The Heiress In His Bed

by Tamara Lejeune

  “Good Lord! So it is. Did Hudson tell you?” he asked in disbelief.

  “No, indeed,” Viola said. “I found it out myself from the clerk at Fortnum and Mason’s. They remembered your grandmother very well.”

  “We cannot eat like this every night, Mary.”

  “Of course not,” she replied. “Sometimes we will have my favorite dinner.”

  “You know what I mean,” he said quietly. “It is expensive.”

  “In that case, it should not go to waste,” she said pointedly.

  Julian couldn’t argue the point. He ate. When he had taken the edge off his hunger, he set down his knife and fork. Wiping his mouth on his napkin, he turned a little on the sofa to face his beautiful companion. Plate in hand, Viola was sitting at her end of the sofa with one leg tucked under her, her satin slipper dangling from her foot. She was only toying with her food. As he watched, she plucked a brandy-soaked cherry from the top of her pie.

  Julian watched it all the way to her mouth.

  “This must remind you of the war,” she said.

  “Oh, my, yes,” he said with a short laugh. “Beautiful girls were constantly feeding me pie. It’s a wonder I got any fighting done.”

  Viola licked her fingers. “Oh? Did the Condesa de la Vega feed you pie?”

  “Hudson has a big mouth,” Julian said angrily, his face reddening.

  “It’s all right, Dev,” Viola said mildly. “I didn’t expect to marry a monk, you know. In fact, you’re well under your limit. I would have forgiven you as many as…ten women, provided they were very firmly in your past. With Fraulein Schwartz safely married in Glockenspiegel or whatever, and the condesa having been passed on to your colonel, I am not in the least bit upset.”

  “I am going to murder Hudson,” he said.

  “Oh, you mustn’t blame Hudson,” she said easily. “I made it my business to find out all about you. If I am to be your wife, I have the right to know everything about you, do I not?”

  “Perhaps,” he said, finishing his wine, “when you are my wife.”

  “We’re as good as married,” she said, popping another cherry into her mouth.

  “Are we, by God?”

  His hand brushed against her knee. His fingers closed over her soft skirts instinctively. For a moment he was caught up in the sheer pleasure of touching the fine, filmy fabric, warmed by the girl who was wearing it. His body responded wildly to the sensation. He wanted to feel it next to his skin, to bury his face in her skirts. Instead, he tugged her skirts toward him, and Viola slipped farther down on the sofa, her dress sliding like water on the satin sofa.

  Bemused, she watched him fondle her skirt. “Is this what husbands do in Sussex?” she asked. “Rumple their wives? I shall need ironing after this.”

  His eyes flashed up to her face. “If you’re not careful, Mary,” he warned her, “you will find out what husbands do.” Reluctantly, but firmly, he smoothed down her skirts.

  Viola caught his hand as it was withdrawing. “But I want to find out. I want to know what sort of husband you will make me.”

  Julian caught his breath. “You will find out soon enough,” he assured her.

  Viola plucked another cherry from her pie, eating it with relish. “I want to find out now,” she said, reclining like a lazy queen. “I don’t like surprises.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said.

  “We’re only talking,” she replied with impish delight. “What will you do to me first? On our wedding night, I mean? Will you dismiss my maid and undress me yourself? Or will you come to me in darkness like a thief? Will you be tender or cruel? Will I like it?”

  “Don’t be naughty,” he pleaded softly, quite unable to remove his hand from her skirts.

  “Why not?” she whispered, licking her fingers slowly. “We’re completely private.”

  “Yes, where is the dog?” he said desperately. “Where’s our little mop?”

  “Bijou?” she said coolly. “She is with Cork in the attic. The food was driving her mad.”

  “You’re driving me mad,” he muttered. “Stop that,” he said angrily as she picked yet another cherry from her dish.

  “Oh, did you want it for yourself?” she asked, leaning forward. As she slid forward on the slippery satin, his hand slid higher even though he had not moved it. “Take it,” she urged him. Sliding closer to him, she brazenly pushed the fruit between his lips. Julian closed his eyes, drawing the fruit and her finger into his mouth.

  “Isn’t it good?” she whispered. Tossing her plate onto the table, she took his hand and brought it to her breast. “Does it give you pleasure?”

  “We’re not married yet, miss,” he chided her gently, even as his hands moved restlessly, one cupping her warm, full breast, the other slowly pushing up her skirts, caressing her stockings.

  “Are we not?” she argued, tugging at the white stock wound tightly around his throat. “You have given me your promise, have you not? And you are a man of your word, are you not? You would not abandon me, surely.”

  “Never,” he agreed as his neckcloth slowly slid away. With his eyes closed, he felt the tops of her stockings, the bits of satin that gartered them above her knees.

  She was now unbuttoning his waistcoat. “Then for all intents and purposes, I am your wife already,” she said silkily. “You are my husband. You may kiss the bride,” she added, trying to claim his mouth. To her annoyance, he would not allow her to kiss him. “Do we really need some moldy old bishop saying grace over the union of our hearts, our souls, and our bodies?” she added impatiently. “What can he give us but a piece of paper? Kiss me, Julian. Kiss your bride.”

  Julian opened his eyes. “What about the blessing of the Church?” he asked, pulling away. “The sanction of Society? Are these things of no importance to you?”

  “Not really,” she admitted with a pretty pout.

  Julian almost choked. “If I didn’t know you were a vicar’s daughter, I’d say you were a devil’s daughter,” he complained, smoothing down her skirts so that they showed no signs of ever having been rumpled.

  “I’m only curious,” she pouted. “It’s perfectly natural.”

  Viola hardly listened as he recited all the reasons why they should wait until after the formal ceremony to satisfy her perfectly natural curiosity. When she wanted something, right and wrong had little meaning for her. He was not going to wriggle out of satisfying her immediately just because it was wrong in the eyes of the world. She cut him off with a kiss.

  Julian stifled a groan. Encouraged, Viola redoubled her efforts, kissing him as hard as she could. But try as she might, she could force no response. In fact, he caught her hands in his so that she could not continue undressing him. “Good Lord,” he said, when she had exhausted herself. “Is this what goes on in Yorkshire?”

  “A Yorkshireman would have helped me,” she complained. “A Yorkshireman would be done by now,” she added, flushing angrily.

  Julian could not help laughing. “I’m sorry,” he said, bringing his mirth under control. “Are you insulting the men of my county or your own?”

  “I hate you,” she said, flinging his arms off and struggling to get up. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to marry you, after all.”

  Julian would not let her go. “I’m trying to protect you,” he said, wrapping her up in his arms. “Be patient.”

  To his horror, she burst into tears.

  Viola was equally horrified. Doubly humiliated, she broke free of him and ran into the dressing room, slamming the door. She did not feel protected. She felt foolish and rejected. Hurt and angry, she consulted with the mirror in Julian’s dressing room. Try as she might, she could find no fault with her appearance. She had been blessed with good looks, but she took nothing for granted. Every night, after her bath, she polished her soft skin with beeswax until it glowed like a newborn’s, and every morning she meticulously groomed her dark eyebrows with a tweezers. She washed her lustrous black cur
ls with a frequency that alarmed her physician, who thought that wet hair led invariably to pneumonia. Her body was not neglected, either. Both her fingernails and toenails were manicured, and everything in between had to be perfect, too. She waged a constant war against unwanted body hair, plucking and trimming and shaving, so that all was perfection. She dressed, not according to fashion, but in consideration of what best suited her tall, voluptuous form. Even with tears (tears!) streaming down her face, she was a sight to behold.

  And yet, incredible as it seemed, Julian Devize did not want her. He had not paid her a single compliment all evening! Not that she needed his compliments, of course; she dressed only to please herself. “I look good,” she told herself, sniffling.

  For a while, Viola sat on the upside-down bathtub, fantasizing that at any moment, Julian would appear to take her in his arms and assure her that his desire for her matched her own need for him. He did no such thing. Embittered by his coldness, Viola went back to the bedroom, determined to punish him.

  He was gone. As she went out on the landing, she heard his latchkey turn in the lock.

  Angry and hurt, she went back to the bedroom and folded the tablecloth up over the food. Then she poured herself a generous glass of wine, drank it too fast, and went to bed. At least now, thanks to her own efforts, she had a warm, comfortable bed in which to sleep. If it were up to him, she would be on a thin, lumpy mattress on the hard floor. And he hadn’t even thanked her—not for the bed, the dinner, or for anything else!

  She lay wide awake, feeling ill-used and plotting revenge. When they were married, obviously she would make him very sorry. Much later, she sensed rather than heard the door opening. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pretended to be lost in uncaring sleep.

  The back of Viola’s neck tingled as he slid into bed beside her. “Mary? Are you awake?”

  Viola refused to answer, even when he put his hand on her shoulder and said, “I know you are awake. Don’t be angry, love. Talk to me.”

  After a moment, he sighed and moved away from her to the other side of the bed. With the keenest of pleasure, Viola imagined him lying awake on his side of the bed, feeling hurt and rejected, his heart torn into a thousand tiny bits. The illusion was shattered when he began to snore.

  Enraged and insulted, Viola sat up, her mouth opened to complain. Naked from the waist up, Julian lay flat on his back with his arms flung up over his head. A fascinating trail of fine, dark hair leading the eye from his chest down to the band of his trousers. Viola thought he was beautiful, and it hurt all over again that he did not want her. The urge to punish him dissolved into despair. She put out her hand cautiously and touched his shoulder. He stirred in his sleep and stopped snoring. His skin was warm, smooth and firm to the touch. Viola could not take her hand away. Spreading her palm over his chest, she fancied she could feel the hum of his heart vibrating through his flesh. She stroked him lightly, watching his face carefully in the firelight. It would be too embarrassing for words if he should wake up, of course, but touching him while he slept hardly counted as touching; he would never know.

  She teased the light hairs on his chest, first with her fingers, then with her breath, then, finally, when she could no longer resist, with her mouth. She trailed her lips from his throat to his belly then back again, light as a butterfly. Julian stirred restlessly, rolling his hips. A sharp groan fell from his lips as she edged closer and closer to the buttons of his trousers.

  Snatching her hands away, Viola held her breath and waited until she was certain he was asleep before touching him again. Afraid of waking him, yet quite unable to leave his body alone, Viola slid her hands up and down his torso, her eyes glued to his face. His belly tightened, and he stirred restlessly. In sleep, at least, he could not help but respond to her.

  “Are you trying to drive me mad?” he inquired, his eyes still closed.

  At the sound of his voice, Viola yelped in fright and threw herself down on the bed with her back to him. Her heart pounding, she closed her eyes as tightly as possible. She was asleep, and nothing on earth could induce her to admit otherwise.

  He surged behind her, pulling her hips against his almost roughly, but the hand that swept her hair off of her neck was gentle. “I warned you,” he said in a voice that did not sound like him at all. “I warned you not to tempt me.” As he spoke, he tugged her gown from her shoulders. If Viola had not been sound asleep, she almost certainly would have stopped him.

  He brushed his lips against her neck. “Is this what you want?” he murmured, his husky voice every bit as intoxicating as his mouth. Viola shivered in anticipation as he held her wedged tightly against him. Rocking her against him with a gentleness that surprised her, he ran his tongue lightly along the lines of her exposed neck while at the same time his hand found and caressed the rich curve of her breast. The lace of her gown seemed to displease him, and, impatiently, he pushed it aside. Viola whimpered softly as his bare hand touched the exquisitely sensitive bud that crowned her breast. Never in her life had she been touched so intimately. She seemed to feel the shock and thrill of it all the way down to her toes. Her entire body had a share in the pleasure as he stroked the very tip of her nipple. She felt an odd ache, almost a pain, deep in her belly, and, as if sensing it, he moved his hand lower, smoothing her lace gown down as he went. He found the full globes of her bottom and caressed her through her gown until she moved restlessly against his hand. He pushed his hand against her insistently until she gave way and opened herself to him, and then he could feel through her gown that she was wet. The ache in her belly spread into her untouched womanhood. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  “I know you’re awake,” he panted, pulling up her gown until the bottom he now knew so intimately was fully exposed. The sight of her naked rump drove him into a frenzy. In a trice, he freed the member that had been straining against his trousers all evening. “Turn around and face me. Do you want me to take you from behind, like a mare?” he asked softly.

  Viola gasped as she felt him opening her with his hand. In the next instant, he had tossed her onto her back and was kneeling over her, a dangerous light in his eyes. His strength surprised and excited her. She stared up at him, trembling from head to foot.

  He was kneeling between her thighs, completely naked, his sex fully extended. “So you’re awake, after all,” he said, smiling down at her.

  Viola could hardly deny it. Her gown bunched around her waist, and, absurdly, she tried to cover herself. One of his hands splayed against her belly, holding her down, and the other was between her legs, caressing her with absolute mastery. “This is what husbands do in the middle of the night,” he said, still smiling. “How do you like it so far?”

  Viola turned her face away in embarrassment as pleasure overtook over her senses.

  “You’re right, of course,” he said, easing down beside her without breaking the caress. “Why should we deny ourselves? Why should you be unhappy? Why should I be in agony?”

  “Are you in agony?” she murmured.

  “Since the moment I saw you, I have been in agony.”

  “So have I,” she said feebly.

  He chuckled. “You don’t know what agony is…not yet.” Viola choked back a sob when he stopped caressing her. Her limbs were like water, and he could have done anything he liked with her. Using both hands, he undressed her, laying her bare. In the flickering firelight, he gazed at her with satisfaction. “What a sight you are,” he murmured as she stared up at him, wide-eyed. “Every moment I am not inside you is a torment to me.”

  Pressing his hands onto her thighs, he opened her completely and looked at his prize. The innermost lips glistened like a shell in the firelight. Awakening to shame, Viola struggled weakly and again tried to cover herself. “What are you doing?” she breathed fearfully.

  “I’d rather not say,” he replied gently. “Sexual intercourse is rather like sausages. Everyone likes them, but no one really wants to know how they are made.”

&nbs
p; Viola frowned. She was in no humor for such ribaldry. This was supposed to be a beautiful, natural experience, and such remarks were distinctly unwelcome.

  “Lost your nerve?” he taunted her, dipping his finger into her honey-filled recess.

  Viola’s cheeks flamed. “I have plenty of nerve, thank you,” she said, her voice shaking only a little. “But then, I’m not from Sussex, am I?”

  Julian chuckled softly as he lowered his body onto hers. “You’ll pay for that,” he said, placing his swollen member with slow deliberation between the glowing lips of her sex. The fit was unbelievably snug. The urge to break through her maidenhead and possess her fully almost overpowered him. It was all he could do to maintain his self-control.

  Viola could scarcely breathe. It was done. He was inside her. She was no longer a virgin. For some reason, she had thought there must be some pain attached to the event. Instead, she felt quite content. The warmth of his body was pleasant and she scarcely noticed his weight pressing her into the mattress. She had won. He had tried to resist her, but, in the end, he could not. She was simply too desirable.

  In that moment, she felt nothing but sweetness and security. In the next moment, she felt nothing but pain as he drove his full length into her soft, yielding flesh. Viola was so shocked, she could only gasp. Julian was gasping, too. He had controlled himself as long as he could, and he could control himself no longer. “How sweet you are,” he gasped, riding her almost frantically. “Come with me, love. Come now.”

  Viola was in no position to struggle. Pinned underneath him, she was no longer the mistress of herself. He had possession of the tenderest part of her, which he was tearing apart with terrifying rapidity. Beating at his shoulders with her hands only seemed to encourage him. As for her cries of protest, he seemed to enjoy them. He threw back his head and made a terrible noise, a mad cross between a wolf’s howl and a cock’s crow, drowning her out.

  It was crystal clear to her that she had made a terrible mistake. If this was the reality of married life, Viola wanted no part of it. After the howling and the crowing, he finished with loathsome gasps and weird cries. It was all very distasteful, but, apart from the very real pain in her belly and between her legs, she managed to remain above it all. He collapsed at her side with a dreamy smile on his lips.