“One has nothing to do with the other,” Crispin muttered.
She shrugged. “Perhaps he figured that out too, because after a year and a half of our marriage, he took away whatever remaining pleasure he gave.”
“How?”
“He would not touch me. He started using an oil to ease the joining when once he used to…” She blushed again, the humiliation of this story almost overwhelming. “Must I say it?”
“No.” His lips pursed. “I understand, please continue.”
She somehow gathered her remaining composure. “And then he even stopped doing that. He told me if I wanted to keep from feeling pain, I would ready myself with my own dirty hands.”
“He said that to you?” Crispin asked.
“That and worse. He felt, I think, that he had been given a bad trade. He’d paid for a biddable young bride who would give him an heir and a spare to continue his line. I was a lame horse.”
“His words again?” Crispin asked, and now he sounded angry.
“Perhaps,” she whispered, trying not to remember every awful exchange. In the months since Theodore’s death, the nasty things he’d said to her had faded somewhat, becoming softer in her mind. This brought the truth of them rushing back.
“This is a very sorry tale,” Crispin said, and it sounded like he was speaking through clenched teeth. “With the villain in the piece a bastard who did not deserve you.”
“He wasn’t a villain,” Gemma said, but the words were weak.
“He was,” Crispin said, tone utterly firm and certain. “However, I still don’t understand how he died. Did he drive you too far with his attitude? Did he turn to violence and you defended yourself against his attack?”
“No!” Gemma recoiled and thrust herself from the chair. She paced away from him. The entire room seemed to spin and she gripped the surface of a tabletop to center herself.
“Then explain it, Gemma.” He stood up too but made no move toward her. “I have not judged you thus far, I swear to you that I will not judge you later. Just explain why people think you killed the man.”
“I did kill him,” Gemma murmured, and she watched Crispin stiffen. “Just not the way you think.”
“Tell me,” he insisted again.
Her breath came out as a sob and Gemma bent her head. She swiped at the tears that suddenly filled her eyes as she braced herself for what came next.
“One night he told me that he was coming to me for…for…”
“Sex,” Crispin said gently.
She nodded. “Yes. I prepared myself.”
Crispin’s eyes fluttered shut for a brief second and his face drew tight. Was he disgusted by the fact that she touched herself? If so, he would be even more horrified to know she still did, finding that pleasure she liked so much even though it had caused so much pain.
“And?” he said, his voice strained.
“When Theodore entered my room, I was frustrated, I was ready. I wanted more than a few perfunctory thrusts from him. So when he got into the bed, I-I took charge.”
Crispin’s eyebrows lifted.
“I touched him. He was protesting, but I saw how he reacted, how he liked what I was doing even if he was far beyond the point of liking me. So I continued, and finally I straddled him and we began to make love.” She stopped, placing her hands on her stomach as she tried not to think back, tried not to have those images mob her. “Just as I reached my peak, his face contorted. I thought he was finding his pleasure for a moment, but then it became clear it was something else. I flew for a maid, utterly naked, everyone came running, a doctor came…but it was too late.”
“He died.”
The words were said so flatly, a two-word summation of the most altering moment of her life. Gemma looked down at the floor and nodded slowly.
“An apoplexy, the doctor told me, after he shouted at me to put some clothes on and called me some variation on a whore.”
“You were the man’s wife,” Crispin snapped.
She glanced up at his sharp tone and found he was red with anger. At her or at the situation, she did not know.
“He was friendly with my husband and he blamed me for the death. The whispers started with him, with the servants. They spread out into Society and suddenly the salacious nature of his death wasn’t good enough. The story twisted from that he had died between my legs to that I had killed him.”
Crispin rolled his eyes. “But you didn’t kill him, even if the old goat might have deserved a good smothering with a pillow for the way he treated you.”
“And as a Flynn, you should know better than anyone that the truth isn’t what matters. The rumor rules the day when it comes to reputation.” She sighed. “That is my story. I hope you believe it.”
“Considering you looked like you wanted to vomit the entire time you were telling it, considering there was nothing but truth in your blunt words, I will tell you I entirely believe what you say,” Crispin said with a wave of his hand. “But I have a question.”
She tensed and he shook his head at her reaction.
“It’s not about the night of Laurelcross’s death, Gemma. You’ve told me enough details about that.”
Relief coursed through her. She’d been ready for censure and interrogation, but that didn’t seem to the future.
“I’ll try my best to tell you everything you want to know.”
“How long were you married?”
“Three years,” she said softly. It felt so much longer when she looked back.
“So you were married to the man for three years, he was an earl, and I assume he had a reasonable fortune.”
She nodded. “He was not without means.”
He laughed. “A formal way to say he was rich as Midas?”
She was shocked to find herself smiling at his quip. Here in the middle of talking about Theodore and all his ugly qualities, Crispin made her smile. Was that wrong? She wasn’t certain, but she found herself liking it more than she should.
“Not quite Midas, but no pauper.”
“And yet you have been his widow for…” He looked to her to fill the space.
“Almost a year to the day my father tricked you into marrying me,” she said bitterly.
His lips pursed. “Why are you back in Sir Oswald’s house, under his thumb? You should have had a good settlement from whatever wasn’t tied up in the entail, perhaps been left a home to stay in. Laurelcross’s death should have been a boon to you. It shouldn’t have sent you back into the control of your father.”
“Yes, that,” she murmured, and the bitterness grew stronger in her mouth. “Theodore’s will was clear. If I had produced a son, I would have received a massive settlement and all you say. I never would have had to marry again and my father couldn’t have touched me. I likely would have even been able to save Mary.”
“But?”
She shifted. “If I didn’t produce an heir, then my husband left it up to his grown daughters to decide how I was settled. And they stripped me of everything. I was left without money, without property. They took any jewelry I had been given, including my wedding ring. They even took clothing and gifts I had received after the marriage.”
“Did they return the dowry if they were going to set you back to your original state?” She lifted her brows and held his stare long enough that he shook his head. “Of course not.”
“And now you know every humiliating detail, Mr. Flynn, of my past and of my husband’s untimely death, as well as the reasons why I was damaged socially and financially by it. I believe I no longer have any secrets from you.”
“That shall make our marriage quite boring, I think,” he said, once again smiling at her and once again eliciting the same from her when she should have been weeping in humiliation.
She tilted her head and forced herself to meet his all-too-beautiful blue eyes. “But that statement leads us back to the original subject. Will we remain married or will you
pursue your desire to somehow see the thing annulled?”
Chapter Ten
Crispin heard the tone of Gemma’s voice when she said the word annulled. It was like it was a curse word to her, even though she had wanted this arrangement no more than he had. But his spinning mind kept reviewing the consequences his family had laid at his feet. Consequences for them. For him. But mostly, for her.
And he knew exactly why she wanted to avoid them. Hearing her story, he could well imagine what she wanted now was a very proper life where no one would dare whisper one thing.
He sighed. “Being my wife won’t be easy. You are tired of the rumors, I know, but my name and how I have behaved will only create more of that for you.”
“True whether we stay married or not,” she pointed out with a laugh that he could see held no humor. “We’ve already established that if you petition to have the marriage dissolved it will cause more trouble for me. But this isn’t just about me. You are involved as well. Since you don’t care what anyone thinks—”
He raised a hand to cut her off. He had already spent the day having his selfishness thrown in his face, there was no need to rehash.
“I don’t care what anyone thinks about me. So if this was about a stolen phaeton or a torn gown or a thwarted duel, you are correct, I wouldn’t give a damn. I would let it play out and perhaps even relish it.”
Her cheeks turned pink again and she dropped her chin. “I see.”
“But it isn’t,” he continued. “For the first time in a long time, what I have done isn’t all about me. I have the potential to damage my family and to destroy you and your sister. So what can I do?”
“You could walk away,” she said with a brief glance at him. “You have every opportunity to do so.”
“And become a monster in every sense,” he mused. He felt close enough to that edge as it was when he considered…
Well, everything he didn’t want to consider. That he couldn’t consider when faced with this decision.
“What do you propose, then?” she asked.
He cleared his mind of all the tangled thoughts that troubled him, took a deep breath and merely looked at the woman in front of him. She was undeniably one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever had the pleasure to look at. Beyond her beauty, though, there was something else. A quality that drew him in. Perhaps it was strength or resiliency or something else that he could not name.
He was drawn to her. And that draw had turned into full-blown desire when she talked about sex and her enjoyment of the acts in the bedroom. Though she had been embarrassed to reveal those telling secrets, he had seen the glimmer in her eyes. The need that had obviously gone unfulfilled for far longer than her husband had been dead.
It was a need he could very easily satisfy now. Every night. For a very long time before he bored of her. Having a willing—dare he say wanton?—wife would go far in making up for the shackles a marriage meant to him.
And it would save her from ruin. Save his family from despair. Since there was no other good choice at present, he knew what he had to do.
“We are stuck, my lady.” He smiled as he corrected himself. “Gemma. I think you know that as well as I do.”
She nodded. “I do, Mr. Flynn.”
“Crispin,” he said softly. “It’s time you started calling me Crispin.”
She squeezed her eyes shut as if she knew what crossing the line into that familiarity meant. “Crispin,” she finally repeated on a rough whisper.
God, he wanted to make her say his name like that out of pleasure instead of pain and resignation.
“But it does not have to be horrible,” he continued, moving toward her. “I am not like your husband.”
She caught her breath. “I hope you will not be.”
“I won’t. I guarantee it. I have no care in the world if you provide me with heirs and I would not think to punish you if you didn’t.”
She nodded slowly, but he could see she didn’t truly understand his meaning.
“But that isn’t what I’m saying. Your husband was apparently of a delicate nature. Giving you pleasure was a chore he completed, I suppose. And when you demanded it, he wasn’t able to oblige.” Now he reached out and dragged his hand against her cheek. Her skin was impossibly soft and he almost growled as he stroked it. “I am able. And I would not see making you quake and moan and beg as a chore.”
Her breasts lifted up and down at a wild pace thanks to her short breath, and Crispin smiled as her pupils dilated. She wanted him. And that desire only increased his own.
“We can be as strenuous as you like,” he continued, sliding his fingers into her hair and gripping the base of her skull firmly but gently. He tilted her face up, molding her against him so that he knew she felt his erection against her belly. “In fact, I would insist on it. I will make you come, Gemma. I will make you scream. I will enjoy every damn moment of it.”
He expected her to agree or disagree to these things, to say something at all. But to his surprise, she instead launched herself against him, crushing her mouth to his in a heated, desperate kiss.
He caught her seeking tongue in his mouth and sucked hard as he tightened his embrace and took back over in his seduction. She moaned into his mouth, arching her hips as she tangled her tongue with his. He couldn’t help but respond to her ardor, even though he was surprised by it. Despite her confessions about wanting to be pleasured, most ladies did not act with such abandon.
He counted himself lucky, in that moment, that he had found one who did. It was intoxicating. So intoxicating that he backed her across the room until he lowered her onto the settee. She relaxed back, her arms still around him so he could not escape and continued kissing him with passion.
“Slow down,” he murmured as he pulled back a fraction to look into her eyes. The dove gray was filled with panic and desperation. Not what he wanted. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She swallowed hard. “I must seem quite foolish to you.”
He shook his head as he found the buttons on her gown along the front. One by one he freed them without breaking eye contact with her. “On the contrary, you are incredible. But I don’t want to rut with you like a dog. Not at this moment. I want to make this last.”
She stared at him like she didn’t understand, and he frowned. Her damned husband, who acted like pleasure was something she should grovel for…even when Laurelcross was thinking about her needs in the beginning, had sex been a perfunctory act? Just enough to give her a flutter of pleasure and then out the door with hopes that his seed had been planted?
If that was true, this woman was about to get a very different experience. Crispin shifted his weight from her and got up. She watched him go, and he smiled to reassure her while he approached the parlor door and turned the key. He didn’t want interruptions of any kind, that was for certain.
“Stand up,” he ordered.
She clutched her open gown around herself and did as she had been told, but when her fingers went to close the dress, he shook his head.
“I’m not having you stand so you can fix yourself,” he clarified. “I’m having you stand so I can do this.”
He moved on her and slowly slid his hands beneath the shoulders of her gown. He slid the fabric from her body, letting his hands glide down her goosebumped arms, her trim waist, her perfect hips until the entire contraption fell at her feet. She stood in what looked to be a very cheap chemise, one that was well worn enough that it was nearly see-through. His heart stuttered, for he could see the lines of her body with almost perfect clarity.
“God help me,” he muttered before he cupped the back of her neck and drew her in for another kiss. She whimpered against his lips, the needy sound coursing through his veins and settling heavy in his already hard and ready cock.
“I don’t think it’s fair that I’m the only one in my undergarments,” she whispered as he broke their kiss to drag his lips down her throat.
&n
bsp; He chuckled. “You may divest me of whatever you like, Gemma, but be warned…I do not wear undergarments.”
Her eyes went wide. “You mean beneath your clothes you are…are…naked? Entirely naked?”
“Entirely,” he said, holding his arms out as if in offering. “Do you still wish to undress me?”
She nodded swiftly and unhooked his jacket first. She shoved it from his body and tossed it aside without seeming to care where it landed. He smiled as she went to work on his shirt, pulling and tugging at his cravat and eventually the buttons that kept her from bare skin. When she managed to wrestle the garment free of his trousers and open it, she gasped and stared at his chest beneath.
“What?” he asked, enjoying how her hands trembled as she reached out to smooth her fingers across his flesh. The touch was like electric heat and his cock throbbed with it.
“When you slept last night…was it only last night?” She shook her head. “I-I watched you and I wondered, I wondered what you looked like under your clothes.”
His mouth dropped open at her unexpected admission. “You did? I thought you hated me.”
“I did, a little,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “But I also couldn’t help but be fully aware of how handsome you were. How…desirable.”
He frowned. “When I woke, I feared I might have done something to you…forced you.”
She met his gaze. “If you had climbed into bed with me, I don’t think you would have had to force anything. I think I would have been as wanton then as I am being now, despite my hesitations and misgivings.”
“You are not being wanton,” he murmured as he pushed his shirt away and gave her a full view of his chest and bare arms. “You are being wicked and wonderful. I hope you will never be anything less when it comes to me and my bed.”
The Widow Wager Page 8