“I’ve never seen her like this.” His voice cracked a little, and he pulled Lucy into his arms. She knew he was seeking rather than offering comfort, and she did her best to give it, holding him tightly and stroking his hair. If only she weren’t so afraid this was her fault. She had thought she was acting for the best, truly she had, but it had all gone so horribly wrong.
James took a deep breath and released her. “Let’s go upstairs,” he said. “I’d rather talk there.”
She nodded. Somehow the discomfort of the evening and Sebastian and Anna’s unhappiness seemed to linger in the air of the parlor, and she too wanted to escape it.
They walked upstairs hand in hand. James went to his own room, and Lucy followed him in. She had rarely been inside it, since James came to her every night. It wasn’t so very different from her room in its furnishings, though the bed frame was heavier and darker and the curtains and bed hangings were done in dark blue, giving it an altogether masculine air.
“Shall we be each other’s abigail and valet tonight?” James said. “I—I only want to talk this over with you, then go to sleep. Try to sleep, at any rate.”
“Certainly,” Lucy said. Her nightclothes were in her dressing room, two doors away, but she could just as well sleep in her shift. She too wanted to simply talk and then curl up against her husband’s comforting warmth.
James began to shrug out of his coat, and Lucy helped him ease the tightly fitted blue superfine off his shoulders. “I’m rather surprised you’ve taken Anna’s part,” he said.
“But why?” she asked in dismay. “I like Anna.”
“I know you do.” He loosened his cravat. “But you’ve only known her for—well, just as long as you’ve known me. Arrington is family for you, and I know you’re fond of him.”
“I am. At least, I was. I’m not certain anymore. I’m starting to wonder if I ever knew him at all. He was always kind to me, it’s true, but I’m beginning to realize there was a certain…condescension in his kindness. He was always trying to mold me, to improve me.”
“I’m not surprised.” James shook his head. “Turn around, and I’ll unpin your hair.”
She complied, relaxing under his gentle touch as he deftly extracted hairpins, stroking her hair as he freed it. “Did Sebastian tell you anything after we left the dining room?” she asked after a moment.
James made a noise between a sigh and a growl, and his fingers tightened momentarily, though he did not pull her hair. “Not a thing. He may not have the wit to fence with words, but he can clam up most effectively.”
“That’s certainly Sebastian.”
He began undoing the buttons and hooks that fastened the back of her dress, working with the same absent efficiency that Molly might have done.
“What about you?” he asked. “Were you able to get anything out of Anna?”
She sighed as she pulled her dress over her head. “Not very much. She made a dash for the pianoforte the instant we stepped into the room.”
She felt a light tug as James began to unlace her stays. “Anna isn’t very good at hiding things,” he said, “so I suppose she thought that was the only way to avoid questions.”
“No, she isn’t good at hiding things at all,” Lucy agreed. “She would’ve been more convincing if she hadn’t sung a tragic ballad of lost love followed by a song about missing the Highlands.”
James laughed ruefully. “That’s Anna for you—though, she must want to tell us. Otherwise she’d at least make more of an effort at dissembling.”
“I’m sure you’re right. Whatever this is, it isn’t her idea, neither the secrecy, nor accompanying him on this campaign. Every time I questioned her or tried to propose some other alternative, she simply repeated that this was something she must do. So, I think Sebastian is ordering her to do it.”
By now James had stripped to his shirt and Lucy to her shift. He donned a blue silk dressing gown and offered her a claret-colored one. She slid her arms into the sleeves and tied the sash at her waist, enjoying its oversized fit and the way it held a hint of James’s clean, masculine scent. She settled into a chair, and he leaned against the bed, massaging his temples as though his head ached.
“But why does she not refuse?” he asked.
“To love, honor, cherish and obey?” she reminded him.
He blinked. “Do you obey me?”
She considered. “You’ve never ordered me to do anything.”
“I would not.”
“But if you did,” she continued, “I’d be obliged to obey. I made a vow.”
“But there are limits.”
“Are there?” There was nothing in the marriage service about obedience being conditional.
“Of course there are!” James’s voice rose, and he began to pace back and forth. “If that bast—excuse me, if her husband is mistreating her, she must know that her family would back her in securing a separation.”
Lucy pondered the idea. A separation would certainly be better than living in a truly intolerable marriage. But the marriage would still exist, since it wasn’t as though Sebastian and Anna had grounds for divorce. If they chose to separate and never managed a reconciliation, they must live with all the restrictions of marriage but none of its benefits—most particularly, with no chance at legitimate children. It wasn’t a decision to be made rashly.
“Perhaps that isn’t what she wants,” Lucy said. “I certainly couldn’t imagine seeking a separation before I’d been wed a week, not even if I’d married a—a toad!”
He laughed as if despite himself. “Now, why would you find yourself married to a toad?”
She smiled at him. “Frogs and toads are easily confused, after all.”
“And frogs turn into princes when fair maidens kiss them.”
“Precisely. But toads remain toads.”
They laughed together, but James quickly sobered. “I think Anna mistook a toad for a prince.”
“I’m afraid you’re right.”
“I wish I knew what’s to be done about it.”
“So do I.” If only she had told James about the broken engagement—but why would she have done so? How could she have known? “I wish I could turn back time,” she said.
“Yes, but that’s the most useless regret anyone can have. Nothing can be undone.”
She nodded, feeling a little comforted. She had done what she had thought right at the time, and what more could anyone do? There was nothing to be gained by dwelling on the past.
“What could have gone so badly wrong so quickly?” James said, resuming his pacing. “I cannot understand it. How can anyone go from the wildest raptures of mutual bliss to what we saw tonight, in just four days?”
“You never thought them well suited,” Lucy pointed out.
“No, but I’ve never seen an infatuation die so quick a death. It would make sense if they were bored with each other a year hence. It doesn’t make sense for them to despise each other already.”
“Could it be that they’re having problems…well, problems like ours?” she asked diffidently. “Problems in the marriage bed?”
He stopped pacing and gaped at her. “We’re not like them.”
“No, we’re not.”
“You like me, don’t you?”
“I do, very much,” she assured him.
“You’re not afraid of me.”
“Never that.”
“You trust me.”
“Of course.”
He had drawn nearer as they spoke, and Lucy realized that at some point they had stopped talking about Sebastian and Anna. He dropped to his knees before her and seized her hands in a hard, fierce grip. His dark blue eyes fairly bored into hers, and she found her breath quickening and her pulse pounding.
“Do you trust me?” His voice thrummed with a strange intensity.
“Absolutely.” She was no longer sure she’d spoken the truth when she’d said she could never fear him, because she was something very close to terrified at that moment
. But trust—yes. She could never doubt James, and she would do anything for him.
“Then—just this once—you’re going to obey me.”
Chapter Eighteen
James knew he was taking a serious risk. If this went awry, he might lose his wife’s trust forever. But in a sudden flash of inspiration he’d seen how he might break through Lucy’s wall of self-control, and he couldn’t not make the attempt.
“Obey you?” she asked, her voice shaky, her eyebrows lifted.
“Yes.” He tightened his grip on her hands.
“What do you want me to do?”
“This self-control of yours,” he said, “just for tonight, you don’t have it.”
She frowned in bewilderment. “What? How?”
He released her hands and stood. “You’ve reminded me on a number of occasions that any power you have comes through me, that as your husband I am your master, and you vowed to obey me. Very well. If that’s what you want, that’s what you shall have.”
“Of course I’ll do whatever you wish, but—”
“That’s not what I mean. Tonight, just tonight—I am going to control you, there.” He indicated the bed. “You are going to stop fighting me.”
“I don’t fight you.”
“Yes, you do. When you make yourself so stiff and still and calm every night—”
“I’m not fighting you, I’m fighting myself.”
“Really? Well, it amounts to the same thing, and I’m tired of it. I know I said I’d be patient and not pressure you, but it’s not getting any better, and I don’t want the rest of our marriage to be like this.”
Lucy looked close to tears. “But, James—I don’t know how to not fight it. I try, every night I try, but it—it just happens.”
He returned to her side and drew her to her feet, brushing his hand across her cheek in reassurance. “I’m going to show you. Wait here. I’ll be back in a moment.”
He hurried into his dressing room and grabbed three cravats. The plain lengths of white cloth were a little wide for his purpose, but they should serve. He hoped his instincts were right. He’d only done this sort of thing once before.
“What…what are those for?” Lucy asked when he returned. She stood beside the bed, her eyes wide, her cheeks hectic with color, her hands clasped anxiously before her.
He tossed two of the cravats onto the bed and crossed to her. “This,” he said and blindfolded her.
She clutched at his shoulders as he carefully knotted the cravat at the back of her head, tight enough not to slip but too loose to cause her pain. “James?” Her voice held a shrill edge. “What are you doing?”
“You said you trusted me.”
“I do—but what are you doing?”
He did his best to explain. “If I take away some of your control at the very beginning—if you can’t see what’s coming next—maybe you won’t be able to fight so hard to control yourself.”
She swallowed hard and nodded, still clinging to his shoulders as an anchor. “And the other two cravats?”
“Ah…those are to tie your hands.”
“Oh, dear God.” But there was at least as much anticipation as fear in her voice, and James felt a surge of hope—and hunger.
He rested his forehead against hers. “Lucy, know this—I would never, ever hurt you. I swear it.”
“I know.”
He kissed her. “All I want is to give you pleasure. Just…just trust me.”
She nodded and swayed toward him in wordless surrender. He covered her mouth with his in a deep, probing kiss as he untied the dressing gown she wore and pushed it off her shoulders into a silken pool on the floor. He then shrugged off his own dressing gown and pulled his shirt over his head.
He took Lucy’s hands and guided them, one to his bare chest, one to his erection. Her fingers curled around him in a gentle, curious caress, and he shuddered. She’d never done that before.
“You see?” he said as he began to ease her shift over her head. “I’m already naked.” He sensed that she wouldn’t have liked it if she’d been blindfolded and fully exposed while he remained clothed.
“Good,” she said with a nervous laugh. She cooperated, lifting her arms so he could slide the garment from her body.
He tossed the shift to the floor and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Just remember, you cannot fight it. You aren’t in control tonight.”
She shuddered, James thought—or at least hoped—with desire. He lifted her in his arms and carried her the short distance to the bed, setting her down gently in its center. He took up one of the cravats, knelt over her and took her hand, placing a lingering kiss in the palm before he carefully knotted the cravat around her slender, fine-boned wrist. Then he tied the other end of the cravat to the bedpost and ran his hand down the length of her arm to rest on her shoulder.
“It’s not too tight, is it?” he asked.
“No.” Her breathing had quickened, and the word came out as a gasp. “Oh, dear God, dear God, dear God.”
James all but shook with desire, and he hoped he’d have the control he needed to see this through properly. He tied her other hand, then paused for a moment just to look at her. She was so beautiful in the dim candlelight, with her slim, supple body, the pale, creamy gold of her skin set against the dark curtain of her unbound hair, her breasts that she’d called too small but that he loved for the way they fit in his hands. Her rosy nipples stood in hard peaks, and he wanted to lean down and take one in his mouth, but he should start more slowly.
Instead he kissed her lips, carefully supporting himself so there was no contact between them but his mouth on hers. He took his time about it before kissing down the length of her throat, dipping his tongue in the hollow of her collarbone.
She sighed, a pleased sound, and James allowed himself to use his hands, exploring and caressing her soft skin but staying away from her breasts and the juncture of her thighs. He kissed and nuzzled almost to her navel before abruptly taking her breast in his mouth and sucking hard, cupping the other breast in his hand.
Lucy let out the beginning of a moan, then closed her mouth and swallowed hard.
James lifted his head and stilled his hand. “No. You don’t control this, remember? Not even the sounds you make.”
“Oh,” she said in a small voice.
“Now, where was I?”
“Here,” she said impatiently, arching her upper body off the bed as best she could.
Dear God, James thought, and took her nipple in his mouth again, this time teasing it gently with his tongue. Lucy made a sound that was half moan, half sigh and arched her body luxuriantly. This was so much better than all those other nights when she’d lain so still, always cooperative, but so controlled and grave.
James had no idea what had made him thinking of trying this, but it seemed to be working. So paradoxical, to cure Lucy’s fear of losing control by taking it away from the beginning, but if it worked, if he could once show her how good it could be…
He turned his head and attention to her other breast, and she responded with a satisfied “Mmm.” Then he traced his hand down the soft skin of her belly to the juncture of her thighs. He caressed her soft folds—good God, she was so wet, so ready, more than ever before, and his penis throbbed in response.
But her pleasure came first tonight, so he knelt over her, nudged her legs a little farther apart and began to kiss and lick his way down her belly. When his chin just brushed her curls, she arched up hard, and he pinned her hips firmly against the bed. He had never even flirted with this degree of intimacy before because Lucy had seemed shocked enough by ordinary touching and coupling, but tonight he would hold nothing back.
“James! What are you doing?”
“This.” He spread her open and tasted her.
It didn’t take long. She was panting, half moaning, murmuring his name interspersed with dear God, and when he ran his tongue up the hard little peak that was her center of pleasure, she climaxed with a soft s
cream and lay still, boneless and gasping for breath.
James couldn’t wait an instant longer, and so he rose up over her and pushed the blindfold off, gazing into her stunned eyes.
“James.”
He managed a grin. “Told you.” He tried to release her wrists, but the knots had pulled too tight for his frantic, fumbling efforts when his hips were already poised above hers and his body was crying out for his own release.
Lucy arched her hips to bring him to just the right spot and drew her legs up to embrace him. “It doesn’t matter,” she said.
He entered her with a sigh. She felt so good, her inner muscles tight and rippling around him, and at last she was with him in this, rocking her hips to meet his thrusts, a sated smile playing at her lips until she closed her eyes and began to gasp with pleasure again.
He was far too aroused to last very long, but after as blissful a climax as he’d ever experienced, he reached down while they were still joined and stroked her until she came to a second peak, not quite as intense as her first, but James still felt triumphant. He’d found the key, he’d pleased his wife twice in one evening, and she was just as passionate as he’d thought she was before their marriage.
He untied her hands—it was easy enough now—and gathered her in his arms. It was still a delicate moment, he knew. He couldn’t allow her to become so embarrassed by what they had just done that she rebuilt her walls.
Indeed, she turned crimson and buried her face against his shoulder. “Lucy,” he said gently, “don’t be embarrassed. You’ve nothing to blush for.”
At that her head came up, and she regarded him with disbelief. “You blindfolded me and tied me to the bed.”
He shrugged. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”
“Well, yes,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “That’s what’s so very embarrassing.”
“You’re welcome to tie me to the bed, if you’d like to even the score,” he offered. “Only, I’d ask that you wait at least until the morning. I’m feeling a trifle drained at the moment.”
“You’d let me do such a thing?”
A Marriage of Inconvenience Page 25