by Diana Quincy
She stood before the hearth, her heart racing, when she heard the adjoining door open. Hart loomed large in the doorway. His hair was loose, hanging in black strands around the uncompromising lines of his face. He wore a red satin dressing gown which fell open at the top, revealing a lightly muscled chest and a smattering of curly hair. Heat licked her skin at the sight of his bare calves, which were round with muscle and dusted with the same fine dark hairs.
Her mouth went dry. “I wasn’t sure you would come since it is so late. It has been a tiring day.”
He approached her and touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “Are you too tired for me, Willa?”
Yearning shot through her. She shook her head. “No.”
Hart pulled her nightcap off, freeing her tousled curls. His eyes glittered with desire. “My first request as your husband is that you never wear one of these unfortunate contraptions to bed. Your hair is glorious. Let me see your glory.”
Feeling shy, she ran her fingers through her hair to tidy it. Hart cradled her face in his large hands and kissed her slow and deep, tasting her with languid sweeping motions with his tongue, communicating a deep sense of longing and fervid need. Her legs dissolved beneath her. Feeling her waver, Hart caught her, pulling the length of her body up against his, her curves melding against his taut, muscled form. He took his time, exploring her fully, nibbling on her lips, leaving no part of her mouth untouched by his carnal exploration. Willa trembled under his touch, and waves of physical exhilaration lapped through her.
Taking her hand, he led her to the bed. He sat down on the side of it and pulled her to him so that she stood between his legs. He began to undo her wrapper. Jolted by his boldness, Willa flinched, her cheeks burning.
Surprise flickered in his dark eyes. “You know what happens in the marriage bed, Willa.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Doesn’t one usually put out the candles?” she managed to squeak out.
Hart smiled, drawing her wrapper off of her shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor. “I am your husband now. I want to see all of you. Will you allow it?” He fingered one of her loose curls. Mounting desire overtook Willa’s sense of modesty. Longing to see all of him too, she slipped her hands underneath his dressing gown to touch his bare shoulders. He felt hot, strong, and soft all at the same time. She pushed the cool, silky fabric away from his skin until it pooled at his waist, while her curious hands ran over the firm curves of his bare chest, over his shoulders and around his back. He stood, allowing his dressing gown to fall to the ground, leaving him completely bare to her gaze.
Willa’s mouth watered. He was all sinewy muscle and hard curves. On the most basic level, she was fascinated, having never seen a naked man before. She ran her inquisitive hands down his sides and over the length of his body. She looked at the massive flesh between his firm thighs with a mixture of wonder and wanting. He was already hard and jutting.
“You can touch it,” he said, the words both rough and tinged with a bit of desperation.
“Are you certain it’s all right?”
He laughed, warm and deep within his chest. “Quite certain.”
Willa reached down and wrapped her curious fingers around his male organ, stroking softly. Groaning, Hart reached down to pull Willa’s thin nightgown over her head.
…
She stood naked before him, her fingers touching his aching flesh. Willa’s luminous skin glowed in the candlelight, her wild curls cascaded around her shoulders, teasing at her lush breasts, their centers pink, lovely, and pert. She was so beautiful he ached with desire for her. Everything he wanted stood before him, his for the taking. He ran his hand over her shoulder and down to cup her supple breast, savoring its warm, succulent weight.
Had Bellingham touched her this way?
The traitorous thought invaded his mind. He dropped his hand, consciously shoving the thought from his head, trying to focus on the pleasure of Willa’s fingers wrapped around his aching rod.
She looked at him, her eyes glistening with wonder and sexual excitement. “You are so soft and hard at the same time.”
Had she done the same to Bellingham? Had she held him and stroked him the way she handled Hart now? He grunted, trying to thunder the thought from his mind. He bent to kiss her hard before tossing Willa up onto the bed. Crawling over her on all fours, he kissed her with unbridled passion, driving his hungry tongue into her mouth, tasting, delving, longing to possess her completely.
He reached down to the triangle between her thighs, his finger going to the center of her pleasure. Had Bellingham done the same when he took her? Hart shook his head and drove his tongue further into Willa’s mouth, trying to eradicate jealousy’s dark grip. He clumsily pushed Willa’s legs apart and mounted her. Desperate to drive Bellingham’s ghost out of his marriage bed, he buried himself deep inside her with a single forceful stroke.
He heard Willa gasp at the tearing sensation, letting out a small scream as she tried to push him off her to stop the pain. He stilled inside her, his mind confused and unable, at first, to grasp the undeniable truth of what Willa’s body had just told him.
He’d felt her maidenhead.
She was a virgin.
Chapter Thirteen
Hart withdrew as gently as he could and tried to draw her into a protective embrace. She stiffened and rolled onto her side, inching away from him.
“Willa, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” he stammered, knowing how useless his words sounded, realizing the magnitude of his terrible mistake. Willa had entrusted herself to him and he had invaded her body like an animal. He should have gone slowly, prepared her tender flesh to receive him. Pangs of guilt and self-disgust swept through him. He touched her shoulder gently. “Willa—”
“Please, don’t touch me,” she said, her voice shaky. “I just need to be left alone for a moment. It…it was not what I expected.”
His gut twisted. Grabbing a blanket from the foot of the bed, he spread it over her, shielding her naked body from his gaze.
He rose from the bed and pulled on his dressing gown. His mind racing, he strode to the fireplace, unsure of what to do next. He shoved his hair away from his face and looked at Willa’s shape under the covers. She looked small and frightened, curled up as though willing him to be gone. Because he didn’t know what else to do for her, he went to the basin and wet a cloth. Returning to his wife, he knelt and she looked at him with large, unlit eyes.
Hart winced at the dullness he saw there. “Willa, I’m not going to hurt you, love.” He spoke in a soothing voice. “I’m just going to help clean you up a little. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”
Still looking dazed, Willa didn’t protest when Hart drew up the blanket, uncovering only her legs and the triangle of dark fur between her thighs, while the rest of her body remained hidden by the blanket. She tensed when he began to wipe the red fluid from her thighs.
“There, love, almost done,” he said, drawing the blanket over her lithe limbs to shield her again once he was done.
She finally looked at him. “Hart, you seemed angry when you did it… Is it always like that?”
“No, honey, no.” He stroked her hair as self-loathing swamped him. “I was an idiot, an oaf. Please forgive me.”
“I…I can’t imagine doing that too often.”
“I understand a woman’s first time can be painful. I should have been more gentle. I didn’t realize it was your first time.” He regretted the words the moment they slipped out.
She stilled. “What do you mean?”
“Willa,” he asked, his chest tight, “why did you lead me to believe you were no longer an innocent?”
“What?” Sitting up, she clutched the blanket tightly to her chest, and waved off his stroking hand as one might swat a troublesome insect. “I did no such thing.”
“You indicated that you and Bellingham—”
She stared at him in disbelief. Hart caught sight of the anger coming in behind the confusion. A pa
rt of him felt relief to see the old fighting Willa emerge. The other part began to realize just how colossal a mistake he’d made.
“The inn—” he said weakly.
Willa’s face flushed with rising indignation. “You thought I allowed Augustus to bed me at the inn? Granted, I was an idiot to meet him there, but you must think me a total fool.”
“The chambermaid at the inn said—” he began in his defense.
“The chambermaid at what inn?” Hart had a sinking feeling as comprehension dawned on her face. “You went to the inn? Why? To investigate me?” She looked around. “Drat! Where are my clothes?”
Hart picked them up, handing them to her.
“Thank you…” she said, years of etiquette kicking in before she could catch herself. “I mean…blast it. Turn around.” He complied, listening to the sounds of her movements, the rustle followed by the slide of her nightclothes against her skin.
Willa faced him when she was fully clothed. “You went to the inn. When?”
“The night I saw you in the solarium with Bellingham, when we argued.”
Her face scrunched up. “How would you even know to go there?”
“I was at the tavern, in my cups, and the barmaid there told me the rumor about you and Augustus and the inn.”
She paled. “Go on.”
“Willa, this isn’t necessary.”
“Tell me.”
Hart sighed. “The chambermaid said you met him there. That you—” Another awkward pause. “That you…ahem…lost your innocence.”
She reddened. “And you believed a chambermaid, a complete stranger?”
His head throbbed. “Well, in my defense, you never actually said you had not lain with Bellingham.”
Willa’s eyes widened. She opened mouth but no words came out at first. Then she found her voice. “Why would I even think to tell you such a thing? Have you taken complete leave of your senses?”
Hart blew out a breath. “The chambermaid took me to the room. She said you left blood on the sheets.” His voice softened. “That you cried when you left.”
Willa turned and paced to the bed, snatching up the red-stained cloth Hart had used to clean her. She hurled it at him. “Then how do you explain this?”
He caught it. “Willa, I know I was mistaken. I felt your maidenhead when I took you.” He took hold of her arm, trying to calm her down.
She pulled away. “Please don’t touch me,” she said, shaking in the effort to control herself. She froze. “Wait. That was the night you came to my bedchamber, the night you said you’d been with a whore.”
He avoided her gaze. The least he could do for her now was to be truthful. “Yes.”
Suspicion gleamed in her liquid eyes. “Where did you find this whore?”
“Well, she wasn’t what you could precisely call a whore,” he said slowly, feeling like he was careening toward the edge of a cliff with no way to slow the momentum. “It was more like her side vocation.”
“What does that mean?” she demanded.
“She is a chambermaid.”
“A chambermaid?” Her voice rose in disbelief.
“Yes,” he said, wincing inwardly. “At the inn.”
“At the inn where you thought Augustus and I—?” Her face twisted with repugnance. “Not in the same bed that you believed that I…he—” she whispered, horrified.
Miserable, he sank down into a chair in front of the fireplace. “I fear so.”
“So,” she said, her voice shaking, “you believed I had no honor, and what we’ve discovered this evening is that it is you, Your Grace, who has no honor.”
…
Willa awoke the following morning to a pounding headache. Looking around at the pink silk and velvet surroundings, it took her a moment to remember she was in her large, unfamiliar chambers at Fairview Manor. Thin shards of light streamed through a crack in the closed curtains. The door that adjoined Hart’s chamber was slightly ajar but Willa couldn’t discern any noises coming from the other side of it. She sat up and stretched, wondering how long she had slept. Dragging herself out of bed, she moved quietly so as not to awaken Hart. She was in no mood to face her new husband. The big dolt.
She focused instead on her first day as mistress of Fairview Manor, intending to wash, dress, and get on with the business of being Duchess of Hartwell. Her marriage might be a disaster, but she had duties to attend to. She would begin by acquainting herself with her new home. She would meet with the housekeeper and go over the household accounts.
There was a polite tap on the door followed by a maid Willa recognized from last evening. The maid directed the footmen who’d arrived with warm water for Willa’s bath.
“Pardon me, Your Grace. The duke called for your warm bath.”
Hart strolled through the adjoining doorway, clad only in his crimson dressing gown. “Thank you, Vera.” He turned to Willa, acting every inch the enamored bridegroom. “Darling, I called for the bath as soon as we awoke.” He walked to Willa, draping an arm around her waist. “Vera, please bring a breakfast tray for us as well. And we are not to be disturbed after that.” His commanding voice left no doubt who was master here. It was also full of implication.
Vera’s mouth curved upward. Casting a knowing eye at the newlyweds, she kept her tone respectful. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Willa flushed at Hart’s insinuation and at the casual possessiveness of his firm hand at her waist. She willed herself to stay still, planting a small serene smile on her face. She could easily guess the gossip that would dominate the kitchens today, and she wouldn’t compound matters by pulling away from Hart in front of a servant.
Hart tugged Willa closer to his side, tucking her against his masculine warmth. “After we bathe, you may change the bed clothes. My lady wife and I will take breakfast in my chambers while you do so. Oh, and Vera, Her Grace and I will take all of our meals in our chambers today.”
Vera’s knowing smile widened, but she avoided eye contact as she continued readying the bath. She kept her tone deferential. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Willa struggled not to erupt in front of Vera. Hart was a bedlamite if he expected her to stay in these chambers with him for the remainder of the day. And if he anticipated a repeat of last night, a most unwelcome surprise awaited him.
The moment Vera finished her task and withdrew, Willa pulled away from Hart. “I will be taking my breakfast in the morning room,” she said with cool disdain. “After that, I will ask Digby to give me a tour of the manor and then I plan to meet with Mrs. Pearson to go over the household accounts.”
“You will breakfast in here with me, my dear wife.” He dropped his tall frame into a chair by the hearth. “We are newly wed after all. What would the servants think if we were up and about so soon after the wedding night?”
Willa’s chest squeezed. “I don’t care what they think.”
“Well, I do. I will not have you subject to any more speculation.”
“Beg pardon?”
He sighed heavily. “Willa, as unfortunate as it is, there are widespread, unsavory rumors about your association with Bellingham. I heard them myself at Brooks, from men who are considered respectable.” He crossed an ankle over his knee, baring a strong leg lightly dusted with dark hair. “I cannot allow that to continue. If we leave this room, it could suggest I was displeased with my new bride in some way. And given the rumors, it is not difficult to surmise what conclusion the servants will draw.”
Casting a look at the stain of her maidenhead in the unmade bed, she said, “And you begin my redemption by making certain the servants see the evidence of my innocence on the bed clothes.”
Hart pushed to his feet and walked to her, brushing a tendril of wayward hair away from her face. Willa felt a familiar excitement at Hart’s touch. Silently cursing her weakness, she moved away from him and toward the bath.
“So Willa,” he continued, his eyes following her, “we will make every appearance of being the besotted newly-married couple
. We are stuck together here in this chamber at least until the morrow. We will take all of our meals in here until the morning. Do you understand?”
The heat of anger rose in Willa. Hart meant to trap her in here with him when she craved to be as far from him as possible. What did he expect to do all day? She eyed the tub which had been readied for her. The steaming water would rapidly cool and she hated tepid baths.
“As you wish, Your Grace.” Steeling herself against a natural inclination toward modesty and forcing herself not to rush, she unbelted her dressing gown and dropped the garment to the floor with a haughty disregard, revealing her bare body to his gaze.
His mouth dropped open. “By God, you are magnificent.”
Taking her time, she stepped into the bath and sank down into it, the rush of warm water cradling her tingling body. Her challenging gaze met his. “I trust you won’t force your unwanted attentions on me.”
Hart cocked an eyebrow, his face darkening. Desire curled in Willa’s belly and she hated herself for still wanting him after the disaster of last night.
“It is my right as your husband to bed you when I please.” He sauntered over to the bath, openly enjoying the sight of her bare body as he came to tower over her. “I could take you in that bath at this very moment and this time, you would enjoy it.” His commanding tone made Willa stiffen. He reached down and she held her breath, waiting to feel his hands on her sensitized skin. But then a glint appeared in his eye and he reached beyond her, for the soap on a stool at her side. Straightening up, he dropped it into the water with a plopping splash. “However, I’ve never forced a woman and I don’t intend to start now.”
Fighting disappointment, Willa’s defiant eyes held his gaze. She found the soap in the water and began to clean herself. She moved in an unhurried, methodical manner, cleansing the length of each arm, as though Hart were not watching her every move. The soap’s rose fragrance filled the air.
Pointing a water-glistened leg out of the water, she ran both hands up her limb and then back down again. She repeated the motion with the other leg and still Hart did not move.