“That, I can accommodate, Adalia.”
His arms ran up the outsides of her thighs, his left hand shifting around to her backside, gripping her in place as his right hand dove inward, his thumb slipping down the center of her folds. She screeched, the touch both rewarding and torture.
Slowly, his thumb circled, taking the hard nubbin and teasing it into a voracious, pulsating beast. His tongue followed, and she buckled forward, her fingers gripping the back of his neck. His tongue sending her mind into black, swirling fits of pleasure, he slowly dipped his thumb into her, stretching her, searching.
And then he nudged a spot. A glorious, evil, divine spot deep in her body that sent her trembling, screaming.
He nudged it as his tongue slipped around her nubbin, his lips clamping about it, pulling. His grip on her backside tightened, almost to pain, yet it only sent her nerves into a fevered pitch as her hips swiveled, begging for more.
“That Adalia? Too hard?”
She pulled herself from a moan that had taken over her chest as her hands went back to grip the chair again. “I don’t think there’s anything you could do to my body that I wouldn’t like, Toren.”
He chuckled. “I like that answer.”
His thumb flipped deep within her, dragging out slowly as his palm ground against her.
“And I think you will like this even more.”
He was pulling from her, even as he was stroking, bringing her to a pinnacle, her body standing on a precipice she couldn’t name, feared, and needed to go over at the same time.
Needed.
She needed this.
Now she knew what Toren was talking about.
“More, Toren, more.”
“Hold, Adalia.”
Torture, pure and simple. It had been his plan all along.
She opened her eyes to him, surprised to see him standing again, for his hands were still clamped to her body. His sheet was gone, his shaft long and hard and reaching for her.
He set his tip at her entrance, bracing her hips a second before he slid smoothly into her, filling her, letting her body adjust to him.
The mangled mew that escaped her throat drew a slight growl from him, and he withdrew, leaving her body.
He paused, taking a moment to pry her fingers from their grip on the chair, and he wrapped her hands around his neck. Lifting her, he set her onto the arm of the chair.
His next stroke was not gentle. He slammed into her, reaching deep, forcing her entire world to shift.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders. “More. That. Like that.”
“Damn, Adalia.” He did as she commanded. Pushing, demanding her body stretch for him, succumb to his need of her.
She climaxed. Screaming, fire in her veins. Her body twisted out of control, and it was exactly what he needed.
Growling, his body exploded within her as she shuddered around him, grasping for anything solid she could hold on to as she left her body.
Spinning waves fought through her body, one after another after another.
He held her until she sank down to earth, her senses gradually returning with each slowing heartbeat.
Unburying her face, she pulled her head from his chest, untangling her arms so she could look up and find his eyes.
“I do enjoy what your body needs of mine. Can you do that again?”
{ Chapter 8 }
Toren laughed.
This, he had not expected. He could tell from the first moment he saw Adalia that she was not experienced in bed. It was she held her shoulders. Slightly rigid at all times. Not with the ease of a woman who owned her own body through and through.
But she had not shied in the slightest from his tongue. And her body was very, very good at giving his body exactly what it needed.
“Yes, I can. But you must give me a few minutes.”
She bit her lip, her green eyes glowing at him. A few minutes was apparently not soon enough for her.
He chuckled, freeing his arms from her body. He grabbed her hands and pulled her forward to slide off the arm of the chair. It was upholstered, but still, the bar of wood had to have been digging into her flesh. Not that she looked as if she minded. She looked, quite frankly, as if she would sit in that exact spot for the rest of her life if it meant she would get to enjoy what had just happened again and again.
Motioning her to the chair, he went over to the side table by the window and pulled free the stopper in the brandy decanter.
He looked over his shoulder at his new wife as he set rim to glass. “I would not normally ask this of a woman, but you are . . . unconventional . . . because of your brothers and how you were raised.”
Tucking her feet underneath her on the wide chair by the fireplace, she looked up at him, her gaze cautious. “In what way?”
Curious that she didn’t scurry for the cover of a sheet or that monstrosity of cloth she had been dressed in earlier. She sat naked, the fire enough warmth for her body.
“Do you drink brandy?”
She laughed. “Fair enough. No, actually, I do not. I tried it once long ago when Theo slipped me one too many drams in a night. I thought I had far too much to prove, so I sipped and sipped and sipped away. It turned out Theo got everyone exorbitantly foxed that evening so he could finally win the bulk of the wagers.”
“Wagers?” Still gripping the thin neck of the decanter, he turned fully to her.
“We would have grand nights of gambling—baccarat and hazard and whist and piquet—my brothers and I.” She settled her forearm along the arm of the chair, leaning toward the fire. Smooth and languid, her body had shed much of its inherent rigidness. “Except Theo never won, and it drove him insane. Alfred and I were very good at recognizing tells. And Caldwell bullied his way to wins. So Theo finally got his win that night, and while my two older brothers fell to the brandy and slept, I was left with my head over a chamber pot.”
Toren cringed. “The bugger—that sounds like something Theodore would concoct.”
“Yes—exactly.” She smirked. “But he received his vengeance in full—he had to tend to me vomit after vomit—it went on for six hours. The stench was atrocious and he had to wash it from my hair. Justice was more than served.” She shook her head, her nose wrinkling. “So no, I do not drink brandy.”
“Claret, then?”
“Yes, please.”
Toren turned to the table and poured her a ruby-red glass of wine. Grabbing her glass and his own of brandy, he walked back to the hearth, handing her the claret. He sat on the wingback chair opposite her, stretching out and crossing his legs on the low ottoman between them.
Her gaze dropped to the fire as she sipped the wine. He took a swallow from his own glass, studying her. She had angled her arm in front of her breasts. Modesty creeping into her consciousness. He didn’t care for that.
She looked at him, her eyes traveling in a careful line from the fire to his face, avoiding everything below his neck. “How did you know Theo? I do remember him mentioning you with the name Dell, but only in passing. I still don’t understand how or why he would have asked this of you.”
“Asked me to watch over you—marry you?”
She nodded.
Toren took a sip from his glass, then set it to balance on the top of his thigh. His palm went up to rest atop the rim of the glass, forefinger tapping along the edge. “I do not have an answer for you, Adalia. He never told me the why. What I can tell you is that Theodore was my friend—my only friend, truth of the matter.”
A disbelieving smile crossed her face. “Surely not your only.” Another second, and the smile slipped from her face. “You only have one friend? And it was Theo?”
“Had.” Toren nodded. “And yes, Theodore was the only person I considered a friend. He was also the only person I knew at school, or as an adult, who did not approach me with an ulterior purpose at the ready. The ducal title is the reason for my interactions with all people. It always has been. What they need of me. What I need of them. Every
one in my life has always either been paid to be there, or had hopes of some gain.”
“Why—” She coughed, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. It took her a moment to recover, a sip of wine helping. “Why, that is awful, Toren—pure and through.”
“It is a reality that I have always lived with.” He shrugged. “I hold no ill will over the fact, as I came to terms with it long before I knew any different.”
She took another sip of claret, still clearing her throat as she nodded. “I can imagine why Theo was your one friend, then—he always cared so little about titles or power—or money, for that matter. Only about his next adventure. Only about the fun—or trouble—he could manifest.”
Toren’s eyes glazed over. “Yes. Never once did Theodore ask me for a favor in all the years I knew him. He only asked that I participate in life with him.”
Adalia smiled, nodding. “Theo was infectious, wasn’t he? He did not think there was such a thing as a bad idea. He would do anything—and he never plotted with regard to any caution. I imagine you did help him with that?”
His cheek lifted in a half smile. “There were a few scrapes I extracted him from. But he never asked for the help—never for a favor, save for this one.” He flipped his forefinger in a circle above his glass.
“Me?”
“Yes. And my vow to him was the only favor I have ever granted where I did not gain something in return.”
“A truly benevolent act on your part?” She cocked an eyebrow, a grin lining her lips. “What could have ever possessed you to make such a magnanimous promise?”
He heard the light sarcasm in her voice but did not bow to it. Instead, Toren’s voice notched lower. “Theodore was my only friend. It was the only thing he wanted of me. So I knew you were the most important thing to him.”
Her breath caught, and he could see how his words had cut into her. Opened a wound he had not intended to poke.
A broken smile reached her lips. “For all of Theo’s wild ways, he loved me best of all. I knew that.” Tears welled in her eyes, glistening in the light from the fire. “He was supposed to come home. Not in a box.”
“I agree.”
Her eyes dropped to the fire, her lips pulling inward as she fought tears. Admirably, they did not spill from her lower lashes.
After taking a long sip of her claret, she looked to him. “I fear I have lost all taste for nudity this evening.”
Toren inclined his head. “I understand.”
Adalia unfurled her legs from their wedge on the chair, and she walked across the room to set her glass on the bedside table as she picked up her nightgown. She didn’t put it on, holding it instead in front of her body.
Walking back over to him, she stopped by the chair he sat in. “Do know that I did enjoy what you did to me tonight, and I . . . I hope it continues.”
“Beyond the bedchamber?”
Lines creased her forehead. “What do you mean ‘beyond the bedchamber’?”
Toren shook his head, standing so he could look down at her. Now was as good a time as any to tell her. “We are married, yes, but I do not want to encourage emotions between us that will do neither of us any good.”
She exhaled through a relieved smile, meeting his look. “If you think I mean to fall in love with you, Toren, I assure you, I have no intention of doing so. I wish you no harm.”
“Harm? How could that possibly harm me?”
“Everyone I have ever loved, save for the twins, is dead. Everyone.” Her words held no sadness, only resigned acceptance. “That is a lot of death that swirls around me, and I would rather not add you to the list.”
“You think you are cursed?”
“I am not willing to prove it any further.” She offered him a smile, her fingers curling tight into the ruffles of her nightgown, the only barrier between their nudities. “I am willing to bear your children, Toren. Nothing more. Though I hope we are amiable. Which should suit you well, as I don’t believe you wish for anything more than that from me.”
Relief cut through him. If Adalia was truly being honest with him, he could not have hoped for a more appropriate wife for his needs. He gave silent thanks to Theodore on that count. “On that you are correct, Adalia. I do not wish for anything more than an affable marriage. It pleases me we are in accord on the subject.”
She gave him one nod, tightening the fabric in front of her across her chest. He wondered how she was going to clutch it to her backside when she exited.
“Excellent. Sleep well, Toren.”
He inclined his head to her, taking the last swallow of brandy from his glass.
She turned, walking toward the door that joined their chambers. Toren watched her move away, noting she didn’t bother to wrap the nightgown around to her backside. Her long, wavy red-blonde hair swung slightly with her steps, the tips of it brushing the top curve of her buttocks. For some reason he could not name, the very fact that she did not fully hide from him pleased him beyond measure.
She stopped at the door, turning back to him. “Forgive me, Toren, but curiosity has gotten the better of me.”
His eyebrow cocked. Curiosity in a woman was never good.
“Why is it that you do not want me to love you?”
“I cannot return the love.”
Her eyes drifted downward, and she nodded, more to herself than to him. Her look shot back up to his eyes. “Why not?”
Toren needed no time to prepare an answer. He’d had this conversation before. The words came from him, practiced and impassive. “I do not know what love is, Adalia. I know what I need in life. But love—that is something I am not capable of.”
“Because of how you grew up?”
“What do you know of that?”
“I have gathered that you grew up with one cold governess and one indifferent solicitor who served as your guardian and watched over your assets. A very lonely upbringing.”
He eyed her, attempting to piece together whom she had been talking to. “I was raised as was appropriate for a boy in my position.”
She didn’t argue his statement, but her head tilted to the side, and her astute green eyes went calculating. “Just because you were never loved, Toren, does not mean you aren’t capable of it.”
“And just because I was never loved, Adalia, does not mean that I yearn for it.”
She exhaled, nodding, and slowly turned to the door, then exited his room.
Yes. They were, indeed, very different.
{ Chapter 9 }
“You are sure the girls will be fine?” Leaving the stables, Adalia looked over her shoulder at the retreating castle.
“Adalia, not a soul makes it onto my estate without me knowing,” Toren said from the large brown steed next to her mare. “I have four men standing guard, and the maid who is watching the girls is very skilled with the rolling pin she keeps in her apron. I have seen her whack the overly saucy third footman many times with it.”
She looked at him, frowning. “You are trying to make me laugh so I do not worry.”
“True. I do want your concentration on where we are going and not back on the castle. And you must remember that beast of a hound is with the girls. He will attack any threat long before any one of those people I mentioned lifts a finger.”
“Hazard is not a beast. He is a puffy sweet soufflé.” Her head swiveled. Fields to her left, a deep forest straight ahead, pastures to her right—and each of them stretching as far as the eye could see. “But this will take hours, Toren. Your land is so vast.”
“Exactly. And that is the advantage I need you to have. I need you to know this land in case it ever becomes necessary. Where the trails are. What they lead to. We will be doing this for several days—more if you cannot pay attention the first time we travel through it.”
“Days? But you just said we are all safe here.”
His eyes went to the sky. “I did. But I want you prepared as well. I have yet to discern what the exact threat is—why Mary was taken—the da
nger Theodore believed you all to be in. Why he took the extreme measure of sending you to me. I cannot plan for every eventuality, and your being aware of the land around you is a last resort you should never need, but I want you to have it for your own sense of peace. Can you understand that?”
“Yes. Fine.” She lifted her hand off the sidesaddle’s pommel and flitted it in the air. “I will stop my worry. Or at least not speak of it.”
He gave her a sideways glance, shaking his head.
Down the rolling hill behind the stables, Toren directed the horses to the middle of a long stretch of trees. “There.” He pointed forward. “This is the main trail through the woods. There are more in and out, and we will get to those, but most of them lead to or from this trail. This is the first choice—the quickest area to escape to with the girls should it be necessary. Most of the horses in the stable have been on it, and can move fairly quickly through it in the dark, so Josalyn and Mary should have little problem guiding their horses.”
The trail wide, their horses remained side by side as they stepped from the bright summer sunlight into the cool shadow of the trees.
“Toren, the girls do not know how to ride.”
He glanced at her, eyebrow lifted. “Well, they must learn. They are far past old enough.”
Her head shook so emphatically her small bonnet shifted, almost slipping from the crown of her head. “No. I do not want them harmed. I will not allow it.”
His body bobbing easily with every step of his horse, Toren stared at her. For long seconds he said nothing.
Stare at her all he wanted, Adalia wouldn’t yield on this matter. She would not allow the girls to go near horses.
Toren opened his mouth, his words calm, reflecting the cool serenity of the woods surrounding them. “To learn how to ride properly will ensure the girls are not harmed, Adalia. I have an excellent stable of fine, gentle mares. And several docile ponies that would be perfect for them to learn on. They will not be injured.”
Her look whipped to him. “Absolutely not, Toren. I said no. No. My brother Alfred died from a horse. So no. I do not want them anywhere near the stables. Anywhere near the horses. I cannot have them at risk.”
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