Moaning in relief, he let her drag his mouth down to savage his lips with her own.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The taste of him filled her mouth, inflamed her senses, his short hair thick and springy beneath her fingers, a handhold to keep his lips locked to hers exactly as she wished. She accepted his tongue, matched his hot, slick thrusts with sensual thrusts and parries of her own, kissing him with a forceful, ravenous fervor.
Part of her wanted to push him away even now, deny him this pleasure of the flesh he coveted with such obvious desperation, the evidence of his arousal pressed like iron between them. But to deny him would be to deny herself and she could not bear the privation, her body desperate for the fevered ecstasy she knew his touch would bring.
In this they were matched. In this they were equals. Each of them hungering and craving, clamoring for the same end, one that would best be served by full and equal participation.
Without letting herself think, she tore at his shirt, yanking the tails out of his trousers so she could race her palms across the warm, hard planes of his chest. She threaded her fingers into the dark curls that grew there. Touched him in wide, greedy strokes before pausing to tweak his flat nipples in a way that made him growl and shudder.
Then she reached lower, delving beneath his falls to find him thick and rampant. Caressing him, she elicited a tortured moan that made his flesh leap and pulse in her grasp. She gloried to know that in this, at least, she held sway.
But before she knew what he was about, he turned the tables, crushing her lips to his in a fresh, tempestuous kiss that left her knees weak, legs shaking. As if she had unleashed a rapacious beast, he slanted his mouth over hers and claimed her as though he could not get enough.
Without her even being aware, her bodice sagged, sliding down her arms. Down went her chemise as well, tumbling her bared breasts into his waiting hands. She cried out as he fondled her with supreme skill, then again as he bent and used his mouth and tongue to equally devastating effect. Blood beat behind her eyelids as he feasted upon her, a yawning emptiness that demanded to be filled settling deep in her core.
Caressing his head, she freed him of his shirt so she could trace his shoulders and along the firm, slightly moist skin of his muscled back and arms.
Her dress, stays and petticoats landed in a sudden, silken pool at her feet, leaving her wearing nothing but her stockings. She moved to slip them off but he stopped her, straightening to his full height before lifting her into his arms.
He lay her on the bed, her legs over the edge. Shucking off the rest of his clothes, he spread her thighs, then stepped between. She expected him to come into her. Instead he leaned across, planted his big, wide hands on either side of her head and plundered her mouth. He left scarcely an inch between them, their naked bodies touching along the peaks and angles that glided together and apart with heady, tantalizing friction.
Savage hunger and torrid yearning clawed inside her. Catching him, she squeezed his buttocks as she tried to pull him down and in. But he resisted, using his greater strength to keep his body just out of reach.
She growled, her answering kiss turning brutal, demanding, possessive. He returned it with an unflinching carnal intensity that further incited her need. Breaking away, he showered kisses across her body, pausing to lave and nibble and suck on her skin in a manner she knew would leave marks.
His mark, as if he was trying to brand her. And perhaps he was. Hadn’t he already staked a claim? One that went far deeper than only her skin?
Just when she could stand it no more, he separated her knees a few inches more and clasped her hips in his strong, male palms. She cried out as he pumped himself inside, plunging her fast and deep into a world of wanton sensuality, making her mind go dim from the bliss.
Her body welcomed his, instantly accommodating his large, familiar length, delighting in the sensation of being stretched exquisitely full. But instead of setting a rhythm and pace, he locked an arm under her back and rolled them over.
Suddenly on top, she stared down, breath panting from between her parted lips. He glided his hands over her skin. Shoulders, breasts, waist, hips and thighs, setting every nerve ending in her body atingle.
“Tell me you love me, lass,” he murmured, his accent husky and thick as he continued caressing her.
Tell him? She sighed, her thoughts punch-drunk with pleasure.
He pumped once inside her, the movement drawing a moan of longing from deep in her throat. “You know you love me. Say it, sweetheart.”
“I, ooh…” She bit the edge of her lip, whimpering as he rocked inside her.
“Say it. I want to hear.”
He thrust again, tendrils of delight spiraling through her frame.
“Say ‘I,’ ” he commanded gently as he thrust.
“I,” she murmured.
“ ‘Love.’ ” Thrust.
“Love,” she repeated, her mind in a whirl.
“ ‘You.’ ” He thrust again, deep enough to stimulate, but not quite satisfy.
“You,” she whispered. Oh, God, what had she just said?
“You what? You love me? Tell me, Jeannette.”
“Yes,” she cried as he pumped, wringing a fresh moan from her lips. “I do.”
Thrust.
“Love you!” Her heart skittered at her admission, but she was too overwhelmed to care.
He smiled, drawing her down for a sweetly savage kiss. “Now show me, darlin’. Show me how you feel.”
Unable to prevent herself, she did show him, kissing him with raw, naked, unrestrained need. Flexing against him in undulating rolls and bouncing, shuddering shimmies as she drove them both half mad.
Faster and faster she raced, gasping at the frenzied pace as she sped them toward completion. When, at the very last, her strength gave way, he reached up and grasped her hips to carry her to the finish. Spine arching, fists braced on her quivering thighs as he flexed deep inside, he hurled her into oblivion. She screamed from the unbridled force, rapture cascading through her in a violent, mind-spinning flood.
Her body was shaking still, aftershocks flashing in wild pings and twinges when he stiffened and claimed his own fierce satisfaction. She collapsed over him, exhausted and shaken.
At length, she slept, cradled inside the security of his arms, warm beneath the sheet and blanket he drew over them both.
Yet when she awakened near dawn, it was not with a sense of happiness and peace.
What had he done to her? Why had he made her say it?
Tell me you love me, he’d demanded. Show me you love me.
And she had, giving him exactly what he wished.
And yet he hadn’t said the words back. Hadn’t told her he felt the same.
Chilled, she sat up, gazing down at him as he slept, a boyish smile on his lips.
Did he love her? Or had he only wanted her to say the words in order to assert his will over her? To bind her more fully to him, as their vows decreed.
She could ask him how he felt. Wake him and say, “Darragh, do you love me?”
And if he said “Yes,” what then? Could she believe him? His deception had shaken her faith in him, made her doubt where once she had felt only trust.
Another man had lied to her too. Toddy, who had whispered endearments and promises of forever into her ears, only to reject her and cast her aside.
Might Darragh one day turn from her as well? True, he hadn’t been unfaithful, but there were more ways to deceive a person than with sex, as he had so recently proven.
She loved him. Of that she had no doubt. Yet was it enough? Because she knew if she let down her guard and gave her heart fully into his keeping, another betrayal would surely destroy her.
Covering her face with her hands, she fought for clarity. What should she do? She felt so confused, felt in some ways as if she no longer knew herself, or what she really wanted.
Home.
How lovely it would be if she could go back to England to the safe
embrace of her family. Violet would help her, she knew. Being with her sister would let her catch her breath, would give her a chance to sort things through. Despite their differences in the past, Violet had always been there for her, willing to provide a comforting shoulder as well as a compassionate ear and sympathetic heart. And maybe she could help Violet. She must be nervous, with the birth of the babies so near.
Beside her, Darragh stirred, shifting sleepily beneath the covers. She didn’t react as he stretched up a hand and laid it upon her shoulder, tracing the unusual kitten-shaped birthmark that dappled her skin. His fingers skimmed lower, her traitorous body arching of its own pleasured volition. Knowing how easily she might be tempted to succumb to his wiles, she got to her feet.
Crossing the room, she retrieved the dressing gown Betsy had laid out for her last evening, shrugging into the soft flowered wool.
She sensed Darragh watching her, heard the rustle of the sheets as he climbed from the bed. Moving to her dressing table, she picked up her brush. A few strokes later, she located a ribbon in one of the drawers and tied her long tresses back at her nape.
His bare feet silent on the carpet, she didn’t hear him approach, shivering faintly in surprise as he pressed his lips to her neck. Slowly, he straightened and extended his hand into her line of sight.
On the flattened surface of his palm lay an oval locket, gold glinting in the pale early light. “For you, a stóirín.”
She stared for a long moment, hesitating before accepting his gift. Engraved roses trailed over the surface, simply yet beautifully etched.
“Do you like it? I bought the piece on that last trip to Ennis. When I saw it I thought of you because of the roses, that being your middle name and all.”
She stiffened at his mention of Ennis, skimmed a thumb over the design. “Yes, it’s lovely.”
And it was. An enchanting, thoughtful gift tainted now by the knowledge of what he’d done. Of the lies he’d told, the elaborate ruse he’d fabricated to deceive her. Her fingers curled around the jewelry, metal links biting into her skin.
“Why don’t you try it on, see how it looks,” he suggested on a throaty murmur. “Then come back to bed.”
She moved to put some space between them. “I would rather not.”
“Why? We’ve plenty of morning left to us. No one will mind if we stay abed a while more.”
“I would mind.”
“What is it, Jeannette? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything.” She spun to face him, rubbing her hands over her arms. “I have been thinking and…well, I want to go home.”
He frowned. “What?”
“Yes, I want to go home, to England. And since I know you have sufficient funds, it should not present a hardship.”
His eyes darkened and for a second she thought she saw a flash akin to panic, then he blinked and it was gone.
“Will you make the arrangements or shall I?” she asked.
His expression hardened. “No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“Exactly that. I won’t have you going to England.”
“But I want to go. Besides, Violet is near her term and will wish me to be present for the birth.”
“Has she written to say so?”
“No, but—”
“Then she’ll do fine without you and you’ll do well enough here. Anyway, this isn’t the season for you to be traveling abroad. Perhaps we can reconsider in the spring.”
From his tone, it didn’t sound as if he planned to reconsider, ever. “I don’t want to go in the spring,” she declared. “I want to go now.”
His jaw tightened. “Well, you aren’t going now, so I suggest you do your best to get used to that fact.”
“You’re a bully and I detest you.”
“That isn’t what you said last night.”
For a second she stood stunned, unable to believe he would use the confession of love he’d wrung from her as a weapon.
“Get out! Get out and take your damned trinket with you.” Putting the strength of her fury behind the throw, she hurled the locket at his chest.
He grabbed it in a neat catch, curling the gold inside his fist, a glimmer of hurt on his face. “If you didn’t want it, you had only to say.”
“I don’t want it,” she lied.
Or you.
Her last words lay between them, as clearly as if she had spoken them aloud.
“As you wish.” Jaw tight, he bent to scoop up his trousers from the floor. Stepping in, he jerked them up around his hips, fastened the buttons in quick, short movements.
“What I wish is to go home,” she said.
A black glower descended over his face. “You are home. This castle is your home, and you had best remember that fact. The day you took my name as your own is the day you became part of this place. The day you became Irish.”
She considered arguing, but saw the chill that glinted like an icy winter lake in his eyes. She’d never seen Darragh lose his temper before, not like this, and decided she didn’t care to test him further.
He yanked his shirt over his head, grabbed up his shoes and coat. “I had hoped matters between us would be resolved this morning, but I can see they are not. So I shall bid you a good day, Lady Mulholland, and see you again when I am less likely to do you a harm.” Striding to the connecting door, he stopped, dug into his coat pocket and came up with a key.
She felt her eyes widen at the revelation, took note of the answering scorn in his gaze.
“Aye, that’s right,” he said. “I’ve a spare key that I could have used any night I wished. And should I wish to use it in the future, don’t bother trying to keep me out. I proved to you last night just how useless such measures are. ’Twill not be hard to prove it again.”
Flipping open the lock, he disappeared into the darkened stairwell that lay on the other side, shutting the door hard enough to rattle it in its frame.
Trembling, she slumped down onto the bed and began to cry.
Darragh stormed down the stairs to his bedchamber.
So she wanted to go home, did she?
Apparently last night had meant nothing. The words of love he’d coaxed from her merely cries of passion, after all. She’d as much as said she wanted to leave him. His gut clenched at the idea as he stalked into his bedroom and slammed the door.
Perhaps he should let her go, if that’s what she wanted. Let her journey to England to be with her sister for the birth of Violet’s twins. But what if Jeannette decided, once there, that she wanted to stay indefinitely? What if her old life appealed to her so much she refused to ever return?
And that, he knew, was the real reason for his blunt refusal. The soul-deep fear that if she left now, she would be leaving him for good.
He could always go with her, he supposed. A move to England would no doubt make her beam with delight. But he didn’t want to live in England, not permanently. Sighing, he tossed a fresh pair of peat bricks onto the fire, then sank down into a nearby armchair.
Over the years, he had enjoyed traveling the world, had thrilled to see new places, and meet new and intriguing people. But always he had known he would be returning to Ireland. Here to the land of his birth, where the cool, soothing green and ancient quiet replenished his soul as nothing else could. To do without…well, he couldn’t do without, not indefinitely, and he had a frightening premonition that was exactly what Jeannette might have in mind.
Even if her plans were only for a temporary sojourn, he couldn’t afford to accompany her. Not right now. He’d already been away from Caisleán Muir far too long. A mountain of estate concerns with which he needed to deal had piled up, and then there were his young sisters to consider. Moira and Siobhan would be devastated if he left again so soon. Guilt rode him, as it was, for being away all these months past. Especially since he knew both girls still sorely felt the loss of their parents, Ma in particular, and needed his guidance and support.
Which meant that Jeannette w
ould just have to acclimate to life here at the castle. Maybe if she gave her new situation a little time she would grow to love the place. Maybe if she gave their marriage a chance, she would put aside her wounded feelings and actually come to mean the words of love he’d compelled her to say last night.
His lips tightened. He was hurt that she obviously had refused to forgive him for the cottage. Couldn’t she understand that he’d done it for them? That they had grown closer because of those quiet, secluded weeks together? He knew lying to her had been wrong, but he couldn’t regret what he’d done. Just as he didn’t regret his decision to keep her here with him now.
She was his wife. This was her home, the place she belonged. Perhaps in the spring he might reconsider, surprise her with a trip across the sea to visit her family. Until then, she would simply have to adjust.
Over the next weeks, Jeannette discovered she wasn’t the only one capable of dishing out large helpings of silence. Darragh, she found, was every inch as talented at the trick as she.
Around his family he treated her with genial care and solicitousness, acting for all the world as if he doted upon her every word. But in private, he was often distant, behaving as though she was the one who had hurt him, instead of the other way around.
Of course, it didn’t stop him from coming to her bed in the dark of night. Once there he seemed to delight in taking her at a slow, gradual pace, whipping up her passion to a knife edge then tormenting her until she writhed and begged him to give her release. And when he finally did, he punished her further by making sure she wailed out her completion at such a mortifying volume that she worried the whole castle could hear.
Without ever voicing the thought, he made it clear the situation between them was hers alone to rectify. All it would take would be for her to say she no longer wished to go to England, and all would be forgiven.
But she couldn’t say that, not without lying, and that she would not do. She might have her shortcomings, but in this instance, she had done nothing wrong. Darragh was the one at fault, only he refused to admit it. And so she endured his coldness by day, then burned inside the heat of his irresistible carnal torment by night.
The Wife Trap Page 31