He gave a low chuckle and caught her in an embrace, pushing her legs wider with his knees. She let go of the headboard and clung to him, having reached the limits of her submission. When he pressed inside her she thought she would lose her mind from the hot, tight pleasure, and his lustful force as he buried himself to the hilt. She clenched around him, hooking her legs behind his hips. He took her deep and hard, squeezing her sore, punished buttocks as he moved against her.
“Is this what you wanted?” he asked in between thrusts. “Your husband’s cock filling you up?”
“Yes, you knew I did,” she said a bit accusingly.
He grinned as he thrust in her again. “We’ll have to practice the art of naughty talk at some later date.”
Josephine didn’t want to practice anything at the moment, except finding her release after so much teasing. Warren drove her across the bed, pinching, sucking, pounding into her, and she clung to him, arching her hips to take him deeper. He withdrew with a growl and flipped her over. She nearly toppled off the bed, but he gripped her about the waist and set her on her hands and knees.
“Don’t stop,” she cried. “Oh, please touch me. Please hold me.”
He kissed her shoulder and her nape, and licked the racing pulse at her neck as he twisted his fingers in her hair. “I’ve got you. I’ve no intention of stopping now.” He slid his other hand down to stroke her quim, teasing her to a frenzied peak. She ought not to like such abandoned and animalistic activities. What did it say about her, that the more wantonly they coupled, the more pleasure she felt? She clenched around his hot, thick length, begging for more. Begging him to go deeper, and faster. When she finally peaked, he smacked her hot, reddened bottom in time with the pulses of her satisfaction.
It both thrilled and terrified her, the way she gave herself up to pure debauchery, and the possessive urgency of his will.
Chapter Nine: Confidences
By the time they arrived back to the Baxters’ manor, all the house guests were gone. Josephine was glad. She couldn’t have faced any of them after the way she’d spent the last few days. Or the last few miles in the carriage before they arrived, for that matter. She thought the evidence of Lord Warren’s carnalities must be written all over her, on her lips and hands and bottom and knees. He enticed her to do such bawdy things, things she would never have imagined. What if they knew?
But of course no one knew. Lord Baxter greeted them cheerfully and Lady Baxter gave her a hug and a kiss and exclaimed that she looked very well. Minette squealed at her new lavender gown and hugged her hard, and hugged her brother too, before launching into all the news they had missed after leaving the house party. It was only Josephine who thought of hot skin and whispers, and her husband’s hands directing her, his persistent fingers touching her just so. She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it, even through dinner and a quiet evening with Minette and Lady Baxter in the drawing room.
The next morning, they said their farewells and set out for his Park Street address in London. She and Minette traveled in the first carriage, while Lord Warren elected to ride his horse alongside. Now and again she could hear his voice over the road noise as he exchanged words with the grooms, or gave one of his boisterous laughs.
When she wasn’t straining to hear him, she was staring at the opposite bench, where her husband had bent her over and done lascivious things during their journey from Warren Manor. Her cheeks flushed hot from the memories of kisses and caresses, and wild sexual congress. Minette kept up a steady stream of conversation, mainly concerning her brother. She seemed oblivious to Josephine’s fidgeting and her mental preoccupation.
“His real name is Idylwild, did you know that?” asked Minette. “Some people call him Wild instead. I’m sure he’s told you by now. As long as I’ve known him he’s been Lord Warren, so of course that’s all I call him, which is just as well since Idylwild is a ridiculous name. Nearly as ridiculous as Wilhelmina, but not quite. That’s my real name, you know, but I couldn’t say it as a child, and what I could say sounded something like Minette, and so that’s how I began to be known. I was so silly a girl, and Warren such a saint for putting up with me.”
Josephine blinked, trying to follow the tumbling stream of Minette’s words. “Did your brother raise you, then? Wouldn’t he have been too young?”
“Oh, I had nannies and aunties and tutors and a guardian who was just the thing, but Warren was my brother and I can never…” She stopped, putting a finger to her cheek. “Honestly, I can never remember a time he wasn’t looking out for me. He hovered terribly and did everything for me, playing both mother and father. He taught me to read and to dance, and to mind my manners. I even remember him putting up my hair when the maids became cross with my curls.”
Josephine recalled his unusual deftness with her hair pins—and her hair brush—and thought perhaps this explained it, along with a great many other things. “I think your brother likes to concern himself with others,” she said. “He’s very responsible.”
Minette laughed out loud. “Warren, responsible? He’s been nothing but a gadabout these past few years, but if you’ve awakened some sense of responsibility in him, I can only thank you for it.” She squeezed Josephine’s arm. “I know you didn’t really want to marry my brother, but I hope things will work out for the best.”
Josephine caught a glimpse of him outside the coach, capable and confident atop his dark stallion. He wore his traveling coat and buff breeches rather than his more formal finery, but looked no less handsome. “I hope for the best too,” she said. “But we’re very different.”
“Why, how sad you look. What has my brother done? Has he hurt your feelings? Men can be so clumsy at times.”
“He hasn’t hurt my feelings. He’s only rather…commanding. He does what he likes, and no one can tell him no.”
Minette made a soft, sympathetic tsk. “That does sound a bit like my brother.”
“He says he’s going to arrange a ball when we return to London, to introduce me to everyone and lend respectability to our match.”
Minette bounced on the seat as she clapped her hands. “How splendid! I love balls, and it will be just the thing. Warren is such a crack at navigating the social waters. He knows ever so many people and they all like him. He’s perfectly right, a grand ball will silence those who might gossip about your quick wedding, and cast your marriage in a less than positive light.”
“I don’t know.” Josephine gripped her hands so tightly together that her fingernails dug into her palms. “Is it necessary to throw some showy ball only because of gossip?”
“Well…” Minette toyed with her fan. “I do think so, in this case. Lord Stafford was piqued to lose you to Warren, and he said ridiculous things about the two of you. Not that anyone believed they were true, but there you are. No, don’t frown, I can’t bear it. No one thought Stafford’s whispers anything more than petty jealousy, but a ball will be just the thing to make him shut his mouth.”
Josephine was disconcerted that Minette seemed squarely on her brother’s side. From the moment he’d begun talking about this grand gathering, she’d been afflicted with a stifling sense of dread. “I feel terrible that your brother must go to all the expense and trouble of a ball.”
“You mustn’t worry about the expense,” Minette said with a flick of her fingers. “Warren is rich as anything, and as for the trouble, he keeps an army of servants at Park Street who know how to deal with every sort of entertainment. He’s probably already written them, so they can get things in hand.”
“But I would rather not have this ball,” Josephine said. “I really would rather not.”
Minette studied her in obvious puzzlement. “Why? Is it that you have nothing to wear? I have ever so many formal gowns, more than anyone needs, and we’re the same size. I would be thrilled to share anything in my dressing room with you. Warren has always spoiled me beyond measure. You should see all the bonnets and shoes. I wonder if you could wear my shoes?” Mine
Josephine wasn’t sure about that. They’d only been married a week and he’d already spanked her twice for peevish behavior. She looked out at him again, and an uneasy awareness fluttered inside her, sin-hazed memories of the things he’d done to her after he spanked her, things that made her ache and thrill at the same time. She couldn’t confide in Minette about that, no matter how easy-going she was. She couldn’t confide in anyone about the things Warren did to her.
This whole matter of marital rights had turned her world on its ear, and now her husband intended to throw her into further panic by planning this ball and inviting everyone in the whole world who was more polished and dignified than her.
“Will you help me convince him to wait just a little longer?” she begged Minette. “You’re his sister. Can’t you make him see that it’s too soon for this ball? That I don’t wish to be put to such scrutiny? I don’t— I can’t— I can’t bear for everyone to come gawk at us as if our marriage is the curiosity of the week.”
“But if you don’t let them come, they will exchange tales behind your back, and Warren won’t like that.” She spoke in her brightest, most encouraging tone. “Really, it won’t be bad at all. Warren throws the most famous routs. People come calling like crazy and practically kill one another to get invitations, and then the night of the ball, you wouldn’t believe how the carriages line up. So many people crush into the ballroom that one can barely move. There is so much chatter and merriment, and fine food and music…” Her smile faded under the weight of Josephine’s frown. “But if you really don’t wish to have a ball so early in the season, perhaps it can be put off. I’ll try to talk to him.”
Josephine squeezed Minette’s hand. “Thank you. I’m simply not ready yet.”
“He’ll understand, I’m sure. Sometimes if I pester him enough, he gives in to me.”
Josephine couldn’t imagine Lord Warren giving in to anyone, except perhaps Minette, with her impish charm. “I’m so glad we’re sisters now,” Josephine said, meaning every word. “I’ve never had a sister and I’ve always wanted one.”
“I’ve always wished for a sister too.” Minette grinned. “We’ll have the best time together, won’t we? We’ll go to the shops together, and take tea, and go calling on our friends. We’ll share all our confidences and trials, and when we’re feeling down, we’ll cheer one another up.”
“You have a talent for cheerfulness, I think.”
Minette winked at her. “I’m often told I do.”
Either the road had improved, or Josephine had finally grown used to the bobbles and rumbles of the carriage, because she began to feel less tense. She took care not to look out at Lord Warren since it only brought agitation, and instead focused on her sister-in-law.
“If we’re to be so close, Minette, you must tell me a confidence now, to pass the time. What are your dreams? Who would you like to marry? Is there a gentleman of the ton who holds your heart?”
Minette ducked her head, rendered speechless for the first time Josephine could remember since making her acquaintance.
“There is one particular gentleman,” she finally admitted, with a bashful twitch of her skirts. “I’ve admired him forever.”
“Oh, how wonderful. Does he know? Have you declared yourself to him?”
“That isn’t done,” said Minette, giggling. “It’s too forward for a woman to declare her love to a man. And anyway, he would only laugh at me. He thinks I’m a silly chit.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t think that.”
“He most certainly does. He’s said so plenty of times.”
Josephine gaped at her. “I can’t believe it. And I can’t believe you would admire anyone so rude.”
“I wish I didn’t admire him, but I do. He’s strong and strikingly handsome, and he has this way of speaking that’s ever so manly and gruff. He has beautiful, thick, ebony black hair and a fantastic sense of humor, when it’s not turned upon me, of course. And he’s rich and haughty and is to be a marquess someday. He’s perhaps…well…a bit of a rake, but not so very bad that he’s outside the bounds. He’s only waiting for a wife to make him settle down. But it can’t be me. He wouldn’t want me, and I’m too young for him at any rate.”
Josephine thought this gentleman sounded horrible, and was rather glad he didn’t want Minette. “I don’t think you’re a silly chit at all,” she said. “I disagree with this person, whoever he is. I hope you will seek a better match. All the gentlemen seem to clamor around you, so you can afford to be selective. You might even marry for love, if you believe in such a thing.”
“Of course I believe in love,” said Minette. “Someday I’ll find my very dream of a husband. Our eyes will meet and our souls will come together in recognition. Does that sound too much like a romantic novel? Warren says I shouldn’t read them, but they help pass the time until my true love presents himself.”
“Your true love…” Josephine echoed, thinking Minette both naive and adorably sweet. What a good wife she’d make for someone, with her cheery disposition and firm grasp of etiquette. Minette wouldn’t need to be spanked for sulking, or lectured for her shortcomings.
“And he’ll be strong and patient, and loving and kind,” Minette went on, enumerating all her true love’s qualities. “And passionate, of course, when we’re alone.”
“Oh my.” Josephine thought of Warren’s lips, and hands, and the thick, hot part of him that invaded her body. Did Minette know of such things? Probably not. She was still unwed, and seemed as innocent as a pale pink rose. Going by Minette’s requirements, Lord Warren was a “dream of a husband.” He was passionate. He was strong and loving and kind, even when Josephine tested his patience. Even when he turned her over his knee and spanked her, he held her afterward and stroked her hair and comforted her until she felt peaceful again. Josephine looked out the window to find him, but he wasn’t within view.
“Now you must tell me a confidence,” Minette urged as Josephine’s silence drew out. “A secret no one else knows. I promise I’ll never tell anyone.”
Josephine thought a moment. There were so many secrets she wanted to tell. Like, I’m afraid of everything.
I’m afraid of people hating me, but I’m also afraid to be loved.
I dream almost every night about a tiger chasing me, ready to pounce, breathing down my neck.
I’m a baroness, but only of a paltry and run down estate.
I’m afraid of wearing colorful things and being noted, and exposed for who I am. I’m afraid of admitting the reasons behind my fears.
I’m afraid I’m falling in love with your brother.
But in the end, all she said was, “Blackcurrant tea is my very favorite thing to drink.” Because that seemed safer, and had nothing at all to do with her heart.
*** *** ***
When he was a bachelor, Warren had rarely eaten in his formal dining room. He’d sometimes sat with Minette so she would not have to eat alone, but he’d felt no sense of pride or family, only a nagging wish to be elsewhere, in his clubs or pleasure parlors, or calling on his friends.
So it was a novel experience to sit at the head of the table and dine with Minette on his left side and Josephine on his right, in the fashion of a family man. The food was exquisitely prepared, as always, and the servants seemed puffed up with the honor of the house. He contributed politely to the conversation, although it was dominated by Minette. His wife seemed to have taken a liking to his sister; in fact the two of them joined together to oppose him when he brought up the subject of the ball.
“It’s so early in the season,” Minette said. “I don’t see why we can’t wait a while, until Josephine is more settled.”
“You know why we can’t wait,” he replied, looking at both women. “The speculation must be put to rest, for my honor and Josephine’s, and Lord Baxter’s. And I don’t see that a grand entertainment with music and dancing is such a trial, whenever it happens.”
He steered the conversation to safer ground, asking Josephine if she was pleased with her new London residence. She answered politely that it already felt like home. He noticed that she didn’t eat with much appetite, so he hesitated to bring up his next topic—the procurement of her new wardrobe. Four gowns, no matter how beautiful, would not be enough for a countess’s needs. If he had his wish, she’d commission frocks and fripperies in all sorts of sensual colors, dusty rose, sea green, sapphire blue. Such colors seemed most suited to the secret Josephine he knew, the sensual, wild Josephine he coaxed to life during private times.
He cleared his throat and signaled for the dessert course. Now was not the ideal time to recall heated, intimate adventurings with his wife. As the footmen dashed off with the dinner plates, he heard familiar male voices from the hall. It seemed his friends Lord Augustine and the Duke of Arlington had finally returned from Bath.
“There’s no need to announce us, old chap,” said August to Shelton, the butler. “He knows who we are.”
Warren heard Shelton’s quiet tones, saw the butler heroically trying to impede August and Arlington from intruding on their dinner.
“It’s all right,” said Warren. “Let them come. We’re just finishing dessert. Would the two of you care to join us?”
His friends accepted the offer, and tucked into an assortment of sweets and cakes as they seated themselves beside the women. Such goings on were typical in his bachelor household, but Warren could feel the subtle disapproval of the servants at this careless etiquette. There was nothing to do for it. Once his friends were back in town, nothing would stop them from coming to see him. August was a dark and brooding sort of rogue, while Arlington seduced the ladies with impeccable manners and rakishly tousled golden-blond hair. They doubtless wished to invite him out for the night, so they might make their usual rounds of debauchery.
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