At last. He was going to make her his in every way.
But he didn’t. He just stood back to rake her from head to toe. She shivered, unsettled by the thought of being completely naked in front of him. She felt exposed, not just in body but in soul, as if he could see into all the secret parts of her. She wondered what he saw with that raw, piercing glance.
“Giles?” she asked, coming up on her elbows.
He blinked, as if she’d jerked him out of some reverie. Then his gaze warmed.
“Now that’s a sight to make a man’s blood rise,” he rasped, his eyes continuing to devour her as he untied his cravat, tossed it aside, then unbuttoned his waistcoat. “My water nymph has turned into a seductress.”
“Not a very good one, if all I inspire you to do is look,” she said in a low, sultry voice.
“Trust me, minx, you inspire me to do far more than that.”
“But you’re taking too long. And I want to look at you, too.”
He flashed her his crooked smile, the endearing one that always arrowed straight to her heart. “Whatever my seductress wants.” He stripped down to his drawers in measured motions that made her want to gnash her teeth with frustration, but when he finally shucked them, too, she caught her breath.
His flesh was stiff and imposing. It stuck out from its bed of dark curls like a night watchmen’s staff, a palpable threat that she somehow hadn’t expected.
“Good Lord,” she breathed, “it’s huge.” And for some perverse reason that made it grow even larger.
He laughed. “Not really. But probably bigger than you expected.”
That was an understatement. It certainly hadn’t felt that big in her hand. Then again, she’d been a little preoccupied when she’d had her hand in his drawers. “It’s definitely bigger than I expected.”
“Trust me, darling,” he said drily, “you’ll be glad of that in the end.”
She wasn’t at all sure about that. No wonder people said that the first time always hurt. Now she wondered whether the second, third, and fourth times hurt, too.
He climbed onto the bed, and she actually scooted away from him.
“Oh, no, you don’t, minx,” he said huskily as he threw one leg over hers. “You’re not getting out of this that easily.”
Then he kissed her again, and that soothed her a little. Especially when he began to knead her breast and fondle her below, as he had before. This part was quite enjoyable, and he did it quite well. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been in such a hurry to move things along—she could easily keep doing this part forever.
Within a few moments, he had her squirming beneath his hand, and the same strange sensation that she’d felt at the pond rose from between her legs, like heat stealing through her veins, tingling over her skin, making her arch into him for more.
Then abruptly his hand was gone. She opened her eyes—she wasn’t sure exactly when she’d closed them—to find him moving down her body. What on earth?
He kissed her belly, then moved lower still. She grew self-conscious. Did he have to look at her there? It wasn’t a particularly pretty part of her, though she had to admit his admiring stare was making her hot and bothered.
Then he kissed her thatch of curls, and she nearly shot up off the bed. “What the devil are you doing?” she cried and tried to pull her legs together.
But his hands now gripped her thighs, holding her open to his rakish gaze. “Relax, darling. You’ll like it.”
“Oh, you think so, do you?” she said as he covered her there with his mouth. “I can’t imagine why I would . . . why I might . . . oh . . . Oh my . . . Giles . . . Oh, my word . . . oh, Giles!”
He just chuckled and kept doing wicked things to her with his mouth and teeth. She wanted to be angry at him for being so dratted in control while she was writhing and moaning, but it was hard to be angry when the most amazing feelings were rocketing through her. She was sure she was about to explode. She wanted to explode, but before she could, he left her hanging and moved back up over her.
“No, Giles, not yet!” she cried out.
“Don’t worry, darling, I mean to give you everything you want. But I want to be with you when I do.”
She blew out a frustrated breath. “I don’t see how that’s going to help anything.” Her whole body felt strung tight, like a fiddler’s bowstring ready to snap. “But I suppose you’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you?”
“Not unless you don’t want me to,” he said, his voice sounding decidedly strained. His eyes were a brilliant blue, sharp and hard like faceted sapphires, and his jaw was set, as if he struggled to contain himself.
That small sign of a break in his control reassured her a little. Perhaps he was having a difficult time of it, too—though she couldn’t imagine how, given his vast experience in bedding women.
The thought made her scowl. And lie. “Of course I want you to. I’m your wife, aren’t I?”
“Not entirely,” he choked out. “But you will be.”
Then he pressed himself inside her. It was quite unnerving, but before she could tell him so, he began mating his tongue with hers in that slow dance that she so enjoyed. At the same time he filled one hand with her breast, teasing the nipple until the sweet, hot honey of desire trickled through her again.
And all the while he inched farther inside her. Her body actually accommodated him. Not well, mind you. It wasn’t as comfortable as she would like, but it was . . . interesting.
When she reached up to clutch his shoulders, he tore his mouth from hers to whisper, “It feels amazing to be inside you, darling. You’re so soft.”
“I wish I could say the same about you,” she retorted.
Her curst husband actually had the nerve to laugh. “No, you don’t. Trust me.”
“I’m trying to trust you, but you’re making it awfully difficult.”
“Lift your knees,” he said. “That will help.”
She did as he said, and he slid into her another couple of inches. “Help who?” she muttered under her breath. But then she felt it—the way he now pressed against the part of her he fondled whenever he was trying to drive her insane with lust. “Ohhh,” she murmured. “That’s intriguing.”
“Hold on,” he murmured, then gave a decided push that planted him inside her to the hilt.
She felt a faint burning, but it was over quickly. “Was that it?” she asked.
“What?” He drew back to look at her. The faint sheen of sweat on his brow and the muscle ticking in his jaw told her he was fighting for control.
“My maidenhead. Is it gone?”
“I imagine so,” he bit out. “Minerva, I want to move. I have to move.”
“All right. It’s fine.”
He laughed. “That’s my wife.” He brushed a kiss over her forehead. “But now the good part begins.”
He began moving. Inside her. How . . . intimate, the most intimate thing she’d ever known. Giles was joined to her so thoroughly that she didn’t know who was moving, him or her or both at once.
He drove into her with slow, silky thrusts that left her breathless. It felt odd at first, then became quite warming, and soon that strange whisper of a tingling began again down below, making her squirm. Whenever she squirmed, the tingling intensified until it grew into a dark and atavistic thrill.
Lord, but that was . . . actually quite good.
“Better?” he asked, his voice low, guttural.
“Oh yes.”
His triumphant smile speared her. “I thought it might be.”
Once he was satisfied that she was finding more enjoyment by the moment, he deliberately acted to heighten her pleasure. He kissed her deeply, heatedly. He fondled her breast, then slid his hand down to finger the place where they were joined until she was gasping and aching and dragging her fingernails along the bunched muscles of his shoulders.
Then inexplicably he slowed his thrusts.
“Giles . . . please . . .”
He pressed his mouth
to her ear, his breathing coming in quick, hard gusts. “What do you . . . want, minx?” he rasped. “Do you want . . . me to stop?”
“No!” She could feel the tension rousing again, his every thrust like a fiddler tightening a string, winding it until it shivered with the promise of music.
He tongued her ear. “Are you ready . . . for more?”
“Yes. Lord, yes!”
He nipped her earlobe, sending a frisson of excitement along her nerves. “Then hold on, sweet nymph, and we’ll finish this.”
So she did. He quickened his pace again, pounding into her, every stroke another tightening of the string. Soon she was arching up to meet his thrusts, her feet now locked behind his knees. She felt the humming of the tautening string, hovering on the edge of her consciousness, making her strain toward it. . . .
“Oh, God, Minerva . . . my darling . . . my wife . . .”
Suddenly, it was as if the string was plucked, and a note sang high and sweet, piercing her with pleasure, making her cry out and clasp him to her as her body vibrated with the intensity of her release.
Then with a strangled groan, he drove deep into her to reach his own release. Giving a shudder that rocked them both, he spilled his seed inside her.
And as her body thrilled to the ecstasy, as he collapsed atop her, his warm body enveloping hers, she realized she couldn’t lie to herself any longer.
She loved him. She’d never stopped loving him. She’d just been angry with him for a while. Worse yet, now that he was hers, she knew she’d never be happy until she’d made him love her, too.
And she feared that might prove impossible.
GILES GLANCED OVER at his wife to see if she was asleep yet. She was, and she slept very fetchingly, too. She did everything fetchingly. That was the trouble. She’d wriggled under his skin when he wasn’t looking, and now he didn’t know what to do about it.
He’d seen the heartache his brother had gone through when love had first seized him by the balls. Giles wasn’t going to allow that. A man should never let himself be driven to madness by a woman—that’s when he made mistakes that cost him dearly.
And Minerva was just the sort of female to attempt riding roughshod over her husband. Clearly she’d run roughshod over her entire family for quite some time.
She gave a little sigh in her sleep, and something caught in his throat. He scowled. He was going to have to watch this. He wanted her far too much. He liked her far too much. Better be careful.
But he didn’t want to be careful. He wanted to sink into marriage with her and drown there. If he didn’t maintain control of this situation, everything would go to hell.
Which was why, much as he wanted to join Minerva in sleep, he couldn’t. He had work to do yet.
Leaving the bed, he pulled on his clothes and went to his study. Ravenswood had promised to send over the letter Newmarsh had written. Sure enough, there it was on his desk, waiting for him in a sealed envelope. He broke the seal to read it before he set off for Calais.
They set off for Calais. With a groan, he set the letter down. He’d managed not to flat out lie to her so far, but once they reached Calais . . .
No, somehow he would manage it. He would meet with Newmarsh at the man’s lodgings, and he would do it without Minerva knowing or fretting over it.
“What are you doing?”
Steeling himself to show no surprise, he glanced up to see Minerva standing there, dressed in nothing but her thin shift. Her hair hung in a tangle to her waist, and the swells of her breasts were plainly visible.
His blood surged again in his loins. This was exactly what he worried about—that just seeing her made him want to unburden every secret in his soul.
“I thought you were sleeping,” he said, “and I have a few business matters to attend to before we leave tomorrow, so I came down here.”
“I think I roused the minute you opened the door,” she said with a soft smile that fired his blood. “I’m a light sleeper. It’s been the curse of my life.” She leaned against the doorframe. “Celia can sleep through a hailstorm, but even a gentle rain wakes me.”
Was that a warning to him? Or just a statement of fact?
Knowing her, it was probably both.
She didn’t look the least bit changed by their lovemaking. She still bore that air of complete self-assurance that said nothing would keep her from being herself. No man would, anyway.
But then, he liked that about her.
“Go back to bed, darling,” he said. “I’ll be there shortly.”
She cast him a sultry look that set his blood afire. “Don’t be too long.”
When she left, he laid his head back against the chair and cursed Ravenswood long and loud. He wanted to be done with this. He didn’t want to have to hide things anymore, especially from her.
I am trying to trust you, but you are making it awfully difficult.
He wanted her to trust him. And if she ever found out he’d broken his promise to her—
She mustn’t, that’s all. He merely had to do this one thing. Then the whole sordid business would be behind him, and he wouldn’t have to worry about her letting something slip or creep into her books that might unmask him.
Just look at how David had suffered after Charlotte had written those cruel things about him that had ended up in the papers. Granted, she hadn’t meant that to happen, and she’d misunderstood the situation in the first place, but it had blackened David’s name for a long while.
Women let their emotions guide them, and it got them into trouble. Giles had seen his family be dragged through scandal one too many times—he wasn’t going to let it happen yet again because of him.
So he’d just have to pray he could keep his secrets for a couple of days more.
Chapter Nineteen
The next day Minerva and Giles arrived in Calais at ten in the evening. They then worked their way through the customs house and the police station to have their bags examined and their passports stamped. It was well after midnight when they reached the Hotel Bourbon, where they ate a quick dinner consisting of a roast chicken, a sweet omelet, and some very fine wine. By the time they got to bed, they were too tired to do anything but collapse into sleep.
The church bells calling parishioners to morning mass awakened Minerva early. She lay there a moment listening, then laughed to herself when she realized the bells were playing a waltz. Only in France.
The sound must be coming from that Notre Dame church Giles had mentioned. She’d seen enough of the town the night before to pique her interest, and she wouldn’t mind visiting the church. But when she turned over to ask Giles about it, she found him still asleep.
A smile crossed her lips. He was such a sound sleeper. And a neat one, too. She always churned her bedsheets while she slept, taking her rest by fits and starts. But from what she’d seen of him after two nights of marriage, Giles fell into one spot, lying on his back, and stayed there until something or someone forceful roused him.
Should she attempt to wake him? Or perhaps . . . A slow smile curved up her lips. Why not take a peek at his “thing” while he slept? She’d been too nervous on their wedding night to notice anything but how large it was, and she was curious to see it in its natural state.
Carefully she raised his nightshirt. She would have to get his drawers open somehow. Did she dare? What would he do if he woke to find her being so free with him?
Well, he was her husband after all. She should be able to look at him whenever she wished, right?
She touched the first button, then froze, surprised to find him hardening beneath her hand. So much for seeing him in his natural state. She slanted a glance up at him, but his eyes were still closed. So she cautiously unbuttoned his drawers to unveil his member, which grew impressively harder by the moment.
Did men do these things in their sleep, for goodness sake? That seemed rather alarming. What must it be like to awaken with one’s flesh sticking up, quite by accident?
Now
that she had his drawers entirely opened, his member spilled out to spring to life before her gaze. She examined it with great curiosity. It was such a strange appendage. It wasn’t at all attractive, with its thick veins and bulbous head, yet inexplicably it fascinated her. It was just so . . . reckless and impudent, like a standard men bore into battle with the female sex in another attempt to cow them.
“Enjoying yourself?” said a rumbling male voice, and she jumped.
Heat rose in her cheeks. “Giles! How long have you been awake?”
He flashed her a lazy smile. “Since you lifted my nightshirt.”
She swallowed. “I was just . . . it was only . . .”
“Come here, wife,” he murmured in that husky voice that never failed to turn her knees to pudding.
When she slid up to lie beside him, he kissed her hard, then placed her hand on his very reckless and impudent standard. And that led to his placing his hand inside her drawers, and before she knew it, she was lying on her back being made love to with great enthusiasm. What a delightful way to begin the day.
And once again, she marveled at how intimate, how personal it felt. How could men do this just for enjoyment? For that matter, how could women allow it? She couldn’t imagine letting a man be inside her like this without . . . being in love with him.
Later, as they lay gasping on the bed, he said, “How do I compare to Rockton in the bedchamber?”
She shifted to her side to stare at him. His hair was endearingly mussed, and his cheeks flushed from exertion. He looked adorable. She could still hardly believe he was hers. “What do you mean?” she asked coyly.
“You always describe him as a consummate lover. Did I meet your expectations?”
“You mean, given that I was a virgin and had no more idea of what a consummate lover is than I knew how a spy worked?” At his cocked eyebrow, she laughed. “You know perfectly well that I did. Surely you could tell.”
“I can never be sure of anything with you. And you did have some idea about what to expect, as I recall. You mentioned kissing other men.”
How to Woo a Reluctant Lady Page 22