by C. J. Archer
"I think that would be best."
It was all too formal, too awkward, too wrong. She wanted him to tear at her clothes, eager to see the package inside. She would have settled for a gentle unlacing. She hated this passionless process, as if he were ticking off each garment from a list. There was no desire in his voice, no heat in his eyes, not even an erection. Unlike the previous night. Clearly he only desired her when he was too drunk to see properly.
At first she didn't watch as he removed his clothes, but then she decided he was her husband and she had a right to see him naked. She wanted to see him naked. She wasn't sure how many more opportunities she would get. By all accounts, he was rarely home.
He shed his doublet, jerkin, shoes and breeches, and, like her, stood in only his shirt. He gathered up the sides and drew it over his head without further ado. He stood there, entirely, gloriously naked, the shirt bunched in his hand. Her breath escaped in a whoosh. Her heart tripped over itself. She'd never seen a man like Hughe before. To put it baldly, her new husband was as magnificent as any life-sized statue of a god. Muscles corded across his shoulders and rippled down his arms. The skin looked as smooth as marble, but golden, not pale. A sprinkling of hair the same shade as that on his head covered his broad chest and arrowed down his torso to his manhood, jutting out from its nest.
Cat blushed to the roots of her hair. He hadn't been aroused when he'd first removed his shirt, but after her admiring gaze, his member came alive. Perhaps it needed attention to get started. It hadn't last night.
She removed her own shirt and took some time to fold it and set it neatly aside, giving her time to cool down. By the time she turned to face him, she was more composed. She was no innocent maiden and it wouldn't do to act like one. It took great force of will not to cover her body up, but she managed it.
He wasn't looking anyway. He moved to the bed and sat with his long, muscular legs crossed at the ankles. A white, ridged scar ran the entire length of his thigh. The wound must have hurt when it had been fresh. Finally, he lifted his gaze to hers. He did not look at her breasts or any other part of her. Only her face. He held out his hand. "Come here, Lady Oxley."
She took his hand and knelt on the bed beside him. It had been almost a year since she'd made love to a man. Lord Slade had not come to her in the last months of his life, preferring his mistress's company. He'd given up on getting Cat with child and it would seem he'd lost his taste for her too.
"Tell me what you like," she said. "Tell me how to please you."
"Do whatever pleases you," he said, still smiling as if he were listening to a polite conversation.
What pleased her? That wasn't what coupling was about. It was about the man's pleasure, so that he could plant his seed inside her. She would simply enjoy the intimacy of being close to him, holding him and being claimed by him.
A small frown lined his forehead and a kernel of panic punctured her chest. What was she doing wrong? She lay down, her hands by her sides, yet he didn't move to cover her with his body. Perhaps he preferred it the other way. She went to roll over, but he placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Cat." His thumb gently stroked her in slow circles. His gaze focused on it, but it was bland and not at all heated with desire. His member had deflated again too. Her nakedness didn't appeal to him. "Cat, did your husband never see to your pleasure?"
"I don't want to discuss him. You are my husband now."
He blew out a breath. "My apologies. I don't want to upset you."
"You're not upsetting me." She sat up and his gaze lowered to her chest. She placed a hand across her breasts and not for the first time wished they were larger so she could display them proudly. His gaze shifted away to the bed. He couldn't even look at her.
Tears stung her eyes. It was all falling apart. Her dream husband, her dream house and life…it was over before it had really begun.
But she wouldn't give up so easily. She had to secure him as soon as possible. A marriage wasn't solid until it was consummated. She would consummate it this night if she had to turn somersaults to do it.
She shuffled across the bed and extinguished one of the candles.
"Good idea," he muttered, putting out the others. The room was as dark as a moonless night. Even when her eyes adjusted, she could only make out his shape and not his features.
It would be easier for him to do his duty if he couldn't see her pathetic body. To her utter relief, he touched her. First her shoulder, as if he were searching for her in the dark, then down past the curve of her breast to her waist. His light fingers skimmed across her skin, sending a wave of tingles skittering in their wake.
"Silky," he said on a breath. "You have beautiful skin, Cat."
Oh yes, putting out the candles had been an excellent idea.
His hand traveled up her middle and cupped her breast. She expected him to sigh with disappointment and move on, but he didn't. He thrummed her nipple with his thumb, teasing it to a point. Heat throbbed in her veins, spreading to every inch of her body. Exquisite tension rose, tightened, curled. She wanted more of it, yet it drove her mad. She would surely lose her mind if he continued.
She moaned and was shocked at her wantonness. She moved away, suddenly ashamed. Stephen had never paid her breasts any attention, except for when he'd first seen them. He had sighed with disappointment. After that, he simply ignored them.
"Don't," Hughe said, voice thick. "Come here. I want to touch your nipples."
She kept out of his reach and covered her breasts again, even though he couldn't see her in the dark. "Why?"
"Why?" he echoed, sounding confused. "Why wouldn't I?"
Was he teasing her? Was this his way of pointing out her deficiencies? "Because they're small. Boyish, so I've been told."
He laughed softly and her heart sank further. Tears hovered close. "Cat," he murmured, "I've never seen a boy with such plump, ripe nipples before."
"I'm not talking about the nipples, I—"
He was suddenly right there, kissing her, swallowing her protest. But he ended it too soon. He took both her hands in one of his and gently drew them behind her back. And then her left nipple became wet. He was licking it! She tried to squirm away, but he didn't allow her to move, trapped as she was. His tongue circled her nipple, teasing it to a point. Then he drew it into his warm mouth and suckled. If his touch sent tingles washing through her, his mouth drove her to the edge of a precipice. She wouldn't have cared if she fell into it. She wanted to. Her mind filled with him, only thoughts of him, and her body was alive like it had never been before.
She arched into him, wanting him to keep going, to suckle the other nipple. She wanted to tell him that she liked it very much, but the words wouldn't form. Her head had turned to mush, yet her body was alert like never before. Every lick of his tongue brought her closer to the edge, and then he would retreat, giving her time to step back and recover, only to close his mouth over the nipple entirely and nip it with his teeth.
Maddening.
She was wet for him, throbbed for him. "Hughe," she whimpered. She wanted to tell him to take her, but she couldn't speak. He finally let her hands go, but instead of covering herself, she reached down to his member. Her fingers circled the smooth, ridged shaft, so thick and long.
He sucked air between his teeth and let it out on a groan. She smiled. This night was going to be wonderful after all.
Hughe cursed silently. This night was not going to plan at all. Cat was a siren and he was helplessly drawn to her. When she'd removed her shirt he thought his cock would explode. Her body was everything he'd imagined it to be. Better. Her narrow waist exaggerated the swell of her hips and rear, and her nipples…dear lord, her nipples were the color of ripe cherries and just as plump. He couldn't resist taking one in his mouth and tasting it. Her response swelled his cock even more.
He had hoped extinguishing the candles would help him maintain composure while he performed his husbandly duty. Surely if he couldn't see her eyes, he would
n't lose himself in them. But he hadn't counted on her breathy reaction to his suckling, hadn't expected her to open herself to him, be so wet for him. Nor could he have known that simply touching her would make him harder than he'd ever been. She had the body of a nymph, and she was using it to bring him near release. And he'd not even entered her yet.
"Take me," she whispered. "Take me, husband." She guided his cock to her opening. She was hot and moist and he ached to enter her. Even more than that, he wanted to hear her cry his name in ecstasy. He wanted her to know what pure, deep pleasure felt like. He wanted to be the one to show her.
He wasn't supposed to want it, but he no longer cared how this night was supposed to play out. His plan to maintain control was already shattered. He might as well do everything he wanted to do and suffer the consequences tomorrow.
He did not enter her, even though it hurt like hell. He reached down between their bodies, snaking his rough hands over her smooth stomach to her curls. He touched one finger to her nub and she gasped. Her fingers dug through his hair and she drew his face to hers.
He kissed her. It was no less magical than when they'd kissed in London, but much sweeter, gentler. Her tongue darted out to meet his and together they deepened the kiss.
He pressed his thumb into her folds and she clasped his shoulders. Her fingers dug into his skin, pinning him. Her legs parted and he slipped his thumb all the way into her slickness. He rubbed the nub and her body arched higher, higher. Her breath quickened. Her thighs trembled. He could feel her tighten against him and feel the moment her release hit.
She broke the kiss and cried out in surprise. She throbbed around his fingers, against his knuckles, and threw her body back into the mattress. His arm was beneath her, cradling her.
"Did my little Cat like that?" he murmured, skimming his lips over her nipples. He breathed deeply, drawing in the scent of her slaked desire.
"Mmmmm," she murmured between her heavy breaths. "That was…I am…you are… Dear God."
He chuckled and nipped her nipple with his teeth. "A mere man."
Her slender hand wrapped around his cock and he almost burst. He had to get inside her now. He wanted to couple with her while she was still trembling from her release. He found her mouth in the darkness and kissed her thoroughly as he slipped his throbbing cock all the way in to the hilt.
They moaned together, and he tightened his hold on her, trapping her against his body. He would not allow even the smallest space to separate them. She was his wife now. All his.
He kept that thought with him as he rocked with her, drawing in and out, as slowly as possible. It was hell, but he managed to be gentle and not end too soon.
But his resolve fled when she wrapped her legs and arms around him and held him as tightly as he held her. It was a simple gesture and she probably wasn't aware she'd even done it, but it made his heart swell. His cock too. She wanted him and there was no place he'd rather be than inside his wife.
The tension coiled in his belly and shot to his groin. Everything tightened until he thought he'd fray like a rope pulled too hard. Then, finally, he crested the wave and the release slammed him. He spurted into her. He might have growled or moaned or shouted, but he couldn't be sure. He didn't care. All he cared about was staying inside his wife for as long as possible and holding her in his arms while he climbed down from the great heights she'd taken him to.
They lay together, side by side, still joined. She tucked her head beneath his chin and pressed her lips to his throat. Their arms and legs remained entwined so it was impossible to tell where each body began and ended. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feel of her heart pounding against his ribs. Its beat slowed after a while and her breathing grew less ragged. She was asleep.
His wife. In his arms. Sated. And blissfully unaware that he was cursing himself. Now that his own thirst was slaked, he could think clearly again.
Hell and damnation. He'd just bedded the widow of the man he'd killed and he'd liked it. No, not liked. That didn't begin to explain the consuming passion, the sheer delight he'd felt in taking her, and the possessiveness he felt toward her now. He'd reveled in their love making, in Cat, and now he was going to pay the price in guilt.
Guilt for killing her husband. Guilt for not telling her his greatest secret.
***
For the second morning in a row, Cat woke up without Hughe beside her when he'd been there the night before. She touched the empty space. It was cold. Perhaps it meant nothing. Perhaps he simply liked sleeping in his own bed. He had enjoyed their coupling, she was quite certain of that.
But had he enjoyed it to the same level as Cat?
She was drunk on him. Her body felt loose and wonderful, womanly. There was no soreness, no shame, no regret. She had not known that a man could give a woman such pleasure with a few teasing licks and touches. Hughe had held her as she crashed into the abyss, as if she were the most precious thing he owned. He had cherished her, taken delight in her, shown wonder at her response.
So why wasn't he there when she'd woken?
Her maids helped her wash and dress, and then she went in search of her husband.
Some of the revelers were still in the great hall, holding their aching heads or still sleeping on the benches. She found Hughe crossing the courtyard with his four friends. They were an impressive sight, their riding capes billowing behind them, like avenging angels, or the four horsemen of the apocalypse.
Hughe greeted her with a smile and a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Dear wife," he said in that simpering tone she loathed. "Are you well?"
"Thank you, I am."
"What will you do today?"
She frowned at him, wishing he would dispense with the ridiculously formal conversation and just kiss her thoroughly. This was not the man who'd claimed her last night and held her tenderly in his arms as if he couldn't bear to let her go.
"I thought I might help Elizabeth settle into the gatehouse."
"An excellent notion! I believe she's there now, with Susanna and Lucy." He kissed the top of her head again. "I'll see you at dinner."
He went to walk off, but she caught his hand. He swallowed heavily and tilted his head to the side in question. "Hughe, will you come to me again tonight?" she asked, keeping her voice low.
His false smile slipped a little. He gave a barely noticeable nod. "I have to," he said simply. He slipped his hand from hers and left with his friends.
He had to? Well, of course he would want to be certain that his seed was planted in her. But that was a rather odd way of putting it after the passion of the previous night. There'd been no light in his eyes, no knowing smile on his lips. He'd been cool and distant, as if bedding her was simply another activity to tick off his list for the day.
It seemed she would have to seduce her husband all over again.
***
She made love to Hughe again that night. It was as beautiful and wonderful as their first time, yet once again he was gone in the morning and cool to her during the day. The following night, he came to her again and they coupled in a frenzy, standing up against the wall. The fourth night, he was slower, gentler, but no less hungry for her. He took delight in trailing his tongue over the curve of her back and buttocks and they made love while he cradled her from behind. They slept in the same position, but he was gone before dawn.
Every night for the next week, he came to her, drove her to the edge and held her tenderly as she rode the waves of passion and collapsed in his arms, sated. They made love with the candles blazing because he wanted to see her body, so different to that first night. She no longer felt too thin or plain beneath his hot gaze. He made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. Like she was the only woman he could ever desire.
Yet each time she thought she'd finally won him over, he was distant the following day. After two weeks, she'd had enough. She confronted him after he had been out all day with Edward Monk. His other friends had returned to their homes, but Edward and Elizabe
th remained in the gatehouse.
Cat waited until the men parted at the stables, then intercepted Hughe as he crossed the courtyard. "We cannot go on like this," she said, hands on hips. She felt like a shrew, but so be it. He'd driven her to the point of sheer frustration.
"Like what, my dear?"
"Like…like strangers!"
He pouted in thought. "We are?"
"Yes! You love me at night and treat me like…like a sister during the day."
The light in his eyes dimmed, but only for a moment, and then it returned, brighter than before. "A sister! My dear, I rather think I wouldn't like a sister. Domineering creatures, so I've been told, always telling a fellow what he can and can't do. I already have one of those females in my life. No, I much prefer my little Cat wife." He tapped the end of her nose, just like an amiable brother would.
"Hughe," she said, softer, trying to turn the discussion into a more serious one. But she didn't continue. How to explain that she wanted things to be different between them? He saw that she had everything she needed. She had lovely clothes, sweet maids, a friend in Elizabeth Monk, and every comfort a woman could desire. He was cheerful, undemanding, and pleasured her at night. She was fortunate.
Yet something was lacking. She saw the way Edward looked at Elizabeth when he returned from a ride. He would kiss her thoroughly on the lips, as if they'd been parted a month. They stared into one another's eyes as if there was no one else in the world, as if they were enough for one another. Cat wanted that with Hughe. What's more, she knew she could give him that, if only he wanted it in return.
He gave her chaste kisses and friendly pats on the shoulder. He gave her gifts, but not himself. Well, only when he coupled with her. It was as if he lusted for her, yet didn't love her.
"Is it the secret?" she asked.
He laughed. "I have no secrets from you, Little Cat."
"I know you're keeping something from me. I heard you talking with your friends the night before our wedding. You said 'the other part of my life must remain separate.'"
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. His lips twitched, the smile wavering. Then it returned harder than ever. He laughed again. "Dear wife, you must be mistaken. I do recall I was very drunk that night. Alas, I can't recall what I said to anyone. But I can assure you, I have no secrets from you."