Scandalous Love

by Brenda Joyce

  Nicole nodded.

  Mrs. Veig dismissed the maids, except for Annie. “Is there anything else you’ll be wanting?”

  “Just a bath.”

  “It’s drawn,” she said. “Good night, then.”

  Nicole felt disoriented, dazed. She sank down on the bed, a huge upholstered, canopied and curtained affair that looked as if it dated back several centuries. The coverlet was a pale pink velvet, smooth to her touch. Then she saw her sheer white bridal nightgown laid out neatly on the bed. In less than half an hour Hadrian was going to come here, intent on claiming his rights as her husband!

  “Are you all right, mum?” Annie asked, still wide-eyed. Then she blushed. “I mean, Your Grace?”

  “Please, Annie, the formality isn’t necessary.” Nicole was on her feet. She went to the heavy white drapes and pulled them back, but she could see nothing. The night was pitch black and foggy. Only a few lights illuminated the circular graveled drive, which glistened like polished shells in their glow.

  “Annie, I wish to be alone,” Nicole said. She was still trembling, more now than before. She had to think—and quickly.

  Annie nodded and hurriedly turned and headed for the nearest door. She opened it only to find herself in the sitting room. Blushing, she found the door to the hallway and shut it quietly behind her.

  Nicole turned to stare at the pink and white bed.

  She stared at the wispy nightgown laid out there, one designed to inflame a husband’s sexual appetite.

  She remembered his kisses, his touch.

  Nicole’s trembling increased. She was suddenly aware of being exhausted to the point of feeling faint. She sat down hard on a red chaise, wishing she had more time, wishing she could think clearly. But she could not think at all, her thoughts were confused, a jumble. She only knew that after all that had transpired today she must not allow Hadrian to trample over her and claim his conjugal rights, not tonight. And tomorrow she would think about the future and how she would handle it and him—and herself.

  She wondered if she dared to lock Hadrian out of her rooms. Nervously Nicole approached one door, aware of the loud ticking of the clock on the wall to her right. She did not think there was much time left before Hadrian would knock upon her door. She did not feel up to another confrontation with him. She was so tired. She knew he would be angry if she did lock her doors, but it would be so much easier to lock him out and face him in the morning than to let him in and fight him tonight. Quickly Nicole turned the lock on the door that she had entered her bedroom from, then she went to the one that opened on the hallway and locked that, too. Her unease heightened as she backed away into the middle of the room.

  This was not the way to begin a marriage, she realized. It was probably the worst possible way to begin a marriage. Before she could take a step back to one of the locked doors, he knocked.

  Nicole froze. Not already! She prayed it was a maid and not her husband. “Yes?” Her voice was unsteady.

  “It is I,” Hadrian said.

  Nicole hesitated, debating unlocking the door. A sudden cowardice assailed her. If she let him in…it would be easier to keep him on the other side of the door, so much easier. She tried to think of something to say to him and could think of nothing that was soothing.

  “Nicole?” he asked. There was impatience in his tone. “May I assume that you are ready?”

  “No,” she blurted. “I am not.”

  There was a short silence. She strained to hear what he was doing, but she heard nothing. Then he tried the knob, saying, “Do you again seek to delay? That would not be wise.” He stopped.

  She imagined his expression, stunned to find himself locked out of her room. She wrung her hands. “Hadrian,” she began. “I am very tired. I think—”

  “I begin to understand,” he said softly.

  At his tone, Nicole froze.

  “Open the door, Madam.”

  This was one great big mistake! “Hadrian,” she cried, regretting such a foolish strategy of trying to bar him from her room, “I am very tired—tomorrow we shall talk.”

  There was no response. Seconds ticked by. Nicole was amazed when she realized that he was actually walking away! Her ploy had worked!

  Shaking wildly, she slumped down onto a small, plush sofa in front of the gleaming pink granite mantle. She had an inkling that she had just escaped a very harrowing confrontation—maybe she had even escaped with her very life.

  Her heartbeat, still erratic, finally began to slow. She laughed, the sound a bit shaky. She clapped her hand over her mouth, as more laughter, much of it hysterical, threatened to burst forth. God, she had chased him away. And it had been so easy!

  Suddenly a click focused her attention on the door. It glided open, revealing the Duke’s powerful, rigid body, a key in one of his clenched hands.

  For the first time in her life, Nicole almost swooned.

  “Don’t you ever lock me out again,” he said. His tone was much too calm.

  Nicole stood absolutely motionless. Her heart was beating in a frenzied, frightened rhythm. Hadrian filled the doorway and she could feel the heat of his anger emanating from him in thick, undulating waves. He was clad only in a velvet-lapeled dressing gown. His calves and feet were bare. It dawned on her that he was naked beneath the robe, and she began to back away. His expression was fiercely angry.

  “Do you understand me?” he ground out. A vein pulsed in his temple. His eyes were black. Nicole saw that his fists were clenched at his sides. She watched him slip the key into the pocket of his gown.

  “You have no right,” she said in a bare whisper, her courage almost failing her completely.

  “I have every right. And if you wish to start our marriage on this note, then so be it.” His gaze swept her hard. “You are a very reckless woman, Madam.”

  A dozen responses and a dozen pleas coursed through her mind. “You were forewarned. It is you who are reckless. To take me as your wife when I distinctly refused you!”

  His eyes widened. A pregnant silence hovered between them.

  Nicole wished she had responded in any way but the one she had chosen.

  Hadrian could not believe his ears. He was so furious he did not trust himself to speak for a long time. He stared at his frightened yet wildly hostile bride. If he were less of a man he would turn her over his knee as if she were a wayward child and deliver a few hurtful wallops. Of course, he would never be so abusive.

  It was the humiliation that had finally gotten to him. First the humiliation in front of all of society: he could imagine the gossips now, their glee as they discussed how madly in love the poor Duke was with his hateful bride. But the final blow had yet to come. For he had had to go to Mrs. Veig in order to get a key for the lock to his bride’s room. By now he was certain that every servant in his employ was speculating upon why the bride had barred the groom from her rooms on their wedding night. A flush tinged the Duke’s high cheekbones. There would be gossip about them even in the privacy of their own home! It was time to put a stop to this nonsense once and for all.

  “You made yourself quite clear the first time, when I proposed directly to you. Do you have a death wish, Madam? Did I not distinctly ask you to keep your distress to yourself?”

  “Do you think that will make it go away?”

  He had truly had enough. Exercising great will, he turned with outward poise and closed the door behind him. He turned back to face his wary, watchful bride. “You have precisely one minute to shed your wedding gown, Madam, and if you do not, I shall remove it for you.”

  “You would rape me?”

  He smiled coldly. “I have no intention of raping you. Or should I remind you again of a certain avid aspect of your nature? I suggest you begin with the buttons. You have forty-five seconds left.”

  She drew herself up straighter, her voluptuous breasts heaving hard. “I won’t, Hadrian. I won’t share a bed with you tonight.”

  “I am not giving you a choice.”


  “How stupid of me to think that you would! Your Grace! How stupid of me not to realize that such an all-powerful lord as yourself would not even consider giving a woman—his wife—a choice! You did not give me a choice as far as marrying you, so why would you give me a choice now?” Her eyes snapped with anger, but they also sparkled with tears.

  He could give in to this argument or not. He chose not to. “Thirty seconds, Madam.”

  Nicole looked as if she would scream incoherently with frustration. Abruptly she threw her hair over one shoulder, rage in her every movement. She tore open the top buttons on the back of her dress, the small pearls breaking free of their threads and scattering across the floor. No woman could unbutton her gown herself, under normal circumstances, but his wife was so mad that she had nearly superhuman powers. He watched her yank violently on the beautiful fabric, popping off all of the rest of the buttons. Wisely, Hadrian did not make a comment.

  Nor did he move. During their confrontation, lust had been the last thing on his mind. He was only pursuing this because of the struggle for power between them. He was determined to make Nicole his wife in every sense of the word and end this ridiculous resistance of hers once and for all. Now his body responded instantly, aggressively, to the sight of her ripping off her own gown. It was a sight he would not forget for a long time, if ever.

  Nicole wrenched her torn dress down over her hips, and down her long, endless legs. She stepped free of it, kicking it at him. Panting harshly, she raised her wild gaze to his.

  He had not moved, watching her unblinkingly.

  But she was not through. Already she was shedding her many tiers of petticoats and kicking them away with her silver high-heeled shoes until the room around her was littered with frothy, sensuous silks and chiffons. With the same kind of superhuman effort, she pulled the top laces at the back of her corset free and wrenched it from her body. She threw it directly at him. Reflexively Hadrian caught it.

  They faced each other. Nicole was still in a frenzy and her heavy panting filled the room.

  “Are you finished?” Hadrian asked quietly.

  “Are you satisfied?”

  Again, Hadrian thought it wiser not to respond.

  The silence lengthened. Nicole’s frenzy diminished. Hadrian watched the sanity returning. He watched her panting slow and ease until her naked breasts merely trembled. He watched her straighten. He watched the awareness come into her gaze, watched the tinge of pink cover her cheeks. Unable to help herself, she crossed her arms to cover her bosom.

  He could have made a comment, but he did not. He held out his hand. “Come here,” he said softly.

  Nicole raised her gaze to his. He saw more tears glistening there. Instead of giving him her hand—in surrender—she turned her back to him, clutching herself. She shivered.

  He approached her silently from behind. “It does not have to be this way,” he said gently.

  “Does it not?”

  His hands closed on her naked shoulders. Her skin was smooth, silky, warm. “No, it does not.” He leaned forward as he brought her back against him. She tensed at the contact with his body. Hadrian lowered his mouth to the crook of her neck.

  She was motionless. His lips played delicately over her skin, yet there was nothing delicate about the way his phallus strained against her buttocks. “Oh, God, don’t,” she moaned.

  He ignored her. He pried past her crossed arms to cup her breasts. He pressed fully into her. He continued to kiss her neck from behind.

  Nicole gasped, but it was almost a sob. It was a moment of surrender and Hadrian knew it. He turned her swiftly and lifted her in his arms, carrying her to the bed. Just before he came down on top of her, their eyes met. Here were still wet with tears, but he saw the sparks of desire, too. He kissed the wetness from her lids, still deliberately holding himself in check—the most difficult act of willpower he had ever experienced in his life.

  Nicole’s head slipped back into the abundant luxury of silk and velvet pillows and she arched up into his body. “Hadrian,” she whispered, her hands suddenly twining in his hair.

  It was the moment he had been waiting for—for his entire life. His passion exploded. He clenched her in a rock-hard embrace, his mouth on hers, devouring and demanding. Nicole opened to him completely.

  Their tongues rushed at one another. Her thighs locked around his hips. Hadrian’s hands coursed down her long, curved body, seeking out the heat and the wetness—the welcome—of her femininity. She greeted him with a rapid thrusting of her hips. Suddenly he was temporarily insane. He lifted her hips and buried his face in her heat. Never in his life had he done something so outrageous before. She gasped and he began to worship her with his mouth, kissing her intimately, wildly, and then his tongue was stroking over and between and into every fold of delicious flesh he could find.

  She climaxed violently and he felt every shudder against his face. She climaxed a second time, gasping his name, as he continued to nuzzle her. Hadrian rose up over her powerfully. The muscles in his shoulders, chest and arms bulged and strained. He grasped her face with both large hands. “Look at me!”

  Her eyes flew open. They were dark and hot with desire—and still moist with tears. Their souls met. Hadrian entered her.

  Their bodies heaved and bucked frantically on the pink velvet bedspread. Silk and satin and brocade pillows spilled to the floor. The posters of the three-centuries old bed groaned, the salmon pink canopy shook, the tasseled trim leaping madly. And almost as one, their cries, male and female, split the night.

  Nicole tried not to cry. But a few tears slipped down her cheeks. She did not know if they were tears of despair or tears of joy. Was it just sheer emotional exhaustion?

  She turned her head to watch her husband. Her husband. Her pulse quickened at the very idea. She lay naked atop the pink velvet of her bed; he was stoking up the fire in the hearth. He was also unclothed. His back was to her, and unwilling yet mesmerized, she leaned upon one elbow to openly stare at him.

  He was magnificent. A sigh she could not contain escaped her. The muscles in his broad shoulders and his sinewed arms rippled as he added wood to the flames. His back was long, slabbed with more glistening, chiseled strength. His buttocks were high and hard and powerfully male. Her gaze slipped curiously. He straightened and turned instantly, his glance meeting hers.

  He knew what she had been doing. A blush crossed her features. Hot awareness thickened in her veins, ran to her loins. She shifted restlessly.

  “Do I meet with your approval?” he asked quietly.

  Nicole gazed into his eyes. The fire leapt behind his bare, golden body. It was an illusion, wasn’t it, the warmth she saw there? With a volition of its own, her gaze slid over him again, over his broad, thickly hewn chest, over his trim hips, over his heavy, large manhood, now flaccid and damp. “Yes,” she heard herself whisper.

  He moved to her. She tried to keep her eyes away from his, but it was impossible. Their glances were locked together. He sat down on the bed beside her. To her surprise he slipped a hand in her thick, wavy hair, stroking it. For the second time in her life, she almost swooned, but this time, with heady pleasure.

  She tried to read his thoughts, tried to penetrate and comprehend the warmth—for surely it was warmth—that she saw in his eyes. She was so afraid she was seeing what she wanted to see, but the hope was impossible to chase away. And then, as he bent his head down to hers, it ceased to matter. Not at that moment. She waited an eternity for the feel of his lips. When it came, she sighed. She sighed, and she surrendered.

  Nicole awoke, too exhilarated to be tired, despite the fact that she had barely slept at all—due to her insatiable husband. She stretched with satisfaction and glanced at his side of the bed, only to find that he was gone.

  She sat up. She was still naked and it felt glorious, despite the fact that she was also terribly sore from so much excessive passion. But she smiled. She smiled and smiled and smiled.

  Oh what a fool she had b
een! She knew that now. She had been utterly stupid to resist marrying Hadrian. To resist marrying the man she loved so much that it hurt.

  It was better being with him than being apart from him. Much, much better!

  Slowly, she got up from the bed. She saw that it was past midmorning—she had slept shamefully late. She found her robe on the floor and slipped it on, then went to the drapes and pulled them open. A heavy gray day greeted her. Winter was on its way.

  She wondered where Hadrian was.

  She wondered how he would act towards her now.

  She moved into the marble bathroom and began to run the water. Thoughtfully, she sat on the side of the tub. She must not delude herself, she knew. Just because they shared such a splendid passion for each other’s bodies did not mean that he loved her. She could not forget that Elizabeth was not even dead a month. Yet, in time, his grief would lessen. And she, Nicole, would still be here, his wife.

  If they shared so much passion now, might he not one day come to love her?

  She tried to remind herself that he had married her out of duty. It no longer seemed quite so relevant.

  Nicole’s hands trembled. She should have never resisted this marriage. She should have never openly displayed her anger in front of all their guests. She should not have attempted to lock him out last night. Oh, how she hated her pride today! She realized ruefully that she probably did not have any left. He had seen to that, last night.

  And she did not care.

  There was a rapping on her door. Nicole got up to answer it and found Mrs. Veig with Annie. The housekeeper was looking anxious and holding a breakfast tray in her hands. “Your Grace, I would never presume to bother you, but I could not help hearing the bathwater.” And she shot Annie a disapproving stare.

  Nicole smiled. “I am about to take a bath.”

  “You have staff to prepare your bath, Your Grace,” Mrs. Veig stated. Then her regard became dark and accusing as she glared at little Annie. “Get in with you, girl! Go and see that the bath is exactly as Her Grace likes it!”