Alcott Hall: Second Sons Book Three

“Ugh,” Madeline cried, trudging through the side of the house, her skirts lifted around her knees. Her teeth were already chattering in the cold as Burke’s massive coat hung open on her slender frame. “I ha-hate snow!”

She moved quickly in the direction of the stables, fighting her nerves as she was sure each pass in front of a window would expose her to the eyes of a curious constable. She would never be able to repay the Corbin’s for this. Not if she tried for a thousand lifetimes. Rosalie was ready to break the law to help her, and now she was dragging James fully into their schemes.

On the run from her own family, and now the law. Possibly engaged to a vicar, who already had a lover… a man no less. Indebted to a duke and duchess. Thrust from a window into the snow.

Madeline’s life had officially become the stuff of novels. Rather than be put off by it, she found herself smiling. The rush of excitement warmed her, helping her fight the winter chill as she marched her way down the cobbled path towards the stables.

The stable yard was quiet, thank heavens, and she was able to slip in a side door. It smell of horses, a thick mustiness of hay and manure. Madeline may not be much of a horse rider, but she’d always appreciated the beauty of the animal.

She moved down the row of stalls, her satin slippers utterly ruined by the snow and now the straw and dirt. She buttoned Mr. Burke’s coat with fumbling fingers, flipping the collar up against the cold. She looked for an empty stall to hide away in as the duke ordered her to do.

The call of deep voices just outside had her jumping into action. She slipped through the first open door, content to find it some sort of tack room. The sweet smell of lemon and beeswax filled her senses.

The room was dark and narrow. Row after row of beautiful leather tack hung gleaming on hooks—bridles and hacks, breast collars, harnesses. A few saddles sat perched on stands. All the leather was polished to shine, studded with silver and brass.

Stepping over to the first saddle stand, she slipped the cover off the top, intent on using it as a makeshift blanket. On frozen feet, she tiptoed over to a handsome tack box, ready to climb atop it.

Slam.

She spun around with a soft squeak. A man stood in the doorway, his hands full of leather.

“Mr. Warren,” she gasped, knowing him by his silhouette, by that warm feeling he sparked in her.

“Madeline, what the bloody hell are you doing in here?” he growled, his gaze darting around the dark space. “What are you wearing?”

“I—”

He stepped fully into the narrow room, dropping the saddle down on an empty stand. He stood there, bridle over his shoulder, glaring at her. “Are you bloody incapable of dressing appropriately for the weather? Where are your proper shoes? Where is your coat? Whose damn coat is that?” he added, pointing at her.

“I didn’t have time to change. I was sort of…thrust out, you see,” she added, fighting the urge to giggle. It really was too ludicrous for words.

“You were thrust—”

“Out a window, yes. By the duke,” she added.

Warren was bristling with anger now. “The Duke of Norland thrust you out a window in your goddamn slippers? Why?”

“Well, I…I’m in hiding.”

“In hiding?”

“Yes, from the constable.”

She didn’t think it possible, but Madeline had just managed to shock the confident, teasing gamekeeper into silence. He stared at her, those dark eyes narrowing. “Oh, you are a little troublemaker, aren’t you.”

That deep voice warmed her through like she was made of honey. She fought the urge to whimper as he stepped towards her, slipping the bridle off his shoulder as he walked.

“Go on, then. Tell me why you’re hiding from a constable,” he urged, his presence blinding her to all else.

She met him stare for stare. “Because I am on the run from my family.”

“Why?”

“Because they mean to control me.”

“And you will not be controlled, will you,” he murmured, his hand raising to brush her cheek. “You perfect, wild thing.”

Slowly, she leaned her cheek into his touch, and he smiled.

“But you need someone who can break you, don’t you.” His thumb brushed over her lips again. “You need a strong hand that knows how to guide you, how to harness your recklessness. A strong hand to tease you…worship you,” he added, his hand brushing down her neck until it was slipping inside Burke’s coat.

She gasped as he closed it around her breast, giving it a gentle squeeze. Her body erupted in fire, her stomach flipping in knots. “Warren…”

“Fucking perfect,” he groaned, stepping closer, his other hand brushing her curls off her shoulder.

She melted into the weight of his hand, pressing forward. “Warren, please…”

He tipped her chin up, his eyes searching hers. She followed that thick scar with her eyes, tracing it from his cheek over the bridge of his nose.

“Did you touch yourself last night?” he murmured.

Her heart skipped a beat as she nodded.

“Good girl. And?”

She licked her lips, unable to think as he kneaded her breast with such a tender caress. “I…I was wet,” she whispered.

He dropped his face to breath her in. “Of course, you were, you needy thing. You’re so damn responsive to us. So eager to learn. Did you make yourself come?”

“I don’t know. I don’t—I—” She felt like she was unraveling, crumbling to pieces. Rosalie never described a feeling of unraveling, of being wholly unmade.

He peppered her jaw with light kisses. “Say the word, and I’ll have you coming on my fingers right here, right now. You need never question again whether you’ve come, lovely. I will tease this cunt until you soak my hand.” As he spoke, he dropped his hand away from her breast, cupping between her legs.

“Oh, god,” she whimpered, her knees all but buckling as he rubbed between her legs with strong fingers. She fumbled forward, gripping him with both hands. “Warren, please—”

He swallowed her plea, kissing her breathless as he worked between her legs. She wrapped her arms around his neck, seeking more closeness, clinging to him as he teased her.

“Warren,” she whimpered, apparently unable to recall any other word.

“What do you need, wild thing? Tell me what you want. Own this moment,” he said, his lips brushing against hers.

“I want more,” she whispered. “Need to feel more.”

He leaned back, holding her chin again as he met her gaze. “Do you trust me? Do you trust that I’ll not hurt you?”

Slowly, she nodded, feeling the truth of her unspoken statement marrow deep. She trusted this man. She trusted John Warren.

“Tell me what you want then,” he urged again. “Use your words.”

“I want to feel it.”

“Feel what?”

“The…the feeling. Flying and falling.”

He smiled. “You want to come. You want me to fuck this perfect cunt with my fingers, with my mouth, until you’re coming apart. You think you’re wet now, but you don’t know the meaning of the word. I will worship this cunt. And in blessing, you will make me drown, understood?”

She had no idea what he was saying, but she heard the words ‘worship’ and ‘blessing’ and that sounded good enough. Her body was a temple. She was a goddess. She wanted this. She nodded. “Do it, Warren. Make me come.”