His Jilted Bride (Historical Regency Romance)

by Rose Gordon

  For now, however, she'd just have to keep putting him off, which seemed to be getting easier with each time she did it. Perhaps if he didn't seem so impassive and disinterested, she'd find it harder to resist him. But his expressionless face and cold, chaste kisses made the task simple.

  Amelia released her hair and sank down onto the settee. Was she that undesirable that every time the subject of intimacy was broached, Elijah transformed from a trusted friend and confidant to a stranger who acted like his business with her was to collect what she owed, then be on his way? Or perhaps this was his way of being nervous and unsure? Though she'd never read his name in the scandal sheets as being seen with a mistress, didn't mean that he hadn't had one or hadn't frequented bawdy houses during his many travels, giving him plenty of experience in the matter and no need to be nervous.

  A shaky laugh passed her lips. Even if he was the greatest lover in all of England and no one knew, he wouldn't be nervous around her. She wasn't a diamond of the first water, nor so high on the instep that she'd be considered unapproachable. Besides, she'd seen him nervous before: he'd rake his hand through his hair like his father was fond of doing, then he'd twist his lips into all sorts of strange shapes, all while shifting on his feet and clearing his throat every fifteen seconds. Granted she hadn't seen him behave that way in several years, but she doubted much had changed.

  No he wasn't nervous. He was disinterested. All the more reason to stay true to her convictions.

  She sighed. She'd had all these same thoughts cycle through her mind before. Nothing had changed.

  “Amelia?”

  She jumped. “Y-yes?” She cleared her throat and turned her head to flash Elijah her best attempt at a smile. But her smile faltered.

  Standing in the lowly lit room was Elijah like she'd never seen him—or anyone for that matter—before. He wore nothing more than a white lawn shirt with tails settling just four inches above where his white drawers tied at his knees.

  “Are you coming to bed?” he asked, not seeming to notice how she was affected by him.

  Unease settled over her. Coming to bed?

  Elijah padded over to her in his bare feet and sank down to the haunches in front of her. “Amelia,” he started softly, taking her hand in his much larger one. “Come to bed. You're in no harm of being ravished by me tonight. I promise. Just come.” He stood up and pulled her up with him.

  Instinctively, she stood up to go with him and a surge of comfort like that of a warm blanket on a cold snowy day overtook her when he squeezed her hand. It was all the reassurance she needed and followed him to the bedchamber.

  Chapter Ten

  Elijah couldn't sleep. In fact, he was so restless he doubted he was even feigning it very well. This was the third night in a row they'd both gone to bed, and would wake up just as virginal as they'd both been before they married.

  While that wouldn't have posed a problem under different circumstances, the fact that he needed to bed Amelia had not escaped him.

  He curled his toes and squeezed—a habit he'd begun in recent years to take the place of a sigh or any other annoyed or nervous gesture that might give himself away. Why was she so resistant toward his advances? What was he doing wrong? He'd been chased by bulls and escaped an Irish prison with little help from his brother, and yet, he couldn't get a lady who'd once gone around and proclaimed to anyone who would listen that one day she would be Mrs. Elijah J. Banks to so much as kiss him, much less share her body with him just once.

  He squeezed his toes again. Considering the frequency he'd been doing this since he'd married Amelia, he might not be able to walk without a limp in a few days. He needed to bed her—and soon if he didn't want her to think something was wrong with her—that was just the facts. The details of how he'd convince her were to remain a mystery, he supposed. But the fact remained: it was his duty to bed her and he would.

  Unfortunately for him, fate—or in this case, Henry—had once again stepped in before Elijah could make his next attempt.

  “Can this wait?” Elijah asked without ceremony when he answered the soft knock at the door.

  Henry lifted his eyebrows, his lips twitching. “Seeing as how you're dressed in nothing but your small clothes at the advanced hour of noon, I shall take that to mean you don't plan to attend Caroline's luncheon today.”

  Elijah scowled at him.

  Henry laughed. “What was that name you coined for Alex shortly after he married Caroline? Amorous Alex, was it? Who's the one with seduction on his mind now, Enamored Elijah?”

  Despite the heat that flooded his face at his brother's insinuation, Elijah ignored him. “What do you want?” he all but barked.

  “Did you get it?” Henry's voice was so low it was almost inaudible.

  Elijah ran his hand through his unkempt hair and scratched his head, then leaned against the doorframe, purposely taking his time in answering his brother—just to return the feeling of irritation Henry had stirred in him. “Yes.” He'd found Henry's message of the escape.

  A look of relief crossed Henry's face. “Very good. You can go back and enjoy your wife now.”

  “I thank you for your permission,” Elijah said in a tone that dripped with sarcasm.

  Henry twisted his lips into an overdone frown. “No thanks are necessary.”

  Elijah was this close to closing the door in his brother's face, but his next words and louder tone kept him from doing just that.

  “Of course it was very difficult to tear myself away from Caroline's festivities to make sure you both knew you were invited to join, but it was a task done out of love.”

  “All right, we'll be there soon,” Elijah said with a grunt borne of irritation. His skin prickled. Amelia must be standing close behind him.

  “And when shall I expect to see you?”

  “Whenever I walk through the door.” When had his twin become so dratted annoying? Couldn't he just go away already?

  Henry waggled his eyebrows suggestively and said, “I hope it is soon. Caroline was most adamant I come over and extend a formal invitation to the lovesick duo. She said she wanted to make sure Amelia was able to get better acquainted with everyone—” he dropped his voice to a near inaudible whisper— “and not just you.”

  Elijah narrowed his eyes on Henry in a warning. “Our attendance today depends on Amelia and if she'd prefer to attend Caroline's house party or lie in bed with me a while longer,” Elijah said with all the confidence of Prinny himself.

  The gasp from directly behind him, robbed him of his confidence in less time than it took for his heart to beat.

  Elijah spun around to face Amelia's whose face was just as pink as the traveling gown she'd borrowed from Lady Templemore that she'd insisted on wearing to bed last night. “That didn't come out how I'd meant it,” he blurted for lack of anything else to say at the moment.

  She stared at Elijah, then cut her eyes toward his brother.

  “Not to worry, Lady Amelia,” Henry said quietly, almost as if he were uncertain of just what to say. “I shall inform Caroline that you two are undecided for the day.”

  “No, no,” Amelia rushed to say, fruitlessly trying to smooth the wrinkles in her crushed skirt. “If she's invited us and has sent you to invite us personally, then we should go. Tell her we'll be there following—”

  SLAM!

  Amelia wheeled around to face Elijah. “What was that for?”

  Elijah shrugged. “He deserved it.”

  “He came here to invite us to Caroline's house party and because house parties are so awful to attend he deserved to have the door slammed in his face?” Amelia reasoned in a mocking tone.

  Elijah nodded enthusiastically. “That was my logic, too.”

  Amelia heaved an overdone sigh. “You're incorrigible.”

  He grinned. “Really?”

  “No.”

  Elijah followed Amelia back into the little bedroom they'd shared last night, running almost right into her back when she stopped just inside
the doorway. “Ooof.”

  “Sorry,” she murmured, her eyes trained on the bed.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked quietly by her ear.

  She shook her head. “What do you think he's telling them?”

  Elijah put his hands on her shoulders and gently rubbed up and down the tops of her arms which were knotted with tension. “Don't worry,” he whispered softly. “He won't say anything that will embarrass you.”

  She nodded once, but her body didn't relax like he'd hoped.

  Elijah took a deep breath and spun her around to face him. “I know to a lady it's considered vulgar, bad taste, not done, and a string of other similar adjectives for people to know you've ever participated in marital intimacies, but while everyone pretends such things don't exist—we all know they do.” Her eyes widened and he inwardly cursed himself. That hadn't been the right thing to say. “Amelia,” he tried again. “He won't shame you. I won't let him.”

  Amelia parted her lips to voice something, a protest if he had to guess, but was cut off when pure unadulterated instinct came over Elijah and he pressed his lips against hers, capturing them in a kiss as sweet and delicious as the one they'd shared at their wedding. Releasing his hold on her shoulders, Elijah slid his hands down the back of the rumpled fabric of the gown she wore. His fingers brushed against the top button and quickly unfastened it. Then the one beneath it and the one after that.

  He parted his lips, drawing her lower lip between both of his. She sighed his name, and his blood rushed through his veins. He slipped the last button free and brought his hands beneath her chin, gripping the loose fabric that capped her shoulders. Without breaking their kiss, he tightened his grip on the edge of her gown and gave it a swift tug.

  “Ouch,” she squealed, taking a step away from him. Her hands flew to her still covered chest and attempted to fix her terribly askew bodice.

  His eyes drifted to the exposed skin at the top of her chest. Despite the way he'd imagined his movements working out in his mind, she was still wearing that dratted gown. “I'm sorry,” he rasped, reaching for her again. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”

  She shook her head. “It's all right. I know you didn't mean to. The sleeves and bodice have ties— ”

  Elijah clamped his jaw and nodded once. “Please accept my sincerest apologies. I was unaware..”

  “Elijah,” she interrupted, her voice as uneven as his had been a moment before. “It's not about that. Well, perhaps it was a little, but what I wanted to say was—”

  He pulled her back toward him and kissed her again, not giving her the chance to offer up some sort of excuse about this not being the right time. This was the perfect time. Her earlier response to his kisses had only confirmed it. If he gave her the chance to protest— No, he wouldn't even think about it. “Kiss me back,” he said against her lips. He abandoned the ties at the top of her bodice and fisted his hands into the mass of skirts she wore, pulling them up at a frantic pace, intent to touch the skin he'd been treated to glimpsing Saturday when she'd lifted her skirts for him to remove her stays.

  Anticipation was almost too much as his imagination had been able to think of little since that afternoon.

  ***

  Everything was happening so quickly. Elijah's hands were lifting her skirt—and then...then his warm hand was blazing a fast trail along her thigh, going higher. He cupped her derriere, eliciting an involuntary jerk from her. His left hand joined his right, caressing her where she'd never thought anyone would ever touch. As wicked as it might sound, she actually liked him touching her thus.

  His hands slid up and captured the top of her drawers with his thumbs just as his lips captured hers in another kiss. He moved his lips on top of hers, exerting just a hint of pressure while his fingers worked to loosen the knot in the front of her drawers.

  A second later, he pulled the final string and her drawers fell to her ankles, making her suddenly aware of what his intentions were. She couldn't let him do this. Not now. His fingers brushed the curls that hid her most intimate areas, and her heart nearly beat out of her chest. No. This wasn't right, she reminded herself, opening her mouth to protest.

  Her protest died on her lips when his lips left hers and he lowered his face to the crook of her neck, his wandering fingers moving closer to her— Rational thought fled as her face began to heat and an ache she couldn't find the words to describe formed not far from where he was touching her. He slid his fingertips along her sensitive flesh, and she gasped. Never before had she felt such an intense pleasure as she was right now.

  He touched her again and sparks of pleasure took flight inside of her body. Her breath hitched. What was he doing to her? Why was it that the more he touched her, the harder it was for her to breathe, let alone think?

  Elijah shifted his hand to where his fingers had greater access to her most intimate area. Her heart slammed in her chest. And not in a good way. If he touched her much more, he might discover her secret.

  She sobered instantly. She had to tell him. He deserved to know. “Stop! Stop!”

  Elijah froze. “Stop?” he repeated tonelessly.

  “Stop,” she confirmed. How could his speech and breathing be so normal when she was practically gasping for her next breath? Bringing both of her hands up to his chest, she gave him a hard shove.

  Elijah stumbled backwards a few steps, never taking his eyes from hers. Despite the pain that was rapidly forming in her chest, she held his gaze. Just as they'd been all the other times he'd come to her room, his eyes had an intensity that she'd never seen before. But it wasn't the warm intensity she'd noticed in Lord Templemore's eyes when Lady Templemore had joined them. This was a different sort. Almost like he was distracted, perhaps?

  “Are intimacies all you think about?” she demanded, trying to distract herself from the harsh realization that she'd practically fallen into his snare. A snare he'd laid for what reason? His expression and actions wouldn't suggest his interest in her had been sincere.

  “No,” he said easily. “I think about plenty of things other than intimacies.”

  “Are you sure? It seems you keep suggesting it and won't even let me speak more than a sentence before you're ready to make another attempt.”

  Something foreign and fierce flashed in his eyes. “That's not true.” He took a step toward her. “Perhaps I wouldn't have to keep attempting if you'd stop putting me off.” He took another step closer to her, bringing his large, imposing body within mere inches of hers. “Someone around here has to be concerned about our marital duties and since it doesn't seem to be you...” He shrugged.

  “That's not fair,” she choked out. Marital duties, is that how he thought of bedding her? Bile rose in her throat. “I—I—I—I—”

  “You what? You need more time to prepare yourself?” he snapped. “Is that it? Well, Lady Amelia, how is this for preparation, before the sun rises tomorrow morning you won't be in the same state of chastity you are in currently.”

  Angry heat surfaced in her face as a storm raged in her heart. This cocksure man thought he knew everything, didn't he? “Would you care to place a wager on that?”

  A smug smile took his lips. “As a matter of fact, I would.”

  Amelia met his unblinking gaze with her own. “All right, and if you're wrong and I wake up tomorrow in the same state I'm in now—” she coughed— “I want you to leave me alone about marital intimacies for the rest of our lives.”

  “You don't mean that.”

  She lifted her chin a notch. “Yes, I do mean that. You might think you're irresistible, but believe me, you are not. Irresistible, that is.”

  “Is that so?” He rocked back on his heels. “And what is it that I'm to get when I prove you wrong. Besides, your innocence, that is,” he added with a wicked grin.

  She stared at the insufferable man. What had come over him to make him speak to her this way? No matter. He wouldn't get his way and bed her, and in the unlikely event that he did, she'd still win the wager. So
truly, it didn't matter, she had nothing to lose—except perhaps her heart, but it would seem that had been lost long ago. “You may have whatever you want.”

  “A biddable wife who does exactly what I say without questioning me?”

  She nearly laughed at his request. “If that's what you want, then yes, those can be our terms.”

  “Excellent.” He frowned at her. “Just so we're in agreement, you're not going to do something foolish to become dreadfully ill between now and nightfall, are you?”

  “No.” She shook her head for emphasis. Did he think she was a complete imbecile? “I have every intention of being in perfect health.”

  “Very well, madam,” Elijah said with a wide grin. “Challenge accepted.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Amelia didn't know if she should be relieved, worried, or remorseful about the challenge she'd issued and its potential consequences.

  She supposed she'd have regretted it if she thought her marriage would ever have any semblance to a love match. But it didn't now, nor would it ever; and for as much as she'd like to have children, Elijah didn't need an heir to pass a title or fortune to, rendering the need for children unnecessary.

  As it was, not only were children not a necessity where Elijah was concerned, neither was her love—only her body it would seem. Why he'd suddenly taken such a keen and determined interest in bedding her, she'd never know. At least he'd shown he could be gentle. Until he suddenly became savage, followed immediately by cold disinterest, she thought grimly.

  Wordlessly, she stood at the end of the four poster bed and watched as Elijah dragged on a pair of dove breeches and a clean shirt, then hastily tied on snowy white cravat. He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled on his leather boots, then shrugged into a yellow waistcoat followed by a blue coat. Then without so much as a backward glance at her, he was out the door of their bedroom.

  The door handle to the front door turned, followed by the door creaking open. Elijah's heavy boot falls quieted and the door shut again.