"No. We are not going. You may. I will remain here." He frowned. Her voice sounded tight.
"Do you feel well, my love?" Lucien asked softly. He gently caressed her calf. His groin immediately tightened but he didn't regret the contact. It was allowed if he was comforting her, he told himself. Mirabelle exhaled and turned her head in his direction.
"I'm fine, Lucien." Her eyes were flat. There were no traces of flirtation, mischief or frustration. She was merely looking at him. Lucien felt his heart sink.
"No. You're not. Tell me, Mirabelle." He urged.
"I have a headache and I'm not in the mood to answer any questions or be teased." She said softly. Lucien wasn't sure if he believed her but he didn't want to press her when she'd just said she didn't want to answer questions.
"Would you like me to send for a doctor?" He toyed with the edge of Mirabelle's gown. She rolled over and Lucien held his breath as he watched her breasts shift and bounce as she moved. His eyes slid down the softly rounded sweep of her stomach to the apex her thighs. He tried to swallow but his throat felt constricted. He rose, grabbing the bed post for support.
"You don't look well yourself." Mirabelle pointed out as she rose on her elbows. Lucien stumbled back and bumped into an ottoman, unable to take his eyes off of her breasts as they pressed against the sheer fabric. "You're welcome to come back to bed." Mirabelle whispered. Lucien shook his head violently.
"I'm fine. I've just remembered something that I have to attend to immediately. If you need me, I'll be in my study." He dove for the door and hauled it open. Once in the hall, Lucien didn't go to his study, he ran for his dressing room. As soon as the second door was locked, Lucien collapsed against it and attacked the falls of his trousers.
He spent the rest of the morning in his study, with his head in his hands. He prayed that his was a temporary state, just a result of being a newlywed. Lucien hoped that with time, he'd get used to the sight of Mirabelle's body and the smell of her on everything. It was maddening, being married to her but not able to act on his desires. And it had only been two days... He groaned and went to the sideboard, not giving a damn about the hour. As Lucien swallowed the first glass in one gulp he swore to himself that he would not make a habit of hiding in his dressing room, bringing himself off like a green lad.
Later that afternoon, he'd gone to the library to find an almanac and came upon Mirabelle. She was lying, prone on the rug with a pillow supporting her, a bowl of grapes
by her hand and her nose in Herodotus. Her slippers lay discarded by the lounge and her stockinged feet kicked back and forth. Mirabelle snorted and laughed softly. Lucien leaned against the door, content to watch her. It was rare to find a woman that beautiful that also appreciated Herodotus' dry wit. Their children would be brilliant.
Lucien felt warmth spreading within his chest at the thought of children. With Mirabelle as their mother, their children were bound to be hellions. For some reason, the idea pleased Lucien immensely. Like his parents, he wanted a happy, healthy and loved child first and an heir second. They had never discussed it, but he hoped Mirabelle wanted more than one child. Lucien imagined a pack of little savages terrorizing Winthorpe and smiled.
Refusing to let his mind stray to the act of creating little savages, Lucien pushed away from the wall and approached Mirabelle.
"The worst pain a man can suffer: to have insight into much and power over nothing." Lucien smiled at Mirabelle's surprised gasp. He lowered to the floor and sat next to her.
"Are you feeling better?" Her eyes searched his. Lucien nodded.
"And your headache?"
"Much better, thank you." Her tone was hollow.
Lucien knew Mirabelle was frustrated with the awkwardness between them. He hoped that that too would fade as they settled into married life. He tugged at a curl that hung close to her ear.
"Are you happy with everything here at Clerendon House?" It was the closest Lucien could come to asking if Mirabelle was happy with their marriage, for some reason. She became still and quiet for several moments. He was struck by how unusual it was for her and how important her answer was.
"I find it very comfortable but I feel like something of a stranger here at the moment." Her voice was so soft and unsure. It troubled Lucien. Was she talking about the house or their marriage?
"Why? You know this place so well."
"It's different now that I live here." Mirabelle whispered and looked up at him.
"Everything I have is yours. You may do whatever you want here." He caressed her cheek. She smiled weakly and became still again.
After a few minutes, she pulled the ribbon in her hair, releasing the chignon. Mirabelle shook her head, spreading fragrant, silken waves around her shoulders. Lucien felt dizzy. She rolled onto her back and angled herself so that her head rested on his thigh. His hand went unbidden to her tresses and began sifting through them. Mirabelle closed her eyes and a soft moan slipped past her lips. Lucien swore silently as he watched her breasts swell in her bodice as she took a deep breath. She took his other hand and pressed it against her cheek again. Mirabelle shut her eyes and breathed deeply. Lucien let his hand cradle her face as he absorbed her beauty. Unable to help himself, he let his thumb trace her lower lip. Her eyes fluttered open and locked with his. Mirabelle opened her mouth and stroked the pad of his thumb with her tongue. Frozen and breathless, Lucien watched her lips close around his thumb and felt a gentle tug as she began to suck on it. Lust flared and the urge to open his trousers and replace his thumb with his now straining erection was almost overwhelming.
He heard a strangled gasp and realized it had been him. Lucien shook his head and carefully lifted Mirabelle's head from his lap. She sat up, looking confused.
"Lucien?" She whispered as he cleared his throat and rose to his feet.
"I have to go. I forgot something." Lucien started backing away. He forgot that he was meant to control himself.
"Lucien, please stay for a while." Her eyes were so big.
"I'm sorry, I can't right now." He said hoarsely.
"Let there be nothing untried; for nothing happens by itself." Mirabelle quoted softly. Lucien shook his head as he turned and swiftly left the room. She had no idea what sort of things he wanted to try and all of the things he could never allow to happen.
Dinner had been awkward and tense. Mirabelle barely talked despite Lucien’s attempts to draw her into conversation. He knew that his departure from the library was abrupt and she was disappointed that he didn't stay but he was too far gone. If he had stayed, he would have lost control. He'd barely had time to get to the safety of his dressing room. Once inside, he imagined he had her on her back on the floor, her skirts thrown up as he drove into her.
A small voice in Lucien's mind suggested that Mirabelle had known how close he’d been to taking her and how he'd pictured her breasts, freed from her gown, shaking in time with his thrusts. Perhaps she was also upset with him for being so weak and wanting to do those things with her.
When he came to her in her room, he expressed his remorse by being as gentle and worshipful as he could. Lucien let her see that he marveled at the softness of her cheek and kissed her eye lashes as her eyes shut when he entered her. His lips traced her brow and when he kissed her he begged her forgiveness until he felt his control slipping. Then, he grit his teeth and held to his steady pace. Once again, he found the fingers that had been inside of Mirabelle and he waited until she was caught up in her release before he let himself taste her. He licked her essence off of his hand as he felt her tightening around his cock and it had been enough to make him come. It had been just enough to calm the beast that clawed within him, fighting to get loose and ravish Mirabelle. As he rolled off of her and pulled her back against him, he vowed to keep that beast shackled, to protect her from it.
Chapter 17
Lucien was in his study, the door was open and he was reading a letter. Mirabelle stood on the last step in the hall, content just to watch him. The early
afternoon sun streamed in and the particles in the air sparkled around him. His lips curved in a relaxed smile as he sat back, his boot resting on his knee. Lucien had unbuttoned his coat and his hair was ruffled. A glass of scotch waited by the hand that rested on his desk. He was so beautiful. Mirabelle leaned against the banister and her heart swelled and pulled her towards him. She ignored it.
She craved Lucien. Mirabelle wanted to find some way to open herself to him completely, to let him see and touch everything inside of her. She wanted to feel him against every inch of her flesh. She wanted to know every part of his body and to crawl inside of him. Instead, she felt like she knew Lucien less as her husband than she did when they were friends. They shared beautiful moments and just when intimacy was upon them, he retreated.
So, Mirabelle didn't walk into the study to ask Lucien how his day was or what he had planned. She didn't want to get carried away with a moment and reach for him, only to have him step away or leave. She stepped off the step and walked past his study.
Mirabelle considered the music room but was too restless. She wandered further down the hall and stopped at the ballroom. She hadn't been in there since the ball Lucien and his mother held for Gilles and Elise. The door was heavy but Mirabelle pushed it open. The furnishings were under Holland covers but most of the floor was clear.
Silently, the opening strains of a waltz played. Mirabelle extended her hand to her imaginary dance partner and let him lead her to the middle of the floor. She curtsied and he placed his hand on her waste and began to pull her in time with the music. He led her through a turn and Mirabelle saw Lucien in the doorway. He was leaning against the frame, watching her. Still not ready to reach out to him, she continued her imaginary waltz.
“May I join you?” Lucien asked from a few feet away. Mirabelle couldn't stop her lips from tilting.
“As you can see, I'm dancing with Lord What’shisname. You'll have to wait your turn.” She responded regally. His brows pulled together and he stepped back. When Mirabelle went through the turn, she saw him lounging against the wall. His arms were crossed and he was frowning. “You’ll have to excuse my husband, Lord What’shisname. There's no accounting for his manners. He acts as if he owns the place.”
Lucien's mouth opened to object but he closed it and narrowed his eyes at Mirabelle. She continued her revolutions for a few more minutes before she swept to an elegant halt and curtsied. Lucien pushed from the wall and approached Mirabelle.
“I'm sorry. I promised this dance to Mr. Someoneorother, Your Grace.” She said impishly as she curtsied once more.
“You're choosing to dance with a mere Mister instead of me?” He asked incredulously.
“I’ll remind you that my father and brothers were mere Misters. If Alastair hadn't been knighted and Gilles hadn't inherited, they would still be.” Mirabelle scolded as she revolved.
“My apologies. There are many Misters that are perfectly admirable but your Mr. Someoneorother, I find lacking.”
“Pray excuse his deplorable manners, Mr. Someoneorother. I think you're a remarkable dancer. In fact, you might be the best dancer I've ever had the pleasure of waltzing with.” Mirabelle barely suppressed her smile as she went into a turn. Lucien was a masterful dancer but she was enjoying teasing him. He was, in her opinion the best of the many waltz partners she'd had. Mirabelle noted that her and Lucien hadn't danced since they married. Would it be different? She wondered. She'd heard countless times that waltzing with him was as close as a woman could get to making love to him without taking her gown off. Her smile turned wry. Their waltzes had always been enjoyable but completely proper. Lucien would probably hold her further from him now. “You're holding me a bit too close, Mr. Someoneorother. I'm afraid that won't improve my husband’s opinion of you.”
“Your Mr. Someoneorother is fat and balding. I think you'd enjoy waltzing with me more.”
“Nonsense. I’m sure you're imagining that. I think he's quite charming.”
Lucien stepped away from the wall and strode towards Mirabelle again. She decided to sweep to a halt and turned towards him. He bowed low.
“May I have this waltz?” His expression was utterly charming, flirtatious and confidant. Mirabelle rolled her eyes. It would amount to nothing, she knew.
“I'm afraid I've promised all of my dances for the evening, Your Grace.” She said haughtily. When he stood, his mouth hung open in shock.
Lucien dove for Mirabelle but she skipped backwards, out of his reach and laughed. She danced further out of his reach and he charged towards her. She gasped and twirled away just as his fingers tried to wrap around her arm. If it hadn't been for a partition, she would have dodged him again. Lucien’s hands closed about her waist and he hauled Mirabelle against him. If Mr. Someoneorother had held her a bit too close, Lucien was holding her a lot too close. His arm locked around her, pressing her against him from chest to thigh. The fingers of his other hand curled around hers. He turned and led them to the center of the floor, Mirabelle’s toes hovered above the parquet and he maneuvered her like she was made of air.
Her eyes were trapped by Lucien’s and her breath came in little pants. She was mesmerized as he moved them through the room. The smell of him, sandalwood and citrus, surrounded her and she closed her eyes and let her head fall forward as she let it fill her. Lucien's breath huffed softly against her ear, causing her to shiver. He steered her through a turn, his thighs parted hers and she was sure his lips brushed her ear; she gasped and squeezed his shoulder. Mirabelle almost moaned out loud when she felt the hand at her back stroke her spine. She opened her eyes and let her cheek drag against his as she looked up, into his eyes. Their lips were so close; Mirabelle could feel his breath upon them. She licked them and Lucien angled his head, she felt his lips brush hers as his hand drifted downwards. His palm glided over her bottom and he pressed her against him as they went through another turn. Mirabelle felt him, rigid and hard, pressing into the apex of her thighs. She felt heavy and so hot between her legs, slick and wet as his tongue traced the line between her lips. She trembled and opened for Lucien. His tongue caressed hers and the moan she’d suppressed moments earlier escaped her as he pulled her harder against him.
Abruptly, Mirabelle felt cool air surround her and realized she was no longer moving. Lucien had her at arms distance and he was looking away from her. His breathing was labored and his jaw twitched.
“Lucien?” Mirabelle was shaking, her legs felt like water. He cleared his throat and looked at her.
“I'm sorry.” He released her hand and let go of her waist as he stepped back.
“You're sorry?” She whispered, completely confused. Lucien cleared his throat again and nodded.
“If you’ll excuse me, there's something that requires my attention.” With that, he turned on his heel and strode quickly from the room.
For a moment, Mirabelle wanted to scream that she required his attention but she was so stunned and surprisingly hurt that she could only sink to the floor and stare at his back as he fled the room. She was completely at a loss. It was as if she'd been allowed a peek at the Lucien she was desperate for only to have the strange, tense Lucien slam the door.
Chapter 18
A few hours later, Lucien found Mirabelle in the sitting room off the garden. She was asleep on a day bed, curled on her side with her cheek resting on her hand. He was overwhelmed by her beauty, he felt his eyes water and his chest tighten. How had he survived this all of his life? It amazed him that she'd always been there, lovely and irresistible and his heart and mind never let him see it.
Mirabelle's skin had always been like cream and luminous. He remembered being a child and seeing her run through a field at Winthorpe as the sun was setting and thinking she glowed. Lucien recalled how it saddened him to see that she'd started putting up her hair the year before she made her debut. And her eyes had always fascinated him. When the days at Winthorpe were hot, they would climb their tree and recline in the branches. As they'd talk and l
augh he used to imagine she was a forest sprite, her eyes were so vivid and green, like the foliage and grass around them. When Mirabelle would smile, it always felt as if someone had lit a candle within his chest, her laugh felt like the sun. He knew all these things but he'd never connected them or examined how they affected him. He could read and speak Ancient Greek, excelled at mathematics and could recite almost anything by Shakespeare from memory. But he'd been a fool his entire life.
Lucien pulled a chair close and angled it so that he could see all of Mirabelle. He relaxed and let the sight of her sooth him. He'd sought her out to apologize for ruining what had been a beautiful moment in the ballroom. If he had controlled himself, they could have danced and teased each other for hours. Lucien couldn't understand, let alone explain what touching Mirabelle did to him. It was like slipping into the safest, most comfortable place one could find and being wrapped in serenity and joy. Then, her maddening lips would curve or her eyes would darken and he'd be overcome with lust. The libertine within him would reach for her, voracious and wicked, intent on corrupting what had been gentle and precious moments before.
Marriage was supposed to be trying because a man always wanted to escape his wife’s presence and because he had to give up all the things he'd enjoyed before he settled down. For Lucien, it was trying because he wanted to escape the man he'd been before he married. All he wanted was his wife. He loved everything about her. The way her hands moved when she changed a page in a book, the way she smelled when he buried his face in her hair after they made love, how she chewed on the edge of her thumb when she was indecisive, when she cursed if she played the wrong note, that she put way too much jam on her toast or too much sugar in her coffee… Lucien couldn't get enough of Mirabelle.
Their lovemaking was not exciting and didn't satisfy his lust for her but it was fulfilling in a way that he'd never experienced with a woman before. Sex had always been about overwhelming his partner and extracting every ounce of pleasure he could from her body. He took pride in giving great pleasure in return but it was for his own selfish reasons. In the end it was always about him. Every time he left a woman’s bed, he was sated to his toes and once she regained consciousness and her wits, she knew he was the best she'd ever had and would never find better. Lucien secretly took satisfaction in the idea that he had ruined sex for legions of women and made his peers look like dolts. With Mirabelle, it was so much more than a physical act. He felt his soul moving within him, driving into her. When he climaxed, it was almost spiritual, as if he'd saturated himself with her until something burst within him. While he was rarely physically satisfied, the emotional glow within him was magnificent.
Wicked And Wild: Spencers in Love Book Two Page 7