The Duke Goes Down by Sophie Jordan

Imogen turned down her bedding, longing for a night’s sleep. There had been little slumber the night before and her brain needed a solid rest so that she could return to thinking properly.

She had stripped her bed and put fresh sheets on before they left for church this morning. Fortunately for her, she often did such household chores herself, so the act didn’t raise any eyebrows. She didn’t need Mrs. Garry handling her sheets after last night and seeing the evidence of her tryst.

The scrabbling at her window was familiar at this point, but still unexpected. Crossing her arms, she turned and watched warily as Perry pushed himself inside her bedchamber.

“I really need a lock on that window,” she declared, uncrossing her arms over her chest.

He straightened, brushing at his clothing. “Then I would simply have to come through the front door and that wouldn’t be very discreet. I’m happy to do that, of course, if you prefer.”

She did not prefer that. She needn’t have members of her household getting their hopes up that she was entertaining Mr. Butler’s suit. And hopes would rise. They would be excited. Papa liked him very much, and Mrs. Garry had voiced her opinion more than once that Imogen should be happily married with children by now. Despite Imogen’s reassurances, the housekeeper worried what would happen to Imogen when Papa was gone. She didn’t want her left alone in the world.

“You’re unconscionable,” she accused.

“I’m unconscionable?” He pointed to himself. “You’re the one pushing me at other women.”

“You asked her to step out and walk with you.”

His gray eyes fastened on her, brighter than she remembered. “That was before.”

“Before what?” she snapped.

He shook his head and reached for her, both his hands seizing her by the arms and hauling her against him. His mouth covered hers and she didn’t even hesitate. She melted against him, opening her mouth to him and kissing him feverishly in turn, meeting every thrust of his tongue with her own.

Her heart took flight inside her chest, wild as a bird set free.

They moved in unison, backing up toward the bed with shuffling steps, their mouths fused.

Everything sped to frenzied motion. The blood rushed, a dull roar in her ears, and she thought she could hear the muffled beat of her heart through the roar.

Their lips broke just long enough for them to tear off their clothing. Garments flew on the air in a blur. They collided together again. This time gloriously naked, bare skin rubbing sinuously against bare skin.

Everything was fierce. Desperate. Violent in its intensity as they fell together on the bed.

Roaming, fondling hands. Kissing, biting lips. Panting, groaning breaths.

“You still think I want to court other women?” he growled, his hand skimming her face. Hard fingers delved into her hair, unraveling her plait as he gripped her scalp. His hot mouth crashed over hers before she could answer.

He settled atop her, finding his home between her thighs. It felt so right, so natural, to have him there, his hot cock aligned with the weeping seam of her.

His head dipped to kiss her breasts, and she moaned, arching her spine, wanting more.

His mouth closed around one nipple. Her fingers clenched on his flexing biceps. He shifted and his cock drove into her, sliding into her slick heat.

She panted, clinging, straining against him, urging him closer as she tilted her hips, taking him in deeper, needing him as one needed water, air, sustenance.

“Yes, yes, yes.”

His thrusts were relentless, the friction unbearable.

His eyes gleamed hotly down at her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and flipped them both, settling her on top of him.

“Perry!”

“Ride me, Imogen. Take me as you please.”

His eyes locked with hers as she started to move, uncertain at first and then gradually building a rhythm, gaining speed as she rode him, pushing her palms down on his chest for leverage as her hips worked over him.

Gaspy little cries escaped her that might later embarrass her, when she reflected. But not now. Now there was only this. Now only raw hunger.

His low groans encouraged her, fed her passion. An aching pressure built inside her as she moved, increasing the delicious friction and tightening the coil in her belly. Her eyes widened as she felt the familiar swell coming. The pressure built and built and she increased her movements, becoming wild and completely lacking rhythm as she raced toward it, searching for her release.

“I’m close. Come with me,” he choked, his chest tensing, muscles bunching tightly beneath her fingers. Her nails scored his skin as she worked desperately over him. “Get there, Imogen.”

“I’m almost . . .” She rocked and felt him deeper. He hit an angle that made her fly apart. She cried out, every nerve bursting. A full body tremor started at her toes and worked its way through her. “Ohhh.”

His arm came around her waist again and he flipped her on her back. He drove into her, still going, still pumping hard. Sharp gasps spilled from her lips as her climax came hard and fast. He raced toward his own release, pounding into her, launching her into another climax.

He groaned and stilled inside her, his weight a delicious thing on top of her.

She went limp, folding both her arms around his smooth shoulders.

His arms slid around her, coming around her back, hugging her closer, his lips nuzzling in her neck. As solid and heavy as he was, she didn’t want him to ever move. She wished they could stay like this forever. Never leave each other or this bed.

It was a lovely wish.

“Imogen,” he whispered.

“Hm?”

“I don’t want walks with anyone else.”

She exhaled. Perhaps it didn’t have to be just a wish.

Perry watched Imogen for several long moments, studying her as she slept and imagining waking to this—to her—every morning. He could not envision a better life. Not even when he had been the duke.

Certainly he had to figure some things out. He wasn’t going to bring a wife to his mother’s house.

Wife. Yes. He was thinking of that. What else could he be thinking at this point?

He wanted to marry her. It felt right. The notion of building a life with her thrilled him more than anything he’d ever had—anything he had done or ever wanted to do. And build they would. Nothing would be given to them. No royal dukedom with all its contingent wealth would be handed down to him for the simple matter of his existence.

They would start a life together. Build a life together.

But until then, he should remove himself from her bedchamber. Morning light already spilled through the window. He needed to make haste and go before her father or housekeeper roused themselves. He did not want to scandalize the household with his presence in Imogen’s bedchamber.

He eased from bed and quickly dressed himself. Moving to her desk, he searched for a piece of paper to leave her another note. He smiled as he contemplated what kind of clever message he would leave her this time.

Not finding anything on the top of her desk, he opened a drawer and ruffled through for some stationery.

His gaze arrested on one piece of paper, his name leaping out at him. Well, rather his old name: the Duke of Penning. He lifted it from the drawer, scanning the words.

His hand started to shake.

The paper dropped, fluttering through the air and landing on her writing desk with a whisper. Strange. That slight whisper sounded as loud as a horn in his ears.

His own letter-writing task forever forgotten, he turned, staring at her where she slept, her brown hair soft all around her on the pillow.

He could still feel her. Her hair wasn’t the only soft thing about her. Her skin. Her breasts. The pillow of her lips.

Perry blinked once hard, as though attempting to shake the very real memory of those sweet things from his mind. A moment ago he had thought to never lose those things. He had thought to keep them forever. Now he felt the desperate need to forget. To put those things so far from his mind that he never wanted them again. Never wanted her again.

He’d lost everything. Because of her.

And then he’d decided to give everything up—for her.

The irony was bitter and terrible and he felt a little like he was dying inside.

He’d cast out any hope or desire for an heiress. He’d given up the notion of reclaiming a semblance of his old life. A life of comfort and affluence. He’d decided to happily settle for whatever life he fashioned for himself as long as he could spend it with Imogen Bates.

All this time he could have been playing the doting suitor on any number of prospective ladies, but he had forgone that, immersing himself in Imogen Bates.

Clearly a waste of time and energy.

What a daft fool he’d been.

He released a soft bark of laughter. She must have enjoyed tying him up in knots—seeing him brought so low and then watching him pant after her all the while knowing she was the reason for his downfall.

She stirred in the bed. “Perry?” She moved beneath the coverlet, her legs kicking it free.

He crossed his arms over his chest as though to trap them, as though he needed to be certain he would not reach for her.

She lifted her head, pushing that honey-brown hair back from her face as she scanned the chamber, her gaze searching and landing on him. “Ah. There you are.” She patted the bed beside her. “Come back to me.”

He didn’t move. He could not even summon the will to speak.

She glanced to the window as though assessing the time and pouted prettily. “I suppose you must go.” She sat up, holding the coverlet over her chest. Still modest. Even after everything. She looked shy for a moment, tucking her hair behind her ear as she murmured, “I will miss you.”

He didn’t have to harden his heart to resist her sweet charms. It was already hard. It felt like a stone in his chest. A dead thing. Cold and bloodless as a rock.

She must have finally sensed something was not right with him.

“Perry?” The pretty pout disappeared. “What is it? Is something amiss?”

He turned back to her desk and lifted the letter he had dropped as though it scalded him. He carried it over to her, not getting too close. He couldn’t get close to her. He dropped it in her lap and took several steps back. Distance was good. Necessary even.

She glanced from the paper to him curiously. Settling her gaze back on the paper, she picked it up, canting her head as she examined it.

It didn’t take long.

Recognition lit her eyes. The color drained from her face.

She lifted that big brown gaze of hers to his and slowly shook her head. “Please, Perry. I can explain—”

“Can you? That would be a neat trick.” He stabbed a finger at the damning parchment. “Can you explain that letter from some curate, confirming my birth date was in fact in January and not the month of May.”

“Perry . . .”

“You were the one. You! You outed me. You snooped and discovered the truth of my birth.”

“Not on purpose. When I took over my father’s book and ledger keeping, I uncovered a few inconsistencies and merely sought to update and organize his records. The previous vicar had handled all the records abysmally. I knew your birth date. I was at most of those celebrations.” She began stammering. “I—I simply wrote to the curate so that he could correct his records since he had the wrong birth date recorded. You must believe me.”

“Must I? Because you’ve been so honest up to now?”

“I did not know it would spur an investigation—”

“So you discovered the truth accidentally? You realize the distinction is not important.” He shrugged. “You made certain to alert the world of your discovery and ruin me.”

“No.” She pressed her fingers to the center of her forehead as if fighting off an aching head. “I did not! It was not like that.”

He shook his head. “You cannot even accept responsibility? You cannot admit the harm you’ve done me.”

She sat up straighter. “I did not mean to!”

“And yet you did,” he snapped. “You did. You took my life away.”

Her voice fell small, almost whisper-like. “I’m sorry, Perry. I can admit that. I am so sorry. God, you have no idea how sorry I am. I didn’t mean to, but it happened. And . . . isn’t a part of you glad to know? To have the truth out?”

He went hard as stone, seeing her then, seeing how little she truly cared for him—still.

“Glad? How could I ever be glad about any of this? You stole my birthright,” he said softly, perhaps unfairly, but the poison of her betrayal ran swiftly through his veins, the sting so hot that he could scarcely even think about what he was saying. “You must have hated me.” He shook his head. “Really truly hated me to do such a thing.”

She shook her head, too. “That had nothing to do with this. I didn’t like you. That is true, but then you didn’t like me either.”

“You’re correct. I didn’t.” There was a long pause, and then he added, lashing out, “And now I don’t again.”

She flinched. It was the barest flicker of emotion. The reaction passed over her face and vanished quickly. He didn’t miss it though, and he felt a stab of guilt and pain that he quickly shoved aside.

She had wronged him. She had destroyed his world.

He should feel no compunction over hurting her feelings.

“You should go.” She nodded toward her window. Her voice was thick, as though her mouth was stuffed full of cotton and he suspected she was holding back tears. “And never come back. Rest assured, I will be getting a lock.”

He nodded once in agreement. “Fear not. You don’t need one. I’ll never climb up your trellis again. There is nothing for me here.”

She watched him with bright wide eyes as he gathered up his jacket, slipping it on before he tugged on his boots. He moved to the window and opened it, peering out to make certain there was no one out and about in the morning. It would not do at all to be spotted climbing down from her window. He didn’t wish to be caught in a compromising position with a woman he wanted to be rid from his life. The last thing he wanted was to be coerced into matrimony with her—especially after they had just asserted their eternal acrimony for each other. That would be a nightmarish union.

He swung one leg over the sill, freezing when her voice cracked over the chamber.

“Oh, and Perry?”

He looked over his shoulder at her, arching an eyebrow in question.

“Good luck finding your heiress. You will need it.”

He narrowed his gaze on her. “Is that a threat? Do you intend to thwart me again? Is that what you are thinking?”

Her shoulders squared. “Don’t be ridiculous. Contrary to what you believe, I am not the reason for everything that is wrong in your life.” She cut a hand almost wildly through the air. “I thought you had changed, but you haven’t. You’re still that hard-hearted spoiled boy who laughed at me and said terrible things, who thought himself above everyone else in the world.”

He released a hot breath. “Perhaps I was that lad once, but you’ve seen to it that I’m not. I’m quite aware of my life’s limitations. If I marry someone, it will be someone who doesn’t live to torment me. Someone who won’t lie. Someone with integrity.”

“Ha!” She hopped from bed, whipping the coverlet around her body—her shapely body that he could still recall perfectly in his mind’s eye. “Oh, let us be honest. Whomever you find, you shall torment her, too. You will be miserable and so will she. Whatever woman you marry shall be attached to a man”—she gestured wildly at him—“who will spend his life mourning for what he lost. You will never be happy.”

A long spell of silence followed this declaration. Her chest rose and fell on heavy breaths.

“Perhaps,” he allowed, his gaze locked on her lovely face—the sight of which only made him ache, for multiple reasons he could not examine closely right now when he was already in such turmoil. “And I have you to thank for that. Do I not?”

She’d ripped his heart out and didn’t even realize it.

Without waiting for her to answer, he turned from her and took his exit the same way he had entered, through the window.

Climbing down the trellis, he thought he heard the sound of her choked sob floating above him.