Page 10 of The Duke of Ruin
"Aye," the Duke whispered softly, his hand snaking around her waist, and pulling her against his chest. "It is an apt name, for a man such as I. But I mean it when I say, I will do you no harm. Not now, not ever."
He didn't give her a chance to respond, instead his lips crashed against hers, hungrily demanding her acquiescence. His mouth was soft, but his kisses were hard and rough, and despite herself Olive found that she was rising to his challenge. His tongue probed her soft mouth, and she allowed him to do so, not willing to betray how unprepared she was for this moment. Her body, despite her brain's protests, reacted in ways she had never felt. Her bosom ached as it pressed against his chest, and when he reached around to cup her bottom with a low, guttural growl, her insides melted. He could conquer her completely, and she would readily give in to the onslaught of pleasure.
"Enough," with what seemed like a huge force of effort, the Duke broke away from her, his breath heavy, panting. Olive remained rigid, standing still on the spot. Her cheeks were flushed with a combination of shame and desire – some fight she had put up against her new husband. One kiss and she melted like butter in the sun.
"I'll not take you on a boat," Ruan muttered, looking distressed. His face was a picture of agony, and from his breeches, Olive could spot the exact source of his pain.
"I'll not take you on a boat," he said again, in tones more decisive. He walked over to her and cupped her face with his large, rough hands. His eyes held hers for a moment, before he kissed her again, this time softly and slowly, as though he sought to savour the moment. He pressed against her lightly, and lifted his lips from her own, tracing hot kisses along her neck.
"When we couple Olive," he whispered promisingly in her ear, "We'll not leave our bed for a month. You have my word."
Olive ached with longing, her body totally ensnared by him. His strong arms held her tight, whilst his lips explored the virgin skin of her sensitive neck.
"Make sail!"
A roar from on deck wrenched them both from each other, and Ruan ran a distracted hand through his thick hair. He looked most disconcerted – perhaps he hadn't planned on kissing her at all.
"I'll send someone down with tea and salt cakes," he said, straightening his coat, which had become slightly rumpled in their frantic tussle. "They're plain, but they'll keep you from casting up your accounts, if the feeling arises."
"Wonderful," Liv whispered, unable to look him in the eye. She was ashamed that she had responded to him with such wanton need. Where were her reserves of strength and courage? They had fled like frightened sheep in the face of one silly kiss. Well, two, two silly kisses, but that was little consolation.
"If you need anything," the Duke stood at the open door, watching her carefully. "Just call for me."
"I will," Liv removed her pelisse from her shoulders and sat down on the bed, testing the springs with a rather unladylike bounce.
"Don't do that."
The Duke's face looked strained.
"Do what?" perplexed, Liv finally met his eye.
"Bounce around on the bed like that," he growled, "Or I'll renege on my vow to leave you alone 'till we reach Paris."
Liv stopped bouncing immediately, at pains to stay stock still. The Duke laughed at the look of contrition on her face, his own face amused yet yearning.
"If you need anything," he said again, before he closed the door, "Just call for me. I'll be down to check on you later, try and get some rest."
With that he was gone, leaving Liv feeling a little bereft. A cabin boy, awed at serving a woman of such high rank, as she now was, left her in a jug of water and some stale looking biscuits.
"We're casting off now, your Grace," he said with a deferential bow as he left the room. "If you feel sick at all, just pace. It helps you find your sea legs and settles your stomach."
Everything was so new, being referred to as "Your Grace", the sudden, persistent rocking of the ship which made her stomach heave, and Ruan. Her new husband.
He seemed so sincere, in his promise to protect her, yet he did not seem to see that it was he who had kidnapped her from the safety of her home, and set her on this path where his protection was required. And who would save her from him?
Liv had never experienced the aching, yearning, hungry desire that the Duke had inspired with just a kiss, and it frightened her. What she longed for, what her heart sought, was to be free of him - for he was dangerous. She was trapped, true in a gold cage, gilded with the promise of unknown pleasure, but trapped none the less with the Duke of Ruin.
The ship lurched as it entered the free waves, and Liv's stomach hurled with a feeling of nausea. She did not like this new life at all, she decided, stuffing a salt biscuit into her mouth and finding that the Duke had been right. It did soothe her.
Ruan stood on the top deck of the brigantine, watching the crew prepare to take her out to sea. As they passed out of the Bristol Channel and into open waters the two square masts were hoisted and the ship's speed picked up. The strong winds were like a cold slap in the face, despite the strength of the sun, which still lingered in the summer sky. Ruan took a deep breath of bracing sea air, to calm himself.
He had always felt at home aboard any sailing vessel. After Oxford his father had given him a stipend, to do with as he pleased. While most of his friends disappeared to London, to gamble and drink their inheritances away, Ruan had invested his money wisely in the merchant trade. His father thought that he was sullying his noble hands, by investing in trade, but after the old codger had died, leaving Ruan with a pile of crumbling, destitute estates, he was glad that he had not listened to the man. He was one of the wealthiest men in England, perhaps nearly as wealthy as Prinny himself, and he took pride in all that he had accomplished.
The ship lurched, and Ruan grabbed hold of the rails to steady himself. He was a man of vision, a man capable of using ruthless means to attain what he wanted. Just look at his new wife; he had suffered no fits of consciousness when he set out to win her hand. But now that he had it...
Ruan cursed into the wind. He owned her now, legally she was his, but then Olive's green, accusing eyes had let him know that he might have power over her body, but never her spirit. And what a spirited woman she was. Ruan's loins ached at the memory of how she had met every challenging kiss and caress, with her own. It had been wild, rough, verging on violent – it had also been completely unplanned.
Ruan had meant to woo Olive into his bed, but he had behaved like boorish fool, pawing at her with an insatiable lust the second the door had closed on her cabin. It shook him to his very core; he prided himself on being aloof. On being in control.
