by Jane Goodger
The journey from St. Ives to Cumbria was long and tiring and fraught with tension, as Clara wondered when—or if—Nathaniel would demand his husbandly rights. He had tried, that first night in London, but Clara had tensed and he had stepped back, his expression unreadable.
“We’ll wait ’til we get home to Lion’s Gate, shall we?” he’d asked, giving her a brief and entirely unconvincing smile. And when she’d quickly agreed, she couldn’t help but notice he seemed disappointed. She was a bit disappointed, too, but couldn’t find a way to bridge the gap that had sprung up between them the day she’d discovered his true identity.
Since then, he’d been a polite acquaintance, as if he didn’t know what to do with her now that he had her. They were strangers. The one thing that had brought them together—her garden—was now gone. What did they have to talk about if not their plans?
Seeing the terrible state of Lion’s Gate’s grounds gave Clara a bit of hope. Perhaps their conversations could begin with the garden and then move on to other topics. She knew little about her husband other than that he was quite good at lying and was a baron. Just that thought brought back all those ugly feelings she’d been fighting each day since he’d asked for her hand.
“I know what you are thinking,” he said, gazing out the carriage window with a frown. “But now perhaps you will understand my desperation.”
Perhaps she would. Nathaniel had apologized for his behavior, more than once, and she was beginning to feel like a shrew.
“I understand everything,” she said, then paused. “The garden needs work, does it not?”
He nodded solemnly. “It does. Everything needs work. I knew it was in disrepair, but it somehow seems worse now that it’s spring. I cannot afford a gardener, and repairs to the house will have to wait until other, more pressing, matters are taken care of. The corn mill, the steelworks.” He let out a sound of frustration. “Shall we go in? Perhaps Mr. Standard has performed a miracle.”
Mr. Standard had not performed a miracle. He met them at the door, a panicked looked on his face, and it almost seemed to Nathaniel that he meant to stop them from entering. Instead, the butler forced the door open more fully, then stepped back and said, “Welcome home, my lord, my lady.”
The door had not been repaired, obviously, and the two had to enter the house by stepping sideways. At least the leaves had been swept from the entryway and the long strands of cobwebs had been removed from the ceiling and light fixtures. Inside, the house was cold and dark and he could detect a lingering smell from the fire. Nathaniel wondered if it would be better for his new bride if they simply stayed at a local inn rather than the house.
For her part, Clara entered the foyer with caution and looked about, a bewildered expression on her face.
“Has no one lived here?”
“My grandfather did until he died, but he occupied only one room on the second floor. Most other rooms have gone unused for decades.”
“We did our best, sir, but it took some time to find any locals willing to come all this way and back each day. The servants’ quarters are uninhabitable, you see. A family of red squirrels seems to have taken up residence, and at some point there were bats. And the guano that accompanies such creatures.”
Nathaniel tightened his jaw, embarrassed to have brought Clara to this home when she’d come from one far better. “We shall depart immediately for the village,” he said. “You have done your best, Mr. Standard, but I fear I didn’t realize the extent of disrepair.”
He began to leave, but Clara placed a hand on his arm. He wasn’t certain why that simple touch affected him so; perhaps it was because it was the first time she’d touched him since their marriage other than to be assisted up and down carriage steps. “I’m not afraid of squirrels.”
He looked down into her face and tried to read her lovely blue eyes, those eyes he’d found so fascinating since that first day in the garden. “What about guano?”
“I have managed to clean your rooms, sir,” Mr. Standard said hastily. “New linens, a fire in the grate. The maids have done an admirable job, sir. As it’s Sunday, they are home, but you can meet them tomorrow and see for yourself how hardworking they are.”
“I’ve no doubt, Mr. Standard. Very well, show me the rooms. We’ll make the best, shall we? After all, I managed to do quite well living in the back of a shed.” He turned to see if his comment had elicited a smile from his wife, but found that she was frowning, as she was wont to do whenever he referred to the past, no matter how obliquely.
After some consideration, Nathaniel had opted not to use his grandfather’s rooms until they were renovated. When he moved into them eventually, he did not want to have any sad reminders of the only relative in his memory who had ever cared for him. Instead, he’d moved into his old rooms, on the opposite side from his grandfather’s suite of rooms, and Clara had been placed in the adjoining suite. He prayed Mr. Standard was being truthful when he’d said the rooms were well prepared.
Clara preceded him up the stairs, and he laid a hand at the small of her back, more because he could hardly resist touching her than to assist her. He’d felt a bit crazed when he’d suggested they wait to consummate their marriage and she’d readily agreed. She’d agreed so quickly, in fact, that he’d been left reeling. Did she not welcome his touch anymore?
“Please show the countess her rooms first, Mr. Standard.”
The butler nodded, proceeded down the hall, then opened the door with a flourish, revealing a brightly lit room that was, Nathaniel had to admit, breathtaking. Mr. Standard had, indeed, created a miracle.
Clara let out a delighted gasp and walked to the middle of the sitting room, decorated in soft pinks and yellows and immaculately clean. The curtains had been pulled back to reveal what was an impressive view of the gardens, which would give her delight when they were properly cared for. Of course, she went directly to the window and looked out for a long moment. So long, in fact, that Nathaniel began to wonder if she disliked what she saw.
But when she turned about, her eyes were alight and she was smiling in a way he hadn’t seen in far too long. “Mr. Standard, it’s lovely. When the maids return tomorrow, please do bring them up so that I may thank them personally.” With that, she walked quickly to her bedroom, and Nathaniel followed, relief that she was pleased making his steps a bit lighter.
When he entered, he found Clara sitting on the bed, bouncing up and down a bit, and caressing the thick coverlet that covered the large four-poster. Nathaniel turned to Mr. Standard so quickly, he nearly struck the man by mistake. “That is all for now, Mr. Standard. I’ll view my room later.”
The young butler’s eyes widened imperceptibly and Nathaniel had to give the man credit for simply nodding and leaving the room.
He was only a man, and his wife, his beautiful and still virginal wife was sitting on a bed. What else was he to do?
Shutting the door, he ignored a small sound from Clara, a sound that might be either excitement or outrage. Or fear.
Nathaniel turned and leaned against the door, his hands on either side, pressing against the wood as if Mr. Standard might barge back in. Clara’s eyes widened and she sat still, her gaze unwavering.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
A fair enough question. What the bloody hell was he doing? He didn’t know. He only knew that she had to stop looking at him as if he were a villain. She had to love him again. She had to. Without knowing what he planned to do, he walked toward her, his eyes never leaving hers, and when he reached her, he dropped to his knees and laid his head in her lap, his hands clutching her skirts on either side.
“You must forgive me.” The words felt wrenched from his throat and he swallowed convulsively. For a long, terrible moment, he stayed like that, hands buried in the soft muslin of her skirts, head pressed against her thighs, while she remained stiff and still.
And then, he felt her hand atop his head, a soft caress, and he squeezed his eyes shut, silently thanking God that she hadn’t shoved him off.
“I forgive you.” He looked up at her, studied her face, and saw tears in her eyes. “I love you,” she choked out. “Even though you are a horrid, horrid man who did the most despicable thing and don’t deserve my love.”
He smiled. “I thought you said you forgive me.”
Clara let out a watery laugh, then placed her hands on either side of his face and gave him a little shake. “I do forgive you but I’m still so angry. Each time I think about it, picture you there in the garden, I just want to throttle you.”
“If I let you throttle me, will you feel better?”
She tilted her head. “I do believe I would feel better. How does one go about throttling another?”
“Like this,” he said, quickly jumping to his feet and kissing his wife the way he’d wanted to since the day she’d stood there, fiercely angry, having just thrown a diamond worth a fortune at his head. God, she tasted good, felt good. Clara placed her hands against his chest and he thought she might push him back, but instead, she clutched at his lapels and let out a sound—half anger, half desire. And then, she loosened her death grip on his jacket and flung her arms around his neck and Nathaniel knew he’d just gotten his girl back.
“I’m still angry,” she said breathlessly as he made a trail of kisses from her mouth to her jaw and then to her smooth, sensitive neck.
“I know. You kiss rather well when you’re angry,” he said, chuckling when she let out a growling sound. It was an adorable, womanly growl that he found rather delightful. “Shall we get undressed so I may ravish you properly?”
She gave him a wide-eyed look of innocence. “But I have no maid.” Jeanine, soon to marry, had remained behind.
He waggled his brows at her. “I do believe I can act the lady’s maid for this one day.” He placed a kiss just where a small bit of cleavage showed above her modest gown. “I did rather well before, as I recall.” He pulled away reluctantly and held out his hand for her to take, which she did without the slightest bit of hesitation. This day was getting better by the second, he thought.
“Turn around, my lady—” He was struck by the sudden realization that facing him was a daunting task of unbuttoning tiny seed pearls that ran from her neck to her waist. He began fumbling with them, his hands shaking a bit in his haste. “How much do you like this dress?” he asked casually.
She turned her head slightly, but he could see a small smile on her beautiful mouth. “Not all that much.”
The final “ch” sound had not yet been uttered when he rent the dress in two with a satisfying rip that exposed her lovely back, now covered only with a chemise, corset, and corset cover and God and her maid only knew what else. “I give up,” he said, then spun her around and gently pulled the dress down, relishing in her curves and the sound of her quick breaths. While he was busy with that, Clara tackled the ties and laces that held the rest of her clothing together, and before he knew it, she was standing there only in her shoes, stockings, and bloomers. Without warning, he lifted her and tossed her onto the bed, her breasts bouncing enticingly, and made quick work of the shoes and bloomers, but taking a bit more time with her stockings. They were the finest silk and looked rather lovely on her divine long limbs.
And then she was naked, lying in the middle of the bed, the soft curls at the apex of her thighs, slightly darker than the ones on her head, exposed to his hungry gaze. “You are the loveliest vision I have ever seen in my life,” he said, hardly recognizing his own voice. Her skin was white and smooth, like a rose petal dipped in sweet cream.
When Nathaniel had been a boy, he and his friends would run to the nearest pond on a hot summer day and undress, leaving behind a trail of clothing until they were completely naked when they reached the edge of the lake. He’d always been good about stripping down quickly, but never in his life had he discarded his clothing as quickly as he did that day. By the time his smalls were off, Clara was laughing—a laugh that quickly ended when he stood up.
“Oh,” she breathed, but Nathaniel wasn’t sure what that single syllable meant. He hoped it meant she liked what she saw, but as a virgin, he realized she might not have any comparison to make. Of course, his member was erect, and that might be an unsettling sight to a girl who had so little experience.
“Here I am,” he said, glancing down at his cock, which he had to admit looked a bit red and angry at the moment. And large. He was a large man, overall, and this part of him was no exception.
Clara darted a quick look at his male appendage. “There you are. Goodness.” His low chuckle drew her gaze to his face and she couldn’t help but smile. “We are both quite naked, it seems. In broad daylight, no less. I’ve heard that is not the done thing.”
“I am the lord of this house and I say it is precisely the done thing. Besides, I could hardly wait until darkness falls. I’m about to die from wanting you.”
Clara pressed her lips together in a failed attempt not to smile. “I shouldn’t want you to die. I’m feeling a bit faint myself.”
He laughed aloud at that, then, without warning, threw himself on the bed beside her and propped his head up with one fist while the other he laid gently on her stomach, just above her navel. Yes, they were naked, and yes, they were about to make love for the first time, but that hand on her tummy, gentle and light, for some reason put Clara at ease. It felt right, having his large hand splayed across her midriff.
“Do you remember when I had to leave St. Ives for an emergency? How I touched you?”
“I do. What was the emergency, if I might ask?” She felt him tense and suspected it had something to do with his being a baron, so put on a scowl, one he immediately erased with a searing kiss.
“Did you smell smoke when we arrived? That night, I received a telegram stating there had been a fire. Fortunately, damage was minimal.” He kissed her again as if unable to stop himself. “Enough of that, my wife. Do you remember how you felt?”
She nodded, awash with the memories of all the delightful sensations he was able to produce.
“I shall endeavor to make you feel that way again, and then, my love, I shall endeavor to make myself feel that way.” He paused and kissed her cheek and then laid a gentle kiss on one breast; he moved down further and drew her already hardened nipple into his mouth. Yes, she remembered this feeling, this unbelievable sensation that centered between her legs. Already, she could feel herself going languid in preparation for what was to come.
“Yes,” she whispered, as he teased her other nipple with his fingers. He had only touched her this way once, but it seemed so natural, so familiar. So right. She laid a hand on his shoulder, felt his strength, his raw masculinity, and closed her eyes, losing herself in the sensations of lying with a man, hearing his harsh breath, inhaling his scent. His hand drifted down, tickling her, and Clara couldn’t help but tense and giggle.
She felt rather than heard his chuckle, a deep vibration in his chest, and then he placed his hand against the apex of her thighs, applying subtle pressure. “You are wet for me,” he said, bringing his head up to gaze down at her.
“I am.” It was slightly embarrassing, this thing her body did whenever she was around him. Even when he was not kissing her, touching her, just being with him made her body react and ready itself for him.
He moved his hand slightly, one finger searching, and he let out a sound of male satisfaction when he found her sensitive spot, that wondrous bud where everything seemed to center in warm delicious sensation. “Someday, I am going to kiss you there,” he said, his voice sounding oddly strained. “Someday, I am going to kiss every inch of your luscious body. But today, my love, today I don’t think I will last past touching you.” He pressed his manhood against her thigh and began rhythmic movements until he stopped, his body tense and trembling beside he
r. “You’re too damned beautiful.”
In an almost desperate way, he suckled her nipples, first one, then the other, while at the same time working his hand between her legs, and Clara knew her release was coming, fast and powerful, until all she could do was lose herself, push her hips up and against his hand. It came then, that powerful moment when everything disappeared but the pleasure that pulsed through her entire body. She was still pulsing, still reveling in what he’d done, when he moved between her legs.
Nathaniel braced himself over her, his body bathed in sweat, his eyes intense on hers. With one hand, he guided himself to her entrance. “I am sorry if this hurts, but God, Clara, I cannot wait.” He pushed his member inside her, slowly, and stopped, letting out harsh breaths as he encountered her barrier. He kissed her, almost harshly, then pushed all the way, sliding in and filling her. Clara tensed, waiting for the pain that was supposed to come, but nearly laughed aloud when all she felt was a mild twinge, far less pain than even her monthlies.
“It only hurt a bit,” she said, lifting up her head and kissing him.
He let out a low moan and starting moving, creating a rhythm that started off slowly at first, but soon became almost frantic, and Clara knew he was near to finding his own release. Without thinking, she lifted her hips and wrapped her thighs around him, drawing him in, losing herself to the rhythm he was creating. When she did that, his hips quickened, and then he arched his back, his neck muscles strained, his handsome face ravaged with pleasure as he found heaven too.
When Nathaniel’s breathing became more normal, he started laughing and Clara joined in. “That was lovely,” he said. He eased off her and lay back, his chest still heaving from their love-making. “And it will only be better next time,” he said, a bit of wonder in his tone. “You are miraculous.”