by Galen, Shana
“A servant cannot choose the thread,” Ines explained. “If we were in Barcelona, we might be able to tell the servant where to go and the proprietor would know what we wanted, but here we do not know the shops or the quality of thread to be found in them.”
“We shall have to go ourselves,” Catarina said. To her surprise, Benedict agreed. She thought he might argue that they didn’t need to make lace and thus didn’t need thread.
Instead, he sat back. “We’ll go shopping, but not tomorrow. How about the day after?”
Catarina and Ines agreed, but Catarina wondered why he’d wanted to wait. Surely one day wouldn’t make any difference. A good wife would not have questioned her husband. She would have passively accepted his decision. And if he cared for her, why make her wait? Perhaps her request was nothing but an annoyance to him.
After a day of trying not to think about why Benedict had wanted to wait, and failing miserably because she had no lace to keep her occupied, Catarina knew she’d never be a good wife.
After Ines fell asleep, she pulled on her dressing gown and tiptoed into the blue parlor.
But Benedict wasn’t at his desk as she’d expected. Which could only mean he’d gone to bed.
She should go back to bed as well. Instead, she found her feet moving in the direction of his bed chamber. She’d expected his candle to be extinguished. She’d expected to turn right back around and go to the chamber she shared with Ines. Instead, she found light flickering under his closed door.
Catarina stood outside it. There was no shame in knocking. She could ask her question and go back to her bed.
There was no shame in staying. He was her husband in the eyes of God. He was her husband in her own eyes as well, and he was a man she respected and even liked. If he would take her in his arms and kiss her as he had the night of the theater, then she might never go back to her own chamber again.
I can still give you pleasure without causing a baby. We could—
She longed to know what words he would have spoken next.
Before she could lose her courage, Catarina tapped on the bed chamber door.
“Come in,” he called.
She stared at the latch. She hadn’t expected to be invited in. She’d thought he would answer the door. But, of course, he thought it was Ward knocking.
She lifted the latch and stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her. Benedict stood at his wash basin, shirt off, splashing his face with water. She had a moment to admire his broad shoulders and the solid lines of his back. He was no lean boy, but a man of thick muscle and power. He had a smattering of freckles here and there as was typical of people with his coloring.
“What is it?” he asked, fumbling for a towel to dry his face and eyes.
“I had a question,” she said, her mouth dry. If her legs were not frozen, she would have crossed to him and run a hand down his bare back.
He spun around, lowering the towel from his eyes and staring at her with shock. “I thought you were Ward.”
“I realize that.” Now she could see his bare chest, which was wide and lightly covered by hair that matched the ginger on his head. His waist was probably thicker than it had been in his youth, but his belly was still flat. She imagined kissing that belly and heat flamed in her face.
“You had a question? Not anymore?” he asked, placing the towel on his washstand and standing before her as though her obvious perusal of his naked flesh did not affect him.
“I-I cannot remember what it was.”
“Do you want to come back when you do?”
How could she walk away when he was standing there looking as he did? It was one night. She could trust him for one night.
We could...
Those words taunted her. She wanted to know what they could do together. She wanted him to touch her again. Her heart was beating so hard she could barely hear her own words when she stammered, “I will stay, if that is acceptable to you.” Her gaze met his, and she saw in his eyes a flickering of relief. Of course, he’d offered her an exit. That didn’t mean he wanted her to take it.
“It’s more than acceptable.” But now he seemed at a loss for what to do next. “I would offer you some wine or other refreshment, but I have nothing.”
“I am not thirsty.” She took a step toward him. Moving close to him was more instinct than thought. Her body tingled at the anticipation of his touch.
“I’m not either. Is there something else you want?”
She swallowed. Would he make her say it? She wasn’t so proud or so stupid as to deny herself yet again. “You. I have missed you.”
He didn’t need to ask what she meant. He closed the distance between them with two steps. “I’ve missed you too.” His arm came around her waist, and he tugged her gently to him until their bodies were pressed together. This. This was what she’d wanted. How had she survived even a day without his body touching hers?
“I’ve missed your mouth.” He touched her lips with his thumb, still wet from the water he’d used to splash his face. Her head spun with the intensity of need. “I missed kissing it.”
“I want you to kiss me again,” she managed, her voice raw and desperate in her ears,
He bent to do just that, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. She would not let him go this time. The hair on his chest tickled where bare skin brushed over it, and he was so incredibly warm. She could have made a little burrow in his chest and wintered there.
His lips took hers, gently at first then with more urgency. He tasted clean, like peppermint toothpowder, and smelled faintly of soap. As his tongue stroked hers, she felt her body come truly alive. Like the fire in the hearth, her blood began to simmer low and hot.
His mouth moved to her neck, where he pulled her loose hair to one side to gain better access. She shivered as his hands slid up her body and back down to her waist again. Their hands met together at the tie of her wrapper, and she smiled as their gazes locked.
“We had the same idea,” he said.
“It is rather warm in here.” She was burning up and nothing would ease that feeling but his hands on her, all over her.
He nodded as she unknotted the tie and slipped the wrapper off. She still wore her chemise, a short garment that didn’t even reach her knees and was so thin he could probably see through it. He took the wrapper from her and stepped away to lay it over the foot of the bed. His gaze lowered to her legs. They weren’t long or slender, and she felt somewhat self-conscious about them, but the way he looked at them, with heat and desire, made her forget her worries.
In fact, she wondered if he would look at the rest of her with such longing, and she found herself reaching for the hem of her chemise. She began to lift it, and he backed toward the bed.
“I’d better sit down if you’re about to do what I think you are.”
“You are my husband,” she said. “I have nothing to hide from you.” She wanted him to look at her with approval and longing. She wanted to see that he wanted her. Needed her as much as she needed him.
“Damn right.” His breath hitched as she pulled the garment up her thighs, over her hips, across her waist, and tugged it over her head. She let it drop on the ground then.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” he murmured, “but I’ll thank God until my last breath. Can I—can I touch you?”
She nodded, her voice seeming caught in her throat. He held out a hand and she took it, allowing herself to be pulled between his legs. Then his arms were on her waist again, and his mouth on her lips. But she couldn’t concentrate on the kiss. His hands roamed down over her bottom and he groaned softly before tracing the curves of her hips. She shivered when she thought he might touch her belly and dive lower. Instead, he traced a path up her ribs and cupped her breasts.
“Catarina,” he whispered as though she’d just revealed some treasure to him. “I know exactly what I want to do with you.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. She wanted to give herse
lf to him completely, but how could she throw everything she’d worked so hard for the past five years away with one act? “You said...the other day in the parlor...”
“I’ll make certain we still have the option of annulment.”
His words surprised her and not happily. She didn’t know what she’d wanted him to say. Wasn’t his response what she’d expected?
“It will take some—very well, all—of my control, but if I’ve learned anything in life it’s self-control.”
The warmth she’d felt before had begun to ebb away. He was content to leave the possibility of annulment open. Did that mean he didn’t want her as his wife? Or maybe he didn’t think she wanted him?
His mouth was on her shoulder, then her collarbone, and it was impossible to entertain any thought when he kissed her like that. His hands were on her bottom again, stroking and kneading gently. And when his mouth skated over her breast, the warmth she’d thought gone rushed back hotter than before.
Her nipples hardened, and he took one in his mouth, causing her to moan audibly. The way he sucked at her roused urges she’d never felt before. The hand on her bottom slid between her legs, and her knees buckled. She could feel how slick she was as his hands skated over her core.
“You’d better lie down,” he said, releasing her and standing. He guided her to the bed, but before she could sit, he turned her, and his hands were on her backside again.
He surprised her again when he knelt and kissed the small of her back. She trembled at the intimacy of such a kiss and the waves of pleasure it sent through her. Then he moved his mouth lower until he’d left a wet trail over one cheek. Lightly, he bit the fleshiest part, and she gasped. She wanted him to reach between her legs again. Her breasts were aching, her nipples so hard they almost hurt. She had the urge to touch them herself while he stroked her.
But he reluctantly turned her around and she toppled onto the bed. He was still on his knees, and he lifted one of her feet and kissed her ankle.
“What are you doing?” she said with a laugh since her feet were ticklish. “You cannot mean to start kissing me there.”
“Can’t I?” The wicked look in his eyes assured her he knew exactly what he wanted to do. “Watch me.” He turned her leg, kissing her calf and then the inside of her knee. She began to tremble as her leg was spread wider, and he brushed his lips over the inside of her thigh. “Your skin is so soft,” he murmured, his breath on her flesh making her catch her breath. He parted her legs further, his mouth growing closer to the thatch of dark curls at the juncture of her thighs. When he reached them, he brushed his lips over them, and Catarina bucked.
With a smile, he moved up her body, kissing her lower belly, then her navel, then her abdomen. Finally, he took her breasts in his hands and made circles about them with his thumbs. The circles grew increasingly tighter, but he never seemed to reach her aching nipples.
“Please,” she said. His thumb brushed over one then the other and she moaned loudly.
“Lay back,” he said, helping her fully onto the bed before coming down beside her. “I must ask you a question now.”
She blinked at him, hardly comprehending. Her body was on fire, her mind focused on the feel of him and his touch.
“I’m not asking to judge you but because I need to know how to proceed.”
Now she stiffened slightly. “What is it?”
“Are you still a virgin? You can answer truthfully. I won’t be angry if you’re not.”
She sighed. “I am. I never wanted—” She didn’t quite know what to say next.
“I have another question. Have you ever touched yourself to bring about orgasm?”
Her face reddened.
“I know you are a religious woman, and the church teaches against such things, but I’m your husband, and I wouldn’t censure you.”
“I have never done that,” she answered truthfully. “I have never wanted to...before.”
His lips curled in a smile. “I make you want to touch yourself?”
Her face felt as though it was on fire.
“Good. That’s how you’re supposed to feel. You’ll tell me if I do anything you don’t like. You should feel only pleasure.” He gathered her in his arms, turning her toward him and kissing her mouth, as his hands roamed about her body. When she was acutely aware of every single part of her, his hand came to rest on the dark curls at her center. He cupped her there, not moving, not doing anything but allowing her to get used to the feel of his hand there.
Gradually, as his kisses became slower and deeper, he slid his fingers into her curls, and then, finding her passage, traced one finger around it.
She could hardly breathe at the feel of him there. She couldn’t concentrate on Benedict’s kisses, and he drew back, his eyes meeting hers as his finger slowly entered her. He withdrew again, curving his finger upward until she was jolted with sensation. She gasped.
“Again?” he asked.
She made an incoherent sound, and he slid his finger into her again. This time he went a little deeper, but he withdrew as slowly and at that angle that meant he slipped against the most sensitive part of her.
When he entered her again, her hips moved, pushing herself against his hand to gain the most pleasure. Still inside her, he pushed her onto her back and spread her legs. He moved the finger within her slowly, his hand at an angle that caused her to writhe on the mattress and wantonly spread her legs further. This time when he withdrew, she all but screamed in frustration.
“Close your eyes,” he said. “Don’t think of anything. Just feel.”
She felt two fingers at her opening. Carefully, he slid them inside, to the first knuckle. “Yes?” he asked.
“Oh, yes.” She moved, taking him deeper. She could feel how wet his hand was, how wet her curls, but she tried to forget that. She felt only the way his fingers arched up, sliding in and out to rub against that tightly coiled part of her.
Everything was bright blue and white as he touched her, and the pleasure mounted. She didn’t know what she did, what she said, what she moaned. She only knew that finally all of the sensations coalesced into one tight ball that shattered into a sensation of perfect bliss.
When she finally opened her eyes, he was lying beside her, his hand on her breast. “Catch your breath,” he said.
She stretched and smiled at him. “I feel...mmmm.”
“Yes. I told you only pleasure tonight.” He pulled the sheet back and moved her body until she was underneath it, then he joined her. “I don’t want you to feel cold.”
How could she with him beside her? He was so deliciously warm. She kissed his chest, her lips trailing up the line of hair, and he pulled her close. “Sleep for a bit. I don’t want you to be too weary tomorrow.”
“But it’s not even eleven.”
“I know. Which means in a little while I can pleasure you again.”
“Again?”
“And again.”
She took a shaky breath, certain she would never be able to sleep with all of that to anticipate. But a few minutes later she was dreaming.
Eleven
“What’s past is prologue.”
The Tempest, William Shakespeare
HE HAD A NAKED WOMAN sleeping in his bed. She was truly sleeping now. He wasn’t so much a brute that he would keep her up all night, though he was certainly tempted. But he’d awakened her twice before, and he didn’t have the heart to do it again, even if he still had the urge to touch and explore her body.
It was almost dawn now, and if he laid next to Catarina much longer, he would give in to temptation. Instead, he rose and splashed water on his face then put on clean breeches and found a pressed shirt. He stood in front of his mirror and stared at his chest. He could see the white mixed in with the ginger hair. He found gray hairs in his beard before he shaved and more seemed to crop up on his temples daily. He’d always had wide shoulders and a barrel chest, but he’d lost some of the muscle and definition he’d had ten years ago.
He wondered what Catarina had seen when she’d looked at him last night. Had she noticed all his flaws? She said she didn’t think him too old, and he certainly didn’t feel old with her body beneath his hands.
He tugged a shirt on over his head. She didn’t have to stay married to him, of course. He was still willing to agree to an annulment once he knew she was safe and no longer needed his protection. But if matters progressed beyond what they had last night, he would not be amenable. He didn’t want to produce a bastard or saddle her with a child she could not provide for, although truth be told, her lace would probably make her a wealthy woman if Juan Carlos didn’t ruin her reputation out of spite. If that happened, it might be better for them to stay married.
And perhaps he was really just looking for a way to keep her. It was ridiculous that he should feel any obligation to her. They were not legally wed, and yet, he’d stood in that church and said vows. And he’d meant them too. Not because he loved her—he’d barely known her. But because he respected her and liked her and wanted to do something to help her. Giving her his name had seemed such a small thing.
He hadn’t counted on it meaning anything to him. But it had.
He hadn’t seen her for five years, and in that time, he’d met his share of lovely women. The women in brothels across the Continent were easy to ignore. Benedict wasn’t interested in paying for a woman. But when he’d come home from the war, he’d been celebrated as a war hero. He’d been asked to every ball and dinner party and celebration London could muster. He had always enjoyed social occasions. He was no recluse who detested dancing or conversation.
What he hadn’t expected was the number of women who had openly propositioned him. It was easy to say no to the women who were married. It was more difficult to say no to the widows. At one point, he wondered why the hell he was saying no to the widows.
So he said yes, and ended up doing no more than boring the poor woman with old war stories.
He knew why, even before Catarina had been naked in his bed.
Because he felt married. In his heart, Catarina was his wife. And though he’d thought he might never see her again, though she might have had a dozen lovers while they’d been apart, he could not bring himself to be disloyal to her.