Deliciously wicked

by Robyn DeHart

  Evidently all those moments when she thought he trusted her, the moments he shared with her meant nothing to him. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Now a part of her would always wonder if he was telling her everything. Or if he was keeping some things to himself. Keeping her out of the corners of his life, only allowing her to touch the places he designated.

  Could she live within his boundaries? She’d never been very good at following rules. So if Gareth wanted a true viscountess for a wife, he would be sorely disappointed. And at the moment, Meg didn’t care. Let him be disappointed for a change.

  Two days later she was married. The evening of the wedding, Meg wandered aimlessly up to the north wing, feeling lost and adrift. Alone.

  Ellen came in and assisted her with her gown. She said nothing to the maid as the woman busily hung up the dress and put away her stockings and petticoat.

  “That will be all, Ellen, thank you.” Meg didn’t look at her. She couldn’t bear to see the pity that no doubt lined her maid’s features. Everyone in the house knew he wasn’t here, that he couldn’t face his bride on their wedding night.

  Meg heard the door close as Ellen left.

  Her father had given them the entire north wing of the estate, insisting that the boarding rooms were not fit for a married couple. He was most accommodating to the viscount. Meg knew in her heart that the civility had little to do with Gareth’s newly disclosed title and everything to do with the fact that he was now her husband. Her father had never been pretentious, and while he enjoyed his money, he certainly didn’t believe it made him any worthier than the men working in his factory. Similarly he didn’t feel that a family name or title made a man any grander than anyone else. But it was all the buzz with the household staff that she had married a real gentleman.

  So she still lived in the same house, only it didn’t quite feel much like the same house since she was in a different room, on a different floor, in a very different role. Her father claimed it was no different than how things would be handled if he were to leave his estate to a son.

  But here it was going on midnight and she had not seen her new husband since they’d exchanged vows. Supposedly Gareth was at his boarding room retrieving his belongings, but Meg had been in that room and there was no conceivable way it would take this long to gather everything. Her father had offered for him to move in immediately upon announcement of their engagement, but Gareth had declined, and had remained in his rooms until today. He didn’t seem interested in claiming special treatment now that he was related to the factory owner.

  So here Meg sat, a wife, and her husband was not even home. On her wedding night. Not precisely how she’d imagined things would be. Thoughts of desertion flitted through her mind. He would have protected her with his name, but would he still maintain his freedom? She tried to believe that was a possibility because she didn’t know him the way she thought she had. But she knew, deep in her bones, that he would never do such a thing.

  He would never love her, but she knew he would never leave her.

  But that didn’t explain where he was. And the longer he was absent, the steadier her anger became. Perhaps he didn’t want to be married—well, this wasn’t a perfect situation for either of them. But he owed her the common courtesy of being here on their wedding night. At least so that things would appear as though it was a legitimate union.

  He was, no doubt, walking around trying to reconcile the reality today brought. They were married. Man and wife. Forever.

  Despite her own reluctance to marry and her firm belief that she never would, she had, as any other young girl, allowed herself the freedom to dream of this day. She and Charlotte had spent entire evenings spinning wildly romantic tales of the proposal and the wedding and the wedding night. But none of her wild imaginings ever included an absent husband.

  Would he consummate their marriage? Or was this to be nothing more than a business agreement? Meg looked over to the bed at the filmy piece of clothing lying atop it. She and Charlotte had gone shopping as soon as the wedding plans were in place and she’d purchased a few necessities. Namely prettier undergarments. Their thinking was that there was no sense in having a husband to undress you if he could not appreciate the entire experience. Now she thought better of it, and it seemed of more importance that she herself be able to indulge in the silkier bits of material.

  There was no reason she should not enjoy her purchases simply because her husband had fled. She removed her plain chemise. Standing at the foot of the bed in nothing but her skin, she reached over and fingered the beautiful silk fabric. It felt as smooth and slippery as water in her hands. She closed her eyes and pulled the shift over her head and shivered as it slid down her flesh.

  The silk felt unlike anything she’d ever felt, softer than any silk stockings she’d ever owned. She was no novice when it came to fine materials and fabrics. Her father had always seen to her comfort, but this—she ran her hand across her abdomen—was pure pleasure. A glance in the mirror confirmed her initial thought that it would be as good as being unclothed. It was completely transparent, shading her body no more than if she stood naked in the rain.

  She deserved to wear it. With or without her husband and a silly fantasy wedding night. If Gareth ever did return, he would go to his own room. There would be no passionate kisses, no long embraces or words of love. With all her good intentions, she’d landed herself in a charade of a marriage with a charade of a husband.

  Meg sat at the dressing table and began undoing her hair. It took her several minutes, but she managed to finish taking the pins out, then let the mass fall over her shoulders. The release sent tingles across her scalp and brought some relief to the nagging headache she’d had since that morning. She combed her fingers through her hair to untangle the stubborn curls. Then she walked over to the bed. Perhaps a good night’s sleep would make her feel better.

  There was part of her that felt as if she should be sad. Sad at the turn her life had taken, but no tears came. Instead she felt only the steady hum of anger as it pulsed through her veins. Everything seemed unreal, as if she’d gone to sleep in her own life last night and awoken in someone else’s. But the reality was, this was her life.

  The door opened and Gareth walked in. His mouth opened in surprise, but he quickly recovered. “You’re still awake,” he said.

  Meg spun around to see him standing in the door. “I am,” was all she could say. Now it seemed utterly foolish that she’d put on the silk chemise. Humiliating that he’d believe she’d been sitting here pining away, wanting him to come in and take her into his arms. Wanting him to hold her and kiss her and touch her.

  He set two bags down, then closed the door behind him. His eyes caressed her body as he took in the full sight of her. She refused to look away. Let him look. Let him see what he did not want.

  “I didn’t put this on for you,” she said with defiance. “I know that’s what you’re thinking, but it’s not true.”

  His lip quirked the tiniest amount. “If not for me, who would you put that on for? It is a garment for a lover.” He closed the distance between them. She could smell the hint of rain on his skin. “Do you have a lover, Meg?”

  It wasn’t a legitimate question; they both knew that. “You know that I don’t,” she said, raising her chin a notch. “You were gone a long time.”

  “I went for a walk.”

  She hesitated a moment, but then said, “You didn’t have to offer to marry me, Gareth, I would have survived the scandal.”

  “I have no doubt you would have survived. But I would not have been able to live with myself knowing that your act had ruined your reputation and prevented you from having marriage or children.”

  “Thank you for making such a sacrifice.” For once she let the full force of her sarcasm drip into her voice.

  His hand slid down her waist to rest on her hip. Her body reacted to his touch, despite her anger. “What is this?” he asked.

  “What is what?”
>
  “This.” He fingered a piece of the silky fabric.

  She felt her chest flame and it spread all the way up her neck and settled into her cheeks. “It is a nightdress.”

  “And you put it on. But not for me?”

  “I purchased it for tonight, yes. But when you left, I didn’t see any reason it should go to waste. I didn’t know…”

  “Didn’t know what? If I was coming back? Meg, I would never desert you. This might not be a love match”—he met her gaze as he spoke, the heat in his eyes nearly palpable—“but I am your husband, and I will be your husband in every way.”

  His words washed over her. Her husband in every way. He did intend to consummate this marriage. Her heart jumped within her chest. But before she could protest or give it a second thought, he’d pulled her to him and kissed her.

  Her husband in every way.

  Her heart beat a rapid tempo in her chest and every nerve seemed to awaken as desire mingled with her anger. His lips tempted and taunted, and she realized she couldn’t deny him even if she wanted to. But the truth was, she didn’t want to. She wanted him to kiss her, to touch her, to make her his. She wanted to be his wife in every way.

  “Do you have any idea what you look like in this?” Again his hand ran against the silk, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake.

  He didn’t give her time to form an answer. His lips found her collarbone and she nearly forgot her name, let alone what she was wearing.

  “It whispers across your flesh, teasing to hide it from view, but it doesn’t. It simply enhances your beautiful body. I don’t know where to touch you first,” he said.

  Meg had never felt particularly beautiful. It wasn’t that she thought she was plain or unattractive; she’d simply never given it much thought. And no man had ever told her she was beautiful. But here she was, nearly naked with the man who was now her husband, and he thought she was beautiful. Beautiful. She felt herself smile.

  “Touch me anywhere you wish,” she heard herself say.

  He again kissed her collarbone, then let his lips move to her shoulder, then the skin right above her breast. Her breath quickened. He knelt in front of her. His hot breath warmed her flesh as he leaned closer to her. Through the fabric, she felt the moisture of his mouth as he took the tip of her breast into his mouth.

  She cried out and buried her fingers in his hair. He continued his torture as he laved her breasts with kisses. He’d once before kissed her in such a way, but through this silk it felt more intense and sensual. A hungering rhythm ached between her legs, and she squirmed to try to alleviate it. But she knew only he could ease the ache.

  His hands ran down her belly while his tongue teased her right nipple. Again and again he suckled and licked and kissed until she thought she would break into a million pieces. Her legs were weak and she was ready to simply lie down on the floor and let him take her right here.

  “I know what you want, love,” he said.

  He picked her up and carried her to the bed. Before he put her down, though, he kissed her so fiercely that it almost brought tears to her eyes. She writhed on the bed, waiting for him to join her and knowing there was more, knowing he could bring her pleasure and make her cry out his name.

  “Please, Gareth,” she whispered.

  “I know, love, soon, I promise.” He finished removing his clothes, but instead of crawling in next to her, he went to the foot of the bed. He picked up her left foot and kissed her ankle, then licked his way up to her knee.

  Oh, what this man did to her. Licking and nibbling the back of her knee. She smiled at the mild tickling. Settling himself between her legs, he continued to lick her left leg, her inner thigh, to be exact.

  He pushed the silk material up to her waist, then placed his hands beneath her bottom. Having his warm hands cup her bottom was so intimate, so sensual. He kneaded her flesh until she relaxed and closed her eyes. And then she felt the warmth and moisture of his mouth as he kissed the curls between her legs.

  “Red hair everywhere.” He made a guttural sound that tingled her ears. “I love that.”

  He’d done this once before. In her father’s office. “Naughty kisses,” she whispered.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Naughty kisses.” Good heavens, she might not survive the night. “In my father’s office.” She sounded breathless. “You told me you wanted to do naughty things to me and then you kissed me there.”

  “Naughty kisses,” he repeated. “I like that.”

  She liked it too. At first he simply placed sweet kisses at the triangle of hair. Harmless kisses meant to tease, but nothing more. And then he got bolder and she knew blush stained every inch of her body. His mouth opened and his tongue tortured the hidden nub and she tried to keep from screaming, but it became impossible to keep quiet.

  It was also impossible to keep still, to keep her legs on the bed, and to keep her hands out of his hair. She bucked against him, using the leverage of her heel on his shoulder to lift her to his mouth. Her mouth was dry, her throat scratchy from crying out, and yet she did not care. Small waves of pleasure crashed over her and built and built until it was as if the center of her shattered. She rocked and cried his name and clung to his shoulders until it ended.

  He placed one more kiss right below her belly button before moving his body to align with hers. She could feel his hardness against her belly. And she knew she should probably be embarrassed, too shy to look him in the eyes, but no shame came. She boldly met his gaze, then let a smile slide onto her face.

  His wife in every way.

  “So you like naughty kisses, do you?” he asked.

  She found she couldn’t yet speak, but she gave him a full smile and nodded enthusiastically.

  “I suspected as much. Saucy wench.”

  She laughed heartily at that. The laughter faded when he moved up and she felt the tip of him at her entrance. Instinctively she opened for him, pushing herself up to accept his full length. It pinched and was tight and unfamiliar, but natural at the same time, as if her body needed him to fill her.

  Nuzzling her neck, he began to move. She wrapped her legs around his body and clasped her feet together.

  “You’re so tight. And you feel so good. So slick.”

  The rhythm of his movement began those tiny waves of pleasure again. She tried to meet him with every movement, but faltered a few times. He didn’t seem to notice. Quicker, harder, faster he moved until he shook and spilled inside her.

  He collapsed against her, kissing her throat gently.

  “Now you are my wife.”

  Chapter 19

  Meg closed the door silently behind her, then smiled at Gareth, who lounged on the bed. Still unclothed. Good heavens, but her new husband was strikingly handsome.

  “What did you find us?” he asked. “I’m starved.”

  “Cheese, bread, and some figs.” She curled up in the bed and crossed her legs.

  He sat up with her and the sheet fell to his waist. His chest was sinewy and had a smattering of dark hair that tapered into a line and eventually disappeared beneath the sheet. Against the glow of the firelight, everything took on a new sheen.

  It seemed her anger had disappeared beneath the seduction of his touch. She should be ashamed that she was so easily persuaded and overcome.

  She handed him a slice of bread and a piece of cheese. Her stomach rumbled. It was amazing how marital activity could evoke such hunger. She chewed thoughtfully and eyed her new husband. He looked satisfied and sleepy. His hair was askew, and the normal stubble on his cheeks and chin had darkened and thickened. She reached over and ran her fingers across his right cheek.

  He released a half chuckle. “No matter how often I shave, it grows back so quickly. Probably that’s why my grandfather always wore a full beard. Too much trouble.”

  She had to admit, what looked unkempt on some looked undeniably inviting on him. “It looks good on you,” she said.

  He nodded but didn’t meet h
er gaze, as if to hide his discomfort at her compliment. He grabbed a fig from the plate.

  “Tell me more about your family,” she said. “What was your father like?” She waited for his hesitancy, fully expecting that he would make some excuse and not answer.

  But he did answer, the words rushing out of him as if they had been bottled up for years. “He was exciting. Full of dreams and adventure. We never had money, but we did have a home. A grand estate, or at least one you could imagine had been grand at some time in its past. It was in some disrepair by the time we left. I believe the Brockmore family owns it now.”

  Oh, it was a grand place. She wasn’t certain when, but she knew it had been restored to its grandeur under the care of the Brockmore family. She’d been there only once, but it was truly lovely. And Gareth had been born there.

  “He was always looking for a way to reestablish the family fortune. He made several investments that ultimately failed. But more often than not, he tried to win either in the boxing ring or at the gaming tables. As fate would have it, one night he lost everything in a game of cards. The rest of the money, my sisters’ dowries, my mother’s jewelry, and our home. All of it, with one hand of cards.” His voice was lined with bitterness. He shrugged and leaned against the pillows behind him. “Everything fell apart then.”

  She lay down beside him and rested her head on his arm. With her hand, she lightly traced her nails up and down his chest.

  “My mother was furious with him. They had four children with a fifth on the way and now they had no way to care for them. The family had long since let go of all the household servants; I have no memory of ever having them. So there were no other places to retrench and we had nowhere to go.”

  Meg listened and continued to rub his chest. It took a lot for him to confide in her, and she didn’t take it lightly. Nor did she want to break the spell of whatever spurred his disclosure.

  “My father started drinking,” he continued. He released a humorless laugh. “Apparently we still had enough brandy in the house for him to do that, and my mother packed us all up and took us to Ireland to live with her parents. Two months later, she gave birth to my brother. One month after that, we received notice that my father had died, in a boxing ring. Evidently he’d been trying to win back some money, but had been so drunk he’d never even landed one punch.”