called a greeting. Raphael nodded to his men as he walked along the rows of stalls, stopping to caress a glossy equine neck now and again. The stables were lit with flickering lamplight, but as he walked along he came to an unused portion with empty stalls that was dark. He paused and then found another door to the yard.

Here, away from the lights of the inn, the stars lit the sky the brightest, glowing like pearls strewn on black velvet. He threw back his head, gazing, all thought pushed from his mind for the moment.

Almost at peace.

And then he heard a rustle and turned just in time to see the glint of a knife descending.

Iris glanced around the inn room wearily. She wasn’t sure she could endure another day of arguments followed by abandonment in that carriage.

She went to the table where a maid had put a hearty supper earlier and sat down. Roast chicken and vegetables swimming in gravy lay before her, but she hadn’t any appetite. A glass of red wine was by the plate and she took a sip.

She’d lived three years with her first husband, hardly talking, watching as he walked away whenever the discussion became uncomfortable for him. It had been a miserable marriage. James had been kind and good—and had hardly noticed her at all. She might have been one of his hunting dogs—left to the care of his gamekeeper, taken out whenever he remembered her and felt the urge for a ramble at his small country estate.

Otherwise forgotten.

He’d never loved her, never cherished her, and never spoken to her as an equal. She hardly held out hope for the first two from Raphael, but he’d spoken with her, not to her. Surely that was something she could build upon?

Hugh had been the husband of a friend and then a friend in his own right. She’d considered marriage to him because of his motherless boys and because she liked him.

She hadn’t thought about her own wishes with either man. With James she’d married for her mother. With Hugh she’d thought about marriage for his boys and their dead mother, her best friend.