Desperate Bride

by A. S. Fenichel

  Thomas leaned in and kissed the top of her head. “Another moment, my dear, and you may breathe. Just hold on.”

  She’d put on a public facade dozens of times in her life. Still, it made it easier to know he understood and supported her.

  When the footman arrived, it took an act of sheer will not to snatch her wrap and run for the door. She allowed him to place the satin and fur over her shoulders, watched as Thomas accepted his hat, waited for the door to open, and for them to make their exit.

  The carriage was close, which was a great relief. Thomas called up to the driver to keep his seat and handed her inside himself before joining her in the dark compartment. Instead of sitting across from her, he took the spot on the bench next to her.

  Dory didn’t know what to say. Her proposal had caused all of this. He must be embarrassed beyond tolerance. She wouldn’t blame him if he sent her away to the country at first light.

  The carriage rumbled forward, winding its way around the crowded drive until they cleared the party traffic and sped up. The nearly full moon was the only light offered and gave little illumination inside the carriage. Clutching her hands in her lap, she closed her eyes and prayed they would arrive at Thomas’s townhouse before he erupted in a fit of rage.

  Even when he shifted on the seat, she refused to open her eyes. If she could get to the house she’d be able to hold her emotions in check. Shame and remorse built behind her eyes trying to push out tears, she did not want him to see. She wouldn’t have it. The matter of her marriage was no one’s business and what was done, was done.

  Thomas’s long, strong fingers wrapped around her hand and tugged it away from the other. He threaded their fingers together. “Sweetheart, none of that was your fault. You must know that.”

  Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she turned and focused on his strong silhouette. “This is all my fault. I dragged you into this mess when you were perfectly happy as a bachelor. I knew my father’s behavior would damage your reputation and still I enlisted your help. I am sorry, Tom.”

  He laughed.

  It was the last thing she’d expected and she looked at him. “I thought you’d be angry.”

  Cocking his head let the moon shine on the side of his face like a romantic character from one of those silly novels Elinor loved so much. “I am not thrilled with the behavior of those two gentlemen, but I certainly do not hold you accountable for their bad behavior. You behaved admirably under untenable circumstances this evening. I was very proud of you.”

  “You are the strangest man.”

  “Why do you say that?” He rubbed the back of her hand until the tension fled.

  “I thought we were getting along well in Scotland. I even hoped we might tolerate each other well as husband and wife. Then you have barely spoken to me since we returned to London. You were a perfect gentleman with my parents, despite their horrendous behavior. You never yell at me, though I know you must want to. You defend me in public, when putting me aside would be in your best interest. I do not know what to make of you, Thomas Wheel.” She hadn’t meant to let all the things she’d thought over their weeks of marriage tumble out at one time, but she couldn’t stop herself.

  The carriage pulled to a stop in front of his townhouse. He called it home, but Dory didn’t know what that word meant. The houses she’d grown up in were places of great anxiety to be better, perform well, and meet other peoples’ expectations. Nothing about living with Thomas was like that. It was all unfamiliar and scary.

  He jumped out, pulled down the steps, and handed her down without waiting for a footman.

  Dory wished the ride had been just a few moments longer so she could have gotten the response to her statements. As it was, they would climb the steps and he would tell her goodnight as he had every night since they arrived in London.

  In the foyer, she handed her gloves and wrap to the footman before stepping toward the stairs.

  “Mrs. Wheel?” Thomas’s use of the formal address drew her attention and stopped her in her tracks.

  She took a deep breath ready for whatever might come next. “Yes, Mr. Wheel?”

  “I wonder if you would join me in my study for a few moments?”

  Heart beating out of her chest, she walked down the short hall to his private space, which she’d entered only when summoned.

  He dismissed the staff and followed closely behind. Once inside, he shut the door. “What do you want from this marriage, Dory?

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “What do you want? Do you want a husband who is constantly solicitous? Do you want a partner in bed? Someone to play counterpoint in the music room? A friend to talk to? A hero to protect you from your father?” He leaned against the door in a relaxed state, but the muscle in his jaw ticked.

  Where had this come from? He had said he wasn’t upset with her, but clearly that was not true. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

  He slammed his fist back against the door. “I am trying to be the husband you want. I agreed to this marriage and hoped to be a good husband to you, or at least a good friend, but now I doubt what it is you want from me.”

  “I want you to do as you please. Whatever the source of your anger, I want you to discuss it with me before it becomes this poison spewed out in years to come when we are bitter and hateful. I do not know what I want from a husband. How can I know?” She rounded the chairs to put some distance between herself and him.

  Pushing off the wall brought him to his full height. His eyes flashed and his posture stiffened as he stalked toward her. Only the chair separated them. “I heard you in Scotland. You told her grace that you could never love me. If tolerating me is the best you can do, perhaps a friendship will never be possible.”

  All the tears she’d been holding back bubbled from her eyes. “That conversation was not meant for your ears.”

  “But you do not deny saying them.”

  “No. I said them.” What a fool she had been.

  “Did you mean them?” He passed her his clean, crisp handkerchief.

  She dried her cheeks. “I would never lie to Elinor.”

  “That is what I thought too.”

  “We did not marry for love, Tom.” Defending herself came easily as the only reasonable course of action.

  He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “No. Still, the question remains. What do you want from me? Because our current situation leaves me unsatisfied.”

  Of course, that was what this was really about. “I never chased you from my bed.”

  He was around the chair in a flash, wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him. “You chased me from your life, Dory. No one has ever hurt me as much as when I heard you say those words. Knowing they were not for my ears did not matter. I heard them and you hurt me.”

  “I am sorry.” She held his shoulders for balance. “I never wanted to hurt you in any way. I like you and have always admired the friendship you and Sophia share. I hoped you and I could have a similar relationship.”

  “Impossible.” He lowered his head a fraction.

  It was as if he had taken hold of her heart and twisted the life out of it. “Why? I know I have made mistakes and have put you in a terrible position, but I would hate to think there is no hope for us.”

  He placed one finger just under her eye and wiped away a tear before tracing a path along her jaw. “I could never have that kind of camaraderie with you because I have long been in love with you, Dory.”

  The room closed in on her. His whispered confession vibrated through her soul more loudly than any scream. They sliced her painfully. “I do not know if I am capable of returning such feelings, Tom. I wish I could return the sentiment, but I have never felt such an emotion.”

  He closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to hers.

  Pushing against his chest,
she tried to free herself before he could react.

  He held on and pressed his lips to her skin. “I think you underestimate yourself, sweetheart. Perhaps you will never return my feelings, but the way you play tells me those emotions simmer inside you with far more intensity than most people experience.”

  “It is only a trick of the music.” Her throat was so tight she had to swallow down the lump. Where his lips touched set her on fire and shot bolts to her most sensitive places.

  He kissed her cheek. “No one can fake such passion.”

  She hummed with desire and lifted her lips up to him.

  Chapter 13

  Her eyes drilled into him like nothing and no one else. If he gave in and took her to bed, he’d be physically satisfied but no closer to having what he wanted from her. Perhaps he asked too much of her. She had little experience with human passion. Her romance came from music.

  She brushed a stray hair from his forehead. “It might be best if I retired to the country. Then I would not risk hurting you further.”

  Losing her was not an option. Not this soon. Not without one hell of a fight. “Dory, will you play me the piece you have been working on?”

  Blinking, she licked her lips. “It is not finished.”

  The pink of her tongue darting out to wet her lips drove him to distraction. “I know, but it’s lovely, and if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to hear it.”

  “I do not usually play a piece in public until it is complete.”

  “This is not public. Only your husband will be in the room.”

  She nodded and pushed on his chest.

  Letting her go in that moment was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. It went against every instinct to release this extraordinary woman, but he did it, and then followed her out of his study and into the music room. Closing the door, he let the room embrace him. He had only practiced the harp since his marriage and he missed the warmth of the drawing room. He’d brought in several groupings of chairs and couches for comfort and done away with the standard of placing lines of chairs along the walls. Changing the arrangement of the room made it more organic and therefore a more creative venue.

  “This is my favorite place in your house.” She opened the pianoforte and sat.

  “It is our house and I love it in here.” Standing beside the instrument, he admired the curve of her shoulder, down strong arms to her tapered fingers, poised on the keys. His heartbeat tripled.

  She cocked her head. “You never come in here.”

  “I wanted you to have total access to the room without my interference. I am never far away though.”

  “I could never wish to drive you away from your own music, Tom.”

  He sat beside her on the bench. “May I tell you something?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am fascinated to the point of distraction with the way you play. The sound of it has become an obsession for me.”

  Her eyes widened before she looked away and dropped her hands to her lap. “Perhaps you should play for me instead.”

  Not knowing what to say was not a state he found himself in often. “I—you are a far superior musician.”

  “You will not play?”

  Was there anything he wouldn’t do for her? It was a small request. “I rarely play for anyone, sweetheart, but I shall play for you.”

  She scooted a few inches over so he had more of the bench and better access to the instrument.

  Laying his hands on the keys, he played her composition as he had heard it for the past few days. Note after painful note poured from his heart as the sorrow of the melody passed through the air. He dared not look over, afraid she would censure his lack of talent. At the coda, the key changed and he plugged on to a brighter section and through to where she’d left it unfinished. The last note vibrated away leaving them in silence.

  Unable to resist, he looked at her. He’d expected her utter mortification but she stared down at the instrument. “Forgive me, Dory. I know I am not up to the task.”

  “Your play is excellent. You should never apologize for it.” Still she didn’t gaze at him, only at the keys with the most peculiar look, almost confused, worried, or a mixture of the two.

  “Thank you. The piece is extraordinary. I should not have dared play it for the composer.”

  “I am flattered that you did.”

  He pivoted toward her. “If I may, you do not look flattered.”

  She raised her head and met his stare. “Would you mind if we tried something?”

  “What?”

  Standing, she said, “Play the piece again but in B-flat.”

  He did as she asked, letting the notes fall in that soulful key.

  She sat on his right and added an entirely new melody to the construct. This was light and filled with air, as if breathing life into the sad composition. At the keys their hands came close but never touched.

  Every note, tone, and vibration soared through Thomas like the first time he’d ever heard Beethoven played. It was as if he were discovering music for the first time all over again. Her shoulder pressed to his seared him with warmth just as her composition branded him with love. Sweat poured from his forehead. Tears leaked out and ran down his face as the music drew to a close and all four of their hands stilled.

  Half-afraid, he turned to her, and she, too, was crying. No other person had seen him cry since he was a small boy, but somehow this was right. He could not have helped his emotion anyway. “Shall we write this down?”

  Her throat bobbed up and down and she pulled his hand into hers. “Do you mind? I know it’s late, but realizing this is a duet is a huge breakthrough. I have never written a duet before. Everything I have tried before has been for one musician, just for me. Hearing you play my music, it was as if a lantern lit inside me. Suddenly, the missing pieces fell into place.”

  He longed to drag her into his arms and carry her up the stairs to his bed. But the music. “Shall I transcribe the original into B-flat?”

  “You want to help me? You must be tired.”

  “I will not sleep for hours anyway. Let me do this, Dory.”

  They moved to the desk, where she scribbled the new section and he transcribed the old. Side by side just as they had been at the pianoforte they worked. Occasionally, she hummed the tune out and found the missing note. The entire time, his body burned for more of her, more music, more flesh. It had been too long since he’d made love to his wife and the sight of her creating a work of art, along with the memory of being a part of the creation, fed his desires.

  Finishing the revision, he put the new pages aside just as the hall clock sounded six bells. The sun would be up soon, though the drawn curtains would let in little light. The candelabra had melted to stubs. Tom walked to the mantle and retrieved another and lit all three wicks before placing it near where she worked.

  Her hand flew across the stanzas adding the notes that made up the masterpiece she’d created.

  Leaning over her shoulder, he whispered. “Shall I leave you?”

  His hand lay on the desk next to her and she covered it with her own. “Stay. I am at the end.”

  Heart pounding, he sat watching her scribble the last of it.

  She put down the pen and stared at the pages strewn across the desk. “Will you make love to me, Tom?”

  Had he misheard her? Was he hearing what he longed for since the first time he’d ever seen her? No. It was her voice. Her cheeks colored bright red at having asked such a thing. “I will do anything you want.”

  Turning, her gaze met his. “I want you.”

  Tom grabbed the base of her chair and yanked hard until she had to spread her knees to avoid them hitting his. Her full skirt lifted to just above her ankles from the unladylike position and her eyes were wide but with no fear in them. Pushing the fabric above her knees allowed him to
lift her off her chair and onto his lap straddling him. “Do you want me to take you to our bed, Dory?”

  She swallowed and clutched his shoulders. Only the thin fabric of her chemise and his breeches separated them. “I do not know if I can wait that long.”

  Cupping her bottom, he pulled her tight against his straining shaft. “As you can feel, I am in no position to argue with you.”

  She giggled then sobered. “I could not have finished it without you.”

  “I was honored to be a part of something so special.” He tugged her chemise up and found the silk of her thigh distracting from even the music they’d created.

  Her eyes closed as he caressed her from knee to where she spread wide. Wet and warm, he longed to sink inside her and take his pleasure, but that was only half the satisfaction he yearned for. Grazing her sensitive bud elicited a gasp, and as he rubbed she moaned deep and satisfying. His rod jumped, wanting to join the pleasure but being denied at least for the moment.

  “Tom.” She threw her head back and cried his name over and over again. As her neck arched it exposed her throat and thrust her breasts forward until they strained against the scoop of her gown.

  Keeping her seated meant his other hand secured the small of her back, but he licked along the flesh just above the taut fabric.

  She cried out and tugged at the bodice until one perfect nipple was exposed.

  Tom sucked the tight pebble into his mouth hard.

  Arching further, she gave him more flesh to suckle and tease. Her pelvis ground forward against his hand, which was slick with her juices.

  “Tom, please.”

  Licking circles around her nipple and tracing the same pattern around her sex, she bounced and moaned in his lap. Every movement bumped, caressed, and rubbed his shaft until the pleasure-pain was unbearable and unstoppable at the same time.