Secrets of the Marriage Bed

by Ann Lethbridge

  She took a deep breath and quietly opened the door. Silent as a ghost she glided through the dressing rooms, hers and his, that separated their rooms. In the old days, their servants would have slept on little cots in these commodious chambers that now contained only presses full of clothes. Thank goodness they now slept in the attics. She paused at the final door.

  Straightened her shoulders. If he was asleep, she wouldn’t wake him. She might, however, cuddle in beside him, the way she had on the night of his fall.

  She eased the door open and peeped inside.

  The great four-poster bed was empty.

  Disappointment hollowed a place near her heart. She’d been so sure she’d heard him moving around in here after he’d escorted her to her chamber after dinner.

  About to turn away, she became aware of a shadow partially blocking her view of the banked fire in the hearth. A shadow too bulky to be simply an armchair. The shadow moved. Rose.

  ‘Julia?’

  She could not retreat now. She stepped closer. ‘Yes. It is I.’ He was wearing his dressing gown. He had a tumbler in his hand. There were a great many things this man could do with his drink that had nothing to do with imbibing.

  ‘Are you unwell?’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

  He led her to his chair and sat down with her on his lap. She rested her head on his broad shoulder and inhaled the scent of soap and husband laced with the fragrance of brandy.

  ‘You neither, I assume,’ she said.

  He settled her more comfortably in his lap and lifted his glass to her lips. ‘Drink?’

  She took a tiny sip and let the liquid burn a path down her throat. She sighed.

  He tightened his grip about her shoulders. ‘You are perfectly safe. I have two men I trust in the corridor. Not even a bat could come through the windows.’

  ‘It isn’t that.’

  He dipped his chin in enquiry. The low light from the fire cast his face in a series of planes and dark hollows. Gave him a demonic look. She cupped his cheek, felt the faint prickle of new stubble against her palm. ‘Oh, it is part of it.’

  ‘And the other part?’

  ‘I was missing you.’ She held her breath. Would he admit to missing her too?

  ‘I am here.’

  Clearly not. ‘And so am I, now.’

  His lips twitched, displaying for the briefest moment that elusive smile.

  She smiled back. ‘I know. A bit obvious, but sometimes I feel as if you need to be reminded.’

  ‘I apologise. I will be more attentive in future.’

  A flicker of anger coursed through her veins at his politeness. ‘Please, if it is another duty, another responsibility to be added to your long list, do not trouble yourself.’

  Time to go. She pushed away from him.

  ‘Stay,’ he said softly. ‘I am in need of your company.’

  Thank the stars in the heavens. At least he could admit to needing something. ‘You are worried.’

  ‘Not only worried. I am angry. Someone tried to cause you harm and very nearly succeeded.’

  He gave her another sip of his drink and for long minutes they gazed into the fire. His heartbeat was a steady rhythm against her cheek, each inhale and exhale lifting her a fraction. Unsure whether or not she should stay, she toyed with the ribbon at the end of the plait she wore to bed.

  ‘You are quite recovered from the shock of last night?’ The deep rumble of his voice was comforting. As was the squeeze of her shoulders and the feel of his breath against her neck.

  A pleasurable shiver zipped down her spine. ‘Completely,’ she said softly. ‘How is your head?’

  ‘Cured.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  From this angle she had an excellent view of an expanse of pale gold skin where his silk dressing gown gaped in a deep vee. A dark flat male nipple peeked out from a swirl of crisp golden hairs. Did he have any idea how much the sight of that tempted her tongue and teeth and lips?

  She experimentally flicked it with the soft hairs at the end of her braid.

  He hissed in a breath. His nipple furled up into a tight little point, the same way hers did when he touched them.

  Fascinated, she did it again. This time he groaned softly, a dark sensual sound.

  ‘You like that,’ she said, delighted with her discovery.

  ‘I don’t like it.’

  She froze.

  ‘I adore it.’ He flexed his hips and she felt the hard ridge of his arousal against her hip.

  Oh, yes, he liked it, a lot. ‘In that case...’ She did it again, feathering the brush-like end around and over his chest, up his throat and across his lips.

  He bared his teeth in a feral sort of smile and snapped his teeth. She whisked it away before his teeth closed over it. She explored his reaction to its touch on his manly nose, across the straight golden brows and across the sharp angles of cheekbone and jaw. He closed his eyes in pleasure at the soft sweeping stroke, but sucked in a breath when she traced the curvaceous shape of his ear. The sound set off little flutters low in her abdomen. Delicious.

  She resisted the urge to squirm against his erection. Instead she teased her own lips to see how it felt.

  His eyes grew heavy, watching the little tuft waft lightly back and forth. Not as soft as a feather, she decided. A bolder, more assertive sensation. Tingles tightened her nipples.

  She gave him a naughty smile. ‘I think it would make a fine paint brush. I could paint you pretty colours.’

  ‘Could you now?’ He gave her the lazy smile of a male who was charmed and entertained.

  She tilted her head and stroked her braid brush across each cheekbone. ‘Blue here.’ A dab at the end of his nose. ‘Red.’ A feather-light stroke across an eyelid. ‘Purple.’

  He grinned. ‘You would have to catch me first.’

  She tickled his ear and a deep laugh erupted from his chest.

  Unable to resist, she leaned forward and kissed his smiling mouth. He caught her by the nape, angled his head and deepened the kiss. She turned into him, pressing her aching breasts against his hard chest, resting her hands on his shoulders, her tongue sliding against the slick heat of his. Heat pooled between her thighs.

  While their lips clung together, he rose effortlessly to his feet and carried her to his bed. He untied the belt of her dressing gown and drew it off. A moment later he laid her out naked on his bed.

  * * *

  His wife was a pagan goddess. Comfortable in her skin. Glorious in her nakedness with a glint in her eyes that was an invitation he could not have resisted, even if he wanted to. She looked good enough to eat, sprawled in abandon on his bed. Irresistible.

  ‘I think we need to be rid of that braid,’ he said, eyeing the powerful weapon that had driven him nearly mad. ‘May I?’

  Teeth nipping her lower lip, she nodded her assent. His shaft twitched at the seductive sight of her lush mouth. Her gaze dropped to where the fabric of his robe jutted away from his groin. She licked her lips.

  ‘Do not worry, it will still be there when needed.’

  She smothered a laugh with her hand, her eyes dancing. He gazed at her beautiful body, with its lovely swells and hollows and long slender limbs. She was so lovely, he really didn’t deserve such loveliness in his bed. But here she was and he would not disappoint.

  He leaned over her and stroked the long rope of her hair, neatly plaited for sleeping. ‘Such a pretty colour.’

  She made a face of disagreement. ‘It’s brown.’

  ‘Caramel. Toffee with a glint of gold in the sun.’

  ‘Yours is gold,’ she scoffed.

  ‘Believe me, to me it is glorious.’ He freed it from its ribbon with a quick tug. Slowly, he unravelled the plait from tip to root and
stroked his fingers through the long, soft waving tresses, arranging them around her on the pillow and pulling them forward over her breasts. He caressed the soft strands with his fingertips. ‘This is how Godiva must have looked.’

  She chuckled. ‘It feels thoroughly debauched.’

  ‘My speciality.’ He shed his robe and lay down alongside her. He buried his face in the fragrant mass of silk. Jasmine.

  A moment later, she rose up and leaned over him, her hair gliding delicately across his shoulders and forming a veil around them both.

  She lowered her head and kissed him so sweetly, his heart ached. He enfolded her lithe body in in his arms. This woman was special, precious. And she deserved so much better than him.

  With gentle hands she stroked his hair back from his face and looked down into his eyes. ‘You are a lovely man,’ she whispered. ‘Beautiful.’

  He couldn’t speak for the lump in his throat. Longing.

  She didn’t seem to notice as she returned to kissing her way down his body, pausing to nip his chin and lick at his nipples. He burned for her, his body on fire, his mind focused only on the feel of her tongue and lips and teeth. Finally she straddled his shins and sat back to admire his erection with a particularly arousing smile.

  His breath caught in his throat at the idea she might...

  She glanced at his face from beneath her lashes. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot.’

  He blinked, startled by her words. She reached back and felt in the pocket of the robe she’d been wearing and brought forth... The necklace from the Dunstan ruby parure, glowing gently in the soft light of the fire and the candle beside the bed.

  ‘Julia?’

  Her smile grew as artfully she arranged it just above his erection, the stones shockingly cold against his stomach at first. She drew back to take in the results of her handiwork. ‘Tit for tat,’ she said, her face full of mischief.

  ‘Naughty.’ He’d made love to her the first night they met with her wearing the full complement of rubies, the bracelets circling her breasts, an earbob in her navel and the necklace draped across her mons. A picture he would never forget as long as he lived.

  He raised his head and gazed down at himself. ‘They looked better on you.’

  ‘That is your opinion, sir. To me you look good enough to eat.’

  He groaned.

  She leaned forward, gently cupping him, and delicately she licked up his shaft, circling her tongue around the crest.

  Against his will, his hips rose up and he fisted his hands in the sheets to keep himself still. When she took him in the warm wet heat of her mouth his mind went blank and his body rigid with desire. Tenderly, she swirled her tongue around the head. His spine tingled.

  He croaked a warning.

  Slowly, she released him and raised her head. Her eyes had a wicked gleam, her smile was teasing. ‘Still ready, I see, Duke.’

  In an instant he had her on her back.

  ‘Now, Alistair,’ she said, her voice husky with need.

  A gentle touch confirmed she was ready and he pressed home to the hilt.

  Her ecstatic sigh had him moving, setting a rhythm tied to each nuanced expression of pleasure on her face.

  He thrust harder. Nails scraped his back. A hand kneaded his buttocks. Her legs came up around his waist.

  ‘Yes...’ she breathed. ‘Alistair, yes.’

  He drove into her and she moved her hips, setting the pace and the depth of penetration. Her inner muscles stroked him the way her mouth had and he lost all sense of self. They were one. He felt her body tighten as she approached her climax.

  His own roared along his veins with unstoppable force. He couldn’t... He must...

  Then she shattered with his name a soft cry on her lips. He fell apart.

  Never had he felt such an incredible feeling of pure joy. A sensation that went far beyond pleasure. An intimacy of the soul.

  Longing filled him for something he had sought all his life, yet never dared to hope for until now. Warming a heart he’d thought frozen out of existence. He drifted on the warm tide of pleasure.

  As bliss waned, so did the inexplicable emotions. When he finally came to his senses, he realised with dawning horror that he had not withdrawn from her body. His stomach fell away. The loss of control shook him to the core of his being.

  Idiot! What on earth had been going on in his head? This was a physical connection, nothing else. He did not need it, though he had enjoyed it immensely, as had she. He certainly did not want ridiculous feelings cluttering up his mind or messing with his plans.

  Anger at his stupidity filled him, and an odd sense of loss. Too bad. This must never happen again.

  He rose and went for water and a cloth.

  Julia raised her head, and regarded him with a sleepy gaze. ‘Alistair, is something wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’ His tone sounded harsher than he had intended, colder.

  She frowned.

  ‘It is all right, Julia.’ He stroked her hair back from her face, where it had stuck to her cheek. He gave her lips a brief kiss. ‘Everything is lovely. You are lovely.’

  A smile and her eyes slid closed. If only he could believe she would not betray him the way everyone else had. He couldn’t. In the end, they all did. Bitterness filled him. And loneliness.

  He rose from the bed and dressed. For a moment he gazed down at her lovely face. Drank in her expression. Inhaled her scent.

  The sight of the rubies tangled with the bedsheets made him smile sadly. He picked them up, arranged them on the dressing table, and went downstairs to his study. To work.

  * * *

  Two days later, Julia went in search of the husband who had set her about with footmen, then set about avoiding her by riding out in the morning with his steward and sending apologetic notes about being unable to get home in time for dinner each evening. And when he did arrive home, after dinner he promptly went off to play billiards or chess with some neighbouring Squire, the same way he had avoided her in London.

  She’d had quite enough. They needed to talk.

  If not for Grindle whispering in her ear, she would not have known to find him in his estate office this morning.

  He looked up from a pile of papers that looked higher than when she had been in here the last time. For a second or two a smile of welcome hovered on his lips. It disappeared so fast she wondered if he’d been expecting someone else. His face was thinner than it had been. His eyes were shadowed and weary.

  ‘Julia. How unexpected.’ He looked as if he’d lost a sovereign and found a penny.

  Reaching for calm, she forced herself to gaze past him to the desk. ‘No word from Mr Lewis?’

  ‘Not as yet.’ He remained behind his desk, keeping distance between them.

  ‘I see Jaimie McPherson has returned,’ she ventured. ‘I assume Mrs Robins is settled.’

  His lips flattened. ‘She is. How are you?’

  ‘Well enough for anything.’

  He raised a brow. ‘How may I be of service?’

  The vision his words conjured in her mind caused a pulse of pleasure that had her squeezing her thighs together. A flicker of the muscle in his jaw made her think he had noticed her response.

  She inhaled and straightened her shoulders, moving away, seeking courage. ‘I wanted to discuss our marriage.’

  His fair brows drew down. ‘In what regard?’

  ‘The lack thereof.’

  He gestured for her to sit. ‘Shall I call for the tea tray?’

  ‘Perhaps afterwards.’ She wanted this over with. She perched on the edge of the chair in front of the desk. ‘Alistair, I cannot blame you if you think marrying me was a mistake, but we are stuck with it.’

  He frowned. ‘I am not sure I understand your meaning.’
/>
  ‘For one thing, you are now avoiding my company as if I have the plague.’

  His expression became more remote. ‘There has been a great deal of business requiring my attention. Things that Lewis—’

  ‘Even you do not work all night.’ Oh, there were the longings again pressing to the fore. Heat scalded her face. ‘I hear you late at night.’ Through doors he now kept locked.

  His lips thinned. Deep lines bracketed his mouth. ‘You have been ill. I thought it best—’

  ‘Alistair, please. Do not lie to me.’

  He rose to his feet and leaned over the table hands planted flat on the surface. ‘How dare you, madam?’

  She flinched at the ice in his tone, but rose to face him. ‘When I told you I was barren, when you said not to worry, I thought you were being kind. That you were offering comfort. But that wasn’t it, was it? The other night when you—’ She made a circle with one hand. ‘You don’t want to even try for a child with me, do you?’

  He shook his head. ‘I do not.’

  She sank back on her chair, the pain in her heart making it hard to draw breath. ‘Why?’ she whispered. ‘Is it because of what I did? Where you found me? You are ashamed.’

  He looked shocked. Stunned. ‘Certainly not.’

  The pain eased a little. ‘Then what?’

  He closed his eyes briefly, then stared up at the ceiling. ‘I already have an heir of my body.’

  The words made no sense. Nor did the anguish in his gaze. ‘You have an heir? You were previously married?’ Why had he never mentioned this? Why not so much as a hint of having had a child? She frowned. ‘My child would not supplant your previous issue.’

  He gazed at her, his face a mask of bitterness, his eyes like shards of ice. ‘I have never been married. Any son of yours would supplant Jeffrey.’

  ‘Your nephew?’

  ‘My son.’

  Her stomach fell away in a sickening lurch. The dissolute Duke. No woman had been safe from his seduction. All the rumours battered at her mind. He’d played his own brother false. ‘That is...awful.’

  She struggled out of the chair, stumbled blindly for the door. How could he? She turned back. ‘You never intended to wed.’