He hadn’t intended to fall asleep after consummating his marriage. He had thought to request a tub of warm water be delivered to the cabin so that Marianne could bathe while he recovered up on deck. Then they would dress for the scheduled dinner with the captain at eight o’clock. After that, he didn’t know what they might do—other than sleep—as he hadn’t had a chance to think of anything other than to memorize the map of the Valley of the Temples on Sicily.
Daring one last glance at the bed and wincing at his primal reaction at seeing Marianne—her bare back and one arm were visible despite how the bed’s counterpane covered most of her—Jasper took his leave of the cabin and raced for the companionway.
Reaching the deck, he took a deep breath, shocked by the bracing air and star-filled sky. He hadn’t taken a glance at his chronometer before leaving the cabin, but he knew it had to be well after ten o’clock.
“Missed you at dinner, my lord.”
Jasper whirled around, stunned at the sight of John St. John, the captain, regarding him from the door to the wheelhouse. The last time he had been on the sailing vessel, The Fairweather, St. John had been the first mate. “A situation for which I apologize profusely,” he replied as he moved to shake the man’s proffered hand. “Although...” He allowed the sentence to trail off, realizing he wouldn’t have traded his late afternoon in bed with Marianne for dinner at the captain’s table, no matter how hungry he was. He would have spent the entire meal in a state of extreme discomfort. Even now, the thought of his wife had him so aroused, he wondered how he was going to manage until a few nights from now.
“Rodney, my first mate, said I was transporting newlyweds. Am I to assume one of them is you?” St. John countered, a teasing grin apparent in the dim light from a nearby lantern.
Jasper regarded the captain with a nod. “Guilty as charged. But happily so,” he added, hoping his arousal wasn’t apparent.
“You must have had a long betrothal. I remember you mentioning you were engaged to be married whilst on your last trip to Italy.”
Angling his head to one side, Jasper remembered his last sojourn to an area north of Rome had been a few years ago. The trip was far shorter than he had planned, but the change in itinerary couldn’t be helped due to his impending wedding to Sophie.
He had managed to return in time to marry her on the promised day, her reaction to his tanned face and body not exactly welcoming. “Ah, my first marriage,” he acknowledged with a nod. “Lady Henley died of influenza last year, though. My new wife is Miss Marianne Slater. Although she is from Scotland, she is an English miss through and through.”
St. John’s face displayed his surprise at the news. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he commented. “But... is your new wife related to Devonville, perhaps?” he asked, his brows furrowed.
Showing his own surprise at the query—until he realized the sea captain would be familiar with the scotch from the Devonville distillery—Jasper replied, “Indeed. She is his niece.”
The captain barked a laugh. “Got caught kissing her in the gardens, did you?”
Jasper dipped his head, a grin splitting his face. Did everyone on the planet know he got caught kissing young ladies in the gardens? “Indeed. Although I have no regrets. And what of you? Have you been enslaved by the shackles of marriage since last we met?”
The captain shook his head but dared a glance up at the sails, the fabric filled with the night breeze that had them nearing the English Channel’s intersection with the Celtic Sea’s waters. “Only if you count this ship,” he replied. “Now that she’s mine to command, I rather doubt I shall ever take a wife. Wouldn’t want to make her jealous.”
Jasper nodded his understanding. “So... a girl in every port...”
“And port after dinner,” St. John finished with a grin.
Sobering, Jasper remembered Marianne and the discomfort she might be suffering from her first experience with sexual congress. “I wondered who I might speak with about bath water for my viscountess?”
“I’ll see to it a tub and water are delivered first thing in the morning,” St. John assured him just as his first mate appeared from inside the wheelhouse.
“Already arranged, capt’n,” Rodney said with a nod. “We’ll be past Guernsey by then.”
The captain nodded. “Let’s hope these winds continue to favor us once we’re past Brest,” St. John commented, his brows rising with his comment. “I’m hoping we’ll only have to make one stop. Port of Valencia. Get to Sicily in under two weeks.” He turned his attention to the viscount. “I’m retiring for the night. Should you require anything, Rodney here can see to it,” he said before he gave a bow and headed for the captain’s quarters.
Jasper responded with a nod and watched as St. John disappeared into the darkness. He turned his attention back to the first mate. “Don’t mind me. I just came up for some air.”
Rodney gave a nod toward the companionway. “Seems you won’t be alone,” he whispered. “Good night, milord.” He turned and made his way toward the wheelhouse.
Jasper followed the first mate’s line of sight and was stunned to find Marianne at the top of the companionway. A dressing gown was wrapped about her body, her arms crossed over her chest as she glanced around, obviously in search of him.
He hurried to join her. “My lady, is something amiss?” he asked as he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips.
Marianne gave a start the moment he touched her. “I woke up, and you were gone,” she whispered, relief evident in her voice. “Did something happen?”
Jasper sighed, realizing he probably should have woken her or left a note before taking his leave of the cabin. He had been in such a panic, though, he hadn’t thought about what might happen should she wake up and find him missing. “I apologize, my sweeting. I... I needed air, and I didn’t wish to wake you.” He felt the tenseness leave her body, and he pulled her closer, nearly cursing when his manhood reacted.
“I wouldn’t have minded,” Marianne whispered. Her head tilted back as she attempted to survey the sails and skies above. “It’s so dark,” she murmured.
“Aren’t the stars amazing? Like diamonds on black velvet,” he said as he followed her line of sight, his gaze taking in the Milky Way that appeared to form a glittering cloud against the inky blackness.
Then he realized Marianne wasn’t wearing her spectacles.
She probably can’t even see the stars, he thought in despair. “I wish you could see the sky right now,” he said as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and dropped a kiss on the side of her head.
Marianne stiffened at his comment, but she lifted her other hand to reveal the eyeglasses she held. “Just in case I couldn’t find you when I reached the top of the stairs,” she whispered. “I figured you couldn’t have gone far—it’s not as if you could go to your men’s club—but then I wasn’t sure I would be able to locate the galley.” She dipped her head. “You must be starving.”
Jasper allowed a chuckle. “I admit to feeling hunger, but it is of the kind I dare not attempt to feed again. At least until the night after next,” he added before he pulled her closer and led them away from the companionway. He didn’t want her falling down the steep stairs.
Giving a start at his odd comment, Marianne stared at him until she felt the evidence of his arousal behind the placket of his breeches. Now that he was so close, she realized he was wearing his shirt, but the tie at the top was undone, and the neckline was open down to his sternum.
Reminded of what he had done to her earlier that afternoon, a frisson shot through her body as her breasts suddenly felt heavy. “Why the night after next?” she wondered as one of her hands reached out to touch his shirt. Her fingers splayed as she slid her palm over his chest, primal lust urging her to press her body against his.
Jasper covered her hand with one of his own as his head dipped to rest atop hers. “It would not be very gentlemanly of me to bed you again until you have... recovered,” he stammere
d.
Marianne blinked. “Recovered?” she repeated, aware of how the space at the top of her thighs seemed to throb. She had cleaned the tender area with a cool cloth before making her way out of the cabin, relieved to discover she hadn’t bled as much as she had been warned she might. Jasper’s earlier ministrations had seen to that, she supposed. That and how careful he had been when he finally impaled her body with his heavy manhood.
Would he have known to do that if he had never been married before? His first wife had no doubt been a virgin, too.
“You must be... sore,” he whispered, glancing about as if he just then realized they were out in the open where anyone might see their embrace or hear their intimate conversation. He was rather relieved to discover they were alone. Other than the sound of the water rushing past the hull of the ship and the occasional whip of the canvas sails, it was quiet on the deck.
“Are you... sore?” Marianne countered, her brows furrowed.
Jasper blinked. “No.” He gave his head a shake. “I am... uncomfortable, but I’ll be—”
His words were cut off when Marianne placed a finger against his lips. “Do you wish to bed me again? Tonight?” she asked, her breaths coming in short, barely-there gasps as desire gripped her body. Even if the pleasure was a mere fraction of what she had experienced earlier, she could abide a bit of discomfort.
“Of course,” he answered, his hold on her tightening. “I thought once would be enough, but...” His lips settled onto hers, and he kissed her for a long time before he finally pulled away. “Oh, Marianne. Forgive me,” he said as he reached down and placed his hands beneath the mounds of her bottom. He lifted her onto a wooden barrel and was about to use his hands to spread open her legs and her dressing gown when reason seemed to take hold. He paused and took a deep breath. “Jesus, I cannot believe what I was about to do,” he whispered in dismay. “I apologize.”
Marianne furrowed a brow, wondering what had happened to make him hesitate. One moment he seemed intent on taking her right then and there as she sat on the top of a whiskey barrel, and the next, he wasn’t. “Were you about to make love to me?” she countered, her breaths still labored.
Jasper blinked. “I was, but we shouldn’t... I shouldn’t have... not like this,” he stammered, his voice sounding rather strangled.
“Are we alone?”
Staring at his wife in disbelief, her simple question giving him pause, Jasper dared a glance behind him. He surveyed the entire deck from the shadowed area where a collection of barrels had been secured, realizing they, too, were in the shadows. “We are,” he hedged. He felt her fingers undoing the fastenings of his breeches, the task made difficult given how his turgid manhood strained against the placket.
When the last button gave way, he gave a start as his engorged manhood sprung forth. Marianne’s knees were suddenly on either side of his hips, her damp quim cradling his manhood. “Do I dare ask how it is you know how to do this?” he struggled to get out.
“There’s a book in my uncle’s library. My aunt encouraged me to read it, and to study the illustrations,” she murmured. “She gave it to me the night after the ball.”
Jasper blinked again, remembering how he had wanted to pay a call on her at three o’clock in the morning.
She was probably still awake, he realized. “Was it written in French?“ he asked, wondering if the same book might be in his library.
Marianne nodded. “Oui. You’re familiar with it?” she asked, her expression taking on a worrisome frown.
Recognizing her concern—she probably thinks we’ll be making love in some of those impossible positions—he gave a shake of his head. “I am, but I assure you, we won’t be doing most of what you saw in those color plates,” he said quietly.
Allowing a nod of relief, Marianne moved a hand to where his manhood was pressed against her wet folds. She used a finger to touch the tip of it, jerking it away when Jasper’s body reacted. He quickly captured the hand in his and brought it to his lips. “I want you, Marianne. Either here or in our cabin. It makes no difference,” he whispered.
Marianne shifted a bit on the barrel, and she allowed a tentative grin at hearing his primal growl. A moment later, and she could feel him guiding his manhood into her, bit by bit and far more slowly than he had entered her earlier that day. The now-familiar sense of fullness had her holding her breath as she anticipated pain. Instead, his slow movements in and almost all the way out of her body were a balm to the soreness she felt from that afternoon’s experience. Given how one of his arms held her, how his lips trailed down the column of her neck and to her collarbones, how one of his hand’s teased an engorged nipple through the silk fabric of her dressing gown, Marianne could do nothing more than hold on and struggle for breath. She thought she should be doing something in return, but she couldn’t recall just what it might be.
When his slow movements increased in speed and intensity, the delicious soreness gave way to a completely new sensation. A sensation that seemed to increase and subside with his every movement until it only increased in intensity. Until it seemed to consume her entire body. Until she could no longer breathe, perched just on the edge of an abyss her body seemed ready to tumble into.
She was barely aware of how Jasper ceased his movements, as if he, too, had crested a very tall cliff and was about to step over the edge. His sudden gasp, quiet curse, and final thrust sent them both over the brink.
How fortuitous for them that a sea bird happened to call out at the same time Marianne screamed.
As for Jasper’s deep growl and guttural curse, they were silenced when he planted his face against one of her breasts and simply held onto her for dear life.
They remained like that for what seemed like hours, or perhaps it was only a few minutes—Jasper wasn’t entirely sure and found he really didn’t care—until he was aware of how Marianne trembled in his hold.
“You must be chilled to the bone,” he whispered, about to lift his head from her breast and step out of her hold. Although they were sheltered from the worst of the winds that filled the sails, he could feel a cooling breeze on his back through the fabric of his shirt.
Marianne’s arms tightened around his head and shoulders. “I am blissfully warm, in fact,” she murmured.
“You’re shivering.”
“I know. And I don’t know why,” she replied with a shake of her head. Earlier that afternoon, she had experienced the same trembling through her entire body, as if it had been anticipating what was to come. As if it knew sexual congress would be unlike anything she had ever experienced. Her entire body thrummed, as if part of it had lain dormant and was suddenly awakened.
Jasper angled his head and allowed a long sigh. Perhaps she was frightened. Or excited. Aroused. “You did... feel pleasure?” he asked in a quiet whisper. She had to have come, for he was sure he felt his manhood drawn into her body with a series of undulating waves. Coupled with his own release and the position in which he had taken her, the experience had been entirely new to him.
Marianne wondered how much to admit. “I did, although I must say, I do not think the word adequate to describe the sensation.”
Allowing a slight chuckle, Jasper tightened his hold on her. “If I don’t get you down from this...” He paused as he pulled away a bit to determine on just what he had Marianne perched. “This barrel,” he said with a hint of disbelief. “I fear we will be found sound asleep by a sailor in the morning. I cannot keep my eyes open much longer.”
Reminded of one of the color plates in her uncle’s book, Marianne was relieved her bright red blush wasn’t apparent in the dark. “I thought you were hungry,” she countered, the thought of food not so appetizing when she realized the ship’s movements were becoming less smooth. The closer they were to leaving the Channel, the more choppy the waters below seemed to be.
“I can wait until morning,” he said as he slowly pulled his manhood from her body, secretly thrilled when he heard her mewl of disappointment. H
e quickly buttoned the placket of his breeches. Moving his hands to her waist, he lifted her from the barrel and continued to hold onto her until he was sure her slippered feet could hold her up. “Can you? You must be starving,” he murmured.
Marianne gave a shake of her head. “I’d rather not eat. At least... at least until I know if I get seasick or not,” she whispered. “I’ve never been on a body of water larger than a river before.”
Jasper hadn’t even considered she might suffer from seasickness. He had been so concerned about his own inability to remain in the windowless cabin, he had forgotten to ask about her welfare. “Should you feel... queasy or nauseous, I can bring you up on deck. I should warn you, I prefer to be out-of-doors,” he explained as he offered his arm. “So I spend most of the days on deck.”
“Will they allow me up on the deck? During the day?” Marianne asked as she lowered a foot onto the first step of the companionway, thankful for Jasper’s hold on her. In the dark, she couldn’t make out steep steps, but then, she wasn’t wearing her eyeglasses, either. Still clutched in one of her hands, she winced when she realized the lenses would have to be cleaned if she expected to see anything through them.
“Of course,” Jasper whispered, kneeling so he could continue to hold onto Marianne’s hand until she could find the railing. Once she was at the bottom of the stairs, he followed her down and then led them back to their cabin.
“Would it be agreeable with you if I wore a nightrail to bed?” Marianne asked in a whisper, just as Jasper opened the door to their cabin.
He allowed a chuckle. “Yes, I suppose you should, actually,” he answered, just as Marianne froze in place and let out a sound of surprise.
The Vision of a Viscountess (The Widowers of the Aristocracy Book 2) Page 10