Page 27 of Taken By the Dangerous Duke

The duke lifted his hips, drawing himself out of her. He had his elbows and forearms planted on either side of her, and he used that to push himself up while still keeping his chest pressed to her breasts. Margaret did not know why, but she pulled her feet toward her, bending her knees. It opened her up more, and when the duke slowly penetrated her again, it was not as uncomfortable as before.

He pulled out and thrust again, and Margaret felt a need inside. She wanted to kiss the duke, but she did not dare—it felt inappropriate. Instead, she brought her hands down and touched his back. She rubbed his back muscles at first, but as he plunged her depths again and again, always slow and gentle, she found herself rubbing his back more and more, and then she gripped onto him.

Her back arched a little as the duke moved a little faster. Margaret had not done anything, but she could feel the breathing of the duke change, and she could hear the small moans escaping his lips. He was enjoying what he was doing, and that excited her some more. Again, she felt the need to kiss the man, but she did not press her lips to his.

And then the duke moved faster, his body trembling a little. It had become so that Margaret was enjoying it. There was still some discomfort in the plunging, but there was some pleasure too. It was building, and there was a feeling that she wanted more of… the duke?

Then, the duke thrust mightily, as deep as he could go, and he held himself there. He pulled out quickly, and thrust in again, and again, and again, and he breathed more vocally, and Margaret held his back tight, pressing him to her, and then the warmth filled her as he pushed into her again and held himself there. His seed spilled within, and it was a warmth unlike any she had felt before. She felt filled both physically and emotionally.

Arthur held himself to her for a second before pulling himself away and standing up. Margaret stared up at him.

“Stay like that for a while, it will help.”

Margaret only nodded. She watched the duke dress and leave the room. She had not been pleasured, but she had enjoyed it, and she felt more of a woman than she had before. The duke’s seed was planted, and she might soon be with child, but Margaret hoped that she was not.

She would be with child sometime soon, but she would not mind feeling the duke inside her again before that happened.

CHAPTER13

What The Staff Know

Margaret sat down at the small desk in her room and wrote her letter. She did not share a room with the duke, and she was fine with that agreement. She had been given one of the largest rooms in the estate, and more furniture had been moved in—a desk that she could write at, another with powders and perfumes, and a large wardrobe for the new clothing the duke had bought her. Margaret was still getting used to that part.

Margaret signed her name at the bottom of the letter and looked it over.

Dearest Cynthia,

I do hope you are well. You will not believe what has happened to me in the time since I have been away, and I fear that you would not believe me if I told you how my life has changed, but that is a story for another time, and I want to end this next short chapter of my life before I spill all.

I would first like to thank you for all of your help. If it were not for you, I would not be where I am today, and I do believe that I am happy. It is the sort of happiness that is muddled, and I might not know if I am happy or not until after the fact. Does that make sense, Cynthia? I am not sure I can even make sense of it. Do you remember the man we met? When the boy fell from the tree? Well, I will tell you allabout him soon too.

All this to say… I am happy to have left. I will not say where I have gone, not yet, but I will in good time. As I mentioned, there is something I need to do first, and when it is done, perhaps I can come and visit you, or you can come and visit me. Oh, I wish I could tell all, but it really is a story for another time.

All my love,

Margaret.

She looked over the letter one more time before folding it up and stuffing it in the envelope. She wrote her friend’s address on the front of the envelope and then sealed that with wax and a plain seal. The duke had offered his own seal for any letters, but Margaret did not think that wise. She did not want anyone to know where she was just yet—not until she figured out what her life would look like next.

“Will you please add this to any outgoing mail?” asked Margaret when she stood up.

“Of course, Your Grace,” said the maid with a curtsey.

Wherever Margaret went, there was always a maid, or another member of the castle staff, waiting to attend to her every whim. Margaret handed over the letter. The maid had a curious look on her face—one almost of amusement. Margaret had seen it on the faces of numerous staff over the past week, and she almost confronted the maid, but perhaps she was imagining it.

“Thank you,” said Margaret.

Everything was taking some getting used to. She did not feel like a duchess, and the address of “Your Grace” from the staff was one she did not think she would ever get used to. If she were properly married to the duke, she might grow into the title, but she found it silly.

Would they divorce after she had given the duke a son? Or, would she continue to be his wife in name only? Either way, she did not think that she deserved the title, nor did she want it, but she knew that she could not refuse it. Besides, it was only for a short while.

Margaret walked down the hallway of the mansion and thought about all of the things she would tell Cynthia when this was all over. She would tell her about the title for sure, and the agreement with the duke, and how she had faced danger on the road from London. Would Cynthia understand why she had done what she had done? It was surreal to be trying to have a child with the duke and then separate.

Another maid walked past Margaret and gave a little curtsey. Margaret nodded in return, and she could see the same look on the maid’s face. She had been seeing it again and again since she married the duke, and she knew it was because of that. The look was always pleasant on the surface, but there was something else below. She had come into the castle all too quickly, and they did not trust her.

Margaret rounded the corner and almost bumped into the duke. He had been away on business the previous evening, and that meant that she had not seen nor talked to him properly since they had made love. Margaret reached her hand out to stop herself from properly colliding with the duke, and she found her hand on his chest again.

She held it there a moment too long and quickly jerked it back—-again, all too quickly.

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