It was a place of understated resplendence that dominated the street. Jane had driven Ravenna past the house a week ago in the daylight, claiming, “It is difficult for a lady to assume her position in such an imposing dwelling.”
And with such an imposing man, Ravenna had silently mused, unable at the time to imagine herself as Simon’s wife.
But now she was here. She wasn’t Ravenna, the bothersome younger sister, or the undesired fiancée of an ill-bred baronet. She was Her Grace the Duchess of Rochecliffe. She was astonished by her change in fortune. And she resolved to make the best of it, to honor and understand the man she had married, even if obeisance did not come to her naturally.
They alit from the carriage in the stables at the back of the house. She heard the murmured greetings of the duke’s groomsman, the whinnying of horses.
Simon gripped her firmly by the hand and guided her through a candlelit passageway into the main hallway of the house.
“Now we’re like a pair of thieves, Simon.”
She knocked her arm against a pedestal. Simon tsked gently and turned her in the opposite direction. She could make out the defined angles of his face in the dark and, Hades take him, the shadow of an unfathomable smile. Her breathing deepened.
“When am I going to meet the servants?” she asked, conscious of the silence, of how alone they were. Of, despite everything, how right this moment was.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “I thought you would appreciate some privacy. We’re almost to the bottom of the stairs. Stay to the left.”
“This hall is longer than a highway,” she said, her voice echoing to the cut-glass chandelier above the staircase. The faintest sound quickened her heart. Even the tap of Simon’s boot heels on the tile heightened her anticipation.
He released her hand. “My grandfather was prone to extravagance,” he said. “As most noblemen tend to be.”
She moved cautiously around a painting on an easel. “Aren’t you coming?”
“You wouldn’t prefer a few moments by yourself?”
“Not if I’m going to walk into walls. Simon, what is the matter? What have I missed or misunderstood?”
Obviously there were servants somewhere in the house because a door scraped open above. A wall sconce on the first landing glowed down faintly on Simon’s unmoving figure. Portraits in gilded frames hung on the wall behind him. She recognized a Rembrandt. Simon looked austere, and yet she detected another hint of sinful heat in his eyes.
“Simon?” she attempted again. “What has come over you?”
He shook his head as if deep in thought. “I cannot forget that you aren’t my wife of your own free will. It seems uncouth that I come to your bed without an invitation. I won’t even touch you in an intimate manner if that is your wish.”
Her heart thumped in her ears. “Never?”
One large shoulder lifted. “I shall hold your parasol … take you by the arm if you’re about to fall off the pavement. I might steal a kiss from time to time. Carry you over a rain puddle to be chivalrous. That sort of thing. But this is an arrangement. Isn’t it?”
“So I’m to be an abandoned bride?” she asked, her lips firming in exasperation.
“Good gracious, no. I’ll sleep in the adjoining room in case you need me during the night. Give me a shout. I know you have the voice for it.”
“You are provoking me. You played the rogue before our wedding.”
“I thought I was being respectful.” He balanced his elbow on the balustrade. “Is there anything I can do before you retire? Have Cook prepare a special dish? A cordial? Stoke the bedroom fire?
Kiss me. Hold me. Take me. Release me from this suspense before I sink to my knees. “I don’t want a fire or a drink. I am practically smoldering in this heavy dress and I drank quite a bit before I drowned that plate of crabs in champagne.”
“Have I neglected anything?” he asked artlessly.
Only me.
What did he expect her to say? For all she knew she had failed to pass a secret test to please him. For all she knew he had decided at the last instant that theirs would be a marriage in name only. Or, more likely, he was doing his monstrous best to tease her, a ploy he had employed in their youth. Girl, boy. Bride, groom. But man and wife?
Should she call him out? “On second thought, I’d like a few fashion magazines to read in bed.”
His smile was strained. “Magazines?”
“I don’t suppose you have any Spanish oranges on hand?”
“In fact, I do.”
He took three steps up. They stood inches apart, close enough to touch, to kiss, to antagonize. His brown corduroy coat was unbuttoned. He had loosened his plain neckcloth in the carriage. Despite his impassive demeanor, he looked as vital as he had when they had taken their vows.
Her breathing became unsteady. She wanted to sink down on the step -- or against him. He was familiar, but what they would mean to each other was not. Would he rule her with kindness?
“You don’t need anything else?” he asked, his heavy-lidded eyes holding her entranced. “Other than reading material?”
“Perhaps a servant could show me where I’m to be kept.”
“With your permission,” he said with a courtly bow.
He climbed to the step above her. The next thing she knew he had hooked his arm under her knees and carried her in silence up the remaining stairs to a bedchamber lit by a low-burning fire. She put her face to the crook of his throat, conscious of the muscular arms that supported her.
“That wasn’t necessary,” she said as he set her on her feet.
“It was. This is a labyrinth of a house, and you might have gotten lost. I know how you like to explore.”
“I’m not going anywhere tonight.”
“Not tomorrow, either, I expect.”
She waited, surreptitiously noting that he’d begun to remove his coat and vest. And that he was taking forever to make his next play. Was this his way of putting her at ease? It wasn’t working. She was trembling inside, dying for him to satisfy the longing he’d aroused in her.
“Did you enjoy the reception?” he asked. He dropped his coat on a cane-backed chair. His waistcoat followed. She glimpsed his bleached white shirt and the trim line of his breeches.
“Yes.” But not as much as she hoped to enjoy herself soon. And to breathe freely. She was slightly heavier than Isolde. The borrowed frock and long corset pressed into her ribs; the straps of her chemise had been pulled too tight, making her breasts swell. More than anything she wanted relief from the waiting that bound her nerves.
Simon appeared in no great hurry to celebrate their wedding night.
He motioned to a small table in front of the fireplace. Two uncorked bottles sat between a pair of large goblets and a bowl of imported oranges. She shifted her weight from one slipper to the other.
“Red or white?” he asked solicitously.
“Both. Neither. Well, perhaps.”
He reached down to the table, one heavy brow lifting, his head bowed. “You could have a sip of each.”
“I’ll wait, thank you.”
He turned and looked up slowly from the hem of her gown to her face. “I shouldn’t encourage you,” he said. “But you do look apprehensive.”
“Do I?”
“I hope I am not the cause of your vexation. Would you like me to peel you an orange?”
“Not at the moment,” she said, wondering if they would progress to something more intimate such as shaking hands. Quite frankly she’d thought that by now she would be in his bed, discovering uncensored secrets about him, and herself.
His hesitancy confounded her. Was it a strategy? A sign of consideration? She hadn’t expected such restraint from a man known for his amorous proclivities. Still, all the good manners in England could not mask his sexuality. He had the advantage even if to her bewilderment he had not used it.
She was ready to test his reputation for herself.
“Ravenna?”
&n
bsp; She blinked at the deep pitch of his voice and realized he was standing directly in front of her. He tucked his thumb under her chin. She hoped to heaven he wasn’t about to feed her some fruit. Jane had filled her head with romantic expectations of her bridal night, and not one had come true. What did she want? Him.
For a moment his gaze held no emotion whatsoever. In the next his eyes blazed through her veil of composure. Her knees bent. What chance of controlling herself did she have when his mere glance shattered her?
Had she misinterpreted his overtures? She had anticipated a decadent seduction, a farewell to her girlish inhibitions. She was prepared for almost anything except a bridegroom who was as formal and detached as a butler.
“Shall I ask one of the maids to prepare you for bed?” he said, maddeningly detached.
“I don’t need a maid to undress me,” she said in annoyance. “Do you need a valet?”
His mouth twitched. “Not tonight. What would you have me do?”
“How should I know? This is my first and presumably last wedding night. And you’re asking me if I want to be unlaced by a maid? I did not subvert the course of my life to languish in an unfamiliar chamber, as exquisitely furnished as it appears to be. You warned me that I was giving myself to a man who was prone to fits of passion.”
“In case it is not obvious, you have tempted me beyond what I can bear.”
“I would assume the opposite by your actions.”
He exhaled forcefully. “I am about to lose my sanity.”
“I haven’t done anything to incite you,” she said, although she might if he did not take action soon.
“That’s what alarms me,” he murmured. “God help me if you put your mind to it.”
“But you haven’t touched me, Simon. I understood that by now we were supposed to be … well.”
“Oh, we will.” He studied her closely, his eyes like obsidian. “The problem is that I am struggling with my conscience. I made you marry me.”
“I had a choice, albeit a slim one.”
“It doesn’t seem fair that I seduce you.”
“You promised you would,” she blurted out, her scalp tingling when she realized what she had confessed.
He narrowed his eyes. His knuckles stroked the arch of her throat. She felt hot, dizzy, embarrassed, on the verge of taking him by force until he said, “I need to know you want this. Ask me. Please. Ask.”
She shivered. “I just did. If you been paying attention, you’d realize that I have been virtually begging you all day. Make me your wife in the worldly sense, or I shall not be responsible for what happens tonight.”
It had taken her twenty-seven minutes to change into Isolde’s high-necked serge gown, worsted stockings, and boots. Simon divested her so efficiently of the garments he might have stitched every seam himself. His long fingers refused to recognize the limitations of hooks and eyelets. He strummed through her laces, pulled down the straps of her chemise to reveal her breasts. She felt her nipples tighten. He scrutinized every inch of her he uncovered. The appreciative gleam in his eyes made her feel as if she had been created for him.
His strong hands swept down her back with a confidence that brewed fire in her belly. He was a gorgeous demon from whose fingers leapt sparks. She flushed with the slow-burning heat of a woman ready to be taken.
She had believed that after her disgrace no decent man would marry her. Simon might have behaved indecently in the past. Now so would she.
“Come to my bed,” he said in a disarming voice that left her no further time to reflect on his latent talents. It appeared that a formidable element had been freed inside him and she was at last about to experience its force. Hidden fires could only be contained for so long.
He said, “Damn me, I can’t get these breeches off.”
She lowered her gaze as if she weren’t as curious to study him as he had her. His hand skimmed her breasts and she caught her breath in wonder. She hadn’t known she could feel so laid bare and brimming with excitement at the same time. When she raised her eyes to his, she knew she would offer him everything he needed, no matter how dark or unspeakable his needs might be. And she would take what she needed of him.
“You’re beautiful,” he said in a gravelly voice that scraped her nerves raw.
“So are you,” she whispered.
“I will teach you,” he said. “We will revel in every nuance of lovemaking. Soon you’ll become sensitive enough to feel my shadow over you while you sleep.”
20
His hopes for a perfect seduction went up in smoke. Which was not an altogether unpredictable outcome, considering the desire that had come to a boil between them. Taking a lady’s virginity, that of the woman he was to spend his life with, presented a delicate predicament.
He was thankful that he’d managed to remove her gown with a semblance of civility and had not torn off his shirt and smalls. He could only hope he would not damage his wife in the course of this long-awaited night. His body felt awkward and thick compared to the soft grace of hers. He would contrive for tenderness and understanding. Nevertheless, he pulsed with pure lust.
His adorable wife wanted him. She had granted him permission to please her. He wouldn’t be forced to ask for clemency or compromise. He would fall to his knees to thank her if he didn’t have other more desperate acts in mind.
“Do you need my help undoing your hair?” he asked rather disingenuously as she lifted her hand to the sleek knot at her nape. She shook her head, her blue eyes stormy and sensual. Pins dropped silently around her to the carpet like thorns springing up to guard a princess in her castle. Let each one pierce him. He couldn’t feel anything but need. Her dark curls tumbled to her hips. She crossed her arms belatedly over her breasts. He made out the rosy color and elongated shape of her nipples. His throat closed on a silent utterance.
His. Lovely and natural. He had captured her. Now what must he do to keep her? He’d wanted her for so long he was bereft of wiles. But not of instinct. His blood roiled in elation.
“Simon, you are staring.”
“Well, you are something to stare at.”
“Rhys told me I’m built like a bowling pin. Bigger below than above.”
“I beg to disagree,” he said, chuckling at the image. “You’re more beguiling than I ever dreamed. I’ve promised myself I would be gentle,” he added as he drew her slowly toward the bed.
“Explain that to my heart.”
In truth, his flesh and blood wife surpassed his secret yearnings. Her rounded belly and voluptuous hips more than aroused him. The imperfections she claimed unleashed potent fantasies in his mind. There wasn’t a smidge of her he didn’t intend to make his. Ravenna, unattainable and indifferent to his feelings, had been torture to ignore. Wanting her for years and letting her go had broken his heart. Now she stood before him in beckoning eagerness, and he was free to show her his love.
He cleared his throat, releasing her to apply his attention to removing his clothes. “Timpkins’s breeches are plastered to my crucial parts.”
“Shall I help?” she asked, her eyes downcast.
“Yes. Please. Why not? I welcome your touch.”
He bent. In awkward urgency they peeled off his shirt and recalcitrant breeches, pausing to kiss, to breathe. Ravenna chanced a glimpse at his hard torso, at his lean stomach. Why couldn’t she stare at him as he had her?
The sensation of his warm hand on her bare shoulder intruded on her speculations. He stroked her ribs and the curve of her belly. His touch might be refined. The fervor in her blood was anything but. That he could render her this willing to please him revealed his true power.
Perhaps that was why she had avoided him in the past. Simon had always seemed like he was guarding a locked door to his real self. What was it like within his world? Lonely? Full of shadows and yearning? If she remained outside, she would be safe. But she would never solve the enigma of the man who had become the most compelling figure in her life.
S
he needed to know everything about him.
“You used to terrify me slightly when we were younger,” she said between shallow breaths as he led her across the room.
“Now?” he asked in a low voice.
“A little,” she whispered as she fell beneath him on the bed.
“You terrify me, too, but I like the feeling.” As he spoke his fingers wandered down her stomach to her sex. She quivered in surprise. He waited a beat and eased one finger inside her. The pressure he exerted radiated to her core. Her body clenched in desperation as he stared down at her in moody absorption.
He leaned lower, rubbing the crest of his engorged cock across her belly. The sensation undid her. He kissed her again. His tongue slid in and out of her mouth in deep penetrating strokes, arousing an internal anarchy she could not quell. His finger distended her with tenderness, and yet she reveled in the hurt. Her hips rolled at the intrusion. Her sex throbbed and grew tight.
He whispered, “If I am to breach you with minimal distress, it helps that you are not tense and allow yourself to enjoy as much of this as possible.”
“Dear heaven.”
“Ask for what you want.” His voice was patient. “We have all night. And tomorrow. Forever, in fact. I await your lead, Ravenna.”
“What if I don’t want to wait another moment?”
His dark eyes traveled the length of her. “I would advise we not hurry this. I’m yours to command, of course.”
“I believe it’s the other way around.”
“What would please you?”
Her lips parted. She spread her thighs wider, offering herself to his perusal. “I want you to do things to me that I cannot name. I am in pain with these impulses.”
“Instincts,” he corrected her, studying her nakedness in unabashed fascination. She felt beautiful, mesmerized by his sultry stare.
“I want to please you,” she whispered. “I want you inside me.”
The Duke of a Thousand Desires Page 12