Page 53 of Rules for Heiresses
“Courtland, I’m close,” she whispered.
He reached a hand between them, pressing at the bundle of nerves at the top of her sex and felt her stiffen beneath him. With a low cry, her entire body jerked as she shuddered, and then convulsed gloriously all around him. It was the most magnificent thing he’d ever seen. For a breath, Courtland reveled in her beauty, the gorgeous flush of color that suffused her pale skin while the tide of her orgasm dragged her under. Lost to passion, his wife was the most stunning woman on earth. This moment would be etched into his memory for the rest of time.
One more deep thrust and he felt his own paroxysm gathering upon him. Courtland withdrew from the haven of her body, pleasure convalescing at the base of his spine and making him see stars as he spilled his hot seed onto her belly. With a growl of masculine satisfaction, he collapsed on top of her, breathing hard. He lay against her, gathering his breath, his wits, and his scattered thoughts.
“Am I crushing you?” he asked when he could speak, shifting his weight a little to the side.
She shook her head. “Why did you—” She broke off, her cheeks red. “Do that?”
“Do what?”
“Spend outside of me,” she said in a rush.
Reality was quick to return, along with all the feelings of who he was and everything he did not want or deserve in this life, one of which was children. “To prevent conception.”
“You don’t want an heir?” she asked, her face instantly shuttering.
“I already have one,” he said, sitting up and reaching for his handkerchief, which he used to mop up the stickiness between them. A pink smear of blood lay on her thighs and on his staff.
“Who?”
Courtland did not meet her eyes as he cleaned them both, knowing what he would see there. Hurt, disappointment, anger. Maybe all three. They had never discussed children—having them or not having them. But he supposed she should know his position on the matter. “All of this,”—he waved an arm—“is a means to an end. For you, for my sisters. Stinson is next in line, and when I die, as my living heir, he will finally get what he has always coveted.”
He reached for his clothing, standing to draw on his trousers and then his shirt. Ravenna pulled her chemise over her head. They dressed in silence, him finishing much faster than her. When he offered to help with fastening her corset, she declined pointing out the ingenious side closures, so he watched while she put herself to rights: undergarments, petticoats, stays, and lastly, her gown. The sight of her dressing was almost as provocative as the undressing, and he felt his sated cock stir when Ravenna slid on her stockings and retied her garters.
“What about what I want?” she asked, smoothing her fingers through her short mess of curls and repinning the pins that had fallen out.
“When this is over, you can do as you like.”
Her gasp was loud in the wake of his cruel words, and Courtland felt the rage in her stare as she turned to face him. “We are married, Your Grace. I do not plan to bring any children born on the other side of the blanket into the world.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
She stepped closer. “Then whatdidyou mean?”
“I meant to speak to you sooner about this. About us.” Courtland let out a frustrated breath, meeting her furious eyes. “I supposed there’s no better time than the present, but once my sisters are settled, there will be no need for this pretense to continue. I’ll be returning to Antigua, but I’ll grant you a divorce under any grounds you wish. Adultery, excessive cruelty, I don’t care.”
“A divorce?” Her reply was barely audible.
“Yes. You deserve to be happy, Ravenna. I am not the man to give you the future that you deserve, trust me on that.” He shook his head, gesturing to the chaise lounge where they’d coupled, regret pervading him. “I knew we shouldn’t even have done this. Sex needlessly complicates things.”
She glared at him. “Every time we take a step forward, you insist on taking a hundred back. Well, you know what? You can take you, your divorce, and your needless complications right to hell.”
There was no warning before her fist cracked into his jaw, nearly slinging his head sideways. Courtland had three consecutive thoughts before his wife stormed off and left him in the darkened conservatory.
One, his wife threw a mean punch.
Two, clearly, she wasn’t keen on divorce.
And three, if he’d wanted to make her hate him, he’d well and truly succeeded.
Fifteen
Ravenna probably shouldn’t have left London. In hindsight, she really, definitely shouldn’t have done it without telling her husband. Because here she was in Hastings alone, having arrived by Ashvale’s private railcar, one of the benefits of being married to a duke, she supposed. Although the sumptuous railcar belonged to Courtlandbeforehe’d become duke.
She was only beginning to understand exactly how wealthy her husband was. This railway car, while smaller than the one they’d traveled in after theGloryhad put in to port, was no less luxurious.
No doubt Rawley had alerted his lord and master that she’d intended to purchase a public train ticket on her own, fully expecting to travel to Hastings alone, and he had been the one to insist on her use of the duke’s railcar. Not to mention that Rawley had followed her hansom cab halfway across town. Ravenna bit her lip, feeling guilt slice through her.
