by Julia Donner
“Yes, ma’am, in that he is entirely correct.”
Gordon took her arm, saying to Showers, “I may yet have you fired.”
“You could call me an ungrateful worm, sir, and it would still come to naught. Mrs. Treadwell, I believe all of the guests have been seated.”
How she loathed parties of any sort, but it must be gotten done and gotten through. She could entertain herself with problems yet to be solved. There was the ongoing concern that it might be necessary to beguile her husband in order to keep her secrets secret. Now that she’d met Sir Charles, she didn’t like the idea of him feeling disappointed in her. If he wanted an heir, it would be done. And honesty compelled her to no small amount of curiosity to learn first hand what all the fuss was about. Her husband had to know something constructive regarding the matter, if his reputation for his interest and regular attention to widows were true. Fascination with the subject and upcoming event preoccupied her thoughts as a plate with seed cake was set before her, one of Mrs. Grant’s specialties. She picked up a fork and paused.
And I can’t wait to eat up every delicious inch of you.
Those words had kept her awake, restless for she knew not what. But of course she did. She no longer cared if he were merely pandering to her vulnerability or if it was the sort of thing he said to all of his lovers. Well, perhaps it did cause a bit of a twinge to think of him saying that to another.
The bridegroom leaned over to pour more wine and say in a seductively low voice, “I’ve neglected to tell you how marvelous you looked coming down the aisle. No bride could ever be more lovely. And tempting.”
She blinked, then coughed to cover a nervous laugh. “Thank you.”
He handed her the filled wine glass. “Gordon.”
“What?”
“Thank you, Gordon.”
“Oh! Yes, of course. Thank you, Gordon.”
She exhaled trapped breath when he leaned back in his chair. She glanced around the room dotted with tables and chatting guests, who appeared to be enjoying themselves while they watched the bride and groom. She suddenly recalled that there had been a sedate patter of applause when she and Gordon had entered. Perhaps they weren’t here to snicker behind their hands and fans at her or to feel sorry for Gordon’s predicament.
Adele said, “Your friend, Mr. Arbothnot, is showing a marked interest in my friend, Miss Percival.”
Munching on a biscuit he’d snatched from a tray, he scanned the table then replied, “Oh, do you mean Tookie? He’s been smitten since the first time he saw her. He knows there’s no chance, but that doesn’t stop him from mooning over her.”
A flash of gooseflesh rose on her arms when he leaned close to whisper against her ear, his breath warm on her neck. “I forgot to mention that Father has gifted us with a house in the country. I’ve told everyone that we are honeymooning there. We don’t have to, certainly, but I wanted to have something to tell people when they ask when we will be ready for callers. Don’t want them banging the door knocker at all hours. We haven’t been alone together to discuss anything. I’m looking forward to having you all to myself.”
The reason why flooded heat into her face. He’d told her they couldn’t take the chance of being alone together before the wedding, couldn’t rely on his ability to resist her. Whether the truth or not, she’d wallowed in the compliment and implications.
And I can’t wait to eat up every delicious inch of you.
“Woolgathering, Mrs. Treadwell?”
She flinched as the thrum of his low voice brushed across her cheek. She looked down at the empty fork in her hand. The portion of cake had fallen from the tines to the plate, unnoticed as she imagined what would happen this evening.
“I do apologize, sir.”
“Not at all. I’ve always wondered where your mind goes when you sail away inside your head. And it’s Gordon. I like hearing you say it.”
She set down the fork, feeling the room’s attention as she explained, “It has become a tired joke, the way I tend to drift off in thought. During my first season, it was regularly repeated that I was not all there in the head. In truth, I have a vivid imagination that frequently gets the better of my manners.” Remembering his request, she tacked on, “Gordon.”
Sensuous, well-defined lips curved into a smile. “I think it’s rather mysterious when you do that. One must feel intrigued. Did you know that you grin while you’re lost in thought?”
“Gracious, no. Then, I don’t suppose that I would know, being thoroughly absorbed in whatever I’m thinking.”
His shoulder touched hers as he bent his head to murmur, “You must have a remarkably creative imagination. Are your thoughts ever impure?”
Her pulse began to pound inside her head and became so loud it swallowed the sounds of conversation and clinking glass and silverware. She bowed her head to hide the heat flooding into her cheeks. Others may take it for shyness, but the truth was that she hid a flush of anticipation.
A fine quivering began when his lips brushed her ear. “Did those naughty dreams include me, sweet Adele?”
She clutched her trembling fingers in her lap. Salvation arrived when one of his friends called out, “Tell us what you’re sharing with your bride, Gordon. The poor thing looks on the edge of the vapors.”
Gentle laughter scattered throughout the room. She felt pinned to her chair by the fond and knowing gazes. This was dreadful. Too much attention and no opportunity to escape. Newlyweds on display. How denigrating and tedious. Perhaps she could salvage the misery of the entire process by imprinting to memory the agonizing details for later use in a story. She graciously smiled as she wished them, each and every one, to perdition.
Then she noticed Sir Charles at a nearby table. His expression was indulgent, concerned. She forced herself to relax and behave as a normal bride would, with shy pleasure, modest and gratified, but she couldn’t stop thinking the event as charming as sitting on a cart loaded with steaming cattle dung. A hasty wedding, another instance of everyone fostering lowering impressions of how the spinster no gentleman wanted had miraculously landed one of the finest fish on the marriage mart. Now that she thought about it, not so miraculous. It had come at the expense of her honor versus a wager in the betting books, a forced marriage without an anticipated birth the beau monde would assume. The guests could be wondering about that, but then, she was an unappetizing old maid, perhaps not. In the rush to get shed of her cousins and their constant reminder that her fortune was the only likeable thing about her, she’d neglected to take the time to protect her heart. She neither loved nor cared about her cousins, but allowing herself to care for her husband opened her heart to devastating consequences.
“Mrs. Treadwell.” Gordon’s velvet dark voice invaded her thoughts.
She turned to her husband. “Sir?”
He pushed away his plate, braced an elbow on the table, and propped his cleft chin in the cup of his palm. “Would you think it terribly insensitive of me if I should tell everyone it’s time for them to take their leave?”
He grinned as he watched her mask of false animation melt from her face. His question froze her to appalled stillness. She roused with a fierce whisper, “Sir, you cannot! It is a wedding breakfast. We sat down only thirty minutes past.”
“But I can tell that you’re bored to flinders.”
Anxiety fluttered inside her chest. “Surely not! How disconcerting. All the more reason for staying here and presenting a happy appearance.”
“But I don’t see it that way, Mrs. Treadwell.”
“You’re saying that too much.”
“It is your name now, and I am overwhelmed with the strangest urge to impress upon you how important it is to me that you understand all that infers.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Sir, are you deliberately seeking to inflame my nerves?”
“Not your nerves, Mrs. Treadwell. Something else entirely. In five more minutes, I am going to announce that we must be on our way.”
&nb
sp; “Our way? Where?”
“Remember the house Father bestowed? We shall be immediately rushing off to the wedding bower. Anxious little newlyweds that we are, we must be on the road forthwith. So eager are we to embark on our…union.”
She clutched her hands in her lap. “You wouldn’t.”
He pried one of her hands free and raised it to his mouth. “But of course I would. Am I not, as you so succinctly pointed out at our first meeting, the typical variety of red-blooded male? Everyone here knows exactly what comes next.” He laughed silently and leaned in to breathe into her ear. “You.”
There was no way to gracefully extract her hand when he lifted it to his mouth. The tip of his tongue discreetly licked between her fingers. The damp areas burned. “Please, stop. Your father, such behavior…he’ll be appalled.”
“No he won’t. He’ll suppose we are complying to his fondest wish with alacrity.”
The fiend knew he had everyone’s attention as he retained his grip on her hand and stood. He finished the wine in his glass. “My bride and I extend our thanks for your felicitations and presence with us on our nuptial day, but we must be on our way while the weather holds. Please, stay and enjoy the excellent company and champagne punch.”
Adele fixed a grin on her face as he urged her to stand. The guests, who looked enchanted by the groom’s eagerness, offered a polite spatter of applause, as the gentlemen stood. Everyone raised their glasses to the bride, who sent a beseeching glance in Annabelle’s direction, but her friend was making eyes at Gordon’s friend, Tookie. She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or livid that everyone was so utterly oblivious to her inner turmoil. No one seemed to find the wedding couple taking an early departure unusual. But then, why should they? No one else knew that there were no plans to drive away to some hideaway love nest. His intent to not delay the consummation here, while the guests chatted and ate two floors below, was obvious enough for her.
As he escorted her up the staircase, she whispered, “How could you do that? And this! Everyone must know what you are about.”
“Most likely, but they won’t say it out loud. I can’t promise that it won’t be talked about across town, but it is my hope it will.”
“I’ve had quite enough discussion about me, thank you very much, and not happy about being made to look ridiculous.”
“Not ridiculous. My plan was to dispel the unpleasant connection with my stupid wager. Content yourself that everyone will be taken with the delicious impression that I couldn’t wait another moment to get my fill of your tender flesh.”
“This is all in very bad taste, sir, harking back to the days of public deflowering of the nuptial bed.”
“I am neither lord nor king, Mrs. Treadwell.”
“It’s as lurid as a Minerva Press novel!”
He stopped her at the top of the steps. “And what do you know of novels, dear wife?” He leaned down to say against her mouth, his voice deep and playfully seductive, “Do you devour them to enliven your reclusive tendencies and spinsterish dreams?” He straightened and resumed his determined pull of her down the passageway. “Well, that won’t be necessary from now on. I plan to provide you with the reality in abundance.”
She choked on silent shock as they went up another flight of steps. Instead of entering her sitting room, he opened the door of his connecting rooms. Showers was in the process of unpacking a trunk.
“Leave that, Showers. Tell Mrs. Treadwell’s maid she won’t be needed and see that we are not disturbed.”
Showers lowered a trunk lid. “Certainly, sir. Enid is at present in Mrs. Treadwell’s suite.”
Hearing that, Adele twisted free and escaped through the connecting door. Not looking at it, she passed the bed, heading for the open dressing-room door. Her maid paused from hanging clothes in Vera’s recently emptied wardrobe.
She franticly waved for Enid to join her at the open doorway where she watched for Gordon. “Have you left everything but clothes in my rooms?”
“I left everything, just as you said and only moved your clothes and toiletries.”
“The desk remains locked?”
“Yes, miss, I mean, ma’am.”
Adele hauled Enid by the arm to the center of the room when she saw Gordon approaching from his bedroom. He halted in the doorway and glanced around, taking in the lavish draperies of gold silk on the bed’s canopy, the barren top of the dressing table, and general appearance of emptiness. Cousin Vera’s floral perfume still permeated the air but everything else belonging to her cousin had been removed.
He closed the connecting door and looked at the maid. “Enid, is it?”
She curtsied. “Yes, Mr. Treadwell.”
“Please help Mrs. Treadwell with her gown.”
He had removed his neckwear, jacket and waistcoat and was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt, exposing black chest hair. He propped his back against the door and watched with a lazy grin, while she mentally sorted through a litany of vulgar names to call the lout. Should she hurl them at him to cool his ardor? No, vulgarity with this man and his risqué sense of humor might have the opposite effect. She’d written something on that order, lifted from a suggested illustration that depicted a woman whispering behind her hand into a lover’s ear.
Her husband’s grin reminded her of the ancient artwork and explicit illustrations of what was about to happen. Shocking images flared in her mind, eliciting a flash of heat over her skin. And other places.
When the back of her gown was unfastened and the stays unlaced, he said, “That will be all, Enid.”
The maid fled the room as if escaping a fire. Although Adele couldn’t smile at the comparison, she did think it apropos. Every nerve tingled as Gordon sauntered closer. She had thought he would finish disrobing her, but he sank both hands into her hair, threading his fingers through the curls.
“I adore what you’ve done with your hair, Mrs. Treadwell. Did you know that it makes your eyes look enormous? You always look away to hide what you’re thinking, but there’s no hiding now. You remember our bargain, don’t you?”
She unclamped her jaws to challenge, “And I expect you to remember the parts you agreed to honor.”
His soft laugh sent tingles skidding down her spine. He glided his fingers down her nape then underneath her loosened clothes, easing them off her shoulders. “To be more precise, there is about to be a great deal of honoring the many and specific parts of you.”
She grabbed his wrists, halting the fall of her clothes. “Gordon, will you keep your word?”
Within the desire-darkened depth of his gaze she saw a glint that disturbed as much as it fascinated. “I’ve already given you evidence of how I keep my word. Your cousins are settled in a house of their own, are they not? You have set aside a private area for your own particular use that I will not disturb. I even added more to the allowance you requested. I have amply shown my good faith. It is now your turn to abide by my request.”
His fingertips pushed the material down her arms. The shift, stays and dress fell around her ankles. Tightness pinched across her breasts, and an unfamiliar ache, when his breath brushed over her prickling skin. He bent down and his mouth captured a hardened nipple. Her gasp sounded loud inside her head from the piercing shock. The suckle, followed by the massage of his tongue, drained the strength from her legs. Strong fingers encircled her waist, holding her up, and he increased the suction, pulling her deeper into his mouth. The room darkened and whirled. Her eyes drooped shut.
After a tender nip, he whispered, “Adele?”
She sleepily opened her eyes and blinked to realign the swirling room. They were now standing by the bed. How did that happen?
“Adele.”
“Yes?”
Through bleary eyes she watched him fling back the bedclothes and unbutton his breeches. “Get on the bed.”
The sheets felt cool against her bottom. Since she’d never seen a naked man, other than artwork, she watched him with wide-eyed fascinatio
n as he removed breeches, stockings and shoes. “Gordon, will we have to do this many times?”
“Frequently. Due to our arrangement, you are not allowed to object.”
“Oh, I don’t plan to, but may I ask you to remove your shirt? I have nothing on but my slippers and stockings, which is not entirely fair, you know. I would like to see—oh!”
Words faded to a mumble when he tossed the white cambric aside. Her mouth dried from the sight of contoured muscle and sleek flesh.
“Gordon, you’re so much more impressive than artwork.”
“So are you.”
Her palm itched to grasp the evidence of his intent. Illustrations had captured her imagination but nothing had prepared her for an actual erection. “You know, Gordon, the depictions I’ve seen weren’t exaggerations, but lacked the vibrancy of living flesh. Why haven’t I noticed something so obvious before this? Fashion decrees that men’s garments be tightly fitted. Some of this should have shown.”
Nervous mental rambling ended when he swung her legs up onto the bed. He removed her slippers and rolled down the stockings. Curiosity moved her hand before it registered that such a step was far too bold for a bride. He inhaled a ragged breath when she touched, then grasped him, encircled and investigated the rigid length. Her delight spilled out before she could stop the thought.
“Oh, Gordon, you feel so wonderfully alive in my hand. Solid and full to bursting! How will it fit inside me?”
A fine quivering enveloped his tense frame. He had one knee on the bed, leaning over her, head bowed. “Adele, you must let go of me. Stop now or it will be over before we start. And you’re not ready yet.”
“Ready? I don’t understand.”
“To…receive.” The warmth of his hand cupped the breast he hadn’t suckled, fingertips coasting downward. Her belly tightened as he continued the gliding caress until ending between her thighs, where he stilled, then started doing something so provocative and mind-altering that her hips lifted and moved with his fingers. Her greedy body sang like a wanton instrument, but became alarmingly wet-sounding.