“You’ve hardly said a word.”
She studied his face, then turned away and gave him a tug to continue down the dirt path. “I had a restless night.”
He looked her over. Sure enough, the whites of her eyes were lined in red, dark circles shadowed beneath. “Do you want to rest a moment? We can catch up to your sisters afterward.”
“Is this some trick to get me alone?”
“Possibly.”
Though getting her alone had its merits, he now noticed her weary look, and her slow steps had them lagging behind the rest of the company.
“Ladies,” he called after her sisters, “we’re resting here under the trees.”
Dante seemed happy to have the two beautiful ladies on his arms all to himself. With a nod in Richard’s direction, Dante wheeled them back around on the path and continued on. Abby gave him a long look over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes.
Richard led his wife over to a pair of tall trees so they could sit in the shade. Releasing the tie on her bonnet, Emma sat in the shade of a large oak, twirling the flower he’d given her between her fingers. She tossed her bonnet aside, lay back with a sigh on the grass, and closed her eyes. Her hands were folded over her ribs, her legs curled to the side and hidden under the swath of light yellow silk she wore.
Hiking up his trousers at the knee, he sat next to her, one knee bent for his arm to rest upon. He tossed his hat in the general direction of his wife’s and stared down at her reclined form. Unable, and unwilling, to resist touching her soft skin, he ran the back of one finger down her rosy cheek. She gave a soft sigh, and her eyes cracked open to watch him.
“What were you doing last night that you didn’t sleep?”
She covered her mouth on a yawn. “Went to bed much later than I planned.”
“You’re evading my question.”
“I know.” Her eyes now seemed sharp as a leopard eyeing her potential mate. “Tell me something … Would most men be as patient with their wives as you have been?”
He shrugged. “I can’t say with any certainty that I’ve done anything right this past week. Not where you’re concerned.” It was an honest answer.
She took a long inhalation and turned her head away from him to look at the branches of the tree above them.
She stretched her hands above her head. The strain of her breasts against the stripes of her dress was torture to him. “What would you do if I gave you admittance to my room tonight?”
“I’d come.”
Was it possible that he’d won her over after a week of following her around like some pathetic puppy starved for attention?
“Will everything change once you get what you came here for? Will you leave for London when I’m with child?”
He considered her questions carefully. It hadn’t been a matter of coming home and starting a family. But there was the matter of his business, old and new.
“I can make no promises, Emma. All I know is I won’t be leaving London for any stretch of time in the near future. My business now not only brings me home, but also keeps me home.”
Emma stared at him with those impenetrable green eyes of hers for so long, he was sure she’d change her mind.
“I propose a deal,” she said.
Women always made deals that benefited them. He nodded for her to continue, despite the unease worming around in his mind.
“You made a suggestion that I’ve been thinking about a great deal.” She worried her lip. “This decision wasn’t easy for me. But perhaps, if I am not with child by the time you leave, we should petition for a divorce.”
“Do you have someone else in mind for marriage?” He hated to ask, but had to know. God help him if she did. He’d kill the man, whoever he was. Richard didn’t care if that man was a bloody duke.
“No.” There was nothing in her gaze to suggest she lied. “I just don’t wish to spend the next twelve years alone. Your father was a wonderful companion for a girl who knew nothing of the world, and then my sisters were there for me when he passed away. But Abby will hopefully be married soon, and Grace won’t be by my side forever.”
“I can’t see myself traveling farther than London.”
Besides, he wanted to be present in his child’s life. Though he hadn’t gotten along with his father, the old man had always been there. Nagging, nagging, nagging to do what was right for his position, but the old man had still been a constant in his life. His mother, too, had always been there for him when she was alive.
“If I were to agree to petition for divorce should our arrangement not be to your liking, you’d admit me to your bedchamber?”
“Yes.” No artifice tainted her voice.
“A divorce would ruin you, Emma. You’d be shunned from society.” He pushed his hand through his hair in frustration. How could she want that for herself? “Have you thought how you would live?”
Her fingers stretched out into the grass, toying with the green blades. Did she not want him in her life after all their years apart? He scratched at his jaw. It was a possibility, and that sudden realization sat like a rock in his stomach.
“The only thing I know with certainty is that I can’t continue to live as I am.”
“Divorce would do neither of us any favors. I want more time before you make a decision, Emma. Give me two months.”
“If you stay for two months, the time is yours.” He knew she mulled over her answer. “If you leave before then we will petition for divorce.”
“I don’t plan on leaving, Emma.”
She looked at him in disbelief. He supposed he’d never given her reason to believe otherwise.
He didn’t know a great deal about divorce, only that it was a long, tedious process. He nodded his agreement to her demand, knowing he would do everything within his power to change his wife’s mind.
Unwilling to resist touching her since she’d agreed to let him in her bedchamber, he rubbed his thumb down the center of her lips, parting them. Not one protest passed her lips. He picked up the discarded flower she’d set on the grass beside her, and ran it over her cheek and lips in a feather-like caress.
He leaned in close to her face, his actions full of suggestion. He scanned the area around them. They were quite alone.
“We can start now,” he suggested
The hitch in her breath was palpable enough to make his heart beat faster in anticipation.
“We shouldn’t.”
Tossing the flower to the side, he lowered his lips to hers. He just wanted a small taste of what his wife offered. Her lips were soft, full. Running his tongue along the length of her upper lip, he tasted the sweet remnants of peaches before pulling at it and then releasing her.
She returned the kiss, lick for lick, nibble for nibble. His hand had found its way to her silk-covered breast, his fingers rubbing across the slightest distention of her nipple.
The last thing he wanted to do was stop. But if he didn’t, they’d be here for the greater part of the afternoon and with decidedly fewer clothes on.
He stared down at her. Her pupils were dilated, the green eaten up by a blazing black. With a groan that had everything to do with denying his need to have her, he reluctantly got to his feet and offered her a hand.
“We should go back to the house before we’re missed.”
She placed her gloved hand in his and let him pull her to her feet. He released her, knowing if he didn’t he’d let himself be led around by his prick.
“Before we go, I have something for you.” He pulled out the envelope he’d kept in his breast pocket. “This arrived yesterday.” He handed it over, watching her expression carefully.
Her brows furrowed as she took the letter and flipped it over to see the seal. There was nothing in her expression to suggest she wished the letter to remain a secret.
“Why are you only giving it to me now?”
He shrugged and took her arm. “Forgot I had it.”
He was expecting a more telling reaction from her. M
aybe a blush when she read the letter, or a hitch in her breath at seeing who it was from. Maybe she’d practiced hiding any revealing actions toward her lovers?
She leaned on his arm in silence, while he burned with a million questions about tonight and the nights thereafter. He asked none of the questions on his mind. It wasn’t the right time.
Before they could enter the French doors to the study, Emma pulled him to a stop. “Ten o’clock sharp, Richard.”
She didn’t wait for a response, just opened the door and walked toward her sisters, muttering something about setting up an early luncheon.
* * *
A knock came at the adjoining door between their bedchambers at precisely ten o’clock. Her maid stood up from where she was turning down the bedding, and stared at her mistress. Emma nodded, indicating that she could leave.
The only hint the maid was gone was a draft that picked up loose tendrils of hair to feather against Emma’s cheek and forehead where she stood in the middle of her room. Her bare toes curled into the carpet.
“Come in,” she called out.
She hadn’t locked the door between their rooms. She’d not refuse him now. She’d thought long and hard about taking this next step.
Richard pushed the door open and stood framed in the entry. He made an impressive figure with his shirt untucked from his trousers, his hair tousled as though he’d just run his hands through it. His expression was smug, maybe even a little victorious for winning entrance to her bed. Not that it had been a competition in holding out.
Her decision had not been made lightly. There was a great risk in all this; the possibility that she’d lose her heart to him again. The only reason she’d allowed this interaction was because she desired him. Desired to know the feel of a man holding her, taking her, loving her body. But what would accepting him mean to her art?
She closed her eyes and banished the thoughts. She’d been over this a hundred times. She had made her decision.
She waited for him to say something, or do something. The silence was so palpable between them, she held her breath so as not to break the growing tension. Unable to meet his gaze, she looked at her bed. There was a lone oil lamp in the room, letting off just enough light that they could see each other. He walked toward her, leaving the door between their rooms open.
“Good evening, wife.”
“Good evening.”
His touch was light on her shoulder, and he gave it a squeeze as if she needed reassurance. He was herding her closer to the bed with small steps. Before she knew it, she was sitting on the edge. The bed dipped down near her hip with his weight. His hand pulled the edge of her nightgown high up on her thighs. His hands were rough where they stroked along her legs.
Everything was moving along too fast.
“Relax, Emma. I’m not so much a stranger now, am I?”
She responded in a choked whisper, “Nervous.”
Nervous didn’t even come close to describing how she felt with her husband touching her so intimately. She’d imagined and dreamed of this so many times. Never actually thought it would come to fruition.
Curling her hands into fists at her sides, she tried to be less stiff under his touch. She scooted up higher on the bed. He followed; his hands caressed all the bare skin he revealed while hitching up her chemise. The edge of the material tickled her flesh the higher it was raised.
What if she wanted more from him than simple intimacy? Oh, she knew she wanted more than this. She wanted a husband who loved her, who would never leave her. She wanted her art, and yes, she wanted him. But she daren’t think she could have it all. His sole goal was an heir. Her greatest desire was to have children.
Her heart sped up with her thoughts. Her breathing rushed out of her and her palms started to sweat where they were clenched.
The back of his hand grazed her left breast through the linen, giving her something to focus on aside from her trepidation. The tip peaked and she could feel gooseflesh rise everywhere he stroked. Did he know that he was igniting an inferno of latent need?
He gave a soft chuckle. “I promise to be gentle.”
She’d rather he not show her such a kindness. She would rather him not care. The more time they spent together, the closer she would become to him. It was inevitable. It meant that she would have to live through the heartbreak of him leaving her all over again.
Why did the hunger for more have to unfurl in her belly? Need started to drown her doubts.
Richard stilled and was quiet for some moments. The silence didn’t help her unease.
“Should I stop?” he asked.
She loosened her hands and curled her fingers into the soft bedding, the tension slowly draining from her body. She shook her head. God help her, the last thing she wanted to do was stop. She wanted him here—she’d debated it and thought it through too many sleepless nights to have him leave now.
“I feel decidedly underdressed,” she said.
He grinned and sat up on his knees to pull his shirt over his head. “Easily fixed.”
With a deep inhalation, she focused on the speckling of coarse hair over his muscled chest, and the line of dark hair that led downward to his thick erection straining against the front of his black trousers.
Her breath caught at the sight. She hadn’t been prepared for that. She’d never seen him naked before, never really seen any man naked. Tonight, everything would change. She forced her gaze away from the tantalizing sight and back to his lust-filled gaze.
“More interested now?”
He leaned forward, slid his hands beneath her rear, and pulled her down the bed. She liked being held by him, and being closer to him. Shyness was forgotten as she reached up to press her palms to his face; he kissed the inside of one hand, then the other.
He stared down at her for a long moment. Did he plan to kiss her? She’d never been properly kissed by him.
Not even on their wedding day. That was when her heart had first splintered and her childish hopes had been tossed to the wind like the rose petals thrown after their wedding. Brides were supposed to be kissed, loved, cherished. She was none of those things.
She closed her eyes, and waited. Finally, he pressed his mouth to hers. She tasted tooth powder, smelled the bay soap he’d washed with, and the deeper scent of sweat that added to the elixir of their first real brushing of lips. It was slow. Methodical. They explored and tasted of each other, his tongue sliding along hers. Her lips pulled at his between the sparring of their tongues. She moaned in protest when he pulled back.
Hands running the length of his back, she felt every firm ridge of sinew flexing and moving as he held himself above her body. She wanted to hold him here for an eternity. Never let him go. Crush herself against him and just stop thinking altogether.
The slide of her chemise over her flesh awakened her arousal from a long slumber. Every inch of her body felt as though it were burning up. She wanted to be naked against him. To rub against him flesh-to-flesh. Finally, he hiked up the offending material of her chemise. He looked down at her chest, his hands pressing and massaging into her flesh from waist to ribs to breast, pulling at the tight peak there with nimble fingers.
The way he stared down at her made her feel empowered.
“You’re beautiful, Emma.” He pulled gently at the dark pink tip of her breast, making the nipple stand taller.
“I want your hands all over me, Richard.” She didn’t know where the words came from, and she hardly recognized her own voice, it was so husky. But she was past the point of caring.
“Anywhere you want me.” There was promise in his statement.
She watched his face carefully. He was like the cat in the creamery, lapping her up with his heated gaze.
A profound, inexplicable connection was made when their eyes clashed and they stared at each other in an unguarded moment. Everything felt exactly as it should be.
For now, everything felt right.
Emma was not a shy virgin on her weddin
g night. She was a grown woman, with a great deal of repressed desire. He was the only man she had ever wanted as an outlet. She wanted this. Had always wanted him even after their disastrous wedding night. And he was hers … for as long as he stayed.
He pushed his trousers down over his hips, shucked them off, and tossed them to the floor. She had to bite her lip to keep from whimpering at the sight of his manhood jutting out proudly between them. He cupped himself, pulling the skin back from the smooth head. She must have made some strangled sound because he released himself and rubbed his hand over the coarse hair at her center.
Fingers separating the folds of her womanhood, he pressed them to her core and let out a groan. “God, you’re wet.” Two fingers thrust up into her so suddenly she squeaked in surprise. “So damn wet.”
He pulled his fingers out and painted the dampness over and around her nipple. Her breath left her in a rush when he leaned over her and sucked the firm tip deep into his mouth and groaned against her breast. She didn’t know what to do with her hands so she threaded them through his hair and held him close. He was all unbridled heat above her.
He pushed her legs apart with his knees. The rough hairs on his legs brushed against her intimately.
“Do you know how sweet you taste?” he asked. “I want to fuck your pretty cunny with my mouth and thrust my tongue deep inside you.”
Her eyes widened. Her mouth went dry. Did husbands and wives normally share this type of familiarity? Despite the bluntness of his words, she wanted to hear more wickedness leave his tongue.
Whatever he saw in her eyes made him still above her. “Wrap your legs around my waist, Emma.”
She did as told, then his mouth was on hers again, his tongue searching out hers. There was a franticness to his pace that made her heart race, that made her feel more daring than she ought to.
She locked her ankles at his spine as he heaved forward. He pushed her up a good inch on the bed as he seated himself within her body. There was pressure between her legs, but the uncomfortable sensation ebbed and that feeling she’d been waiting for started to unfurl in her body like a maelstrom being unleashed and given free rein. It was the exact same feeling that had bombarded her when she was with her husband in the cottage and again when he’d placed the sweetest, most fleeting kiss upon her lips earlier today. She closed her eyes and ground her pelvis up into his, wanting him deeper, wanting so much more.
The Seduction of His Wife Page 9