“You do not need to overaccentuate the features, but on some subjects, this one,” he clarified, “you can slightly overemphasize the curve of a hip, the fullness of the lips…but then…some subjects are perfection and to overemphasize is a travesty.”
Through the thin slip of fabric of her nightshift, her body tingled. To keep from dissolving into a puddle of desire in his arms, she concentrated on their fingers as they danced about the page. They went on that way until their purposeful strokes transformed the empty page into… Her fingers trembled at the familiarity of her visage as it stared back.
Cedric immediately righted the charcoal in her grip and proceeded to finish the sketch. “You are perfection.”
Perfection.
Of course, his were the words of a rake or rogue but, in this moment, with their love of art shared between them, it felt like something more and another thrill went through her at this bond. Cedric continued his mastery over the page until a familiar room materialized; lined with books and a scandalous piece of artwork, and seated at the edge of that room in her bare feet was her. From her slightly parted lips, to the glimmer of passion in her eyes, he’d expertly captured the maelstrom of emotion she’d known that day in his presence and every day since.
Their first meeting.
She registered the silence and, blinking, she looked down at his suddenly still fingers and the completed sketch he lay down in front of her.
“And that is how you create the human form, Genevieve.” He brought his mouth close to her ear and worshipped the sensitive shell with the softest kiss. Then, folding his arm about her waist, he drew her closer to him so her back was pressed against the hard wall of his chest. “You are perfection.” His smooth baritone washed over her as he trailed his mouth lower to the sensitive skin just behind her lobe.
Genevieve’s pulse jumped and she angled her head to better open herself to his ministrations. “I expect you have said that to any number of women,” she whispered and closed her eyes, savoring the delicious explosion of sensation buffeting her senses.
“Yes,” he confessed softly. With his large hands, he palmed her breasts through the modest fabric of her nightshift. “But this is the only time I’ve ever meant it.” Her nipples puckered at his skilled touch and she proved herself the shameless wanton she’d been accused of all these years, for she leaned into his expert caress. Not allowing her anymore words, Cedric angled her around and devoured her mouth with his.
His was the unbridled, unapologetic kiss of a man fueled by desire and there was something heady in knowing she’d moved this gentleman in this way. He guided her leg over the chaise so they each straddled the upholstered seat. The wickedness of her positioning rucked her nightshift high above her thighs, but Cedric would not allow her the deserved modesty. Instead, he wrapped his hands about her hips and dragged her closer to the vee of his legs. Her womanhood throbbed with a tender awareness, only heightened by the drag of the upholstered fabric against that forbidden flesh.
Delicious shivers fanned out and she leaned into him, meeting his kiss, tangling her tongue with his in an erotic dance. She moaned into his mouth and raising her hands, twined her fingers in the long, luxuriant strands of his golden-blond hair.
He growled his approval and that primitive sound rumbled up from his chest as he deepened their embrace and she boldly turned herself over to him.
*
Cedric had had scores of women in his life. Inventive whores, clever courtesans with wicked mouths, eager widows. Wanton women. Women whose depravity had only been matched by his own. Not a single one of those women had raised his blood to this feverish pitch, as did his wife. With her blend of bold and innocence, there was a sincerity to Genevieve’s every movement that only fueled this fierce hungering for her.
He ran his palms down the small of her back and slid his fingers under the generous swell of her buttocks, holding her close. A low, keening moan escaped Genevieve who melted even further into his touch. Fueled by that breathless sound of her desire, Cedric clasped her white nightshift at the hem and tugged it over her head, exposing her as he’d ached to since their first chance meeting a week earlier.
He studied her with a hungry gaze. He’d always favored women with generous breasts and, yet, Genevieve’s small mounds with engorged pink buds, caused desire to blaze inside. His bride followed his gaze and her skin pinked with his focus. She made to hug her arms close to her chest. “Don’t,” he commanded gruffly.
Genevieve hesitated and then lowered her arms to her side.
Incapable of words, he explored her. Palming her right breast, he weighed it in his hand. “Softer than satin,” he murmured. He captured her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the peaked bud.
A throaty moan spilled past her plump lips. “A proper, respectable lady should not feel this way.” Her head fell back, accentuating the length of her neck.
“A proper woman should feel this way,” he said, his voice roughened with his need for her. He lowered his head and claimed the neglected tip of her left breast in his mouth.
Genevieve cried out and curled her fingers in his hair, anchoring him close. A hungering for her rolled through him, threatening to draw him under. Buffeting his senses and reveling in the reflexive undulation of her hips, he continued to suckle her, laving the swollen bud, teasing it, tasting it until the room reverberated with the echo of his wife’s breathless pleas.
Suddenly, he stopped and she cried out a protest but Cedric only shoved to his feet and, in one swift moment, swung her into his arms and carried her to the four-poster bed at the center of the room. Passion glazed her green eyes as he laid her carefully down.
Not taking his gaze from hers, he stepped back and proceeded to disrobe. She widened her eyes as he pulled his shirt over his head and revealed his naked chest to her innocent stare. The blush on her cheeks deepened, but she did not look away. Until he tugged free his boots and breeches. His brave bride stole a quick peek at his jutting erection and then whispered something that might have been a prayer. “A-are you certain you’d not care to continue with our art lesson?” Her breathless stammer raised a small grin.
And he, who’d long abhorred all hint of innocence, was enthralled by this woman’s artlessness. “Quite certain, love,” he whispered.
Genevieve looked up at the ceiling, past his shoulder, over at the hearth, anywhere that was not him. “It really was an invaluable lesson,” she rambled. “I am quite eager to put all your lessons to use.” As though she’d registered the suggestiveness of his words, she shot her gaze to his. “That is, your art lessons.”
With a gentle smile, he came down over her, bracing his elbows on either side of her so she was folded in his embrace. He touched his lips to her closed eyes; first one and then the other, and then he trailed his mouth down her cheek, before ultimately finding her lips. Some of her hesitancy melted away. Genevieve reached for his kiss, but he hovered with their breaths dancing and melding. “I have wanted you from the first moment I saw you in the library, Genevieve. I wanted to lay you down and waken your body to the passion within you.”
Emotion leapt in her eyes and, later, he’d allow himself the panicky fear of the truth behind those words. For now, all he could focus on was spreading her cream white thighs and burying himself deep in her honeyed warmth. “And I have wanted you.” Her husky contralto sent a bolt of lust through him. Then, his spirited wife closed the faint space between them, twined her arms about his neck, and kissed him.
A groan of approval rumbled from Cedric’s chest. They continued to mate with their tongues in an age-old rhythm that matched his rapidly beating heart.
Needing to taste all of her, Cedric dragged his mouth in a deliberate trail, lower, to her neck, downward to her small breasts, and then he slid a hand between them and found her hot center with his fingers.
A little hiss exploded from Genevieve and she shot her hips off the bed, arching into his caress. “Cedric,” she moaned as he parted her
“That is it, love,” he encouraged as she lifted into his caress. She bit her lip and worked herself against his palm. He continued his deliberate ministrations until her movements grew frantic, hinting at her rapidly receding control, and then he withdrew his fingers.
She cried out a protest, but he slid his body over hers and positioned himself at her well-readied, hot entry. He slid his shaft slowly inside her tight walls and an agonized groan lodged in his chest. Cedric stilled and welcomed her heat as it enveloped him. In all the women he’d taken, he’d never made love to a virgin. He’d made it a point to avoid those mewling women. Rather, he’d preferred the women who graced his bed to be as skilled as the most practiced courtesan. Staring into Genevieve’s flushed face, there was an overwhelming emotion; one that he could not explain, a gratefulness that no other had ever known her in this way.
Her lashes fluttered open and she looked up with a thick haze of passion clouding her eyes. “What is it?” she whispered. She cupped her hand to his cheek. “Are you all right?”
At her gentle concern, a surge of tenderness mixed with an incontrollable yearning to know Genevieve in this way. In an act he’d taken part in so many times, the intimacy of that joining had ceased to matter. Until now. Until her. Terror licked at the edge of his lust. “I am fine,” he whispered, even as his tumultuous thoughts proved anything but that. To keep from thinking about the implications of his body’s need for her and to silence any questions he didn’t have an answer to, Cedric claimed her lips in a long, deep kiss, so that all she was capable of was more of her breathless whimpers and moans.
At the evidence of her longing, blood surged to his shaft and he continued to push deeper into her, slower. He pressed his eyes closed and relished the sensation of their bodies joining as one. What was it about this woman that was so different from all others before? He withdrew and she cried out, scrabbling at his back. Moisture beaded on his forehead as he again found her with his fingers. He delved his fingers inside her slick passageway, preparing her further for his entry until her movements grew jerky and then he slid inside her once more, inch by agonizing inch.
A broken groan spilled from his lips as a hungering unlike any he’d ever known gripped him, to possess her as no one ever had. Blood pounding loudly in his ears, Cedric layered his brow to hers. “Forgive me,” he groaned and then he pushed past the thin barrier of her virginity.
The room echoed with her cry and he stilled, giving her time to accustom herself to his length filling her. A lone crystalline tear slipped down her cheek and the sight of it ravaged him, momentarily dulling his desire. But he found her again with his fingers and caressed her center again until she slowly undulated into his touch, once more. Shifting his weight forward on his elbow, Cedric claimed her lips under his and then began to move. He drew his shaft out and then pushed forward, repeating the motion with slow, determined strokes until a little keening moan was bubbling from Genevieve’s lips.
“Cedric,” she gasped. Folding her arms about him, she lightly raked her fingers over his back. At that unrestrained hint of her need, he increased his rhythm. A strand fell over his sweaty brow as he continued to thrust. With tremulous fingers, she brushed it back and met his expert strokes as their bodies became lost in a dance that only they two knew.
Her movements grew frantic, even as her body went taut. He plunged deeper and then bent his head to draw the tip of her breast in his mouth, once more. It sent her careening over the precipice. Her hungry wail filtered throughout the room and it pulled him forward as he went hurtling with her. He stiffened and with a low groan, poured himself deep inside. The walls of her womanhood clenched and unclenched about him, draining all of him, until he collapsed atop her, replete.
Their breaths came hard and fast. As reality intruded, Cedric rolled off his wife’s sated, limp form. Heart pounding out of control, he laid there and stared with panicked eyes up at the mural at the center of the room. Never had he spent himself inside a woman. French letters had been his constant companion when with a woman. It had been the one masterful control he’d exhibited over his life; the assurance that for all the ways he was like his father, he would never be like the current Duke of Ravenscourt in that one essential and very important way. And even as this woman was his wife and certainly getting a child with her was expected, it was something he’d vowed never to do: to spread his blood, to give his father that coveted future duke, to allow that intimacy with any woman. In desperate need of some distance, he swung his legs over the edge of his bed and fetched a kerchief to gently wipe the stains of their lovemaking.
Her cheeks awash with color, Genevieve lay silent through his ministrations and then, when he’d finished, she flipped onto her side.
Cedric cleaned himself and then made to stand. His new bride looked over her shoulder, a tender invitation in her eyes. Leave… there is no reason for you to stay…
Except, ignoring that voice in his head, he reluctantly claimed the spot beside her.
Genevieve swiftly turned in his arms and curled her warm, slender frame against him. He stiffened, as she snuggled against him like a contented cat that had just supped on the cream. She layered her palm to his chest and his rapidly beating heart kicked up another frantic pattern. He did not sleep with women. After finding his release, he’d always taken his leave or his partner had gone back to the miserable blighter she’d been unfaithful to. Sex was just a meaningless exchange, with two people taking their base pleasures and nothing more. Genevieve at his side challenged that long-held belief. Her breath fell into a smooth, settled, even cadence.
Cedric waited several moments to make sure she slumbered and then when a little snore escaped her lips, he made to ease away from her. Except… Another snore filled the quiet. He angled onto his side to study her in sleep.
With her mouth slightly parted, there was a peace to her. It was the same one that followed her in her waking days. In her sleep, the ghost of a smile played on her lips so that he ached to know what thoughts slipped in and out of her dream. Cedric went still and then blinked several times in rapid succession. What madness plagued him that he would…moon over his own wife? He gave his head a disgusted shake. He’d never been, nor would he ever be, one of those romantic, lovesick fools. Yet here he sat, appreciating his new wife’s smile, of all things. No, theirs was strictly a formal arrangement between two strangers, with the additional benefit of mutual passion. He grimaced and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
A little bleating snore filled the quiet and he whipped his head back around.
She…snored and then in her sleep, she shifted about. Did she search for him in her slumber? Tenderness unfurled inside him and Cedric swiped a hand over his face. He was tired, was all. It was the only reason he even now stared at the place she occupied on the feather mattress. And it was the only reason he reclaimed a place beside her.
And with the ticking clock atop the mantel and the wispy puffs of air escaping her lips, it was the only reason Cedric closed his eyes. Except, as sleep pulled at him, he couldn’t help but feel he lied to himself.
Chapter 18
The sun shone high in the early afternoon sky, beating down on Genevieve’s neck. Seated on the ground of the overrun, ill-tended gardens of her husband’s townhouse, she picked her head up toward the sky and let the warm rays caress her face.
Open sketchpad forgotten on her lap, she closed her eyes and a smile played on her lips. She had a husband. And a garden. And a husband who sketched and enjoyed artwork, and… Her skin went ten shades hotter in an act that had nothing to do with the warm spring day and everything to do with the pleasures Cedric had awakened in her body.
Abandoning her sketchpad, she drew her knees close to her chest and assessed the overgrown space. Thick ivy climbed up the high brick walls. Weeds choked the tangled rose bushes and forsythia. In its neglect, this sheltered, artificial homage to the country spoke to Cedric’s disinterest and disdain for the countryside. By his own admission and everything she knew of him, he was a man most comfortable in the world beyond these walls. He’d not take the time to see spaces of nature cared for. Unease churned inside her.
It really should not matter. They needn’t have everything in common as a husband and wife. In fact, given their hasty marriage of convenience, they needn’t have anything in common. It should be enough that he had his funds and she had her freedom, and then anything else shared between them was a bonus she’d no right to expect or demand.
The wind stirred overhead and pulled at the loosened strands of her bonnet. So why did it feel like a lie? Why did it feel like she wanted so much more from the man who even now still slumbered? Chewing at her lower lip, she cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Or she expected he still slept. When she’d left him several hours ago to take her breakfast and set about exploring her home, he’d been silently slumbering in her new chambers. A smile played about her lips as she recalled him as he’d been. Sprawled on his back, with his hand flung over his eyes, it was as though, even in slumber, he’d sought to keep the day at bay.
He was a man who slept late. And yet that same man had also sought her out in the gardens of Hyde Park a week ago…to apologize. Returning her attention to her sketchpad, Genevieve picked up her book and charcoal. Cedric’s art lesson still resonating around her head, her body thrilled with the heated memory of his touch. She proceeded to sketch his devilish visage. Scrunching her brow, she muted all sounds and concentrated on her efforts.
Everything melted away—time, questions about just what she was to Cedric, the Marquess of St. Albans, if anything, what tomorrow meant for them. She fixed her gaze on bringing his tall, powerful form to life on a page, when all attempts before had proven futile.
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