Page 20 of Bride of the Fae Duke

Every muscle in her body tightened around him as the world dissolved into glory and bliss and perfect oblivion. He slammed into her at the same moment with a roar of surrender, and spurts of warm wetness filled her as she rode him through their shared release, through every tremor and shudder, until finally the madness waned and she collapsed powerlessly onto his heaving chest.

Then she lay there, limbs like pudding and mind like fog, listening to his labouring heart as it slowly settled back into its usual rhythm.

‘I’d say,’ he finally muttered, voice jarringly level, ‘that that should do the job for today.’

Oh. Yes.

The job.

This was just work. Of course. And of course … of course she did not at all want him to wrap his arms around her and hold her a little longer, to chat with her and laugh with her as they lay here basking in the afterglow of this glorious night. That would be utterly nonsensical, and dangerous to boot.

‘Shall I … shall I just return to my room, then?’ she made herself mutter.

‘You should rest for a few more minutes,’ he corrected, all stoic business again as he rolled her off him, sat up, and began to button his breeches with quick, matter-of-fact gestures. ‘Lord Heartstrong’s instructions.’

‘Oh.’ She came up on her elbows to look at him, sticky seed seeping out of her and staining her inner thighs. He wouldn’t meet her gaze, and now shedidfeel naked, in spite of all pragmatism and sense. ‘That’s good to know. I’ll bring a book tomorrow.’

He strode out the room without speaking, returning ten seconds later with a well-thumbed volume that he tossed onto the bed without further ado. ‘Anything else I can do for you?’

‘Oh no,’ she hurriedly said and smiled until her jaw started cramping. ‘No, I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow, then.’

The door to the study closed behind his broad back with a little too much force.

She lay in his bed for close to an hour, scanning Lord Heartstrong’s preface with unseeing eyes … but no matter how intently she listened, no matter how close to the doorway she strayed while she finally slipped into her dress again, not the faintest sound emerged from the neighbouring room.

Chapter 7

Flingingopenthecurtainsin Locke Manor was an unfulfilling experience.

Somehow, even on this sunny summer morning, little more than a few watery rays made their way into the bedrooms, as if even the light itself was hesitant to touch the cursed interior of this luxurious tomb. In an attempt to make up for the absence of a glorious dawn, Nellie made herself smile all the more broadly as she swept around the window and announced, ‘Good morning, little bean!’

Anne groaned dismally from beneath the blankets.

‘You’ve got some time to wake up,’ Nellie brightly continued, tucking the fairytale book she’d been reading last night onto the shelf where it belonged – a servant’s reflexes, and she didn’t suspect she’d ever get rid of them. ‘I told the maids to bring you breakfast in half an hour. But I need you to be ready to get dressed after that, because we’re going shopping.’

One brown eye blinked open beneath the mess of strawberry-blonde hair, glaring at her suspiciously. Then a second eye.Finally, her sister’s voice emerged, wary and drowsy in equal amounts.

‘You look … cheerful.’

‘Well, I’m still alive,’ Nellie said, which was admittedly not the full story – but then again, she wasn’t going to tell her little sister about the scales on Locke’s member, or the size of it, or the way it had felt inside her. ‘And I don’t think he’s as bad as he seems at first glance. Lord Locke, I mean.’

My husband.

Strange, how that suddenly seemed a far more reasonable thing to say.

Anne hauled herself up in the bed, eyes narrowing. ‘You’re not going to fall in love with him, are you?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Nellie said impatiently, stepping around the bed. ‘We’ve simply come to an understanding. Now stay awake, ring if you need help, and enjoy your gentlewoman’s breakfast. I’ll be back in half an hour or so.’

‘Nell …’ Her sister didn’t sound reassured in the slightest. ‘Nell, where are yougoing?’

‘Oh, some preparations,’ Nellie said, turning with her hand on the doorknob. This time, there was nothing forced about the smile growing on her face. ‘If I have to be Lady Locke for the foreseeable future, I might as well make sure I don’t hate every minute of it.’

***

Mrs. Hartnell was a large, stylish woman with chamomile-bleached hair, too proper to show any explicit displeasure at her lord’s latest marriage but too staunchly aware of the world’s natural hierarchies to be entirely happy she had to serve under a glorified maid. The previous day she’d been civilly haughty while giving her tour of the house. Which had seemed perfectly fine to Nellie at the time, and not that unreasonable either …

But for some reason it had started stinging this morning, the prospect of spending divines-knew-how many months surrounded by respectful dislike. Work, yes, but didn’t Locke seem to think that was no excuse to be miserable?

---