“You keep secrets from me,” she persisted. “I don’t even know what you’ll be up to in London, how long you’ll be gone?—”
“I’ll be hunting down the bastard who tried to kill me. I’ve hired Foxworth & Co., a highly reputable agency, to assist with the investigation, and we will have the culprit in no time. Then I’ll come to you a free man—the man you know you’re destined to marry.”
She flashed to Thomas and Rosalinda making love in the caldarium. Lovers brought together by destiny. Could the same be true of her and Conrad?
“I don’t know that.” Her protest sounded weak to her own ears. “How can I think when you…oh my stars.”
He continued to circle her hidden peak with his middle finger. She could feel how slick she was. He pressed and rubbed, rubbed and pressed, making her pant against the wall.
“Once you’re mine, I am going to do such wicked things to you.” His husky promise made her shiver. “And you will love it all.”
He rubbed harder and faster. Her eyelids drooped as passion consumed her. With his other hand, he caressed the length of her spine, his thumb pressing blissfully down her vertebrae and against the small of her back. When she felt him delve lower, between the swells of her bottom, her eyes popped open.
“Not there, surely,” she said in shock.
“You didn’t read to the end of the book. When the satyr finally claims his little mate,” he said, his voice guttural, “he does so everywhere. He takes her so completely that she will never again think of leaving him.”
What he did next was so depraved that she had no words for it. He pushed against a forbidden opening, and her body resisted, but he pressed steadily until she felt the tip of his finger enter her there. A place where she was certain nothing was supposed to be.
The sensation was unbearably naughty…and titillating.
“You’re mine, Gigi,” he rasped. “Admit it.”
He owned her pleasure, diddling her pearl while teasing her sensitive pucker. Before passion robbed her of her wits entirely, she twisted her head, needing to see his face. And that decided it for her. For despite his commanding tone and carnal games, his brows were drawn…and his marauder’s gaze revealed something he’d never shown her before.
Naked, desperate longing.
His need punched through the barriers of her heart, flooding all the chambers. In that instant, she knew she loved Conrad Godwin—knew she wanted a future with him.
“I’m yours,” she whispered.
Triumph glittered in his eyes. “Promise you’ll marry me.”
“I can’t. Not yet. I need to get my parents’ approval first?—”
“You have until my return from London,” he growled. “If you cannot convince your parents by then, I will go to them myself.”
He slammed his mouth on hers, the forceful thrust of his finger taking her over the edge.
As she keened her pleasure, he said fiercely, “That’s right, duchess. Remember how good this feels. How I’ll make you feel all the time once you’re mine.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Leaving Chuddums took longer than Conrad expected. After settling matters with Gigi—as much as one could settle anything with a nymph—he’d planned to pack up and go, but he hadn’t accounted for the visitors that arrived at Honeystone Hall. They came in a stream, villagers bearing gifts and well wishes for a speedy recovery after his “accident.” Mrs. Pettigrew and Mr. Khan arrived first, the former with a dish of her famous Bloody Knights of Windsor pudding (whatever that was) and the latter with a box of assorted confectionary. Then came Mr. Thornton with a pot of his wife’s chicken soup and a jug of his own “kill-devil,” which he claimed would cure any ails.
More and more of the Chuddumites showed up, until it resembled a damned party in Conrad’s drawing room. Some of them had visited Honeystone Hall in the past, and they regaled him with tales of the old squire’s hunts and house parties.
“It’s lovely to have a gentleman residing here again,” said some lady whose name he hadn’t bothered to remember. “We couldn’t have asked for a better new neighbor.”
Conrad had no idea why the villagers were being so welcoming. He wondered how they would feel after he took over Abel Pearce’s properties and sold them off to the highest bidder. More to the point, how would Gigi feel? Unease crept over him. At first, he’d thought that sparing the spa would be sufficient to appease her, but her affection for the village as a whole had become increasingly obvious.
Yet once he took possession of Pearce’s holdings, he would have no choice but to divest them…preferably for a large profit. It wasn’t as if he could invest in Chuddums: that would be a risky venture at best and ruinous at worst. The capital required to preserve the village’s future would strain even his deep pockets, with little hope for returns in this lifetime. A man might as well dump his money in the Thames. Only a complete fool would attempt such a thankless task.
More importantly, destroying Chuddums was an essential part of Conrad’s vengeance. Pearce deserved to reap what he had sown. He’d devastated Mama by demolishing the cottage that was hers by birthright. Conrad was simply returning the favor by tearing apart Pearce’s legacy.
Tit for tat.
As for Gigi, she would understand after Conrad explained things. She would take his side because she was loyal and loving. Hell, if she wanted, he had properties elsewhere he could profitably develop. He could build her a square ten times nicer than Chuddums’s, and he could employ her friends to run the shops. What more could she want?
