‘Let it come, sweetheart.’ The whisper barely registered but the gathering, squeezing sensation at her very core climbed...building...building...until it peaked, exploding in wave after pulsing wave of pure ecstasy.
Strong arms swept her out of the water and Felicity was dimly aware of being cradled like a baby as Richard stood up. Her eyes stayed tight shut as she clung to his neck. He was moving—striding—across the room. His eyes could no longer be covered. Even as the final waves throbbed at her core, she shivered, cringing, as her mind caught up with reality. A door clicked open then banged shut.
A peep through her lashes confirmed they were in her bedchamber. The bed loomed large, dominating her restricted view. What would he do now? She could barely take in what had just happened to her. She had never imagined—how could she?—such ecstasy could exist. And now...would he want to take his own pleasure with her, straight away? She had a vague idea of what would happen—shortly before she died, Emma had confided her shame and heartbreak at having been seduced and abandoned by the man she loved. Nausea mushroomed from Felicity’s chest into her throat. She swallowed convulsively, banishing all thoughts of her sister, focusing her attention on to her husband.
Chapter Fifteen
Richard moved again and heat from the flames caressed her skin. Slowly, he released her, her damp skin clinging to the fabric of his shirt as her toes stretched for the floor. He steadied her, his warm hand splayed between her shoulder blades. Then she felt the sweep of a towel across her shoulders and around her back: enveloping her, swaddling her, shielding her from his gaze. She forced open her eyes. He was smiling down at her. Her belly performed a twisty loop and her mouth flooded with saliva.
‘Felicity Joy.’
His voice was a deep, comforting purr. He removed the pins, one by one, from her hair until it flowed loose. He swept her hair from her face, then bent to kiss her still-tingling lips. Her legs quaked and her knees sagged. He chuckled, scooped her up and placed her in one of the chairs by the fire.
Only then did Felicity see the tray of food on the table next to the chairs.
‘You must be hungry,’ he said, sitting in the other chair. ‘I know I am. Come, let us eat.’
‘I thought...I thought...’
‘There is no hurry, sweetheart. We have all night.’
Felicity’s stomach swooped again, and the flesh between her legs pulsed in an echo of pleasure.
‘You have much to get used to, and I wish to discover what pleases you.’ He reached for a plate, and selected a pastry. He leaned forward and held it to her lips. ‘Taste, tell me, help me to learn.’
Does he mean the food, or...? Nerves jangling, she bit into the pastry, and buttery sweetness flooded her mouth: honey, almonds, and a hint of cinnamon.
‘Mmmmm.’ She savoured the sweetmeat as Richard popped the remainder in his own mouth.
They sat by the fire and ate their fill of the bread and cheese, delicate pastries and fruit, washed down with wine. Felicity began to relax, the mundane activity of eating distracting her from what was to come. Eventually, Richard sat back with a sigh, glass in hand, and gazed into the flames. Felicity took the opportunity to study him as the firelight played across his features. He was so very handsome. She felt as though she were in a fairy tale, the handsome prince having whisked her away from her humdrum life. But this was real life, and soon... As though he could hear her thoughts, Richard switched his attention to her, his eyes penetrating, a half smile playing around his sensuous lips.
‘Have you had enough to eat?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘Some more wine?’
Felicity held out her glass, and he filled it, then stood, holding out his hand. As if in a dream, Felicity placed her hand in his. He led her to the bed and took her wine glass, placing it on the bedside table.
He smoothed her hair from her face and pressed warm lips to her temple.
‘I will snuff the candles. You get into bed, and we will drink our wine together, you and I.’
He swept the bedcovers down before crossing to the fireplace to snuff out the candles. Felicity released her grip on the towel and slid into the bed, pulling the covers right up to her chin. The room now in semi-darkness, lit only by the fire, Richard rounded the bed and began to undress. That chest. Broad, tantalizingly sculpted, dusted with dark hair.
He reached for the buttons on his trousers. She groped blindly for her wine glass, hand trembling as she raised it to her lips. The bed dipped as he sat on the edge then bent forward to finish taking off his trousers, his broad back smooth, muscles rippling. Her blood raced around her body, heart thundering in her ears, nipples tight and aching, the flesh between her thighs yearning for his touch.
She put her glass down and reached for him.
A hair’s breadth from the skin of his back, she hesitated, registering the heat of his body as it warmed her palm. Should I? Will he be shocked? Disgusted? The wine made her bold. She splayed her fingers, and placed her hand on his back. He stilled. She waited.
‘It’s all right to explore, Felicity Joy.’ His back vibrated with the deep rumble of his voice. ‘I certainly intend to explore you.’
Her insides quivered. Her fingers trickled down his spine. He did not move. Emboldened, she knelt; crept a little closer; swept both hands up the solid planes of his back until her fingers curved over his shoulders. She kneaded with her thumbs.
‘Aaaaaahh, that feels good. You have magic in your fingers, sweetheart.’ He stretched his torso, rolling his shoulders.
How had he pleasured her? His neck. Shuffling closer still, until the tips of her breasts brushed his back, she pressed her lips to the side of his neck. Musky maleness flooded her senses. She was rewarded by a deep shudder and a quiet groan. She took his earlobe into her mouth and sucked. Then nipped.
‘Ooh. You little...’
Laughing, he turned his head. His lips were inches from hers. Warm, wine-scented breath fanned her skin, raising a frisson of pleasure. She closed the gap, pressing her lips to his, reaching for his chest. Rough hair teased her fingertips as she stroked, fascinated by the difference between his skin and hers. She played with his nipple, and he moaned, deep in his chest. She slicked her tongue over his lips: they parted, tongues met, entwined, withdrew, touched again.
He swung round, took control, cupping her head as he eased her down. He lay beside her, half covering her, as he deepened the kiss. His arousal pressed into her thigh. Felicity closed her eyes, concentrating on what was happening rather than on who was stoking this wonderful, exciting, glorious maelstrom of need. Every other sense was on heightened alert. She luxuriated in his scent: spicy, musky, arousing; the texture of his hair-roughened skin as he moved over her; the moist heat of skin against skin; every inch of her—caressed by skilled fingers and questing tongue—a thousand times more alive than ever before.
‘Touch me, sweetheart.’ His voice was ragged, urgent with need.
She reached, marvelling at the silken skin that slid over his hot, solid length. She closed her fingers, heard his intake of breath, squeezed. His hand covered hers, guiding her even as long fingers penetrated her most intimate place. She arched, whimpering, and then he moved, covering her, easing her thighs wider. She felt the nudge at her entrance, and tensed.
‘Ssssshhh. Relax. It might hurt this first time, but not for long. I promise.’
A steady push, and she stretched, and stretched until she could take no more. He was too big, she was too small, how...?
‘Richaaaard.’
Her protest lost in a cry as he forged into her, the pain sharp, but brief. He lay still. Impaled, she waited. Then he began to move, and the yearning ache grew and grew, radiating out from the place they were joined until every muscle in her body strained to reach the pinnacle that seemed forever just beyond her reach.
He began to move faster, penetrate deeper. Cool air washed between them. She cranked open a weighty eyelid. He was braced up on corded arms, eyes closed, his face a mask of concentration until, with a primal roar, he reached his release. She felt his seed empty into her and he collapsed on to her, rolling a little so as not to crush her, panting. They lay together, his leg straddling hers, arm across her waist. Felicity—tired, sated, content—could have stayed like that all night.
‘Are you all right?’ His breathing had slowed and he caressed her cheek as he spoke.
‘Yes. Of course.’
What should one say, at a time like this? His question dissolved her pleasant haze of exhaustion as the sun disperses early morning mist. Words formed in Felicity’s head, but were dismissed as too trite or too grateful; gushing, even. One could hardly thank one’s husband for... She bit at her lip. Was there an etiquette for such an occasion? She felt awkward and unworldly and stiffened, her eyes screwed shut.
‘Felicity. Look at me. Please.’
She did. Read the compassion in his eyes, but also the laughter that lurked in the background. Well, mayhap he was justified in finding her amusing.
‘There is no need to be embarrassed. Not with me. What we have just done is natural. It is meant to be enjoyable. For us both.’ He smiled, lines radiating out from the corners of his eyes. He kissed her on the forehead, then in one swift movement, he got out of the bed, and turned to tuck her back in. ‘You sleep now. You must be exhausted. I will see you in the morning.’
The bed felt very big, and cold, and empty. Felicity wished he had stayed.
Chapter Sixteen
Felicity awoke with a start. It was early, judging by the light creeping around the edge of the curtains. She lay in bed and relived the day before, fingers twisting the gold band on the third finger of her left hand.
Married.
Well, and was that not what she wanted: a home of her own and a family? Richard was not quite what she had bargained for, but he was what she had. If she only thought of him as a means to an end, surely she could keep her heart safe?
She quivered with the memory of their lovemaking, and her hand crept between her thighs, where her flesh was still tender. Excitement flitted through her veins and her heart leapt at the thought of seeing Stanton...Richard...again.
Determinedly, she settled her thoughts, crushing the bud of happiness attempting to unfurl in her heart. This would never do.
Once she was with child he would continue with his interests and leave her to hers. That was their bargain. She must protect her heart. If she could ensure that intimacies such as last night remained in the bedchamber...would that not suffice?
It would not be easy.
In need of distraction, she threw the covers back, tucked her feet into her slippers and wrapped her shawl around her. Her bedchamber was huge, with three tall windows spaced along the wall opposite the bed. She drew open the curtains to let the light spill in but did not linger at the window. She would explore the gardens of her new home later. Her home. It was strange, knowing she would be living here, yet knowing so little about the place or the people who lived here, not even her husband. A shiver spread across the surface of her skin and she hugged her arms around her body, pulling the shawl tight around her shoulders.
There was a light tap at the door, and it opened to admit a maid, carrying a wooden box.
‘G’morning, milady; I’m sorry your fire wasn’t lit ready for you.’ She cast an anxious look at Felicity.
‘Don’t be troubled, I did wake very early. What is your name?’
‘Tilly, milady.’ The girl, round-faced and pink-cheeked, bobbed a curtsy.
‘Well, Tilly, when you have finished here, could you send up some hot water, please? I should like to get dressed.’
‘Of course, milady.’
Finally alone—fully dressed and ready to face her new life—Felicity paused with her hand on the door handle, butterflies dancing around inside. She turned back and drifted around the room, examining sundry objects, before stopping by the window. In the garden below, a man was raking leaves from the vast expanse of lawn. Beyond the grass, the contours of the land dipped to reveal a glimpse of blue. A lake. The butterflies settled. She could not skulk upstairs all day. A pleasant walk to the lake would be her reward for braving breakfast.
About to turn from the window, a movement caught her eye: Richard, dressed in riding clothes, was striding along the path towards the house. He glanced up, and Felicity jerked away from the window, her pulse skittering as her breath caught.
Stupid! Why dodge out of sight as though you’ve been caught in some wrongdoing?
She peered out of the window again, but Richard was no longer in sight. Hands clasped to her chest, Felicity gazed unseeingly at the view as she willed her heart rate to slow. If he had seen her, she must go downstairs. He would think her a complete ninny if she remained closeted up here. Still she dallied, until a peremptory knock forced her to open the door.
Richard stood outside. He brought with him the smell of outdoors, fresh and tangy. He was hatless, his dark brown curls windswept. His skin glowed and his eyes sparkled.
‘Good morning, Felicity Joy. I trust you slept well and are fully refreshed?’
His rich baritone did strange things to her insides. She remembered the times she had sneaked a sip of brandy from her father’s decanter after a cold ride. Richard’s voice spread through her with a similar intoxicating warmth. Images of the night before flooded her brain and she felt her cheeks heat.
‘Good morning, Lord St...Richard.’ Her voice came out as a breathless squeak.
Richard grinned. ‘I’ve just returned from my morning ride. Have you breakfasted yet?’
‘No. I...I was just about to...to—’
‘In that case, would you care to join me for breakfast in the parlour? Unless you prefer to take breakfast in your room, as my mother does?’
She straightened her back, striving for calm.
‘Yes. Thank you. I should like to join you.’
Richard patted her hand as she took his arm to go downstairs. ‘Don’t worry; you will soon become accustomed to your new home.’
At least he seemed to understand how awkward she felt in this strange house. Not a guest, but not yet at home.
The food was laid out on a sideboard for them to serve themselves. Richard helped himself to thick rashers of bacon and eggs and placed it in front of the chair at the head of the table, big enough to seat eight. A second place was set at the opposite end, and Richard pulled the chair out for Felicity. ‘Would you like coffee?’
‘Yes, please.’ Felicity set down her plate, with its slice of toast and boiled egg.
Richard poured them both coffee, sat down and began to eat.
‘I always seem to eat twice as much when I’m down in the country,’ he remarked. ‘It is the fresh air and the exercise. I like to ride before breakfast as a rule, as long as the weather isn’t too inclement.’
He paused, his eyes on Felicity. Heat erupted and her skin tingled. Would she ever become accustomed to him?
* * *
Richard watched his new wife surreptitiously as they breakfasted together. Her eyes glued to her plate, she picked half-heartedly at her food.
How little I know of her. Who is she, behind the mask? What are her interests? Her dreams? Her fears? Why was she so reluctant to accept me? Was it a ploy, to pique my interest, or was...is...there some deeper reason?
His ja
w set. Why plague yourself with such questions? Did you not merely require a wife who would fit in with your life? You have no need to know the whys and the wherefores.
He focused on his bride. ‘Do you ride, Felicity?’
Her amber eyes came alive. ‘Oh, indeed I do. I love to ride. Do you have a lady’s mount in your stables?’
‘Not at present: my mother has not ridden for many years. Do you have a favourite animal at Bath, or at Baverstock? I can send a groom for it, if it would please you?’
‘Unfortunately, no. The mare I used to ride became permanently lame, and I was forced to retire her to Baverstock. Then my stepfather...’ resentment soured Felicity’s tone ‘...declined to meet the stabling costs for another horse. He believed hiring a job horse was sufficient should I wish to ride out with friends.’
It was something he could remedy very easily; something to make his new wife happy. ‘I shall instruct Dalton to find you a suitable mount.’
‘I’m sorry...Dalton?’
‘My head groom.’
‘I see. Thank you.’
Silence reigned once more.
‘If you would like it, I will show you around the house and gardens today. It will help you find your bearings.’
What had happened to his intention to spend the morning with Elliott, inspecting the estate ledgers to ensure his bailiff had overseen estate affairs properly in Richard’s all-too-frequent absences? One more day would not hurt, however, and it would be a worthwhile sacrifice to help Felicity settle into her new role and become accustomed to him. She had reacted like a startled fawn when he had entered her bathroom last night. Covering his eyes had been inspired; she had relaxed and responded, revealing her hidden passion. He would hate to have a wife who was indifferent to or—even worse—disliked the marital act.
From Wallflower to Countess Page 8