by Emma Wildes
politely if she was too tired for his company, and then proceed to douse the lights. Never before
tonight had he disrobed her completely, choosing instead to touch her through her nightdress,
lifting the hem when he moved to take her, his entry into her body always careful and measured.
When he was done, he invariably went back to his own bed. Occasionally he waited until she fell
asleep, but usually he simply excused himself with the same politesse with which he’d come to
her, and left.
It made sense, she supposed when she thought about it, for all of the beau monde considered it
fashionable for husbands and wives to have separate bedrooms, and Colton was practical to a
fault. If he had his own bedroom, then why should he not sleep there?
Maybe it made sense, but it was intensely irritating.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t enjoyed their sexual congress from the very beginning—even that first
nervous night she’d been aroused by her husband—but she had felt as if she was giving him
something and he was taking it. The phrase “conjugal rights” seemed to apply to those shrouded,
restrained encounters. She would never deny him, but Brianna disliked inherently the idea of
applying the concept of duty to something as beautiful as what they had just shared.
Before tonight she would not even have really termed herself his lover. Wife, yes. Lover, no. But
now here she was, finally in his bed, nude and deliciously tired, with his discharge sticky on her
thighs and his arm curled comfortably around her.
“Brianna.” He touched her cheek, his fingers light. “I have a very early morning and my day is
full of appointments.”
A feeling of sharp disappointment replaced her languorous well-being. “It sounds similar to most
of your days, Your Grace.”
“I hardly think you need to address me so formally at a time like this.”
She said nothing.
“Rogers will be here at daybreak as per my instructions,” her husband said in the same reasonable
tone, as if he hadn’t just made love to her with consummate passion.
“And heaven forbid your valet should find me in your bed.” Brianna sat up, shaking back her
long hair, giving her husband a level challenging look. “I take it I am dismissed, now that I’ve
served my purpose.”
Relaxed against the crisp white sheets, his skin still holding a sheen of perspiration from their
exertions, Colton frowned. “I’d hardly put it that way. I didn’t put it that way. I just don’t want to
wake you when I arise.”
“How considerate of you.”
“Actually, yes, I was trying to be.” His brows went up. “But from the sarcasm in your tone,
apparently you don’t agree.”
“Sometimes I think you must be the most obtuse man in all of London.” Brianna slid from the
bed, trying to remind herself that no one could change quickly, and her handsome but infuriating
husband was a particular challenge. She was certain the notion he needed to adjust anything in
his life to fit her romantic sensibilities would startle him.
Love, also, was a word he rarely considered.
“Will you explain to me how allowing my wife an uninterrupted night’s sleep makes me obtuse?”
He watched her scoop up her discarded clothing, his eyes heavy lidded. Though he remained
reclined on the bed, his mouth was tight.
“No.” Brianna walked away deliberately so he could watch her nude backside as she headed for
the door separating their bedchambers. “Good night, Your Grace.”
She thought she heard him mutter a low curse before she left the room.
What the hell had just happened?
Colton lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering if he should go into his wife’s bedroom and
demand an explanation. Well, two explanations.
No, three.
She definitely owed him three.
First there was the dress. He was still befuddled over why she had worn it in the first place, even
if Robert had come up with a reasonable way to prevent that from happening again. Then she had
boldly surprised him by performing an act he would have sworn she could have known nothing
about, and now . . . well, he wasn’t sure what the devil had just happened.
He had the unsettling knowledge that after the most satisfying sexual experience of his entire life,
he’d just committed some kind of marital faux pas and hurt her. It was confounding because he
could have sworn that in the blissful postcoital aftermath they had been more in accord than ever
before. Certainly Brianna had felt perfect in his arms, warm and flushed from sexual gratification,
her slender body fitted to his, the silk of her glorious pale hair spilled across his chest. From the
very first time he’d touched her she had been surprisingly responsive, but tonight had been earthshattering.
Until he’d blundered, apparently.
His moody stare fastened on her door, now firmly shut.
So ripping her clothes off was fine but being solicitous enough to not want to disturb her in the
morning wasn’t?
. . . and heaven forbid your valet should find me in your bed . . .
If she thought he would be happy about any man, servant or not, seeing her in alluring dishabille,
all golden hair and ivory skin, naked underneath only a thin coverlet, she was sorely mistaken.
Their private life was just that, private, and her delectable beauty was his alone.
He’d talk to her, he decided, when he wasn’t so tired and confused by her erratic behavior.
But despite a full day and lengthy vigorous lovemaking, he found he couldn’t sleep right away.
Something odd was going on, he decided as he lay in the darkness, watching the moon send
struggling illumination against the draperies. It was disordering his world, and he’d always had
such a tidy, predictable existence.
Chapter Four
Avoid men who pose as something they are not. In a lover, character is still important, even if the
transient pleasure of his embrace is all you seek. I have a specific affection for young rakehells,
for they are genuine and upfront about the fleeting nature of their interest. They are also
inevitably charming. If you should be the woman who finally captures the sincere attachment of
one, you are lucky indeed.
From the chapter titled: “Those Darling Wicked Gentlemen”
Their horses walked side by side, both magnificent animals, but like the men who rode them,
very different. Robert, of course, chose a Barbary stallion, his favorite breed; the restive animal
could prove hard to control, but well worth the effort if you wanted endurance and speed. His
oldest brother—no surprise—rode a thoroughbred, all slender legs and massive haunches, with
shoulders built for short distances, a sprinter extraordinaire, the toast of the British bloodstock
books. After winning a fortune in prizes, Thebes was now retired and in stud, but Colton rode
him because the horse was a favorite pet as well as an investment.
They suited each other, aristocratic duke and sleek champion, Robert thought with inner
amusement, though at the moment his brother’s normally serene, good-looking countenance was
wreathed in a severe frown. “I am at a loss over my wife.”
“Confounded by a woman?” It was impossible not to laugh. “What a novel concept.”
Colton sent him a quelling look. “Your amusement is not helpful.”
“Is help what you want?”
After a moment, Colton equivocated, “Maybe. She’s behaving erratically.”
The park was fairly full on such a lovely autumn morning and they nodded to several
acquaintances, falling quiet until they were once again alone on the path. A pure blue sky
stretched above, punctuated by eggshell clouds. Robert said mildly, “Brianna seemed perfectly
normal at Grandmama’s birthday luncheon last week. I wouldn’t have used the term ‘erratic,’ but
then again, I don’t see her every day.”
It was true. Robert had his own townhouse, declining to live in the grandiose family residence in
Mayfair. He wasn’t the Duke, he wasn’t even second in line—his older brother Damien held that
distinction for the moment—and Robert liked doing as he pleased without censure.
Again, there was a palpable hesitation. Colton’s hands tightened enough on the reins that Thebes
tossed his head. He patted the horse’s neck in apology. “It isn’t something you would notice from
the outside, but I sure as the devil am seeing a difference.”
It wasn’t often his older brother was so obviously discomforted. Robert had to admit it made him
curious as hell. He glanced over, wrinkling his brow. “You’re going to have to explain, Colt.”
“Yes, deuce take it, I realize that.”
The irritation in Colton’s response was even more curious than his unusual request for a morning
ride. Robert waited patiently as their horses walked leisurely along the winding path through the
grass and trees, feeling peaceful in the warmth of the unusually fair weather.
“The other night she . . . well, let’s say it was unexpected.”
Now that was hardly enlightening, but Robert at least got a sense of what Colton might be
discussing—or not discussing as it were—because his normally composed brother had a faint
flush on his face. “Do you mean in bed?” Robert asked bluntly.
Colton sent him a quick look and nodded briefly. “Yes.”
“Unexpected in a good way or a bad one?” After all, it was Colton who had sent the missive
requesting a morning ride and it was Colton who sought his advice. If Robert was going to forego
a morning’s lie-in for this discussion, they needed to actually discuss the matter and stop dancing
around it.
“Good.” Colton said it shortly. Then he amended. “Very good, if you must know.”
“I don’t need to know anything about the intimacies of your marriage, Colt, but you brought the
subject up.”
“I realize that.” The Duke of Rolthven definitely sounded out of sorts. “Sorry,” he added in a
more conciliatory tone. “It’s one thing to discuss women in a general way, but my wife is
something different.”
Robert didn’t have a comment for that one. There was no precedent in his life for talking about a
wife, so how could he know?
“It’s private.”
“I would imagine.” Colton was a private person in general, so the conversation was getting more
intriguing by the moment.
Colton stared fixedly at a copse of trees as if it was the most fascinating thing on earth. “Oh hell,
well, all right. She . . . well, she did something she’s never done before.”
Oh, that helped. Robert murmured, “Order tea afterwards? Sing a song as she undressed? Dance
across the window ledge stark naked? Invite her maid to join you? You are going to have to be
blunter. Subtlety is for females as they sit and sip sherry and exchange gossip. I can’t read your
mind.”
“Fine, fine,” Colton growled. “Brianna took me in her mouth. What’s more, she did a damn good
job of it too.”
Though his first thought was that the incident made his brother a lucky man indeed, Robert
refrained from mentioning it. With caution, he asked, “And you object to what happened?”
“Good God, of course not.” But Colton’s laugh was short, and his blue eyes held a troubled look.
“I just wonder where she got the idea.”
“Not from you?”
“No, not from me. She’s a lady. I wouldn’t ever ask her to do such a thing.”
The light dawned. Sitting at ease in his saddle, Robert fought back a laugh. “You do realize you
are fretting over something most men would be toasting and celebrating. Sex is a normal and
instinctive process. Brianna has married friends. Maybe there is a husband among them who isn’t
so polite. Women talk amongst themselves. It is one of their favorite pastimes.”
“Not about what happens behind the closed doors of their bedrooms, surely.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not a delicate subject.”
A certain part of Robert wondered in cynical amusement if growing up in the shadow of
impending ducal responsibilities sapped so much of a man’s attention that he lost focus on the
real world. “Colt, think about it. Women are fascinated by romance. By nature they are much
more absorbed in the subject than we are. No, I don’t think they talk constantly about the
mechanics of what happens, but why should they? The act itself is pretty universal. One part into
another part. It feels damned good for both parties if done right, and though there are some
variations, the basic principles are all the same. Men focus on things like the size of a pair of
breasts or how willing or skillful the partner, but women like something else entirely. Tender
words, the drift of your fingers through their hair, a poetic phrase about a sunrise when entwined
in bed at dawn. None of that is indelicate.”
“Which supports my point,” Colton said acerbically. “Who would suggest to her I might like such
wanton behavior?”
“I thought you just admitted that you did like it.”
“That’s beside the point, Robbie.”
It was his very point, but Robert let it go. Instead he patiently explained, “Even if they look at the
sexual relationship differently than we do, it seems natural to me that one of her acquaintances
might mention how riveted a man becomes when a beautiful woman sucks his cock. Not the way
we would talk about it, of course, but in the more delicate way women converse about such
things. I imagine them discussing what pleases us. While we tend to think about what we like,
women are much more selfless. We insist on it.”
His older brother shot him a disgruntled look. “Which side are you on, anyway?”
Robert was male through and through, but he did recognize the inequity in the sexes as far as
power went, in bed and out of it. “Ours. Very firmly,” he asserted. “But let’s be honest. The
control belongs to us. Intelligent females know this. Keeping us happy makes their lives easier,
especially if they are at our mercy, like our wives.”
“Brianna is not at my mercy.” Colton swiveled in his saddle, giving his best display of ducal
disdain, eyebrows up, a haughty set to his features. “She’s my wife, not a prisoner or slave.”
Robert couldn’t hide his amusement. “I am sure you give her a generous allowance, but I am just
as sure you govern the manner in which she spends it. On the same note, you allow her to accept
invitations to various entertainments on the behalf of both of you . . . but I’d wager you reserve
the right to approve them and reverse her decisions. She may go out alone, but only if she is
accompanied by her maid or some reasonable substitute, so alone
is a relative term, correct?”
“I am not some despotic—”
“No,” Robert interrupted, “you aren’t. You are simply a typical husband. We make females very
dependent on us, don’t we? What we view as protection could easily be interpreted as smothering
dominance.”
After a moment, Colton exhaled a long sigh that rang with exasperation. “Let’s say I concede all
that, though Brianna has never complained even once about any of those small rules. . . .”
Robert gave an inelegant snort at the use of the word “small.” For himself, if anyone even
attempted to direct him in how he should spend his money or overrode his decision on any matter
—even something as trivial as whether to attend a play or go to a soiree—he would be annoyed
beyond belief. Then again, he was male, and once he’d reached his majority, he’d had carte
blanche in how to live his life. But the status quo among married couples was that husbands
always had the last say. Married women had as little autonomy as unmarried women who had to
defer to their fathers.
His older brother ignored the derisive sound and went on determinedly, “I still say she is acting
strangely.”
“And I say she is merely high-spirited and maybe more adventurous than you at first assumed.
Why brood over such a delightful thing as an enthusiastic woman in your bed, even if she is your
wife?”
Colton rubbed his jaw with a gloved hand, his eyes narrowed against the sun. “I suppose when
put that way, it is ridiculous to spend my time worrying over it, but I admit she caught me very
off guard. When I queried her about where she got the notion for her behavior, she was evasive.”
Robert fought the urge to break into a fit of laughter. “Only you, Colt, would pose an
interrogation after a particularly satisfying sexual encounter. You do have a tendency to
overthink things. You always have.”
“I’m more used to experienced females,” his brother murmured. “This is all new to me and,
perhaps you’re right, could be perfectly natural as she becomes more adjusted to the intimacies of
being married. However, her closest two friends are Bonham’s new countess and Rebecca
Marston. I can’t see Bonham tutoring his wife in such a way, for they’ve been married a month