Leonora had never been kissed. Not even by Lord Robert. Her mouth tingled at the marquess’s words. Anticipation licked through her, flaring down her spine and settling between her thighs. A strange, keening ache had begun to blossom there. She felt heavy and needy, and though she was an innocent, she knew what that pooling warmth meant.
Some years ago, she had discovered, whilst lying alone in bed one night, the sensation could be brought to a raging, pleasurable crescendo, and the heaviness and ache would only be satisfied by doing so. She knew she had been sinful, committing such an act of depravity, touching herself there, where her flesh was forbidden, but she had been unable to help herself.
And she had not stopped. She knew how she liked to be touched, what would make the pinnacle break over her like a wave hitting a shore and splitting into a thousand tiny, beautiful directions.
Even now, lying before her husband of one day, she could not suppress the thought of guiding his knowing hands to her, bringing him between her thighs. He could alleviate the pressure and the need. After all, he was the source of it. She felt quite sure.
“You must not,” she found the strength to protest at last, shocked by her own vulgar urges.
His eyes glittered with an indefinable emotion, boring into hers with expert precision. He must have read something of her thoughts in her countenance, for his own expression changed, his lips parting, nostrils flaring. “Are you curious now?”
Curious, yes. But she must not allow her inner yearning to trump her determination to keep him firmly at bay. “I would have been curious if you had not fled the moment the introductions to your servants were completed. Now, I am afraid, I merely wish to find my bed and get some rest.”
Her voice was a traitor, breathless and low, giving her away.
And Searle did not miss it, for his grin only deepened. “Liar,” he charged softly. “Admit it. You are curious, regardless of my actions earlier today.”
She shook her head, loathing herself for being so easily read, resenting him for being correct. Irritated with herself for the lack of resistance to this man. He was not the first handsome lord she had seen in all her years on the marriage mart. “No.”
He raised her hands to his lips for a kiss, first one, then the other. “The truth, my lady. I begin to think there is far more to you than you have previously allowed me to see.”
If that was the case, surely it was because he had not bothered to spend time with her over the handful of weeks following their ignominious display at Freddy’s ball. They had waited for the banns to be read, and then they had wed. In the interim, he had taken her for a drive in his curricle once. He had paid a call lasting no longer than five minutes one afternoon, and he had danced with her at one more ball.
If he did not know her, the fault was his alone. She summoned all her courage to tell him so. “Perhaps you have not attempted to seek it.”
“And perhaps I wish to do penance for the sin of failing to court you properly.” His jaw was clenched.
“Do not forget the sin of failing to acquaint me with my new home.” She could not resist reminding him tartly.
His eyebrows rose, dark arches inching up his otherwise flawless, high forehead. Every part of him was perfect, from his handsome face to his elegant air. She, on the other hand, was a limping spinster, surely a burden to him. The woman he had no doubt reluctantly taken as his wife.
But although she knew she ought to be grateful, he had made her his marchioness, and given her hope she may one day bear the children she so desperately longed to have, she could not seem to stop baiting him. Something had happened to her. She was changing. Altering. She was a new Leonora. The bravery slipping from her lips was perhaps foolhardy, but necessary.
For most of her life, she had been pitied and ostracized, and she had allowed it. She had sat on the periphery with Mama and her atrocious turbans, knowing no one would ever ask her to dance or seek her hand. But now, someone had.
Still, she was no longer the Leonora who waited on the edge of life, too tentative to live it. Even if having a husband was nothing like what she had imagined it would be for all those years of yearning and hoping. Rather, it was like living with a wild creature. She knew not what to expect. Knew not whether he would run at the slightest provocation, if he would allow her to pet him, if he would bite.
The notion tickled her sense of humor, and she could not quite squelch the sudden, inappropriate burst of laughter rising in her throat at the thought of the Marquess of Searle facing her like some feral wolf. It suited him so.
“You do indeed possess untold depths, my lady.” His tone, like his gaze as it traveled over her from the roots of her hair to her toes in one scorching pass, was wry.
She tugged her hands free of his grasp and slid from his bed, her feet touching the luxurious softness of carpet. “Unfortunately, I also possess a strong need to get my rest. I am heartily glad you have returned this evening, my lord. Perhaps tomorrow we may begin again?”
He stared at her, a muscle in his jaw flexing.
Good heavens, he was so powerful and predatory. Leonine, really. Far more regal than a wolf. Yes, the exotic, hazardous beast seemed the perfect likeness.
Her lion, she thought foolishly. If only she might tame him.
“I bid you good evening, my lord,” she said boldly into the silence he had yet to answer.
Thanks to Freddy, she knew her first night as a wife should have entailed far more than what had just occurred between them. But she was also painfully aware she needed to find her footing in this wilderness she was about to inhabit.
She swept from his chamber with as much grace as she could manage.
Just before the door latched behind her, she heard the unmistakable rumble of his voice.
“I bid you good evening as well, Leonora.”
The sound of his deep, delicious voice saying her name haunted her all night long.
Chapter Four
“Dearest Leonora!”
Leonora smiled as she embraced her best friend back with just as much, unladylike exuberance. “Freddy!”
With the sudden wedding preparations on Leonora’s part, and Freddy’s own new marriage to keep her distracted, too much time had passed since they had been afforded the opportunity to chat alone. Freddy sounded and looked so pleased, happiness nearly radiating from her as Leonora took a step back. The salon her friend had turned into a writing area was cheerful and bold, and situated perfectly so the sun poured in through the bounty of windows on an opposite wall.
“Or shall I call you Marchioness now?” Freddy asked, grinning slyly. “You do look different, darling.”
If misery had a look and it could be described as different, that would explain her friend’s comment. Because one sennight into her marriage, Leonora had made a hideous, previously uncontemplated discovery; relieving herself of her spinster status and marrying an eligible parti had not fulfilled her as she had hoped it might.
Instead, it had left her confused, empty, and alone.
Contrary to her urging on their wedding night for them to begin again the next day, the following morning had dawned upon a Searle as cold and flatly emotionless as ever. He spoke few words to her. He breakfasted before she was awake and spent dinners at his club. His gaze was intense, but his moods impossible.
Most evenings, he did not return until she was already abed. Each night without fail, she heard him entering his chamber in the late hours of the morning, his heavy footfalls treading to the door adjoining their chambers. In the cool darkness, she waited as the portal opened and he stood there for an indeterminate span of time before closing it once more.
But she could not possibly share all that with her blissfully happy, utterly in love friend before they had even settled to take their tea. Leonora exhaled on a sigh, not wishing to unburden herself just yet. Perhaps not even at all. Freddy was like a summer breeze, shining and warm and abundant and sweet-scented. Leonora felt, in contrast, like a rasping, ravaging win
ter’s wind, the sort that sucked all the moisture from one’s lips and stung one’s cheeks.
“I feel different,” she offered with a noncommittal shrug. “But tell me about you, Freddy. It has been far, far too long.”
Her friend pinned her with a shrewd, assessing look. “You look as if you have just slid your foot into your slipper and found it filled with treacle.”
Had she been in a lighter mood, Leonora would have laughed at Freddy’s witty observation. As it stood, her emotions hovered somewhere in the brackish vicinity between spontaneous laughter and a hideous bout of sniveling tears.
So, she forced a smile. “There is no treacle in my slipper, I assure you.”
If there had been, it would have been a less trifling matter than the realization she had married a complete stranger, and that obtaining a husband felt rather like being gifted a prettily decorated box only to find it empty inside.
“And now you rather resemble a lady who has found dog offal in her slipper instead,” Freddy countered, arching one dark brow as if to say she was not fooled by Leonora’s reassurances.
“You are certainly laden with similitudes today, Freddy,” she observed instead of responding to either of her friend’s discreet inquiries into her wellbeing. “You look different as well. Radiant and happy, just as you deserve.”
It was true, for her friend was a vibrant beauty on ordinary days. Today, however, she seemed to somehow shimmer with radiance. Perhaps it was her contentment. Perhaps love had softened her. Leonora still knew a pang in her heart whenever she thought of the manner in which Freddy and Mr. Kirkwood had gazed upon each other at their ball.
Had she truly been foolish enough to believe procuring herself a husband would provide her that same sense of comfort and joy? What a ninny she had been.
“Thank you.” Freddy’s smile turned secretive as her hand settled over her abdomen. “It is early, but I do think I may know the reason.”
A riot of sensation burst inside her chest. Elation for Freddy. Longing for herself. Despair that the same thrilling announcement may never emerge from her own lips. Fear of what her life would mean, stretching before her, childless, with a husband who viewed her as a responsibility and nothing more.
“Oh, Freddy.” This time, the smile on her mouth was not forced, for she wanted nothing but joy for her friend. “Are you enceinte?”
Freddy nodded, her eyes glistening with the hint of unshed tears. “I am. You shall be an auntie, and it is my greatest hope that you will soon have similar news for me. Our children could take their first steps together. Only think of how wonderful it would be. Is that the reason for your long face, Leonora? I know how very much you want babes of your own. But you have been married for only a week. It would be too soon for such a happy event to occur.”
“It would also be too soon for a happy event to occur when a marriage has yet to be consummated,” she observed dryly before she could think better of uttering confirmation of Freddy’s fear she was unhappy.
Freddy’s brows rose, her expression turning grave. “Pardon, dearest. I believe I misheard you. Of course you have…that is to say, you enjoyed a wedding night with Searle. Did you not?”
“Oh, Freddy.” She surrendered her determination to keep her upset to herself. “He has not even attempted to kiss me.”
“Not one kiss?” Freddy sounded shocked.
Leonora sighed again, a sudden twinge of pain forcing her to leverage all her weight onto the leg that had never been broken. “Nary a one.”
Of course, Freddy took note of her discomfort.
“Forgive me, dearest,” her friend said. “What have I been thinking, holding you here without a hint of proper manners? Sit, please do. Tea and biscuits should be here any moment now. I do hope you are staying for a nice, long visit. You are staying, are you not?”
Leonora had thought to visit Mama, as well, while making her first calls as the Marchioness of Searle. But Mama could read her as well as Freddy could, and Leonora had no wish to divulge the sad state of her marriage to more than one person today.
She allowed her friend to guide her to an overstuffed chair, where she happily took her seat. “I suppose I can stay for as long as you would like to have me here.”
Just then, a servant arrived, bearing a tray of chocolate biscuits and tea. Freddy waited until the domestic had departed before pouring tea for Leonora, knowing just how she preferred it, and offering her two biscuits as well.
“Two biscuits?” Leonora frowned down at the delicious looking things, thinking of her waistline, which was frightfully responsive to sweets, and not in the manner she wished. “One should suffice.”
“I am having three,” Freddy said unrepentantly. “Duncan’s chef is exquisite, recommended by the chef at his club. Every bit as talented, though blessedly possessed of a significantly smaller sense of his own magnificence. After your first bite, you will be cursing me for only offering you two, I promise.”
Leonora bit into a biscuit, and she had to admit, it was buttery and decadent upon her palate. She chewed it thoughtfully before swallowing. “These are utterly delightful, Freddy. You are, once again, quite right.”
“Duncan finds only the best,” Freddy said with a smile.
“Of course he does,” Leonora could not help but to observe. “He found you, after all.”
Freddy flushed, taking a delicate sip of her tea. “One could say I found him after I trespassed at his club as I did.”
“No matter which one of you is responsible, Freddy, you are both happy and in love, and I am so very overjoyed for you.” And she was. She was incredibly delighted for her friend.
It filled her with warmth to see Freddy thriving. Mr. Kirkwood seemed the perfect foil for her, someone who understood and appreciated her mind and her novel writing, who could not just accept an unconventional lady but worship her as she deserved to be.
“But you are not happy,” Freddy deduced.
Correctly, drat it all.
Leonora supposed it was inevitable she would have to admit the truth. She could not hide her feelings from her friend forever. She sighed for what had to be the third time since her arrival. “I am not happy,” she admitted.
“Searle is not cruel to you, is he?” Freddy demanded, moving to the edge of her seat. Her expression had hardened, suggesting she would gladly take up the cudgels and use them upon Searle if need be.
So fierce and loyal, her friend. Leonora had never met another like Frederica Kirkwood. She was thankful to have found her and to count her an ally.
“No,” she hastened to reassure her friend, and that much, at least, was true. “He is polite. Horridly so. He seems to resent me, in truth, and I fear the fault is mine for rebuffing him initially, in a moment of pique.”
She flushed as she said the last, her cheeks stinging. For though she trusted Freddy implicitly, Leonora had never spoken about such matters as they pertained to herself. Not with anyone. Mama had advised her, and so had Freddy, but at that moment, she had yet to have a husband of her own. The warning words of her mother and her friend had been disparate, and they had seemed to apply to a future which Leonora could scarcely even contemplate.
“Have you expressed your interest to him?” Freddy asked.
“Of course not,” Leonora said primly. “On our wedding day, he brought me to Linley House and left me after introducing me to the servants. I was not pleased with him, and I let him know as much upon his return.”
Freddy nearly spat her tea. “You ought to have boxed his ears!”
“I was not certain what to expect of him. He is very much a stranger to me, and I have never had a husband before.” She paused, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “I believe he may have been interested in consummating that evening. But when I told him he ought not to have left me and I needed my rest, it seemed to set the tone for the last week. He has been aloof and distant. I have been…existing.”
“You were not wrong to tell him what you did,” Freddy reassu
red her. “If he hurt your feelings, he should know. He should want to know. You are his wife, and it is in his best interest to please you in every way.”
From the pink tinge to her friend’s cheeks, Leonora could only surmise Mr. Kirkwood kept Freddy well pleased. Yet another twinge of envy pierced her. Oh, to have what Freddy and her Mr. Kirkwood had, love and passion and mutual respect.
“He is a difficult man to decipher,” she admitted. “At times, I feel as if I shall suffocate beneath his stare, and other times, he is so cold, so remote. Sometimes, I cannot help but think he looks straight through me.”
Freddy frowned. “I do know from Duncan, who has it from the Duke of Whitley, that Searle must have suffered a great deal when he was imprisoned. Perhaps that is the reason for his lordship’s flux of moods.”
Leonora had told herself as much. “How do you propose I express my interest to his lordship? Is not that task relegated to him? I had thought…if he wished…that is to say, I believed he would kiss me if he wished it.”
“Your marriage was abrupt,” her friend pointed out, frowning. “Perhaps Searle wishes to give you time to acclimate yourself to the notion of having a husband.”
“Perhaps.” But she was unconvinced. His aloofness had been concerning. At times, he seemed alight with intensity, as when his hands had been upon her. But he seemed equally capable of icing over, becoming detached.
He was a fortress she could not breach.
Impenetrable.
“What troubles you, dear heart?” Freddy asked then, clearly sensing Leonora’s internal struggles.
“I fear I have made a great mistake,” she admitted, suppressing a sob of despair. “I had hoped he would… I do not know—soften toward me. But each day, he has been polite yet removed, not even attempting to kiss me or to do anything more. It is almost as if he has given up on me already.”
Freddy’s lips thinned into a fine line of irritation. “First, you deserve nothing less than a husband who acknowledges you are the center of his day, the very driving force. Second, I saw the manner in which Searle touched you the evening he compromised you. I saw his expression. It was not the countenance of a man who is not helplessly, hopelessly attracted to you. Rather, it was the opposite.”
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