by Stacy Reid
“I’ve offended your sensibilities again.”
“I…I…n-no.” She closed her eyes, feeling on the verge of tears.
How could she explain to him that it all felt too intimate? Such intimacy in the marriage bed she hadn't ever imagined, and she had always hoped that she would feel some level of comfort with her husband. There was none of that between them. His presence filled her with heat and hunger and such need that bordered on painful. There was nothing comfortable in how he made her ache, and she hardly knew what to do with the feelings.
She cleared her throat. “I think perhaps you were correct earlier. Might…might we get to know each other a little bit first before…before we are this intimate?”
The silence was awful. I am foolish. “Sebastian?”
"We will wait," he murmured, shifting up to lay beside her. "There is no rush. We have a lifetime before us."
The furious pounding of her heart eased, and she did not tense when he slipped his hand around her waist and tugged her into the solid wall of his body, halting the need to flee to her chamber. He was still naked, but she didn’t let it fluster her much. Clearly, no one told him lords and ladies slept in separate chambers. Could she expect any gentleman-like conduct from him?
“Sebastian, I am very sorry I—”
“There is nothing to apologize for Fanny. You are a very sheltered young lady, and I am certain I shocked you fiercely.”
There was something deep and unfathomable in his tone. She turned it over in her thoughts trying to understand. “I’ve disappointed you.”
“I am only frustrated, but it is not something to worry about. It will ease soon.”
She snuggled deeper into his embrace. “There is an ache…in me…and I feel so unfulfilled I want to scream. Is that the same frustration you feel?”
She felt the smile against her hair.
“Something of the sort.”
Oh. She shifted, settling atop his chest even more comfortably, distantly amazed at how secure she felt in this moment, though she was acutely conscious her husband was indeed naked.
“Perhaps—”
He squeezed her gently. “We will—”
She turned in his arms and pressed her lips to his, ending his protest. “I know my duty as your wife.” His heart pounded against her fingertip resting against his chest.
“I want to give myself to you, but I cannot…” she fought the blush. “I cannot do anything as wicked and improper as you’d done earlier,” she whispered, mortified at the mere memory of where he had placed his mouth. “Darcy never mentioned anything that you did earlier. She said it would be mildly pleasant…and be over quick, and you would be very mindful of my sensibilities. If we…we should remain under the covers and not be wicked, it should be all right.”
There was a long contemplative silence.
“I am gathering that you will never be comfortable with me touching and tasting you so wickedly.”
She gasped. “Of course not, how could you think it?”
Eventually, he let out a ragged breath. “I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “I knew ladies were not fit for bedroom romps.”
Why did she feel disquiet instead of relief? Fanny hated the confusion twisting through her. His tone indicated other types of women were fashioned for the kind of loving he wanted. Mistresses? She stiffened, her heart pounding. Was this the reason gentlemen took other women to their bed? So as not to distress their delicate wives’ dignity and sensibilities? A fierce denial surged through her heart. It could not be.
“Is there a particular thing you like to do?”
That soft, curious question halted her frantic thoughts. She turned and relaxed into his embrace and rested her hand atop the hand he had encircling her. An unusual warmth filled her chest, and she smiled. “I enjoy riding so very much. To feel the wind on my face, and to feel the power and strength in my mare. Riding is one of the reasons I look forward to retiring to the country at the end of the season. It is not quite the same trotting down Rotten Row.”
“Do you expect to retire to the country?”
She frowned. “Only at the end of the season.”
“I’ve never retired to the country before unless I visit my factories in Manchester, Sheffield, and Leeds.”
She absently traced patterns over his knuckles with her fingertip. He had the hand of a worker, not delicate and soft like her brothers. “You keep the townhouse open during winter?
“Why would it be closed?”
He sounded so flummoxed she laughed lightly. “You are a lord now. When Parliament is closed, and the season has ended, men of your ilk retire to their country homes for a spot of hunting and even attend several house parties. It is more relaxing there, and I daresay we get to recover from the bustle of the season.”
“It is surprising lords, and ladies of society believe they need to rest from the leisure and debauchery of the season.” His tone was caustic. “Men of my ilk work, I have thousands of workers depending on me, I fear I do not have the luxury to retire away for months after indulging in a season of dancing and other nonsense.”
For several long moments, her mind became such a blank. “Of course.” There had been a few rumors he made no allowances for the frivolity of society, finding it nonsensical. The chasm of difference between them suddenly loomed. Their lives had been so different and would perhaps continue to be. Fanny could not envision herself wintering in London. And clearly, he would not be in the country with her. Perhaps with a mistress? She bit her lower lip, frowning. What if he should turn to another for his pleasures because she had been too silly about consummating their wedding vows? It struck her then how impetuous she had been in marrying a man who operated in a world far different from hers. And why? Because he made her tremble? Ache with no idea of how to relieve the tension that simmered in her blood?
“I recently bought a manor in Derbyshire, Selbourne Hall. It boasts over one hundred rooms and sits on over two hundred acres. It is undergoing a few repairs, but it will be ready for occupancy within the next two weeks, I was assured.”
The tight band around her chest eased, and she smiled. “Is it staffed?”
“No.”
“I will begin interviewing a housekeeper and a butler. For here, we will also need more staff.”
“We have a housekeeper and—”
She kissed him, and Fanny could not say who she startled more. It was absurd, but she needed to taste him, needed the feel of pleasure to push away the disquiet worming through her. She needed him to crave her and feel as if only her kiss, her touch, and her bed mattered. The hunger flaming through her was as shocking as it was fierce, and she slanted her lips over his with wanton greed, her breasts pressing hot and soft into his chest. Her husband groaned, and his heart jerked, and at one point, he trembled.
He shifted, once more placing her beneath his wonderful weight, taking control, gentling her aggression, transforming her kiss from marauding to sweet and passion filled. The softest of kisses peppered over the bridge of her nose, her lips, and down to her neck, then back up to her mouth. Oh. A slow heat burned through her, and soon she became lost in the wonder of his kisses. This time when he pushed her nightgown to her hips and settled between her legs she did not protest. She welcomed him, feeling safe and cherished in the comfort of the darkness. A tug of longing pierced the heart of her for the illicit kisses he’d bestowed earlier, but she pushed it down, immersing herself in the way he worshiped her with gentle kisses and languid touches of his fingers. His calluses abraded her skin, rasping delightfully over her sensitized body.
His knees parted hers. The kisses went deeper, and then there was a pressure at a point between her legs where she felt empty. He pushed, and she tensed at the pain.
“Sebastian?”
“Yes, my sweet?”
“I…Should there be pain?” Her voice was thin, shaky.
“Only the first time,” he murmured. “I promise it won’t hurt ever again.”
B
efore she could stubbornly insist that it must not hurt at all, her husband’s hip flexed, and his manhood surged deep inside her. Fanny screamed, her shock was so great. There was an awful burning sensation where they joined, and all the pleasure that had built from his wonderous kisses had melted.
She sobbed. “Please do not move,” she whispered, fearing if he did she would be split open. Fanny could not credit women did this act, and she suspected this was why all gentlemen and society had conspired to hide this from ladies. Surely no one would agree to marriage and intimacies if they knew how painful it was.
He attempted to kiss her, and she turned her lips away from his causing his mouth to land on her cheek.
“Ah, my sweet please do not cry.”
Her breath hitched at his warm tones, and this time when he kissed her, she parted her lips and allowed him in. His lips drew her pleasure forth, quickened sensations low in her stomach and took her away from the pain. For several long moments, nothing mattered, but the taste of him, and the throbbing feel of him pressed into her sheath.
“I’ve wanted you since I met you,” he whispered in between gentle but ravenous kisses. “For two years you’ve haunted my sleep, and now you’re my wife.” His words brushed against her skin like a caress, and she craved more. Soothing murmurs spilled from him, and she delighted in his praises of how soft and delightful she felt and tasted. His weight pressed her deep into the mattress, and soon the awful burn gave way to pleasure. Then he moved.
Sweet heavens. It wasn’t hurting anymore, in fact, it felt tolerably nice, perhaps more than nice.
The moan came from deep in her throat, and she bit her lip recalling Darcy's words that a lady must be silent during the act lest she displeased her husband. Fanny pressed her lips against his shoulder tasting his sweat, breathing in his rousing male scent.
His powerful body was moving against hers with an urgency that she responded to, and the heat quivering through her expanded and swell. Something was building inside, and she reached for it desperately, except it blew away from her when with a deep groan her husband emptied his seed inside her.
Sebastian eased from her flesh and hopped from the bed heading over to the basin on the washstand. He returned and gently cleaned her with a cool cloth. How she blushed and ached for there was still something needy twisting through her. There he went again, and she watched his shadow as he moved around the darkened chambers. Would he now insist they return to separate rooms. Darcy had told her that was how it was done. Only when they coupled did a lord and lady share a chamber. Instead of commanding Fanny to her room Sebastian slid into the bed and tugged the quilt over their bodies. He drew her to him and the knot of tension she had not been aware of eased.
“Are we to share chambers?”
He tensed. “‘I want my wife in my arms when I sleep. I’ve gathered that’s not how the polite world does it.”
His tone was rich with mild mocking amusement, but she did not mind it. In truth, his desire filled her with an inexplicable pleasure. And the last thought she had before she tumbled into the oblivion of sleep was that she quite looked forward to understanding the layers of her viscount.
Chapter 8
Two weeks after marrying Sebastian Rutledge, Fanny opened her eyes, greeting the warm sunny day with an unusual heaviness in her heart. She was not contented with her marriage. Perhaps it was too soon to feel so listless, but she couldn’t help being aware there was an ache in her heart, and she had no notion of how to fill it. Sebastian treated her with the proper civility owed to her station. She had never boasted of a superior understanding, but to Fanny, it created a distance between them she could not breach. Each night she anticipated him coming to her bed, and her husband did not show. She could hear him moving around his great chamber and anticipation would knot up her stomach, and she would pace the floor fretfully until she climbed onto the bed exhausted and slid into a restless slumber. How absurd that his disinterest should prick her vanity, but indeed it had been wounded. Had he not found pleasure in her arms? Or was it normal for married couples to copulate so infrequently? It hadn't occurred to ask Darcy when she had been imparting the wisdom of intimacy.
She slid drowsily from the cozy warmth of the four-poster bed as a perfunctory knock announced her lady’s maid Mary. She popped in, dipping into a quick curtsy before heading over to the armoire to select a day gown for Fanny.
The week before she had hired several members of staff for the townhouse to her husband's bemusement. In addition to the housekeeper and the cook, they had a butler, two footmen, two chambermaids, and Fanny had hired the housekeeper’s daughter who had been in training as a lady’s maid at a baronet's house. The first day Sebastian's housekeeper had referred to him as Lord Shaw with evident pride had flummoxed him. Fanny had only smiled, sensing the pride they took in working for him. It also relieved her heart that she hadn't had to ask for formality. Their new butler had immediately referred to her as “Your ladyship or Lady Shaw,” and everyone else had followed suit. Sebastian had flatly refused the services of a valet, but Fanny had convinced him by arguing that he would be robbing a young man of gainful employment who would otherwise be unemployed. She’d taken pride in that victory for she had accurately read the benevolence of her husband.
“Is the viscount gone for the day, Mary?”
Bright hazel eyes glanced around. “Yes, my lady. Before the crack of dawn, mum said.”
Each morning she would venture into the breakfast room to learn her husband had already headed to work. The very first morning the notion had startled her. Fanny wasn’t used to living with men who worked and found herself wondering what her husband’s days entailed. What did he do? What should she do? Before marriage, her life had been about preparing for the season to encourage a courtship. Then when Lord Trent had made his intentions known, the days had been filled with talking long walks, leisurely picnics where he had read poems to her, and in the nights at balls, they had danced. She hadn't done anything since her marriage but hiring staff and improving upon the dinner menu. Before Sebastian had eaten very simple fares, and while Fanny had advised the cook to keep the dishes he especially liked, she had added a few of her favorite dishes, and some puddings, cremes, and jellies. She had responded to several letters and invitations which Darcy had forwarded her and even had a couple of callers the day before. Her frustration had seen her accepting invitations to six balls, and two musicales, only now she was uncertain if her husband would be her escort recalling he had no use for such frivolity.
Fanny couldn't envision what to do with tomorrow, next week, or the other days to follow. Surely it could not be the quiet days she had been spending inside. If that were so, she would become afflicted with ennui, a state she feared she was already experiencing.
“Mary, please have Williams inform the mews I'll be taking the carriage out. And have the cook prepare a picnic basket and ensure there is a bottle of wine.”
Almost an hour later, Fanny, garbed in her most sensible dress—one of pale yellow muslin with a cinched waist and close-fitting bodice trimmed with white lace, matching hat perched atop her curls—and half boots, descended the carriage which she’d ordered to take her to her husband’s offices. She had been unflinching in her demands, and despite the coachman’s initial hesitation, he hadn’t balked in transporting her to this part of London. There was a most peculiar odor wafting on the gentle breeze—smoke, rotten fruit, and possibly the Thames.
Fanny stepped down into a dirty, narrow cobbled stone street, acutely conscious of the noise and the crowd. A few questionable gazes settled on her, mostly well-dressed tradesmen's wives. None appeared as elegantly dressed like her, and Fanny felt decidedly out of place and more than a little uneasy. She could feel the weight of their curiosity. Was it so odd for a lady to be seen in these parts? Even the flower seller who had been pushing her cart down the street stopped and peered at her. Lifting her chin, she made her way to the step of a large brick and gray wooden building. She took t
hem, walking toward the doors with her husband’s name stenciled above it.
She opened the door to a large tastefully decorated foyer. Plush dark green carpet adorned the floor, and the walls were painted in cream. The rooms leading from the foyer seemed to be made up of offices where a large number of clerks were busy, transcribing information into large account books or searching shelves for some other document. One clerk bustled past her and she enquired, “I am looking for Lord Shaw,” and was directed by the bowing clerk that “the master is upstairs,” before he hurried off to another room. She made her way up a neat but fairly restrained staircase to the next floor where one of the doors was labeled Sebastian Rutledge's office. Fanny entered finding a large room in which she noticed an enormous desk stood against one wall, several neat stacks of papers were placed upon it. Several chairs were strewn about with no order. Lines of shelves covered another wall, and the air was redolent with lemon wax which was a pleasant respite from the odors outside. Two men were bent over several sheaves of papers which they were discussing, oblivious to her presence. A small hallway pointed toward a single door, and she gathered that was her husband'spersonal office.
She delicately cleared her throat, and their heads snapped up. Immediately they jerked to their feet, evidently astonished by her presence.
“I’m Lady Shaw, and I’ve come to see my husband.”
A short, rotund man rose from behind one of the two desks in the room and approached her. He pushed his glasses atop his nose and hurried around the large desk.
“My Lady, please excuse the mess. Let me inform Mr... Lord Shaw, you've come to call.”
“There's no need,” she said with a smile. “I'll announce myself. Please, gentleman return to your work.”
They stared as if they were unsure what to make of a woman in their domain. Ignoring them, she made her way toward the door, faltering when raised voices reached her. She made out the cold, clipped tones of Sebastian.