Things hardly improved over a late luncheon. He made her eat a meat pie at a quaint little inn, and even ordered her a pint of ale to wash it down. Lilliana had never tasted ale in her life, but after a few sips the bitter drink was going down rather smoothly—so smoothly that she hesitantly requested a second one. “Whatever you would like, Lilliana, you need only ask,” Adrian had said, and she was left with the strange feeling that she could have whatever she liked as long as she stopped talking.
As Mr. Maximilian directed the footman to stoke the fire in the large hearth, she told herself that she was experiencing wedding nerves, nothing more. But the nervousness had grown to terrifying proportions the more miles they covered. Her husband was not even remotely interested in the things she found fascinating; she could not find a topic that interested him, and she could not read French.
Well, what in God’s name had she expected? He was a man of the world and it was little wonder he found her conversation boring. She had nothing to compare to his vast experience, nothing to capture his superior attention. And here she was, acting as if she was somehow surprised that she hardly knew the man she had married. She angrily reminded herself that it would take some time to grow comfortable in each other’s company. Nonetheless, for the first time in a week a faint hint of doubt crept into her conscience, unwelcome and unsettling.
“I shall have some bread and cheese sent up, if that pleases you, my lady,” she heard the diminutive butler say. “And some wine.”
Wine. Yes, she would very much like some wine. A barrel of it. “Yes, please,” she said.
“I shall leave you now. Lucy will attend you tonight. I have taken the liberty of engaging a lady’s maid for you, Mrs. Polly Dismuke. She shall attend you first thing in the morning,” he said, and with an efficient bow, left her with a tiny young chambermaid who was already laying out her nightclothes.
“They’ve brought the water for your bath, Lady Albright,” Lucy said, and motioned toward a door near the far wall.
That name registered somewhere in her brain, and Lilliana felt dangerously close to fainting. It had sounded so terribly important when she and Caroline had laughingly practiced it, but now it sounded almost ominous. Lord help her, she was his wife! She could almost hear her mother’s anxious voice as she had delicately explained what to expect tonight. It would happen here, in this room. But she hardly knew him! The thought of his powerful body coupled with hers made her knees shake, and she stumbled toward the door Lucy had indicated. The girl looked curiously at her; Lilliana hastily tilted her chin up, determined she would not see what a coward she was, but oh God, she was a coward!
The hot bath did nothing to soothe her. How in heaven’s name would she lie with him? Would he at last speak to her, or would he approach it with the same damned patience he had shown her all day long? She changed into the silk night rail and dressing gown her mother had bought from Mrs. Peavey, who had brought it all the way from London. She was hardly aware of Lucy braiding her hair; she hardly remembered getting married, she thought, a little hysterically, and when Lucy announced she was done, she only barely managed to drag herself into the main suite again.
Some food and wine had been brought up. Lucy poured a glass for her, and with a final, curious glance at her, she took her leave. The moment the door shut, Lilliana began to pace anxiously. No matter how wonderful she thought him, the vision of the impending invasion unnerved her so badly that Lilliana suddenly lunged for the wineglass, quickly downing half the contents. Blast it all, but it did nothing to ease her tension—if anything, it made it soar. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she commanded herself to stop being so childish. She was a grown woman, for heaven’s sake! She would endure this!
More wine.
“Ah, the wine has come.”
She hadn’t heard him enter, and started so violently that she spilled a bit of wine onto the table. Quickly, she put the glass down and swiped at the spilled wine before turning to face him. He strolled into the room wearing a black velvet dressing gown that swept the carpet. He looked quite imposing, and she thought for a moment that he looked even taller in bare feet, perhaps as much as two or three inches above six feet. And terribly virile. Lord God, terribly virile. He perused her, too, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, then lifted his gaze to hers as he shoved a hand through his hair. “Well. It seems you’ve been hiding beautiful hair beneath your bonnets,” he remarked.
She blushed furiously. “Thank you,” she said, and unconsciously smoothed an errant strand from her temple.
He advanced farther into the room, now looking at anything but her. “Max has outdone himself, hasn’t he? The last time I saw this room, it was quite bare.”
At that, insane questions popped into her head. When had he been in this room? And with whom? They said he was a scoundrel, and it was a well-known fact around the parish that Adrian Spence did not keep company with reputable women.
With a convulsive shiver, she swallowed again.
He paused in his perusal of the room and slanted a look at her. “Naturally, you may do as you wish to it,” he offered.
“No, my lord,” she managed to choke, and felt herself color, impossibly, even more. “I, uh, I think it is quite lovely.”
The Adonis moved slowly toward her. “As we are quite married now, I think it time you called me Adrian.”
Hadn’t she? That she had not actually voiced her husband’s Christian name aloud astounded her, and she frantically attempted to recall everything she had said over the last few days.
“Please don’t feel any need on my account. You may call me whatever you like—assuming it is acceptable to Polite Society.”
He was teasing her now. And gaining ground. Lilliana forced her breath as he came to stand in front of her. His hazel eyes swept her face, her neck, and lingered on her bosom. She might as well have been standing naked in front of him, so pointed was his gaze. And it didn’t help that the room was suddenly stifling. When he lifted his hand and placed it gently against her cheek, everything in Lilliana froze with fear. Focusing on the lapels of his robe, she took what seemed like giant gulps of air to steady herself.
“Why don’t you eat something? You will feel better,” he suggested. But no, thank you, nothing was going to make her feel better. Adrian grasped her hand. “You are making me feel a bit like an ogre, madam, looking as horrified as all that.” Before she could respond, he pulled her around the little table and helped her into a chair. “Relax,” he whispered into her ear, and patted her arm before placing some bread and cheese on a small wooden platter. “Eat,” he said, motioning to the food, and sat himself across from her.
Yes, she should eat something. But she reached for the wine instead, taking another good, long sip that warmed her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Adrian watched her beneath long, thick lashes as he munched on a thick slice of bread. When she finished the glass, he wordlessly refilled it.
“I didn’t know you cared for wine,” he remarked as she reached for the glass.
“Neither did I,” she mumbled hoarsely.
The briefest hint of a smile grazed his lips. “Perhaps it is that particular vintage. If I know Max, it has fermented for all of two weeks now.”
Lilliana smiled in spite of herself and risked a look at him. His robe was open at the neck, and she glimpsed a bit of the crisp hair that covered his chest. His sandy brown hair was all curl, his jaw impossibly square. She took another generous sip of wine as she watched his broad hands tear the bread. Such strong hands, she thought, and suddenly imagined them engaged in a variety of activities. Like dueling. Or gambling. Or on a woman. That thought caused her traitorous cheeks to flame. Just how many women had his hands touched? And more importantly, exactly how had his hands touched them?
Again he lifted a single, quizzical brow. Lilliana hastily took another sip of wine. “You have hardly touched your food,” he remarked.
“I am really not very hungry,” she admitted.
>
“I see,” he said, and unfortunately, she rather imagined he did. The burn in her cheeks spread to her neck; she quickly dropped her gaze to her platter. “Perhaps we should retire.”
Oh God, it was time! She had imagined this moment would be a bit more tender, perhaps a bit of wooing on his part. Exactly where she had come up with that idea escaped her—certainly it was nothing her mother had said. Well, there was nothing to be done for it. As her mother had drilled into her several times the last week, a woman submitted to her husband without complaint. Nonetheless, she felt every fiber tense as he stood and walked around the table to stand behind her. She swallowed a gasp when he put his hands on her shoulders and lightly massaged them. What was this?
“You are trembling, Lilliana,” he murmured and, with his fingers, lightly rubbed her neck. Oh, she was trembling all right. And if she didn’t get this over and done with soon, she might very weir faint. He leaned down. “Don’t be frightened,” he whispered, his breath tickling her skin. But when his lips touched her neck, she jumped like a scared rabbit, and the top of her head collided with his chin. “Oh! I’m sorry,” she hastily muttered.
He gave her a strange look as he rubbed the offended chin. “It’s quite all right.” Even though he did not sound so very reassuring, he resumed his caress, his hands sliding slowly over her shoulders and down her arms. She tried not to squirm. “Relax, Lilliana, or we’ll never get through this,” he murmured, and touched his lips to her neck again. He was right, they would never get through this, she thought as he nuzzled her neck and caressed her arms.
But then something started to happen. Her whole body seemed to pulsate with each gentle touch of his fingers. She felt his hands grip her arms, felt herself rising to her feet. Slipping his arms around her waist, he pulled her into his chest. The silk dressing gown she wore was so thin, she could feel the hard wall of his chest against her back. His lips were on her cheek now, so soft and warm on her skin, and he smelled so … well, masculine.
He pulled her away from the table, forced her to turn in his arms, then gave her a half-smile as he artfully released her hair from its braid. “Beautiful hair,” he muttered as his lips descended to her mouth.
Lilliana’s breath froze in her lungs as his lips slowly slid across hers. The sensation was paralyzing; she stood rigid as he carefully and artfully moved his lips on hers, shaping them to match his own. The sweetness of the kiss began to flow through her like molten rock. His hold tightened around her, coaxing her closer to him by caressing her spine. It was not supposed to be like this! She had the sensation of drifting as he continued his gentle assault with his mouth and hands—
He lifted his head and looked down at her, frowning slightly. He grasped her hands, which she realized were fisted tautly at her sides, and draped them loosely around his waist. “That’s better,” he murmured. Yes, it was better. At least she would not crumple to the floor. She could actually feel his breath in his chest as he slipped a finger under her chin and tilted it upward. “Now,” he murmured as his head slowly descended to hers, “open your mouth.”
“Pardon?” she whispered into the fog, and his tongue slid between her lips.
The room suddenly pitched as he stroked her with his tongue. His sweet breath mingled with hers, filling her with awe and a longing that was indescribable. Her body began to tingle in a most unusual way, starting somewhere in her belly and unfurling throughout her limbs. Through no will of her own she felt herself leaning into him. Oh, Lord, his body was lean; his waist slender, and his hips rock hard. Vaguely aware that her hands had begun a journey of their own, she was conscious of the feel of his spine, the muscles in his back, the ripple of flesh in his shoulders. At the same time, he caressed her shoulders, her arms, and the curve of her waist into her hips. Just when she thought she might possibly be in heaven after all, his hand swept up and cupped her breast.
Lilliana unwittingly gasped against his mouth, and he plunged farther into her recesses. He filled the palm of his hand with her breast, and instantly feeling faint, she unthinkingly clutched at his arms as his hand moved the silk of her gown across the rigid peak of her breast. He hardly touched her at all, yet a furious desire was pooling deep in her belly.
Adrian dragged his mouth to her ear as his hand continued its seductive dance on her breast, “Put your arms around my neck,” he whispered, and caught her earlobe between his teeth. Shaking like a leaf, Lilliana tentatively ran her hands up his chest and around his neck. He dropped his hand from her breast then, and wrapped his arms tightly around her, pressing her against the hardness of his frame, his thighs … and oh God. The unmistakable hardness between them, the full length pressed against her abdomen was him. Her inexperience burned her neck and face.
And then he began to move. Heaven help her, she was going to die of shame or longing or both! He moved almost imperceptibly at first, a slow, grinding movement against her as he toyed with her lobe. She tensed, uncertain what to make of it, uncertain what to do in response, and all the while feeling the unimaginable heat building in her. Suddenly his hands came between them, searching for the tie to her wrapper. Fear shook her to consciousness, and she grabbed his hand.
He let go of the knot and lifted one hand to her temple, tenderly brushing the hair from her brow. “There is nothing to be afraid of. I would never willingly hurt you.” Those seductive words ignited a burn in her all over again. He kissed her, and this time she did not try to stop him as he effortlessly untied the very secure knot she had made earlier. The silk wrapper slid from her shoulders; with a soft sigh, he put his hands on her bare skin and bent to kiss the curve of her neck into her shoulders. His hands slipped down and under her breasts, carefully lifting them in his palms. They swelled in his hands, Lilliana numbly realized, and her head fell backward as he traced a warm path from her shoulder to the hollow of her throat. His lips were intoxicating, his touch making her completely mindless. When her knees started to buckle, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed, never breaking the kiss.
When her feet touched the carpet, her knees did give way, and Adrian caught her with a firm arm around her waist as he bent to douse the candle at her bedside. In the pale light of the hearth he turned to face her, allowing his gaze to peruse her before reaching to push the thin straps of her silk sleeping gown from her shoulders. A rush of shameful alarm filled her as the thin fabric slipped down her arms and breasts. She clutched his arm, her fingers spanning muscle that rippled beneath her touch. He did not seem to notice her death grip; his hazel eyes were focused on her breasts. Completely exposed to him, they stood swollen, the tips protruding from what he had done to her. Lilliana frantically caught the thin silk before it fell to the floor and held it tightly at her waist, mesmerized by the strange dark light in his eyes.
“My God,” he murmured, and with his knuckles traced lightly across the top of her breasts and the valley between them.
Lilliana shivered, with fear or great anticipation, she did not know. She felt exposed and raw, as if she would shatter into a thousand pieces at the slightest touch. Adrian did not notice; he was suddenly kissing her senseless again, and the next thing she knew she was lying on the bed, his body stretched beside her. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and inhaled it, then lowered his head to hers again, feathering her face and neck with light kisses, moving lower until his breath fanned her breasts.
She sucked in a sharp breath at the stark sensuality, but she almost came up off the bed when his tongue flicked across her nipple. Adrian very smoothly anchored her with one hand on her abdomen, then began a painstaking exploration of her breasts with his lips and tongue, tugging, sucking, and nipping lightly until she thought she would go mad. The desire awakening deep inside frightened her—it was building to a sinful pitch, turning hot and moist between her legs. When he pushed the silk gown from her waist and over her hips, she could hardly catch her breath. Oh, God, she was going to suffocate!
When Adrian paused momentarily to shrug out of h
is dressing gown, Lilliana felt the incredible length of his manhood slide against her bare thigh and pulse against her flesh. And she was gulping desperately for air. Adrian grasped her hand and bent to kiss her. “Touch me,” he murmured against her lips.
And he guided her to feel his passion.
Lilliana recoiled in horror at the feel of his engorged member. He chuckled low and deep as his hand flitted across the level plane of her belly. “It will be all right,” he muttered, but that was a lie—it was bloody impossible, she thought, and was once again struggling for air as his fingers traced a line down one thigh.
“You must trust me, Lillie,” he murmured, and nipped the rigid peak of her breast between his teeth as his knuckles brushed the blond curls at the apex of her thighs. The endearing use of her childhood nickname and the shock of being touched in the most forbidden place of all suddenly vanquished all thoughts from her head. Her body seized with panic as he fingered the curls there, his knuckles brushing the silken mound dangerously low. When his fingers slipped between her legs and touched the very core of her, Lilliana strangled on her breath and pushed deep into the feather mattress, alarmed by the erotic sensation and exquisite feeling of lightness. But Adrian shamelessly stroked her, urging her thighs open with little effort. He buried his face in her breasts, suckling them while his shaft brushed her abdomen and thigh, its heat burning her skin. She clutched frantically at the bedcovers as he slowly slipped one finger inside her, then two, and gently forced her body to open. But when he moved over her, pushing her legs apart with his knee and leaning over her until his manhood brushed against the swell of her own sex, her body seized again, and she unthinkingly tried to close her legs.
Julia London 4 Book Bundle Page 8