One Wicked Winter

by Emma V. Leech

  “Don’t,” he said, hearing his voice sounding oddly foreign, rough with desire. He reached out and pulled her hands away, staring at the woman he had married with a mixture of awe and delight. Well, Edward, not such a bad bargain after all, he muttered inwardly, feeling his mouth kick upwards, the smile an unfamiliar expression upon his lips.

  He forced his eyes upwards, to meet hers, and found them wide and uncertain.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, seeing a reflection of his own expression dawn on her face, pleased and hesitant, and full of desire.

  To his surprise, she reached up and touched her fingers to his mouth, tracing the contours of his lips. “So are you,” she whispered.

  He shivered under her touch and claimed her mouth again, pulling her to him and delighting in the way she coiled around him, her hands sinking into his hair. She was a fast learner, he’d give her that, as she mimicked the stroke and tangle of his tongue with hers. With a groan, he began to snatch at his cravat.

  “Get this damn thing off me,” he growled with impatience. She laughed, a sound of such pure delight that his heart lifted as she fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat and pushed the tight-fitting coat from his shoulders with difficulty.

  “Why on earth did you put all this on when you were only going to take it off again?” she grumbled, fighting to free his arms from the narrow sleeves.

  “Charlie insisted,” he retorted, flinging coat and cravat to a crumpled heap on the floor.

  She snorted, her eyes dancing with mirth, and something shifted in his chest at finding how easy this was with her. “Well, next time, don’t bother,” she muttered, adding his waistcoat to the growing pile of clothes.

  “As you wish,” he replied, applying his mouth to her neck as she yanked his shirt from his breeches.

  “Next time,” she added, sounding rather breathless now as he paused to look down at her and found a bold look in her eyes. “Come straight from sparring.”

  He almost choked at that, his body so hard with need that it hurt. “You would have me come to you sweaty and half dressed?” he asked, the words almost breathless.

  “Oh, my goodness, yes,” she exclaimed, pulling at his neck and bringing his mouth to hers once more.

  Good Lord.

  He was staggered by the swell of masculine pride and pleasure he derived from that, remembering the desire in her eyes when she’d watched him spar. He’d been desired often enough before, it was true, but somehow this felt different.

  He’d been desired for his title and wealth and position as much as his physique, but he’d already given her all that, and still that hungering look was raw in her eyes.

  With mounting impatience, he stepped away from her with difficulty and grabbed hold of his shirt, pulling it over his head.

  “Get on the bed,” he instructed, too desperate to make the words sound anything less than a demand as he danced on one foot, struggling to rid himself of his boots.

  “Dammit!” he exclaimed, forced to sit down and wrestle with first one and then the other. Finally free of the blasted things, he stripped off the rest of his clothes and had to restrain the need to run for the bed.

  As it was, he was forced to a halt by the look in her eyes.

  She was kneeling on the bed, watching him intently, and that look brought him up short. He paused in front of her, watching with interest as her breathing kicked up, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she looked him over.

  She reached out a hand, tentative, perhaps remembering the moment in the ballroom where she had tried to touch him before and been so harshly rejected. She paused, suddenly a little uncertain as she looked at him, her hand suspended in mid-air.

  “Touch me,” he said, his own breathing just as ragged as hers. “Please,” he added, for surely he’d been nothing but coarse and demanding so far.

  He closed his eyes as her fingers touched his skin, lightly at first, her fingertips skimming his collar bone. Then her hand flattened against him, the other coming to rest beside it, mirroring the movement. Both hands smoothed over his chest, fingers tangling in the dark scattering of hair over his chest. One hand paused as her thumb rubbed over his nipple. She did it again and his eyes flicked open, watching as she became intrigued at the way the tiny nub of flesh grew taut beneath her touch.

  “My turn,” he said, reaching out to cup her breasts. He smiled as she gasped, and then closed her eyes as he gave her the same treatment, his thumbs rubbing over the tight little peaks. He moved nearer and closed his mouth over one breast, moaning against her skin as he suckled at her.

  Her hands were in his hair, pulling him closer still as her breathing grew ever more erratic. He couldn’t stand it anymore; if he didn’t take her now, he would spend where he stood like some young fool with his first lover. His pride was a fragile enough thing as it was, without adding that indignity to its list of blows.

  “Lay down.”

  He wished he could do this differently for her, wished he could find the control he’d once possessed that would make this tender and gentle. But anything tender and gentle had been ripped from his soul, and all that remained was raw and demanding. Perhaps it was better she realised it now, before she indulged in any romantic ideas of what their marriage would be.

  She did as he asked though, without demur and welcomed him into her arms.

  “Oh God.” He moaned the words as her heated skin met his. He slid between her legs, finding her more than ready for him, her skin slick with desire. “I need to be inside you.”

  He gave her no more warning, no promise to be gentle or not to hurt. He never made promises he couldn’t keep, after all, and there was no possible way he could do anything less than sink into her.

  She made a sharp sound, half protest, half surprise and he took her mouth, silencing her as he moved deeper, and oh, God, the feel of her, of this. He was lost, overwhelmed. Heat and pleasure and comfort and welcome, so many things that he had been denied, denied himself, for so long. And so he took more, quite unwilling and unable to restrain his own need. To his relief, his guilt at using her so was eased a little as she relaxed beneath him and then sighed. With each stroke she accommodated him, moving with him as she learned what was required in this strange and intimate dance.

  Her hands moved over him, stroking him, her touch tender and gentle and loving. It was impossible not to respond, not to react, though fear at such intimacy had begun to prowl around his heart. He opened his eyes and immediately realised his mistake as he got caught in her expression. She was looking up at him, wide eyed with wonder, full of warmth and a desire for so much more than he was able to give her.

  He closed his eyes and looked away before the moment became too intense; besides, his tenuous grasp on control was slipping, and he owed her some recompense for his shocking lack of care.

  Sliding his hand between them he shifted slightly and found the tiny nub of flesh that would hurry her along in his wake. With all the patience he could muster, he began to caress her, hearing her breathing change, feeling the tension growing within her and praying she would not delay, as he could not hold back.

  He cried out as her body tightened beneath him, her slender hands grasping at his shoulders, her own cry of surprise and pleasure a warm exclamation against his neck as they tumbled together into the decadence of release.

  ***

  Belle sighed and burrowed deeper under the covers as the first fingers of dawn crept around the curtains, stealing into the room and pulling her from her dreams. She hovered for a moment in that pleasant place between wakefulness and dreams, feeling content and lazy as a well-fed cat. Little by little, however, she came back to the waking world and remembered the astonishing events of the previous night with a smile that only grew as her eyes flickered open.

  She was truly a married woman now, and my goodness, it had been ... wonderful!

  Belle turned, wanting nothing more than to return to the warm embrace of the man who’d given her such pleasure, only
to find an empty space beside her.

  “Oh.”

  Her disappointment was greater than she could have imagined, and hurt wrapped itself around her heart. How could he just leave her, after last night?

  She drew in a deep breath and tried to calm herself as tears prickled behind her eyes. Don’t be foolish, Belle, she scolded. As if it were ever going to be that easy.

  And yet it had been that easy, for her. She had already begun to allow Edward a tentative place in her heart before last night, but now that place had grown wider and taken root, and she wanted, needed, to know that he had felt something too.

  Well, it was safe to say he’d enjoyed himself, she thought with a bitter smile. But if he thought this was all their marriage was going to consist of, he had another thing coming.

  Belle sat up in bed, suddenly very wide awake, and folded her arms over the covers. Crecy had been right. Getting him into bed was important, and she felt it must change things between them, but it was a hollow victory, if this was the only place they could find any common ground. So, she needed to cover all of the other points too.

  There was a quiet scratching sound at the door and Mary came in, possibly looking as embarrassed as Belle was, as surely she must know her husband had spent the night, and wasn’t here any longer.

  “Good morning, m’lady,” Mary said, bringing Belle a tray with a selection of fresh rolls and a pot of chocolate. Belle sighed with relief as she realised she was famished. “I hope you slept well,” Mary added, and then looked like she wanted to bite her tongue off as she turned scarlet and ran to pull the curtains open to hide her glowing face for a moment.

  “Quite well,” Belle murmured, amused despite herself. “Mary, do you happen to know if Mrs Russell or Lady Russell have any plans for the day?”

  “No, m’lady, can’t say as I do, but I can find out for you?”

  Belle nodded, sipping at her chocolate. “If you would, Mary. Enquire if they would be interested in going to Bath with me. I intend to do some shopping.”

  Chapter 21

  “Wherein our hero is out-manoeuvred.”

  Edward made himself scarce for the next two days and nights. It was better, he reasoned, that Belle not expect him to dance attendance on her. He couldn’t bear most people’s company for more than a few minutes at a time; even those he loved dearly like Violette could have him running for the hills inside of an hour, less if she decided to nag him. Charlie was the only one he could stand for anything above that, and only because he didn’t bat an eyelid if Edward swore and cursed - at him, or nothing in particular - until the air turned blue. Charlie was also too used to seeing him frozen up and staring into space when a black mood hit him to comment, or to find it strange. He didn’t need to mind his manners with Charlie because Charlie understood, he’d been there too, and had left a piece of himself behind. Charlie had his own demons, even if they were slightly less-demanding ones than Edward’s.

  Making polite conversation about the weather, or some improvement to the house or garden, with his wife, however, made his blood run cold. No, this was better. They would live separate lives for the most part, and now and again he would visit her room to do his husbandly duty and produce the next generations of Greystons.

  God help the little devils.

  There was a flaw in this perfect plan, however. The idea of spending another night away from her bed was making him irritable and even more bad-tempered than usual. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before, imagining his wife’s warm, soft body curled in that large bed all alone. He consoled himself with the idea that she was likely longing for him to come to her, too. Somehow, it didn’t help. Yet when he considered the idea of going to her, of losing himself all over again in that lush embrace, a kind of terror swept over him. It would be only too easy to take that kind of pleasure for granted, to allow her to insinuate herself into his life, into his heart, and what then?

  His mind couldn’t move past the why of it, only that it was too terrifying to contemplate. He wouldn’t allow anyone that kind of intimacy. If everyone was held at a distance, he felt he could control, to some extent, the overwhelming surges of emotion that would sweep over him and knock him from his feet. If he didn’t keep that control, those emotions would overpower him, to the extent that he’d need to run and hide in a muddy hole in the ground, shaking and crying like a child.

  Somehow, he had managed a way to cope with this strange and clumsy version of himself, and he wouldn’t let anyone, least of all his wife, take that control away from him. He would not be reduced to a gibbering heap, like some of the poor devils he’d seen shivering in the wreckage of Waterloo, with their vacant eyes and their minds all to pieces. No. He’d lost enough, sunk down deep enough in the mud and the dark, as it was. No further.

  So, he had congratulated himself on having found a way forward. Belle would have control of the house and garden, more money than she could possibly spend in a lifetime, and just enough attention from her husband that she would not feel the need to take a lover. He admitted to a slight tremor of anxiety over that last point. His wife had exhibited herself to be a woman of strong and passionate desires, so that was an issue he may have to revisit if he didn’t want to find himself a cuckold.

  The idea made him surprisingly angry.

  But nonetheless, she would be growing aware by now that he was not to be at her beck and call, and that was all to the good. But his skin still felt like it was crawling off his back with the desire to take her to bed. Well, they were newlyweds, after all. It was only to be expected that he should want her so badly in these early weeks. That would dissipate, though, and as long as he didn’t give in too often, his plan was sound.

  Tonight ... tonight, however, he’d make an exception.

  So, it was with a remarkably placid and tolerant frame of mind that Edward went to bestow his generous presence on his wife. He had dressed accordingly this evening, with a silk banyan thrown over his shirt and his boots already removed, and was quite nonplussed when he entered his wife’s room to find it dark and cold, and very empty.

  For just a moment he felt a chill of foreboding.

  Had she left him already?

  “Charlie!”

  Edward slammed the door shut and stalked back to his room

  “Charlie!”

  Throwing open his own bedroom door, he stormed into the room in a towering rage to find Charlie placidly straightening the items on his dressing table.

  “Yes, my lord?” he asked, with an enquiring lift on one eyebrow.

  “Where is she?”

  Charlie affected a puzzled expression that was so obviously fake that Edward had to struggle not to throttle him. “Where is who, my lord?”

  “My wife, dammit!” he raged, wondering how the man could be so damned good at cards when his acting skills were appalling. He was quite obviously well aware of his wife’s location. “You knew!” he flung at the man, who paled a little and took a hasty step backwards. “You knew this whole time she wasn’t there, and you didn’t say a damned word!”

  “With respect, my lord,” Charlie said, retreating behind the formality of his position, as if Edward was less likely to thump his valet than his bat man. “The last time I mentioned ye wife’s whereabouts, ye tol’ me to shut me bleedin’ mouth, as you weren’t the slightest bit interested in the information.” His voice had risen a little by the end of this sentence, as Edward was stalking the man across his bedroom with fury in his eyes.

  Edward had to admit that was a fair point, but Charlie had been quite obvious in his attempt to throw Edward into Belle’s company, and Edward wasn’t taking his none-too-subtle hints.

  He took a breath, his fists clenched as he reined in the desire to break the man’s nose if he didn’t answer him immediately. Most pressing was the need to know that she hadn’t actually left him. Had she?

  “Where. Is. My. Wife?” The words were menacing enough that Charlie swallowed and capitulated.

  “She’s gone
to Bath,” he said, putting up his chin and trying hard to look dignified, which was hard, as the fellow was sweating through his shirt. “And if you actually spared the time to look around you for a moment, you might have noticed that Miss Lucretia, your sister, her husband, Lady Russell and Lady Sinclair all went with her two days ago!”

  Edward blinked as this information sank in. He’d been skulking around the place trying to avoid everyone, and the whole time, he’d been alone anyway.

  He glared at Charlie and walked away to sit on his bed, unsure of how he felt.

  “When did she leave?”

  “First thing in the morning after you ...” Charlie ground to a halt and ... was the man actually blushing? Good God.

  Edward processed that information. The morning after he’d made love to her, she’d gone off to Bath, taking Violette and everyone with her. He wondered if she would confide in his sister about what a wretched brute he’d been, and squirmed inwardly. She’d surely not talk to Lucretia, unmarried as she was, but Violette was married and they were of an age. It would surely lead to confidences being exchanged.

  He felt hot and sick and wrong footed and ... dammit! Why had she gone?

  “When will she be back?” he demanded, scowling at Charlie, daring him to tell him anything but the truth.

  “I don’t know. Honest!” Charlie said, his tone a little more sympathetic now, which was even more infuriating. The last thing Edward wanted was pity. “I was given to understand from ‘er abigail, Mary, that it was ‘er intention to replenish hers and Miss Lucretia’s wardrobes. I also ‘eard that Violette wanted to take ‘em to the assembly rooms and the theatre and such like.”

  Edward’s scowl deepened. There was something about the idea of his wife gallivanting around Bath without him that disturbed him. Though God knew he had no desire to be there himself. Yet he had liked the idea of knowing she was just down the hall, or even that their paths might cross during the day, and all this time, she’d not been there at all. He felt foolish and rather angry and ... disappointed.