A Gentleman Never Surrenders

by Lauren Smith

“Breathe with me.” He dropped his head to kiss her again and when nothing happened, she relaxed and surrendered to the pleasure of his kiss. She wasn’t sure how long their mouths moved in harmony, but suddenly between one breath and the next, he had positioned his shaft at her entrance and thrust into her. The unexpected pressure and the stinging pain left her breathless. He moved out a little and she bit her lip, shutting her eyes.

  Breathe through the pain. She dug her nails into Owen’s shoulders.

  “Most of the pain is over,” he murmured, true apology in his eyes. “Just breathe and relax. After that there will be only pleasure.” He kissed her chin, then moved his lips down to her collarbone, then to her left breast. He nuzzled the peak and then sucked the nipple into his mouth. Milly moaned at the pleasurable delight of his mouth nibbling on so sensitive a part of her.

  One of his hands palmed her knee, moving up and down her outer thigh in soothing strokes. When he rocked forward again, the pain was more of a ghost than real, and a few seconds later she realized there was only a wild sense of need, that building pressure and ache that Owen’s body was satisfying. Each time he pumped into her, their pelvises touched and they were as close and connected as two beings could be.

  After that, she didn’t need words, nor did he. He captured her wrists on either side of her head, pinning them into the bedding. It left her helpless but excited as he thrust into her, harder, until she was on the edge, the force making them both gasp and share soft cries. Milly realized she liked the roughness, the way he claimed her, consumed her. Their eyes were locked; nothing else outside them existed. Nothing but their shared breaths, the point of connection between them and the ecstasy of his body atop hers. Everything in her splintered in bursts of endless pleasure. A cry left her lips and it merged with Owen’s hoarse shout of her name. Milly. She smiled, gasped for breath, and went utterly limp. Owen’s weight settled more firmly on top of her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked between his own ragged breaths, his hands still gripping her wrists, keeping her trapped, but she didn’t mind.

  “Y-yes.” She kept smiling and he grinned down at her.

  “Good. I was a little overeager and was afraid I’d been too rough.” He withdrew from her body, released her hands, and rolled off her. The instant loss of his body and heat, their connection, impacted her more than she wanted it to.

  “Is this the part where men usually leave their wives alone?” she asked, feeling very small and insignificant. She glanced down and played with a loose lock of her hair.

  Owen tipped her chin up and brushed the backs of his knuckles over her cheek, a tender smile flirting with his lips, as though he sensed her insecurity.

  “Usually, but not me. Why do you think I brought you to my bed? I’m not going anywhere.” He traced her lips with a fingertip, then kissed her thoroughly. That wonderful warmth spread through her all over again from just his kiss.

  “Get some sleep. Tomorrow we have much to do.” He tucked her body against his and she let him, loving the way he held her so close. He was the one comforting, familiar thing in the strange new world that was to be her home. She could let him hold her for one night. Surely it wouldn’t risk her heart, not one night…

  * * *

  Owen held on to Milly, counting her dark eyelashes and humming inside with pleasure as she surrendered to sleep in his arms and his bed. To woo a woman was easy, but to woo one’s own wife? That was another feat entirely. She was too skittish, ready to bolt at the first hint of being hurt. That was the last thing on earth he wished to do to her.

  She’d gotten hurt tonight. Losing her virginity hadn’t been painless, but she’d gotten through it, the poor girl. Now she was on the other side, a woman who’d tasted pleasure in a man’s arms.

  I just have to convince her to trust me. He’d known from the start she saw him as a ruthless fortune hunter bent only on taking a woman’s money. But that wasn’t who he was, not deep down, and he needed her to know the real him because if she did…she might come to love him, and that mattered. Life had forced him to marry for money but that’s not what he had truly ever wanted for himself. He didn’t want a loveless marriage like his parents had.

  She burrowed closer, clinging to him, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. The feel of her lying skin to skin with him was oddly harmonious, like a chord on a pianoforte. Different, yet when blended together, it felt right.

  “I want to keep you, Milly,” he whispered softly enough that she didn’t stir. “And what a challenge that will be, eh?” He knew enough of her now to realize tonight was only a small victory in the battle to win her. Milly was infinitely complex. Unbelievable lovemaking would not be enough to tame her or ease her fears of rejection or mockery. To woo her, he would need to be careful, considerate, kind, and yet never allow her to gain an inch in the battle that lay between them. If this was to be a happy marriage, he would have to get his wife to fall in love with him. A month ago, he would have laughed at the impossible task and walked away, but he couldn’t do that. Not after the promise he made to her father and the promise he made to himself.

  There will be happiness in this marriage.

  He tugged the blankets up around them and let sleep claim him. But the dreams were never far behind. The dreams of darker days and hellish nights during the war. Such things were always running just beneath the surface of his mind and in the corners of his heart.

  He’d only just closed his eyes when old memories surged up around him. Choking him.

  The blazing sun scorched his skin, the buzz of flies around the bodies, carrion birds hopping among the corpses, picking at decaying flesh. His own hands stained with blood, too slick to maintain the hold of his rifle. He clawed his way through the African underbrush, unable to see his troops. There was only blood and death…and silence. That was the worst part after a battle. When the crack of guns and boom of cannons had died and the fog of war had been blown away by the breeze…silence was all that was left. Owen tried to fight off the rising panic. His men had left him behind to die. He would die. A few more hours with no water, no food, no shelter from a merciless sun.

  “God forgive me for my sins,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

  Something jostled his shoulder and he jerked up violently, finding himself back in the dark firelight bedchamber of Wesden Heath. Not Africa. The war was over. His hands were clean. He lifted his palms up, studying them in the dim light.

  “What’s the matter?” Milly asked. “You were thrashing about in your sleep. Are you all right?”

  He braced his arms on his raised knees as he caught his breath. His lungs were still burning as though he’d been struggling for air.

  “It’s the—” He paused, realizing he’d been about to confess his deepest shame. He’d told her once before about the dreams, but he hadn’t told her how deeply they affected him. How he feared closing his eyes sometimes at night because he was terrified of what he would see. A man shouldn’t admit to fear, especially not to a woman. She would think he was incapable of protecting her.

  “What?” she pressed.

  “Just a dream,” he finally said. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “Just a dream?” Milly echoed. “It was a nightmare about the war, wasn’t it?”

  He couldn’t answer that; the admission would be too much of a weakness.

  An elegant hand settled on his shoulder, the touch sweet and comforting. When had any woman ever treated him like this? A touch that wasn’t meant to entice or seduce. It made him hungry for her even more, just thinking about the kind heart she kept hidden from the world beneath her tough exterior.

  I’m beginning to understand you, wife. He almost smiled. Almost. Instead he covered her hand with his, giving it a gentle squeeze before he let go.

  “You should try to sleep.” She stroked his hair out of his eyes and he sighed at the way it felt.

  “There can’t be any more nightmares,” she whispered close to his ear. “Not when you come home. This
is a safe place, your own room, your own bed.” She surprised him by placing a kiss on his cheek and then she pulled him back down in his bed beside her, curling her body around his.

  He did feel safe. As though her words had cast a spell over him, one of peace and trust.

  I’m home. Not in Africa. The war is over. I’m home. When he pulled the blankets back up, he rolled to face Milly. Her eyelids had fallen to half-mast and she put a fist over her mouth to stifle a little yawn.

  Was she afraid to be here? In a strange land, in a strange bed, with a stranger? The woman was so brave, and she was only doing her duty, as many hundreds of thousands of women had done before. How foolish he’d been to think women knew nothing of suffering or fear or sacrifice. And Milly hadn’t had to say a word to show him where her strength lay.

  “I’m so sorry I woke you.” He found himself apologizing again.

  “Don’t apologize,” she murmured sleepily. “I’m glad I could offer some comfort as you have done for me.”

  A thousand words rested on the tip of his tongue, but he had no bravery of his own to say them. Instead, he cupped her chin and lifted her face up to press a lingering kiss on her lips, savoring this quiet moment just between the two of them. Tomorrow would come soon enough and with it, another battle to win her heart.

  Chapter 10

  Are you trying to kill me, woman?” Owen’s harsh growl turned into a violent cough as a massive wave of dust swept across the room straight toward him. He blinked through bleary eyes at his wife. She was tugging a thick green baize curtain away from the tall windows of the library. Morning sunlight shot through the room, hitting the tall shelves and the rows of endless books. Motes of dust danced through the beams in the wake of Milly flinging curtains back.

  “I’m not trying to kill you. Don’t be so dramatic,” Milly muttered as she hauled back a large wicker rug beater and smacked the curtain. Another cloud of dust erupted around them. Milly didn’t cough. Owen stared at her. How the hell did she not cough? Then he realized her face was turning slightly red.

  “Best not to forget to breathe, sweetheart,” he added from a safe distance across the room because the glare she shot him assured him he would get swatted by the carpet beater if he was closer.

  She stepped back from the curtain and sighed. “Are you going to stand there or are you going to help me?”

  “I—”

  “And answer carefully, husband, because I will not be beating these curtains by myself.” She swung the wicker handle as effectively as a master fencer would his foil.

  Suddenly Owen burst out laughing. There was something utterly delightful in his beautiful wife wielding a carpet beater and threatening him while looking divine in little black boots; a full, dark blue silk skirt; and a white blouse. Her hair was catching the sunlight just right, the dust settling on the crown of her hair glinting like diamonds. Owen’s breath caught at the mixture of her glorious ferocity and beauty. She who must be obeyed…

  “What is so funny?” She smacked the curtain again before rounding on him. He dodged around the nearest reading table, careful to stay back in case she swung it at him.

  “You’re so fetching when you’re angry with me. Did you know that?” he teased, a wicked grin curving his lips.

  “Fetching? Owen, blast it! We’ve been cleaning this house for the last week and you’re thinking about how I look?”

  It was true. He was completely guilty of thinking of her and getting her back into bed. For the last seven days they had been working themselves to exhaustion each night, cleaning every inch of the house and putting it to rights, but they’d only done half the work and they hadn’t even started on the gardens. He usually prided himself on stamina but when they collapsed into bed, they went straight to sleep and it wasn’t until each following morning when he’d been able to take his time and make love to her. Milly climaxing beneath him in early morning sunlight was truly a thing of beauty. Of course the moment they started cleaning, he couldn’t help but quarrel with her, albeit with a small amount of amusement when they disagreed on almost everything. But, as he was happy to note, they were learning to talk to each other and figure out a mutual path, like partners rather than adversaries.

  “Milly, sweetheart, I fully admit that thinking about getting you flat on your back is the only thing that has crossed my mind since we left bed this morning.”

  A lock of hair escaped her elegant coiffure and fell into her eyes. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze softening.

  “Really?” she whispered.

  He sensed there was a danger to this answer, as though if he said sex was the only thing he thought about, it would upset her, but he knew that women also wanted to know they were desired. Deciding to brave his little harpy’s wrath, he walked around the table to gently take the beater from her. After it was deposited on the reading table, he cupped her face in his hands and leaned in to press a feathery kiss to her lips before speaking. He smiled when her lashes fluttered closed for a brief instant as she lost herself to his kiss.

  “My point is, you are all I think about, in bed and out. I haven’t had this much fun in ages; tearing through the house with you and spending time with you has been wonderful.”

  Her striking blue eyes widened and her lips parted. “You’re not just saying that? I thought I might have bored you when we were talking over supper last night.”

  “Bored me? Heavens no, I loved hearing you talk.”

  He’d listened to her talk for almost an hour about her dreams, about how she longed to teach underprivileged children, especially girls, to read. It had shocked him at first, to hear that a highborn woman of her pedigree would be interested in stooping to teaching village children, but then when he thought about it and her more closely, he realized he was understanding her better and better. She wanted freedom, she wanted a life outside of being a wife, and he couldn’t fault her for that. But she always wanted to give that freedom to other girls. Increasing literacy would certainly give those young children a chance to grow up and live better lives than their parents had. If someone had tried to clip his wings, he would have felt suffocated and he didn’t wish that fate upon anyone, especially not his wife.

  “I thoroughly enjoyed listening to you. You are free to always talk to me about anything.”

  She lowered her lashes and curled her fingers around his wrists as he still held her face in his hands. A blush stained her cheeks and she smiled. It was a warm smile, not a coy or cold one and it made his heart leap.

  I might stand a chance to win her after all…

  “Why don’t we leave the curtains for another day? I think we deserve a bit of a reprieve, don’t you?” He kissed the tip of her nose.

  “That would be nice,” she replied. Unable to still the excited beat of his heart, he curled an arm around her waist and escorted her from the library. Tonight, before dinner, he could return and collect a few books for her to read. He might just read them with her. For the first time in ages, Owen was struck by a sense of hope. Everything might yet turn out all right.

  I may have muddled the beginning but I believe things are finally going well.

  * * *

  “Good heavens, he is a shaggy little fellow, isn’t he?” Milly stayed a step or two behind Owen as they approached the plump, wooly coated sheep. They’d abandoned the library and the dusty curtains in favor of a walk outside for rest and fresh air.

  “He’s a fine example of the Cotswold lion.” Owen waved her to step closer.

  The sheep continued to munch on the plot of greenish brown grass about ten feet away.

  “And how many of these lions do you have roaming about the estate?” Milly tucked her scarf around her neck and dared to come closer.

  “We have close to a hundred here on Wesden property, and the tenant farmers on the surrounding lands have their own smaller flocks. It will likely grow in spring if the breeding is successful.” Owen turned back to her and walked over, offering the crook of his elbow to her. H
e’d shown her much of the house already in the last week while they were cleaning and she’d begun an official list of everything she found fault with that would need to be addressed. The house needed more servants, food in its larders, and the rooms redecorated. The list was endless.

  But she’d been surprised that he did in fact help her. She had expected him to leave her alone after their first night in bed and run off to London to escape the backbreaking work of fixing Wesden Heath. Yet he’d stayed…For an entire week they had worked together, side by side, often fighting, but eventually coming to an agreement and fixing whatever they were trying to repair.

  Being around Owen was no longer a chore, nor did it make her nervous. She was feeling more relaxed and more herself than she had in a long time. And in the morning…when he made love to her, it left her giddy and blushing like a schoolgirl but she couldn’t help it. Part of her was afraid to trust this growing affection she had for him, but she also knew it was inevitable—she was going to fall in love with her husband. She buried the fear of losing her freedom and control of her life each time he smiled at her and kissed her.

  “We could go into town if you like. The ride is quite pleasant.”

  He didn’t own a car—only hired one when he needed it—but Milly knew they could certainly afford one now; she’d have to find a clever way of convincing him of this. Despite his need for her money, she sensed he was a bit of a slim spender.

  “I’d like that. It has been ages since I’ve been on a horse.”

  She and Owen walked back across the fields, reaching a waist-high stone wall. He easily hopped the wall and then reached back over to pick her up by the waist, carrying her across the fence and then setting her down. All of the practical skirts she’d packed were most useful. Sadly, she guessed her lovely gowns for evening balls would rarely be worn. Such a pity, she did so love balls, even though she’d had no real chance to enjoy them. Avoiding suitors had been necessary but it had deprived her of the joys of dancing, laughing, being herself.