Dauntless

by Lynne Connolly

  Oliver took her hand and led her into the next room. Forde had turned the bed down, as she always did, but the sight of crisp, white sheets had never seemed so intimate before. She swallowed, nerves fluttering in her stomach and along her skin.

  “Here we are only Oliver and Drusilla…Dru. Perhaps, if we start with that, we may find a way through. We cannot spend the whole of our married life at odds with one another.” He touched her chin, tilting it up so he could see her eyes. “Although I doubt this will be the last time we are at odds with one another, perhaps next time we can make it something of a more trivial matter.”

  “I didn’t mean to…” She clamped her mouth shut. She would say no more, not until she could explain herself properly.

  He touched her lips with one finger. “Enough. We’ll speak of it later and decide what’s to be done. Perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps the day after. No more of it tonight.”

  She nodded, the sensitive skin of her mouth feeling the rasp of his finger. He took it away.

  “I will take care of you tonight, Dru.” For the first time she saw hesitation in the depths of his eyes. “I swear it.”

  Determination returned, together with a warmth she recognized and knew was only for her. She’d never seen that exact same expression when he’d looked at anyone else. That knowledge warmed her, gave her the courage to set her hands on his shoulders. The silk of his robe was smooth under her palms. He smelled good, of soap and a faint edge of lemon. Of course, he didn’t wear his wig, and his dark hair was combed smoothly against his skull. Everything about him was perfect in her eyes, including the scars on his jaw and his brow.

  He slid his arm around her waist, making no sudden movements, as if she were a small creature, a bird or a kitten he was afraid of scaring off. She loved that care. He was her husband. He could throw her on the bed, take her virginity, and leave her. He had the right, and nobody would gainsay him. She had thought the deed might happen that way and had privately steeled herself for it, but he had more consideration. His devotion to his brother and mother, his insistence on straight dealing told her that, and she should have remembered.

  She recalled nothing, only that she wanted him.

  When he bent his head to her, she went up on tiptoe to meet him. His kiss felt like always—familiar and welcome, as if she had done nothing between his last kiss and this one. When he drew her closer, she nestled into him and let him take her. Trusting him, as he’d taught her.

  His hold on her tightened. She sighed into his mouth and received his tongue as a reward. She had no hesitation in sucking it gently, stroking it, and learning its contours. The act drove her to want him even more, to long to feel his mouth on her body. On her bare skin.

  Oliver spread his hand over her back. She felt every finger beneath the thin layers of her clothing, each touch. She curled her hand around his neck, holding him close, claiming him as hers. He gave her that responsibility, allowing her to claim him in return. The privilege staggered her. This was real. This wasn’t Dru, watching from the sidelines, but a woman claiming the man who was meant to belong to her.

  The rightness of her actions settled into her, sinking deep. He lifted his mouth, his lips reddened, his eyes bright in the flickering candlelight. “Are you sure you’ve never done this before? You have the mouth of a temptress, Dru, and the body of one too, if I’m any judge.”

  “Are you?”

  A wicked smile curved his mouth, his eyes lighting with humor. “I don’t know. I cannot possibly explain to you, an innocent.”

  “Then tell me after I’m an innocent no more.”

  His hands went to the front fastenings of her gown. “I can’t do that while you’re trussed up like this. I want you naked, Drusilla.”

  If he’d tried to frighten her, he failed. She only wanted him to get on with it. Impatience drove her to fumble with the elaborate toggle at the top of his robe while he worked on hers.

  He made short work of the silk tie, but she had to struggle to undo the two stiff fastenings. Dropping his hands, he let her do it, but as soon as she had, he spread her robe wide, holding it out so he could see her.

  With tension rising in her throat, she let him see. She concentrated on his open robe, his neck free of the neckcloth that usually covered it. His tendons stood out, the shadows they cast exaggerated in their intensity. She stared so hard, until she thought she might burst from waiting. “Oliver?”

  “Oh, yes, I’m sorry.” He dropped the cloth and slid his arms around her waist from the inside. His hands, so warm, shocked her. His essential masculinity overwhelmed her, not least his size. She’d never felt so small, so helpless. Never loved it so much.

  “You are beautiful, my wife,” he murmured against her mouth. “I want you very much. But I will take care. If it kills me.”

  The last few growled words made her laugh aloud. His chest, hard and muscular, proved a delicious contrast with her own. She pressed her breasts against him, eager for more.

  “You are not supposed to laugh.” But he was smiling as he gazed down at her.

  “Don’t make me laugh, then. Kiss me instead.”

  “Willingly.” He suited actions to words, but this time he didn’t stop at her mouth. He nuzzled and kissed his way down her throat, to the hollow at the base where he would already know she was sensitive. After lingering there long enough to make her shiver, he continued, dropping soft kisses down the V made by the open neck of her night rail, until he met the cleavage between her breasts. He’d been there before, but tonight, the knowledge that he meant to go further made the touches more toe-curling than ever before. Clutching his head, feeling the short, silky strands between her fingers, Dru began to understand the power a woman could wield over a man. His soft sounds told her. She responded, murmuring his name.

  Bending, he swept her into his arms. “Bed, I think.”

  Dru had no objection to that idea. Still tense, but with a growing anticipation that softened her body and gave her a longing she had yet to fully understand, she helped him rid her of the robe. It slid to the floor in a slithering whisper. She did not miss it. She crossed her arms over her body, ready to pull off the night rail, but then she remained, transfixed.

  She’d seen a man without a shirt before. Having three brothers, she could hardly avoid it. She’d watched them swim in the river in summer, engage in boxing matches, any number of childhood activities, but she had never seen a chest like this. This was hers, to touch, to wonder at. To feel pressed against her. It had a light sprinkling of hair, a little more than her brothers’. It was broad and powerful, covered by defined slabs of muscle that moved fluidly as he dragged his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

  He met her avid gaze. “Ready for more?”

  She nodded. His robe had already joined hers on the floor. His dark green pooled with her lighter blue, a pond of their own making, blending as no doubt they would very soon. The sight seemed prophetic. Or perhaps she was allowing her imagination to run riot again.

  She watched as he unfastened the fall of his breeches and bent to loosen the buckles at his knee. He pulled his remaining clothes off with impatience, his arms bulging and flexing. Heedless of his wedding finery, he kicked the silk and worsted free and stood, entirely naked.

  Dru caught her breath. Now that was new. His member was hard, the top shiny. As she stared, a bead of fluid leaked from the tip. She hadn’t been aware that she licked her lips until he groaned.

  “Dru, you test my resolve.”

  Her attention went to his face. She didn’t understand what he meant, but she was, for once, content to wait. But not for long. “Oliver, I want you.” She changed the words at the last second. He wasn’t ready for that. Neither was she, not yet, although she held the truth close to her heart. She loved him. Her anguish today had only emphasized it.

  “Are you wet for me?” His words, so intimate, shocked her to the
core. Not least because he was right.

  Lost for words, she only nodded. He smiled and at last climbed on the bed and came to her. Grasping her final garment, he tugged it up her body. Willingly she lifted her arms so he could pull it over her head. She didn’t know what he did with it, because she kept her attention on him.

  “Nothing between us,” he murmured. “I want us as bare as the day we came into the world.” He caught her hands, held her like that, gazing into her eyes. “Are you ready for that, Dru? For us to make a baby?”

  “Isn’t that why I’m here?”

  He laughed, harsh and sudden, the sound gone as soon as it had arrived. “The world would have us think so. But there are other parts of making love. It should be enjoyable. Many couples contrive to do it without creating a baby too. Is that what you want?”

  She gasped. She had never thought of that. “How?”

  “There are ways. None are certain, but we can control the process.”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  She loved that he answered her questions promptly and without equivocation. “We could enjoy one another for a time. We are supposed to make heirs, but we don’t have to do it at once.”

  Tonight was just about them, not anyone else. She didn’t want to break the magic that lay between them. Only the truth would do now.

  Inwardly she rejoiced. He wanted to spend time with her, to enjoy her. Perhaps this was the way back to his heart. “I want your children.”

  “Your decision matters to me.” Twin creases appeared between his brows, but only briefly. Almost as if he did not want to admit what he’d just said, or he’d said it before the recognition had hit him. Dru knew what that felt like.

  She said nothing but reached for him.

  “Yes,” he murmured as he took her in his arms. His words vibrated through her body, her nipples hardening even more than they were already. “This is right. Don’t ask for mercy, Dru, because you’ll get none from me.” Those words could have been a threat in different circumstances. Now she took them as a promise.

  He touched his mouth to hers in a soft, feathery kiss, a brush of lips that was almost not there at all. Then he passed on, reacquainted himself with her throat and her cleavage. With a thrill, Dru knew he had no reason to stop. His restraint since their increased freedom after their betrothal was gone now, the reason for it completely evaporated.

  He whispered her name against her nipple before he kissed around it and then sucked it into his mouth. Dru pulled in a sharp breath, her gasp echoing on the embroidered canopy above them and reflecting back at them. Murmuring words of encouragement, Oliver treated her other nipple the same way. He licked and sucked, at first gently, and then harder, until she gripped his head, her hands curling like claws.

  A laugh reverberated against her stomach as he moved farther down her body. He licked the sensitive spot on the inside of her hip, telling her how good she tasted. By then Dru could only moan. Another laugh and then he slid down some more. “You’re not… You can’t…” she gasped, shocked back into words.

  “I am, and I can.” Firmly, he urged her to part her legs wider.

  How could she do that? At first she resisted, until he kissed her thighs, and just inside them.

  “If I don’t do it tonight, I’ll do it another time. I want to taste you, Dru, to know every part of you, what you like, and how I can drive you insane.”

  “You do?” She licked her lips and gave in, let him open her legs and gently push her feet so that she bent her legs at the knee. She felt completely vulnerable, entering this new place. When his hot breath seared over her sensitive skin, she shuddered, every inch of her alive with sensation.

  Then he licked her. With a strangled cry, she arched off the bed, her cheeks flaming at her inability to control her response. Planting his hands on her thighs, he pushed her back down and continued with his self-imposed task.

  “No, no! You can’t!”

  Lifting his dark head, he met her eyes, his own twinkling with what she considered misplaced mischief. “Do you really want me to stop?”

  With that brief kiss, he’d given her sensations she had never experienced before, not thought possible. When she’d imagined her wedding night—and she had—she had thought of comfort, a quiet sharing. Not this—this—she had no words for what was happening between them. What he was doing to her. What was she supposed to do in return? She had no words, or at least none that made any sense. She shook her head, nodded, and bit her lip. Her breasts rose between them, so private.

  “You are pink all over,” he murmured. Goodness, his lips were wet. With her. “Let me continue, Dru. Put yourself in my hands this once.”

  She swallowed and nodded.

  He needed no more encouragement and bent back to his task. This time he licked and then tickled, rousing her to sensations she had no idea what to do with. Thrills coursed through her body, as if he’d set off a lightning storm inside her. Sparks fizzled along her veins, and flashes of intensity shot through them, making her press her open hands against the sheets to ground herself. He wasn’t silent either. He made sounds of appreciation, as if he were enjoying a good meal, combined with moans and words that vibrated against her most sensitive flesh.

  The striving became deliberate, and then—

  He stopped, lifted up, and lay over her. She smelled what he’d been doing, and instead of repulsing her, it inflamed her. His hard, muscular body pressed against hers, his member falling between her upraised legs as if meant to be there.

  Pushing his hand down, he took it in hand and guided it to her, notching it into her opening. Dru opened her mouth, cried out as he pushed. Pain split her delight, arcing through her but not completely dissipating the pleasure.

  She panted as if she’d run a mile, her breasts heaving, her nipples grazing his chest each time she drew a breath. She met his gaze. His intent burned into her, waiting.

  She was not the only person affected by this amazingly intimate act. She had not understood the meaning of the word “intimate” before. Never this close or this linked with someone.

  “All right?” He sounded breathless.

  “Yes.” She must be, if she was still here and sentient. “Is that it?”

  “You’re not a virgin any more. But no, we have a long way to go.”

  She didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry. But he was here, with her, and he had enjoyed her.

  He began to move, withdrawing a little before pushing back in, steadily and slowly, until his passage eased. He increased the depth of his strokes, grinding against her, lifting a little, so he nudged the pearl of flesh he’d toyed with before. She’d known about its existence, but had avoided it, thinking it too sensitive. When she’d touched it she hadn’t worked the magic he had but had shied away from contact, only ensuring its cleanliness when she bathed.

  “I wanted you as open as I could make you,” he said. “And as wet. You are a delight, Drusilla. You respond so keenly. Do not stop.”

  She knew what to do now. Those magical sensations had happened when she’d stopped thinking and let herself experience what was happening to her. Before tonight, her body had been something she took for granted, kept clean, and exercised, but otherwise thought little about. Now she responded as best she could, holding herself firmly to accept his strokes, staring up at him, watching his face. Occasionally his lips tensed, flexed, until she dared to slip her hand around his neck and pull him down.

  She wanted his kiss. He obliged, opening his mouth against hers. This, at least, was familiar. She responded as always, kissing him deeply, but the unfamiliar but not unwelcome taste of herself on him gave more spice to the encounter.

  The feeling swelled again, but this time subtly different—harder, somehow—deeper, as if he’d taken a shortcut to the heart of her being. Her body warmed to him, blossoming from where they joined. It spread
out, filling her with unmistakable joy. Her body responded, as if it knew what to do even if she didn’t. She convulsed around him, each hard contraction bringing an extra shot of pleasure to her overwhelmed system.

  He gave one shout and went completely still, except for his member, which pulsed inside her. A flood of heat washed her anew, and then total exhaustion, the like of which she’d never known before.

  Dru slept.

  * * * *

  Perhaps the most astonishing reaction Dru had to his lovemaking had been that total descent into sleep. Oliver had barely stopped coming before he felt her body go heavy and saw her eyes close.

  Taking the greatest of care, he withdrew and rolled to one side. She accompanied him, although he hadn’t drawn her. He could do nothing but hold her. Would she wake as quickly as she’d fallen asleep?

  Her sweet and total response overwhelmed him. He had never known anything like it before. She gave him her emotions frankly, and after he’d told her not to hold back, had shown him how she felt. He had pleased her, that was for sure, but he had set out to do that. If they could get nothing else right, they should do their best to find satisfaction in the bedroom. But he had not planned for this. Their connection had shocked him—too intimate, too complete.

  His plan was to go to her, take her as gently as possible, and then leave her to sleep. He was still angry with her, but he refused to humiliate her on their wedding night. If she sent him away, so be it. But she had not. She’d welcomed him.

  He feared he would not get enough of his wife for some time. His plans were destroyed, flown away, and he had to think again. Except that he found thinking supremely difficult while he lay with her in his arms.

  She curled her leg between his, as uninhibited now as she’d been reticent and apprehensive before he had brought her to bed. Trusting. That was what came of coming from a close, loving family, he supposed. After his father’s death, his own family had drawn together, but they were so changed now. For three years before Oliver had become the Duke of Mountsorrel, they had worked to retain unity for the good of the title and the estate. But the joy had gone. It had left when the carriage had overturned and nearly killed Oliver and Charles. Perhaps, Oliver had sometimes thought guiltily, it would have been better if one of them had died.