by Anna Bradley
With any luck the business would be concluded quickly—
“Good morning, Lord Dare. I see you’re anxious to be off this morning.”
Nick had collapsed into a slouch against the seat, but now he jerked up and glanced through the window to find his aunt peering at him, her lips tight with displeasure. Violet was beside her, but she lingered a few steps behind Lady Westcott, and she didn’t meet his eyes.
Damn it. What were his chances of getting an heir on her if she couldn’t even bring herself to look at him?
“I await your pleasure, Aunt.” He did his best to sound courteous, but his frustration was evident in his curt tone. He did manage to drag himself from the carriage and offer a half-hearted bow, but his aunt didn’t look at all impressed with this effort. No doubt his crumpled cravat and disheveled hair dampened the effect.
Lady Westcott arched an eyebrow at him. “It would please me, Lord Dare, if you had appeared the morning after your wedding day looking like a gentleman rather than some bleary-eyed sailor reeking of whiskey, but I see that’s rather too much to ask.”
“Far too much, Aunt, so I advise you to lower your standards and make your peace with it.”
Her face reddened with irritation at this rude reply, but his aunt had always been attuned to his moods, and she knew better than to argue with him when he was so close to the edge of fury, as he was now. “Very well, then. Once the servants deliver the baggage, we’re off. That is, if you’re ready for the journey to West Sussex, Lady Dare?”
Lady Westcott gestured toward the carriage, but Violet hesitated. “Have you dined?”
She still hadn’t met his eyes, and it took Nick a moment before he realized she was addressing him.
His lip curled. “Such touching concern for my welfare, Lady Dare. But I’m not hungry, and I’d just as soon get the journey over with.”
She flinched at this cool reply, and Nick blew out a hard breath. It would only make things more difficult if he was rude to her, and yet as soon as he laid eyes on her this morning, frustration and anger began to thrash like a wild thing inside him.
Why must she look so lovely, and why couldn’t he tear his gaze away from her lips? They were pinker than usual, a touch swollen, and when he looked at them, every breathless sigh she’d uttered last night, every soft moan, echoed in his head.
“I believe I’ll ride with you and Lady Dare the rest of the way to Ashdown Park.” His aunt held out her hand, and Nick dutifully took it and helped her into the carriage. He turned to offer his hand to Violet next, but she refused to notice it, and boarded the carriage without his assistance.
Nick waited until the servants finished loading the baggage, then he threw himself into a corner of his carriage and lapsed into a moody silence. His head ached like the devil, his aunt was in a snit, and his bride couldn’t bring herself to touch him.
It promised to be a delightful journey.
His aunt and wife ignored him in favor of making polite conversation between themselves, which suited Nick just fine. He closed his eyes and tried to will the tension from his limbs, and for a while it seemed to work, but as they approached the border of Surrey and made their way into West Sussex toward Ashdown Park, Nick’s hard-won peace deserted him.
It had been nearly three years since he’d been to his childhood home. Avoiding the place after Graham’s death had been the only thing he and his father had in common, but now here he was, back again.
It felt as if no time at all had passed, and yet at the same time, everything had changed.
Graham was gone, and whatever fond memories Nick cherished of his time in West Sussex had been lost in a sea of pain and grief. Nothing short of a permanent escape to the Continent could ever have induced him to set foot near the place again.
But the Dare name and legacy must be preserved at all costs, mustn’t it? And Lady Westcott, with her strict sense of propriety and her piles of money, must have her way in all things, no matter who it hurt.
His fury began to build until at last Nick’s eyes flew open. He needed an outlet, a target for his rage, and as soon as his gaze settled on his aunt, he found it. Her hands were clasped neatly in her lap, every fold of her gown falling in perfect, graceful lines, and she was watching him.
Waiting.
A grim smile stretched Nick’s lips. She’d known all along he’d explode. She’d simply been waiting for it to happen, and he wouldn’t dream of disappointing her.
“I see my father was too busy drinking and wagering away my fortune to waste any of his precious time here. I confess I didn’t expect much of the old pile, my lady, but it’s even shabbier than I imagined it would be.”
“Yes, well, it’s been sadly neglected, I’m afraid.” Lady Westcott’s tone was even, neutral.
It infuriated Nick she should be so calm while his stomach churned with anger and pain. “I suppose no one saw much reason to keep it up after Graham was murdered. Once the heir is dead, what’s the point, after all?”
He used the ugliest words he could, and made his voice as harsh as possible. Violet sucked in a shocked breath, but his aunt never flinched. “The heir isn’t gone, Nicholas. You’re Lord Dare, and you’re right here.”
“Me? Oh, come now, Aunt. I’m nothing but a poor substitute for the true heir—a last resort, as it were. A disappointing son, a disappointing nephew, and now destined to become a disappointing husband, as well.”
Violet gasped. “No! I never said—”
He interrupted her with a short laugh. “You didn’t have to say it, Lady Dare. You wrote it down, remember? Christ, you drew a bloody picture of it.”
God, he hated this. Hated the look of despair on her face, hated that he’d been the one to put it there, and hated himself for his pettiness. He hated this place, and he hated his father, and he hated that no matter what he’d done, or how hard he’d tried, he’d never been good enough to take Graham’s place.
“It’s a pity, truly, that I should have proved such a disappointment, but anyone would have proved a disappointment in comparison to Graham. Except, perhaps, Lord Derrick. He is, after all, the perfect gentleman. Isn’t that right, Lady Dare?”
A flush of red colored her cheekbones. “I’ve had enough of your insinuations, my lord. I told you last night how I feel about Lord Derrick. If you have doubts about my affections, why don’t you say so? I’d be more than happy to reassure you.”
“Oh, I’m sure you would, but then you have a history of lying, my dear, and about the most inconsequential things. Your name, for instance.”
Violet stared at him, her mouth working, but before she had a chance to say a word, Lady Westcott spoke, her tone matter-of-fact, as if everyone else in the carriage hadn’t just succumbed to hysterics. “I daresay you’re a bit distressed to see your new home in such a dilapidated state, but I can assure you, Lady Dare, despite the air of neglect, it’s a beautiful property. It takes its name from Ashdown Forest, you know, which lies just to the west of the estate, in the heart of the High Weald area.”
Violet blinked at the abrupt change in topic. “I, ah—I’m anxious to see it, my lady.”
“The house is Elizabethan,” Lady Westcott went on. “Quite comfortable, or it will be again once you and Nicholas take it in hand. Oh, and there are four acres of lovely gardens.”
Violet nodded politely, but she looked as if she didn’t know quite what to say to this recitation. “I—it sounds lovely.”
“Oh, it is. I grew up there, of course, just as Nicholas did, and it’s a wonderful house for children. My brother, the late Earl of Dare, and I used to run quite wild about the grounds, and it was the same for Nicholas and his brother Graham. Graham was two years older and a faster runner, but Nicholas was the better shot. It was Nicholas their father relied on to bring home braces of pheasants during the season.”
“That’s enough, Aunt.”
/> Nick’s voice was hard, with a note of warning underlying it, but if his aunt heard it, she chose to ignore it. “Hunting and fishing, and of course riding, especially Nicholas. Graham was the more studious of the two boys—always with his nose in a book—but Nicholas was too restless to sit still for long, and as a child he enjoyed riding above all things. I suspect that’s still true. Do you intend to ride a good deal while you’re here, my lord?”
“Stop it.” Nick struggled to pull breath into his lungs, to clear the sudden lump from his throat. “I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work.”
“I’m telling your bride about your childhood, Nicholas. Nothing more.” Lady Westcott gazed steadily at him for a long moment, then turned back to Violet. “Nicholas wasn’t above five years old before it became clear he would become an avid sportsman. Does your family hunt, Lady Dare? Perhaps we’ll host a fox hunt this fall—”
Nicholas slammed his fist against the roof of the carriage, making both ladies jump.
Lady Westcott braced herself against the seat as the driver drew hard on the ribbons and the carriage came to a sudden, crashing halt. “Nicholas! What are you—”
Nick wrenched open the carriage door and leapt to the ground. The manor house was an easy walk from where they’d stopped, and he couldn’t bear to sit in the carriage for another minute. “I’ll walk from here.” His face felt numb as he met his aunt’s eyes. “I wish you ladies a pleasant afternoon.”
* * * *
He should have wished his bride a pleasant evening, or perhaps bid her goodnight, because the sun had set and the house was shrouded in darkness long before Nick saw her again.
He spent the day prowling the grounds of the estate, and by that evening he’d locked himself alone in his father’s study with a bottle of whiskey, his hands shaking as he raised glass after glass to his lips.
But the drunken stupor he wished for eluded him.
Ashdown Park, his memories of Graham and his father, his aunt, his wife—Jesus, how had he ended up back here, and how long would it be before he was buried so deep there was no longer any hope of escape?
Damn it, he had to do something…
He staggered to the desk and fumbled through the papers he’d brought from London. The servants had stacked them neatly on top of the desk, but he tossed them aside one by one until the desk and floor were littered with them.
Then, at last, crumpled beneath a stack of old ledgers, he found what he was looking for.
Nick rummaged through the drawers until he found a quill, then he quickly signed and dated the document. He stared at his signature scrawled across the bottom of the page for a long time, but the relief he’d hoped for didn’t come.
He threw the document down and tore through the desk again, snatched out a blank piece of paper, and began to write a letter, but he only managed to scratch out a dozen words before the quill fell from his hand.
Catalina’s face…he could no longer recall it. Her dark eyes insisted on turning blue in his mind’s eye, and the sleek black hair kept giving way to a memory of fair curls, so soft and heavy against his fingers…
He shoved the papers into the desk drawer and let his head fall into his hands.
The fire had died by the time Nick grabbed his whiskey bottle and made his way up to his bedchamber. He stripped down to his breeches, but instead of climbing into his bed he found himself with his ear pressed to the door that connected his apartments and his new countess’s bedchamber.
All was silent on the other side.
He hadn’t intended to pay his wife a midnight visit, but what if she was weeping again?
Damn it, she was his wife, and he had a duty to see she was comfortably situated in her bedchamber and not on the verge of hysterics over that ugly scene she’d witnessed in the carriage this morning, or the dilapidated state of Ashdown Park.
He had another duty, as well—consummate his marriage, and get a child on his bride. The sooner he undertook the business, the sooner he could crawl free of the weight of his wife and aunt’s smothering expectations and leave England behind.
It wasn’t as if he had to linger over it. A quick, efficient consummation was all that was required. Surely he could manage that much.
He winced at the creak the door made as he eased it open. Aside from the dying fire the room was dark, but he could just make out a small, still shape huddled in the middle of the enormous bed.
A quiet breath left Nick’s lungs as he crept across the room and paused beside the bed. She was asleep, her fair curls spread out across her pillow. There was no trace of tears tonight, and yet even in sleep, she looked…sad.
Before he could stop himself, he reached out to stroke a stray tendril of hair away from her forehead. The muted orange light from the fire played over her, and he’d never seen anything as beautiful as her face, with her mouth so soft in repose, and her long eyelashes resting against her pale cheeks.
She stirred but didn’t wake, and Nick eased onto the bed beside her, his palm moving over the silky strands of her hair again and again, his chest tight. She looked far too young, too lovely and innocent, to be doomed to such a hopeless marriage.
Her chest rose and fell in a soft sigh, and she shifted closer to him, instinctually seeking more of his soft touches against her hair, the stroke of his fingertips across her cheek.
And he…he was weak and debauched, because as soon as she settled on her back beside him with her warm hip pressed against his thigh, his gaze was drawn to her curves, the dark pink of her nipples peeking through the sheer white nightdress, the shadows between her legs.
But this was what he’d come for, wasn’t it? She was his wife, and a husband was obligated to take his wife’s innocence. He needed an heir, and he wouldn’t get one by gazing stupidly at her while she slept.
He watched her face as he traced the tip of his finger around one of her nipples, the softest touch only, just enough to make the tender bud rise so he could lean down and dart his tongue over it. She let out a soft sigh, still half asleep, but when he dragged his tongue over her nipple again, her eyes fluttered open.
A faint cry left her lips when she saw him hovering over her, and she struggled to sit up, but Nick shook his head, and wrapped a gentle hand around her shoulder to ease her back down onto the bed. “Let me touch you. I won’t…no matter what’s happened between us, Violet, I will never hurt you.”
The whispered lie burned on his lips, because he would hurt her—had already hurt her, as surely as she’d hurt him, and he’d do so again when he left her behind.
She didn’t answer, but when he leaned over her to lick and kiss her nipples, her fingers slid into his hair. He teased the tip of his tongue over that pretty peak again and again until he couldn’t hold back any longer, and opened his ravenous mouth over the straining bud to draw her deep inside. She gasped as he suckled first at one nipple and then the other, and her fingers tightened in his hair.
Not to push him away, but to pull him closer.
Nick caught his breath at this unexpected show of trust—a trust he didn’t deserve, but one he’d take, because he couldn’t make himself do anything else. He buried his face between her breasts for long moments, inhaling her warm scent before he began to kiss and nip his way down her stomach, his tongue tracing her skin as he eased lower and opened his mouth to taste the pale flesh of her belly, right above her curls.
He hadn’t come to her tonight to taste her, or to bring her to pleasure with his mouth, but even as a distant part of Nick’s brain acknowledged this wouldn’t get him the heir he needed, he didn’t stop. For all his promises to himself to remain detached, to take her quickly, to keep a distance between them, he couldn’t stop.
Jesus. He couldn’t stop.
He needed to have her like this—to feel her grow wet against his mouth, to make her come apart on his tongue.
She tensed when he moved between her legs, and grabbed his wrist to stop him from raising the silky fabric of her nightdress, but he made a soothing sound in his throat and pressed a tender kiss to her thigh, and after a moment her grip relaxed.
“So pretty right here,” he murmured, dragging a finger through her curls before probing delicately between her thighs to open her for his mouth. She cried out, pushing at his head and trying to squirm out from beneath him, panicked at the first stroke of his tongue, but Nick held her thighs open to him, his hands gentle, and burrowed between her folds until he found her sweet center.
She let out a small cry and jerked against him, her thighs going rigid in his hands as he teased his tongue over her damp pink flesh. His strokes were light but steady and insistent, his tongue circling that tender bud until the unfamiliar sensations overwhelmed her and she began to gasp and squirm against him.
He groaned, so hard for her he was thrusting against the bed as he darted his tongue over her again and again, maddened by her breathy gasps. “Taste so sweet…want you to come on my tongue.”
She clutched at his hair as her hips moved against his face in a silent demand, chasing his tongue, her cries growing more desperate as the pleasure continued to elude her, until Nick captured the tiny bud between his lips to suckle hard, letting his teeth graze her as he sank one long finger inside her.
A low sob broke from her lips and she writhed against him, and Nick stayed with her as she arched her back with pleasure, his lips and tongue gentling when he felt the tension leave her body.
When she went limp against the bed, he rested his head against her thigh to catch his breath, his eyes closing when she reached for him to sift her fingers through his hair.
Now. Take her now.
Her breathing was slow and even, her body boneless, and he was so hard for her, aching to sink into her damp heat. He could hold her in his arms and move inside her, listen to her sighs and moans as he coaxed her to another release. All it needed was for him to slide up her body, ease her legs apart, lodge his hips between them, and it would be over with a few careful thrusts.