She let her hand at his chest glide lower, caressing the defined muscles of his belly. He stiffened again, but this time it wasn’t in displeasure. Slowly, he lowered his arm from his face and stared at her.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She smiled. “If I cannot talk to you about your dream, I’m simply hoping I can help in some other way.” His eyes went wide and suddenly she felt very awkward indeed. “Unless…unless you don’t want me to do so.”
He shifted closer to her on the bed. “Trust me, Gemma, I very much want you to do so, if you can take more tonight. You must be sore.”
She slid her hand further under the sheet and found his cock already half-hard. She smoothed her hand over it, loving how it came to life with her touch.
“Sore from wanting more, perhaps,” she whispered, watching his face as she began to work her hand over him again and again. His neck strained and he let out a groan of pleasure. He was entirely at her mercy. And she liked it.
She leaned in to kiss him, and he lifted his mouth to her greedily. She sank into his lips, tasting him, teasing him. He was allowing her control, whether by design or not, and it both thrilled and terrified her. The last time she had taken control, it had not ended well.
But she shoved that out of her mind and instead focused on Crispin’s pleasure. Her working hand around his cock was obviously what he needed, for he arched his back and thrust up into her with moans that vanished into her mouth.
“I want you around me,” he murmured, his groggy voice heavy with desire. She hesitated long enough that he met her gaze. “What is it?”
“I’m worried that—”
He smiled and the softness of it silenced her. “You can’t break me, Gemma. Only please me.”
She swallowed hard and straddled him. She leaned down, prolonging the wait for taking him, and kissed him again. His fingers came up to tangle in her hair and he sucked her tongue gently. Her body twitched in response and the wetness that had already begun from touching him increased tenfold. She wanted him. She needed him.
Those desires overcame her fear and she slid into position above his seeking cock. He gripped her hips and met her gaze as she slowly lowered over him, taking him in inch by heavenly inch until he was fully seated in her.
It was so different to be the one in control of lovemaking. It felt so different to hold him inside of her this way. She reveled in it for a moment until he gasped, “Please!”
His begging dragged her from her spell and she began to move over him. Slowly and first, but then faster. She rolled her hips over him, hitting the sweet spot of her clitoris each time. Her pleasure mounted higher and she squeezed his sides with her thighs as she rocked against him, seeking, reaching and finally exploding with a cry that ripped from her throat.
She continued to jerk over him, even as her orgasm made her movements erratic. He gripped her hips and guided her, lifting to meet her. With a deep, throaty groan, he arched her almost off the bed and she felt the hot burst of his seed deep within her.
They collapsed together, her body half on his, their breathing broken. He leaned down to press a kiss to her brow, then his arms closed around her and she felt him start to slip back into the sleep his nightmare had interrupted. She glanced up at him. His eyes drooped, his face relaxed and comfortable as if making love to her had at least cleared his mind from whatever he’d dreamed about.
She had never known anything like this physical connection with this man. But they shared it. And if it was all they ever shared, at least it was something.
Chapter Twelve
Thanks to her aching body, Gemma was more than aware of every rock and bump of the carriage the next morning. As they rattled over cobblestones, she gripped the seat edge and tried to suppress a moan of both pleasure and pain. When she looked across to her husband, she found Crispin with an arched brow and a very smug grin.
“Sore?” he asked with laughter in his voice.
“Well-used,” she teased, and saw desire light in his eyes at the term. Good, let him ache a little like she did, since she doubted the bumps made his body so very aware of what they had done last night.
“I’m pleased to use you well,” he drawled. “But since our preparations were rushed this morning, I would suggest perhaps we have a long, hot bath drawn for you when we return. It will help with your soreness.”
She smiled at the thoughtfulness of the suggestion, but she was struggling to feel anything but anxiety, even as they teased. “After an afternoon with my father, I think a relaxing soak would be just the thing.” She shook her head. “Though I’m not certain it will be able to perform magic and make me entirely forget whatever is about to happen.”
The smug grin faded. “I can well imagine the worry you feel when you are forced to face your father. But there is one thing to keep in mind.”
“Yes?”
He reached out and briefly caressed her hand. Even through her thin glove, it was like a brand being pressed to her skin. He lit her on fire. “You are not alone in it.”
She blinked away her desire and stared at him. “You are under no obligation to face off with my father—”
He cut her off with a laugh. “Indeed, I am. Isn’t that in the marital vows? Thou shalt endure your wife’s family and protect her from them always.”
She couldn’t help but join him in his laughter. “I don’t know. I don’t recall it, but my first marriage was long ago and my last one was very late at night.”
“Then we shall assume that in my stupor I did recall that one thing correctly,” he said, folding his arms as if that were the last word on it. “And even if it wasn’t, I actually look forward to facing off with him.”
“You do?” She shuddered. “I don’t know how. He can be horrible.”
“Yes, but you look at it all wrong, my dear. When he swipes at you, you cower from the attack, and of course you would. What choice did you ever have but to do so? Me, on the other hand…”
She leaned toward him. “Crispin, what are you going to do?”
He gave her a thin-lipped smile she did not trust in the slightest. “Your father wanted me, did he not? He chose me as his mark for his marriage trap? Well, he’s about to find out exactly what winning me means to him. Hell, by the time I’m done with him, he may ask that our union be dissolved.”
Her laughter faded at that quip and she felt the color drain from her face at the implication. “But you…you already told me you had set that idea aside, yes?”
He jolted at the question and met her eyes. “Gemma, you know the answer to that question. You and I came to an accord last night, completely separate from any arrangement your father made. He cannot break that and he no longer controls you. So do your best to enjoy your time with Mary and leave your father to me.”
“But I—”
“Gemma…” he said, tone filled with playful warning.
She shook her head. He was teasing her, of course, but there was more to his expression. He truly did seem to want to be her champion of some kind. Or at least be the one to put her father in his place.
She rather looked forward to it. At least she did until their carriage slowed to a stop at her father’s home. Then the churning in her stomach returned. It must have shown on her face, as well, for Crispin frowned before he stepped out of the carriage. When he turned back to retrieve her, his smile was gentle.
“Trust me,” he murmured.
She smiled, but had no reply. What reply was there? They had known each other but two days, and for half that time she had believed him to be a villain. Now it was different, of course. Yesterday had changed things.
Last night had changed things.
But she certainly wasn’t ready to put her trust in this man who she knew so little about. In the foyer Williams greeted them and led them to the same shabby little parlor where Gemma had first met Crispin. Again it seemed like years ago rather than days, and she sighed as she looked a
round the rundown room.
“You look tired, Williams,” she said, turning to face her father’s longtime butler.
The other man’s lips pinched. “I’m sorry, my lady—er, Mrs. Flynn.”
She tilted her head. “You needn’t be sorry. I understand the conditions here. Has it been very difficult since my departure?”
The butler looked over his shoulder as if to confirm his master wasn’t within hearing. “Miss Quinn has been agitated since your departure, and she and Sir Oswald have been in several rows.”
“Oh dear.” Gemma covered her face with her hand. “I had hoped but not believed they wouldn’t continue to fight.”
She felt Crispin’s hand move to the small of her back, and though he said nothing, the comfort he offered was certainly there. It took everything in her not to lean back into him and vanish into his presence.
“Does Mary know of my arrival?” she asked.
“Yes, she was told that—”
Before he could finish there was a rush of feet in the hallway and Mary herself all but skidded into the room. When she saw Gemma, she let out a sharp cry and launched herself forward. Gemma caught her, nearly tumbling backward as she held Mary tight.
Williams arched a telling brow, then bowed from the room with some muttered words about fetching her father.
“Oh Gemma, I was so afraid for you,” Mary whispered against her ear before she drew back and looked her up and down. “Why didn’t you write?”
Gemma shifted. “I should have penned a short note, I’m sorry. Mr. Flynn and I have been somewhat busy trying to figure out what to do with this strange circumstance we have been thrust into.”
Mary pivoted away from her, and her dark eyes locked on Crispin now instead. “You…” she said, her voice low. “What did you do to her? How could you?”
Crispin said nothing at the accusations, but stood impassive, with only the slightest look at Gemma.
“Mary!” Gemma cried, placing a hand in front of her sister to keep her from making movement toward Crispin. “Stop.”
“Still he is silent,” Mary snapped. “Is he mute?”
“He is not mute,” Crispin said softly. “But is there anything I could say to make you think better of me, Miss Quinn? After all, I swept into your home, drunk as anything, and left here with your sister as my…captive, I suppose, at least in your eyes. Why would you think well of me?”
Mary’s mouth snapped shut at his quiet words and she stared at him for a moment, then back to Gemma. Gemma could see the questions on her sister’s face, and she took both her hands.
“It isn’t as you think. Both Mr. Flynn and I were taken advantage of by Father and—”
“Taken advantage?” her father tsked as he entered the room with the widest of smug grins. “I would say given you advantage, Gemma. And do you thank me?”
Gemma turned on him, her eyes narrowing as she looked him up and down. He had a new waistcoat, and an expensive one by the look of it. It must have been his reward to himself for managing to pull off the coup of Crispin’s entrapment. And yet around him, their house crumbled.
“Thank you?” Gemma repeated, rage bubbling.
She said nothing more, for Crispin stepped between her and her father. “Sir Oswald, we have much to discuss, don’t we? Why don’t we retire together to your billiards room or your office and let the sisters reunite in private?”
Her father’s eyes darted to Gemma and Mary, and he nodded once. “I’m sure neither one of us want to be involved with the hens, yes. Come, I have a good whisky that just arrived today.”
Gemma tensed as Crispin’s eyes lit up. He had not had much to drink since the morning he realized they were wed, but she’d seen him eyeing the liquor multiple times. And judging from the mistakes he made when drunk, she didn’t relish the moment when the draw became too powerful for him to resist.
The men left the room, with only a brief glance over Crispin’s shoulder for her. As soon as they were gone, Mary rushed to the door and slammed it, leaning against it as if she would keep them from ever returning.
Gemma examined her sister’s face. Mary had dark circles beneath her eyes, and her frown was deep and filled with sadness and fear and anger.
“I’m so sorry you were left to worry,” Gemma said softly as she advanced on Mary. She took her hand and led her to the settee where Mary all but collapsed. “But you can see now that I am unharmed and I hope that gives you some relief.”
Mary stared at her. “How could I have relief? Yes, I am pleased to see you were not beaten, at least not where I can see it, but I can only imagine what other tortures you were subjected to.”
Mary’s deep blush made Gemma gasp. “Well, first off, no one has beaten me, not where you can or cannot see. And if you are implying that perhaps I was”—she dropped her voice—“raped, that is not the case, either.”
Mary sagged a bit. “Thank God.”
“Darling, you must listen. Father arranged this travesty. Crispin had nothing to do with it. Yes, he was foolish and drunk and those things kept him from protecting himself or me, but he is not the ogre you somehow think he is.”
“How could he not be?” Mary sighed. “He stole you.”
“No, Father sold me,” Gemma replied, putting her sister’s hand in her lap where she stroked it gently. “But Williams implies that the past two days have likely been harder on you than on me. What has happened here since my departure?”
Mary shook her head. “Oh, just Father being himself, you know. He was crowing when he returned from forcing you to wed. Crowing! I could not help it, Gemma, I-I shouted at him.”
Gemma sucked in her breath. It had always been she who had faced off with her father, not her sister. That had been her only way to shield Mary.
“What did he do?” she asked.
Mary fisted her hand. “What do you think? He threatened me, of course. First with a beating I would not soon forget and then with being sold to the highest and worst bidder he could find.”
“Did he touch you?” Gemma whispered.
Mary shook her head. “You know he only blusters. I’d heard him threaten you with violence without following through for so long that I hardly registered it. But the other thing…the other threat…”
“He is very capable of that, yes,” Gemma said. “As we have seen twice with me, now.”
Although she was beginning to feel she might have made a much better bargain the second time. Though she wouldn’t admit that to her father, for certain.
“I have been allowed two Seasons…well, I’m halfway through my second, at any rate.” Mary’s voice shook. “Do you think he would do this?”
Gemma shook her head. “I don’t know. Right now he is riding high off of landing Crispin. Despite his bad reputation, it is said my new husband has a great deal of money.”
She hesitated as she thought of Crispin’s face when she had said as much to him. He acted as if his coffers were not quite as high as was believed. She shook her head and continued, “Mary, you must be careful with Father. Don’t fight with him and don’t give him a reason to punish you with a future you will have no control over.”
Mary put her head in her hands. “I’m not even close to finding someone to offer for me, Gemma. I cannot imagine he’ll allow me my freedom for much longer one way or another.”
“I’m sorry about that, Mary. I’m afraid the whispers about Laurelcross’s death have likely damaged your chances in the marriage mart.”
Mary laughed bitterly. “Or perhaps it is the common knowledge that Father gambles away his living or that he is willing to barter with his daughters or that he acts a fool regularly.”
“Well, yes, I suppose those facts may have also played a part.” She squeezed her sister’s hand. “We’ll work something out.”
“What is there to work out?” Mary asked.
Gemma was taken aback by both the question and the tone in which it was asked. Mary ha
d always been the lighter spirit of the two, looking for the bright side in all situations. But now Gemma saw defeat lining her sister’s face, despair. It broke her heart.
“Mary—”
“No, we must be reasonable. If I do not find a husband of my own choosing within a few months, it is likely Father will take control in my third Season. He will decide and we all know what his criteria are.” She sighed. “In the meantime, I will also suffer knowing you are shackled to a drunk and a scoundrel.”
Gemma stood. “You can at least ease your mind about me, Mary. Honestly, I am not lying when I say that Crispin did not force me in any way. In fact, when he is not in his cups, he can be rather charming.”
“Yes, bastards often are,” Mary said, her tone dry as a fall leaf.
Gemma pursed her lips. “He has actually asked me what I want, Mary.”
Her sister stared at her, and she could see that the concept was as foreign to Mary as it was to her. Mary let out a long sigh. “Well, that is a good sign, I suppose. But I also have to add that just because he asked you your desires does not mean he’ll make any effort to grant them.”
Briefly, Gemma flashed to Crispin’s mouth on her, his hands on her, his body inside of her. With a jolt, she pushed those wicked memories away. That wasn’t what Mary meant. Mary would be horrified if she ever knew about those things.
“You are right,” she admitted. “He may not fulfill any promises made or implied. After all, Theodore behaved one way at the beginning of our union and eventually changed his colors significantly.” She shivered. “And I confess that I do fear Crispin may do the same thing in time. But I can’t live in that foggy future that does not exist. I must hold on to the time I am in and I tell you that for now, at least, Crispin is not a monster.”
Her sister shook her head slowly and Gemma could see she didn’t believe her. With a sigh, she clasped Mary’s hand.
“Come. Father has had the poor man under his sway long enough. Why don’t we join them and you can see for yourself?”
Crispin had spent his life avoiding grasping bastards like Sir Oswald Quinn. They were the antithesis of all his family was and all he wanted to be. But here he was, standing in the man’s run down billiards room, watching the knight of the realm pour him a drink.
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