by Cheryl Bolen
He was almost paralyzed by the stark realization that for the first time in his nearly five-and-twenty years there was another being who shared all that he was. Not just his riches, but also his tortures. This was perhaps the most profound moment in his life.
He was at a loss to analyze his emotions for they were curiously at odds. While one part of him wished to rejoice over the near physical sensation of being so close to another being, the other side of him wished to erect a shell around himself. He'd never had such a feeling of camaraderie with anyone before as he now shared with Glee, and he wasn't sure he liked the idea of another person penetrating what had been uniquely his for all his life.
Jonathan took a long drink from his wine glass, set it down, and leveled a guilty gaze at Gregory. "Well, it seems the cat is finally out of the bag."
Gregory held up both hands, palms facing his brother. "Not by me. My youth is not a topic I discuss with anyone. Not even my precious wife." Precious? Why had he selected that word?
"I have always felt rather guilty that Mother played such favorites," Jonathan admitted.
Gregory shrugged. "It's only natural. You were her own son. I've always understood that."
"Truly, Blanks has never complained," Glee said. "But a wife deeply in love with her husband, and as an observer of human behavior, I've been able to deduce a number of things about my husband's life I would not be privy to through him. One of the observations, of course, being the words and deeds of your very prejudiced mother. But I assure you, her actions have not made Blanks resent you in any way. He loves you the same as he would were you full brothers, rather than half brothers." She lifted the wine bottle and poured more wine in their glasses.
"I'm deuced uncomfortable with this conversation," Gregory said. "Tell me, Jonathan, what amusements do you hope to find in Bath?"
"The usual, I suppose. When in Bath, what is there other than the Pump Room and the Assembly Room and musicales?"
"You missed a bang-up cock fight this morning," Gregory said.
"I'm not into the sporting life as you are, dear brother. In fact, I've come to tell you I've written a piece that's been accepted by the Edinburgh Review."
Gregory's brows arched. "Liberal?"
"Yes. Actually, it's an attack on primogeniture."
"An apt topic for one who has been denied a fortune because of primogeniture," Gregory said.
Jonathan smiled. "Now, we're really letting the cat out of the bag."
"I know our father very well meant to get around primogeniture with the peculiar stipulations of his will. He thought me unfit to manage his estates, and he understood I was possessed of a deep aversion to marriage; therefore, his estates would go to the esteemed son who was better qualified to see to their continued prosperity."
Jonathan glared at Gregory. "I am the better qualified."
"Be that as it may, I am married now, and the estates are mine. Our father did not reckon on my good fortune in finding so worthy a life's mate." Gregory flashed a smile at Glee.
"Nor did I, quite frankly," Jonathan answered.
Gregory grinned at Jonathan. "Then you'll simply have to be patient and see for yourself."
"This seems a most odd conversation for the two of you to be having," Glee said. "Like with daggers drawn—but most amiably."
"I'm more comfortable now that you know where I'm coming from," Jonathan said. "It's comforting to know you bear no malice toward me."
"Your malice is not toward me, either," Gregory responded. "You merely covet the money and lands that are in my possession, and I don't even believe your motive's selfish. Your motive is your desire to see that our father's work does not go to ruin. Which I assure you, it won't."
"I warn you, I'm willing to do anything in my power to keep that from happening."
Gregory flashed a grin at his brother. "As I would expect."
"You two may be amiable enemies, but I don't at all like this talk." Glee turned to Jonathan. "You must tell me about your writings. I didn't know you were in possession of such talents."
"My brother's most serious minded," Gregory said.
Jonathan addressed Glee. "Yes, Gregory's forever telling me I don't know how to enjoy myself."
Glee laughed. "Now he's changed so drastically, he's telling his friends they spend far too much time in idle pursuits. It's my belief Gregory has a lot more of his father in him than you think."
Good Lord, could she be right? Always, it had been Jonathan who was most like their father. Serious. Frugal. Disinterested in sporting and drinking and gaming and womanizing. Could Glee see what he himself had never been able to see? Was he becoming more like his father?
After the sweetmeats were laid and consumed, they retired to the drawing room, gathering around the game table where they drank port and played loo, with no mention being made of the antagonism between the brothers.
Gregory knew Glee had drunk too much wine when she began calling him Blanksie. It was time to put her to bed.
In his bed.
Chapter 27
His arm around Glee, Gregory climbed the stairs just ahead of Jonathan. His footstep never faltered as they passed Glee's chamber door. At the door of his room, he stopped and, with his arm still resting on Glee's shoulder, bid his brother a good night.
"We really are so very glad you've come to stay with us," Glee repeated to Jonathan. "Tomorrow I shall take you out in my phaeton—only I'll let you drive it."
"I'll enjoy that, though I daresay having my own stable is a luxury I shall never be able to sustain."
"Then you should ask your brother to increase your portion. He's rich."
If Gregory did not quickly shepherd his foxed wife into his room, she might bloody well give away his fortune.
"Then where would be the challenge?" Jonathan asked Glee with levity and a twinkling in his green eyes. "Having been brought up with no expectations, I've learned to be satisfied with less."
Glee directed a mock scowl at her husband, then glanced back at Jonathan. "But I daresay you could keep a phaeton."
"Perhaps," Jonathan said. Then he took Glee's hand and barely brushed it with his lips. "Thank you for the hospitality. I shall look forward to tomorrow's drive."
Once in his own chamber, Gregory looked around. A fire blazed in the hearth, and a lone candle burned beside his bed, casting a yellow pool on the green velvet which covered his full tester bed. Though nothing was changed, the room seemed different. He told himself he was merely unused to coming here with Glee. This was his private domain, yet here she was taking her rightful place for the sake of convincing Jonathan their marriage was no sham.
Though Glee was in her cups, she was not so bosky she could not dress—or undress—herself. "I'll just step into my dressing room and slip on a night shift," she told Gregory.
Regarding his own sleep wear, Gregory did not know what he was going to do. Normally he slept in the buff, but that would hardly do tonight. Perhaps he could just remove his coat, shirt and shoes and sleep in his breeches. The idea sounded devilishly uncomfortable.
As he began to remove his jacket, then his shirt, in his mind's eye he began to unconsciously picture Glee doing likewise. Having previously seen her very satisfactory breasts, he knew their pleasures only too well. Pleasures he could not allow himself to indulge in tonight. Yet completely against his resolve, he began to become sexually aroused.
Frowning, he kicked off his shoes and removed his stockings, then he climbed beneath the coverings on his bed and sat there to await Glee. The door to his dressing chamber creaked open and he watched as Glee came through his dressing room, then glided into the bedchamber. Beneath the fine white linen of her nightshift he could see her soft curves. Firelight danced in her auburn hair as she moved toward him—not as a girl but as a woman. There was no shyness about her as she met his gaze with smoldering eyes and with uncommon grace moved toward the bed.
She came to the opposite side of the bed from him and slid under the covers. She was
so close, he could feel her warmth and was conscious of every breath she drew.
"Should you wish to kiss me goodnight?" she asked in a breathless whisper.
He groaned. Did a greengrocer have vegetables? "My dear, if I allowed myself to kiss you, I'd be unable to prevent myself from wanting to taste other pleasures I'd wish you to offer. And that, my lovely wife, was not part of our bargain."
"Oh, dear."
He blew out the bedside candle, then lowered himself fully onto the bed. He lay there in the darkness listening to the crackle of the fire, the whistle of wind beyond the windows—the unchanged breathing of his wife. The room seemed filled with the floral scent that was peculiarly Glee's. Yet the fragrance was light. Like Glee herself.
"Perhaps we should talk," Glee suggested. "Jonathan might be listening to assure himself we truly are together."
"We could."
"How are your knuckles?"
"They're not bothering me."
"Good."
Now there was another long silence.
"Blanks?"
"Yes?"
"What about just a little kiss?"
It must be the port she had drunk. She knew so little of men's appetites she couldn't possibly realize how an innocent kiss could lead to something much deeper, something that could strip her of her own innocence.
He willed himself to think of her as George's flighty little sister, a woman who had agreed to marry him merely to become a woman of means.
But that portrait of a mercenary Glee was completely inaccurate. She had shown him tonight she was neither immature nor superficial. Like granite, she was substance itself. She possessed a great deal of understanding of human behavior—especially his. 'Twas almost as if she were his other half.
"I can't kiss you," he said, "for then I'd be powerless to stop myself there."
She turned to him, and he felt her warm breath when she spoke. "I shouldn't mind if you didn't stop with a kiss."
Good Lord, but it must be the port! Surely she could not comprehend what she was saying. "You can't know what you're offering."
She drew even closer to him, so close her leg brushed against his. "But I've said it before, dearest, and I knew what I was saying then, too."
He could not trust his voice to be free from the hunger which blazed within him. He turned to her, capturing her in his arms as she moved against him, fitting herself to him as his lips came down on hers, hungrily, in an explosion of passion. He parted her lips, devouring her. She not only seemed not to mind, from the passion of her reaction, she seemed as eager as he.
He settled a final nibbly kiss on her sweet lips before lowering his face to kiss her neck, as his hands worked frantically to slide the nightshift past her slender shoulders. Then his lips trailed over the bare skin where the shift had hung, his hands gently stroking her uncovered breasts, lifting them, kissing them with his wet, open mouth.
When his mouth closed over her nipple, she gave a soft moan of pleasure. He wanted to hate himself for the depth of his greed for her, yet how could a union so blessedly sanctioned be wrong? Glee, his cherished wife, was the only person who had ever delved beneath the careless facade he revealed to the world. It was fitting that she share in this ultimate, irrevocable bond.
Besides, he had never been affected so profoundly by a woman before. The very sound of her voice, her evocative scent, and especially the feel of her rounded slimness—each of these drove him mad with want. But together they rendered him as powerless as Sampson.
His hand glided over the smooth flesh beneath her shift. It skimmed over her stomach and fanned out over the softness of her hips before he began to caress between her thighs and felt the heady pleasure of her raising her hips and mashing into his hand. As his finger probed her wetness, she parted her thighs, whispering provocatively.
Good Lord but she was intoxicating! His breathing harsh and labored, he raised up to remove his breeches. "Are you sure you mean to go through with this, love?" he asked in a husky whisper.
"Oh, yes! Please."
His breeches removed, he settled himself on top her, one leg nudging hers even farther apart. "It may hurt the first time," he whispered.
"I don't care, dearest." She cupped her hand to his face in so tender a gesture he could fall to his knees and worship her. He eased himself gently into her, prepared for her to cry out in pain. But she did not. He dared to go a little deeper and she responded by rocking into him, hungrily, then frantically. He had thought to go slow, but she wanted—indeed urged—the shattering, mind-numbing pleasure of their frenzied mating.
He exploded into her sleek warmth and as she shuddered beneath him she cried out his name. Only she did not call him Blanks. She crooned Gregory, making his name sound almost reverent.
Her arms tightened across his bare back as if she did not want him to pull away.
Not putting his weight on her, he rested deep and low within her.
"Oh, Blanks," she whispered huskily, tracing circles on his back. "Can we do that again?"
He chuckled softly, then placed her face between his hands and bent to kiss her gently. "I'm reasonably sure I shall be able to oblige you, my sweet."
"Could we have the candle on the next time? I should like to see your body."
His Glee was no girl but a sated woman. A woman of undeniable passion. A woman who was now his wife in every way.
* * *
Where Blanks was concerned, Glee knew no pride. He had only to admit his desire in order for her to eagerly beg that he take her. And now that he had, she still knew no pride. Only the debilitating pleasure of being possessed by him. Even if she did not lay claim to his love, she had enough. Lying beneath him, joined in this most intimate manner, brought more happiness than she'd ever thought to capture in a lifetime.
In the soft candlelight she watched her hands move slowly, firmly over his magnificently muscled torso, then sweep down to cup his solid hips. Her face nuzzled into his musk-scented chest, she listened to his reassuring heartbeat, then lifted her mouth to his again. She tasted the port they had drunk, and she quivered with a sated contentment.
They made love again. Unlike the first time, this time there was no pain. Only nearly unbearable pleasure.
Afterward, he collapsed beside her, pressing her to him, whispering endearments.
"Oh, Blanks, I told you we'd have great fun if we married."
He gathered her into his solid embrace and chuckled. "Then it's grateful I am you persuaded me to hear your suit."
"Not nearly as happy as I am, my love, even if you do persist in reminding me that I was the one who offered for you.
* * *
He fell asleep, nearly dazed from the unequaled pleasure her actions and words had given him.
But when he awoke at dawn and glimpsed her sweet face in slumber beside him, her shoulders bare, he tried to rid his mind of the deep contentment—even love—she provoked.
A gnawing fear gripped him. He bolted up in bed and looked down at her. Her long lashes brushed against her beloved face. She seemed so youthful and innocent still. Now he realized she was more precious to him than his own life. It was impossible to love more deeply than he loved her.
And he feared he may have impregnated her.
If he should lose her now, he would die.
He slipped from the bed, bitterly angry with himself for not remembering his greatest fear, for assuaging his own need at the cost of what could be his beloved wife's life.
He quietly dressed, then left the bedchamber, carefully easing the door shut behind him. He wanted to be away from Glee for he could not think clearly in her mesmerizing presence. He felt like riding his horse as fast as lightning in a fruitless effort to purge Glee from his mind. If only he could undo what he had already done. He could never again allow himself to so blissfully indulge in what she so freely offered. For losing her would be unbearable.
Chapter 28
At first Glee thought it was still night for the heavy velvet d
raperies in Blanks's room blocked light from entering the chamber. She stretched out, as contented as a waking kitten, her naked body writhing beneath the covers of her husband's bed. Her smile widened as she remembered every blissful minute spent in Blanks's arms the night before. His complete possession of her swamped Glee with an overpowering sense of well being.
Faintly aware of Blanks's musk scent, she opened her eyes and turned to his side of the bed, only to be deeply disappointed to find him gone. Clutching the sheets to her breasts, she sat up and looked around the chamber for signs of him. "Blanks?" she called, thinking he might be in his dressing chamber.
There was no response.
Disappointment swept over her. She had rather fancied the idea of languishing in his bed again this morning, of once more feeling him so closely entwined with her it was impossible to tell where he left off and where she began. For they had been that close.
Then, too, if Blanks were here, he could help her gracefully extricate herself from his chamber. She should die of embarrassment were Blanks's valet to discover her is such a state of undress. She fell back into the soft feather mattress, a smile curving across her lips. It pleased her that the servants knew her husband had finally exercised his conjugal rights. Now she really understood what it was to be Mrs. Blankenship.
But how to get dressed?
First, she must find the shift Blanks had removed in the heat of passion. She looked for it on top the bed. It was not there, nor was it on the floor nearby. She lifted her covers high into the air and finally found her shift beneath them at the foot of the bed and swiftly slipped it on.
Then, she crossed the room and walked through Blanks's dressing chamber to her own, surprised that the sun was high in the sky. It must be close to noon. Why hadn't Blanks awakened her?
Patty heard Glee and opened the dressing room door. "Allow me to help you dress," she said. "I've selected the rose muslin."