Page 63 of Claiming His Lost Duchess
Soon, his fingers joined the work his mouth had committed to, thrusting in and out of her deeply. She could not see him, but the sounds that filled the air, along with his remarks of approval, his comments about how she tasted, how much he wanted her, spurred her on.
His words, the reverence in his voice, the careful attention he paid to every sigh and shiver – it all combined to create a sense of safety and worship that allowed Joan to surrender completely to the experience. But when he fell silent for a moment, his attention focused intently on bringing her pleasure, the absence of his voice in the darkness created by the cravat triggered memories she thought she had buried.
Suddenly, she was not in a beautiful parlor with a man who adored her, but back in her uncle's house, trapped and helpless and unable to see what was happening around her. Panic clawed at her throat like a living thing, making it impossible to breathe, impossible to think, impossible to remember where she truly was.
“Graham,” she gasped, her breathing becoming shallow and rapid as terror threatened to overwhelm her completely.
The response was immediate and perfectly attuned to her needs. The cravat disappeared as though it had never existed, and Graham's beloved face appeared above her, his eyes filled with concern and infinite tenderness.
“Look at me,” he commanded gently, his voice carrying the kind of authority that cut through the panic that had nearly consumed her. “Keep your eyes on me, mo ghràdh. Ye're safe, ye're cherished, ye're exactly where ye belong.”
Joan focused on his face with the intensity of a drowning person grasping a lifeline – the love in his dark eyes, the tenderness in his expression, the way his breathing matched her own raggedrhythm as he waited patiently for her panic to subside. It was replaced by pleasure as he pressed his fingers past her wet folds, his gaze holding hers captive as he stroked her intensely. When release finally claimed her, it was while looking directly into her husband's eyes, feeling utterly safe and completely cherished, surrounded by a love she was only beginning to believe she might deserve.
They stayed together in each other’s embrace for a moment, Joan calmer as her husband littered every inch of skin he could reach with kisses. Her heart felt so safe, so inexplicably at home with this man, and she wanted more than anything for all the fears that had weighed her down previously to be nothing more than groundless worries.
“We should return to the party before my sister grows suspicious,” Graham stated softly, still running his lips over her skin.
Joan giggled, still drunk on the passion they had shared before she nodded.
“Yes… that is perhaps for the best,” she agreed.
Gently, Graham had risen to his feet first, walking around the parlor to gather Joan’s clothes. Then he returned to her and helped her rise from the chaise before he began to assist her in putting her dress back on. His thoughtfulness warmed her heart, and she couldn’t help but smile at him.
They were nearly done restoring their clothing to its original form, respectability – or as close as they could get it – their hands gentle and careful as they helped each other with buttons and laces, when the sound of urgent voices outside the window reached them through the glass.
Graham immediately stiffened, his head turning toward the sound with the alert attention of a man accustomed to recognizing trouble. Joan could see tension flood his body as he moved to the window, his movements quick and purposeful.
“What? What’s wrong?” she asked, confused by his sudden change in demeanor.
“That's my name they're calling,” he said grimly, his voice carrying a note of dread that made Joan's blood turn to ice in her veins.
Joan joined him at the window, her heart hammering against her ribs as she saw a servant hurrying across the lawn below, clearly searching for them among the scattered guests. The man's obvious urgency, the way he was asking questions of everyone he encountered, the growing cluster of people who had stopped their conversations to listen – it all spelled disaster in letters too large to ignore.
Graham immediately moved toward the door, but Joan found herself frozen by a terror so complete that it seemed to stop her heart entirely. Her worst fears, the nameless dread that had plagued her all day, were about to be confirmed in the most horrible way possible.
Graham opened the door to find the servant already running up the stairs, his face flushed from running and his breathing labored from urgency.
“Your Grace!” the man gasped, his words tumbling over each other in his haste to deliver his message. “Thank God I've found you at last. There's been a terrible incident at your estate, and I've been riding hard for over an hour trying to locate you.”
Joan felt the world tilt around her as she joined Graham by the door, her vision blurring at the edges as Graham urged the servant to deliver the seemingly dire news.
“What? What is it, man? Speak!”
“It is the little miss!” The servant burst out, seemingly unable to deliver the news with any form of delicacy.
Joan felt the world tilt further along its axis, threatening to plunge into utter darkness as the servant’s words reached her ears.
“The little miss – your daughter, Your Grace – she's been taken.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“N-No… That can’t — please tell me you jest. Tell me that you do not mean what you say. How can?—”
Joan was not certain there was any air in her lungs as words that sounded foreign to her ears left her lips. The information the servant had brought forth echoed in her head, and the horror of its implications caused disbelief to grow within her.
It couldn’t be. Sophia couldn’t be missing. She had been left in hands that promised they were capable of caring for her. Joan herself knew of their abilities, judging by how deeply each and every one of them had taken on the task of ensuring her wellness and safety in the weeks since Sophia had begun living with her father.
So… how had this happened?
