by Diana Quincy
Her pulse scattered in all directions. “You are mistaken.”
“Am I? The signs are all there. Your smooth skin is warm.”
“Because I am angry.”
His warm strong hand moved lower, to the top of her exposed chest, just inches from the top swells of her breasts. “Yet your heart races under my touch.”
Lord have mercy. She clenched her teeth to keep from sighing out loud at the delicious trail of sensation his fingers drew on her skin. “A sign of my distress at your betrayal.”
His hand moved lower, to the top curve of her breasts. “You are trembling.”
“With anger. Because I cannot bear your touch.”
“You have the most beautiful skin.”
She almost fainted with pleasure when his audacious hands slipped even lower, inside her bodice, where his fingers brushed against the peak of her breast. Bella closed her eyes, unable to make herself stop him.
“Allow me to treasure you as you deserve. I burn for you.”
She shook her head, helpless under his touch, her breasts swollen and eager. “I burn, too. With anger.”
He chuckled, bringing his lips to her throat, showering it with small, tantalizing kisses. His fingers moved to cup her breast more fully. “We can bring each other great pleasure.”
His mouth moved to hers, gentle and sure. He feathered light kisses over her lips. His tongue outlined her lips, sending her flying on a carpet of warm air. A gentle nip on her lower lip brought her back to earth; she gasped and his wily tongue took the opportunity to slip inside. He stroked in and out of her mouth, rubbing her tongue, going in deeper each time, taking more of her.
Sensation flowed, encompassing her. She tasted him back, a surprising sweet tanginess spiced with his unique taste. His hands tugged at her bodice. Her harlot’s gown allowed him easy access. Damnation. She hadn’t thought of that.
The shock of cool air bathed her bared breasts. He cupped her, his thumbs tantalizing the sensitive tips. “Beautiful,” he murmured.
His lips left hers, moving down her throat, laying tender kisses across the top swells of her breasts as he worked downward, finally taking an engorged tip into his mouth. She cried out when the hot moist silk of his tongue stroked over her. She clutched his arms to steady herself. He wrapped them around her waist, drawing her into an embrace against his powerful form as he moved to the other breast and continued to feast on her. She pressed herself against his prodigious arousal and her entire body throbbed.
“That’s it, my love,” he said in a low, thick voice. “It is still I, Stan.”
Stan was a lie, a fantasy that did not exist. The real man in his place had betrayed her and played her for a fool. How could she let him move her this way? She shoved him away with the force of that maelstrom of conflicting emotions. The reverse force of it propelled her onto the bed, landing on her back with her upper body propped on her elbows.
“There is no Stan.” Feeling and fury choked her throat. “He doesn’t exist. He was kind, strong, and true. You possess none of those qualities. You lied to me and abandoned me.”
Against his dark complexion and tousled hair, the green in his eyes deepened with touches of blues and grays, the colors of furious waves in a storm. “What is happening between us is very real,” he said, his full lips moist from the intimate kisses. “I know you feel it as well, only you’re a coward to acknowledge the truth.”
“You would like that, wouldn’t you? For me to give in?”
“We are married. We should make the best of it.” His wild gaze ran over her and she realized how she must appear with her skirt hiked up well above her ankles and her bodice pulled down. She shot up to a sitting position, jerking her bodice up to cover herself. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. You see, I’ve fallen in love with another man. I can’t be unfaithful to my darling Stan.”
He groaned in frustration. “I never told you my name was Stan. My friend, Pen, is the only person who refers to me by that rather abominable name.” He pulled at his breeches to adjust them, drawing Bella’s eyes to the sizeable bulge at his groin. It made her go warm, deepening the hungry need still throbbing inside her. She still wanted him, even after everything he’d put her through. Dragging the back of her hand across her lips, she tried to wipe his mesmerizing taste away. She thought back to when she’d first heard the name at Lady Claymont’s rout, when Sebastian’s flame-haired friend had found them together in the library. “Be that as it may, you lied by omission. There is very little difference.”
Hands on his hips, he took a deep inhale as though he, too, needed to calm his body. “It was not a deliberate attempt to deceive you.”
She experienced a small surge of triumph to know she had penetrated his usually unwavering self-control. “Then why didn’t you make yourself known at the opera?”
“I didn’t know who you were then. I swear it.”
“When did you realize?”
“Not until Vauxhall.”
“Vauxhall.” She uttered a silent laugh of incredulity. “You took me down one of the secluded pathways, no doubt hoping to see if I could be seduced like a dockside tart.”
“No, it wasn’t like that.”
“It must have proved an amusing gam, to see if your wife would unknowingly whore for you. Perhaps you and your friends wagered on it.”
Temper flared in his eyes. “Of course we didn’t.”
“You almost won. Who knows what would have occurred in the lending library had Lady Hervey not appeared when she did.”
“Mirabella.”
Good. She wanted to push him to the edge of his blasted composure. “You were almost there. A few more minutes, and you could have had my skirts tossed up for the entire world to see.”
He surged forward, leaning over her with a menacing glare. She fell back in a reflexive movement to avoid the collision of their bodies, landing with her upper body propped back on her elbows again. He planted one large hand on each side of her prone body. “Perhaps I should just toss up your skirts right now.”
Alarm shot through her at the banked fury in his expression. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I? You just intimated that I’m no gentleman.”
Damnation. She’d neatly set her own trap by suggesting he’d behaved in a base manner. Now he seemed bent on acting down to her expectations.
“Should I prove you right or wrong?” he asked. “What do you suggest?”
His musky man’s scent besieged her. The proximity of that sheer physicality was dizzying. “I suggest you take your idle threats and leave my bedchamber.”
“But that would be almost gentlemanly of me.”
“Not precisely. You’re still acting like a lowborn ogre.”
His expression shifted, like a door closing, and he straightened up. “As you wish.” He moved away, his usual equanimity restored. “We dine at eight.”
She almost regretted seeing his mask slip back into place, as though he’d just locked the most genuine part of himself away. “I am tired,” she said. “I shall ask my maid to have a tray brought up.”
“No, that will not do. We’ve been apart far too long.” His impervious tone gave her no quarter. “Either you join me in the dining chamber, or I shall meet you back here.”
“Very well. I shall see you at eight.”
…
Even in the dining room, with footmen in attendance, the meal proved to be far too intimate an affair for Bella. Sebastian rose to his feet when she entered. She’d deliberately descended past eight in order to avoid partaking in before-supper drinks with him.
The sight of her place set next to Sebastian’s at the head of the table made her stop short. “I prefer to take my rightful place at the head of the table.” At the opposite end from him, as far away as she could get and still be seated at the same table.
“A wife’s rightful place is by her husband’s side.” A nod from the master of the house prompted the footman to stand aside for Sebastian to pu
ll out the chair next to his. “Sit. Please.”
Unwilling to cause a scene in front of the staff, she took the chair he offered. As he retook his seat, she busied her hands by adjusting her skirts. She’d selected a more demure gown this evening, a pale peach with a modest neckline. The amused approval in his eyes suggested he’d noticed. After dismissing the footmen, he said, “I must say that gown is an improvement over this afternoon’s display. Although, I would not object if you continued to wear your scarlet gown privately for me in the future.”
She made a mental note to wear her most obscene gown when they made their first official public appearance as a couple. And her most chaste one for their moments alone in private. “I wish to discuss your marital rights.”
His brows lifted with obvious interest. “Yes?”
“I hope you do not plan to claim them.”
“Then your hopes will be dashed because I most certainly intend to claim them.”
“Whether I am willing or not?”
“You seemed willing enough this afternoon.”
Angry embarrassment heated her cheeks. “Do you intend to assert you rights even if I object?”
He sighed. “No. I would never force you. That is no way to begin our life together. It would hardly bode well for our future happiness.”
She fidgeted with her soupspoon. “Good. I’m relieved we’ve settled that.”
“Oh, it is hardly settled. I will give you time to adjust to your new situation, but I will not wait forever. I am no saint.”
She supposed it was the best she could hope for. The footmen entered with the next course, spiriting away the soup she’d barely touched and laying out the meat and vegetable dishes. Bella sampled her Madeira.
“What are you drinking?” she asked, eying the clear liquid and wedge of lemon in his glass.
He followed her gaze to his glass. “Fizzy mineral water.”
“Mineral water?”
“Yes, my friend Charles Plinth has developed a fountain that retains the sparkling quality of the water.”
“It is portable?”
“The drink is delivered every few days and then returned to him for refilling.” The lights in his green eyes sparkled. “It is my only real indulgence.”
She realized just how little she knew about her husband. “You don’t take port or wine with dinner?”
“I can’t abide spirits of any kind.”
Bella had never met anyone who didn’t take spirits. It was unheard of, even among the poor. “You don’t drink any spirits? Rum, wine, gin, ale, beer?”
“None at all. I like to keep a clear head.”
“Is it difficult to abstain?”
“Not at all. I can’t stand the taste.”
They were quiet for a moment while the footmen withdrew.
“I should like to visit my modiste.”
“Of course. You should have appropriate gowns. I can accompany you first thing on the morrow.”
She tensed. Her choice of a wardrobe was perhaps the one thing she still retained control of. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll ask Josette to join me.”
“Josette?”
“She’s a friend who has been traveling with me. Josette is French. She has impeccable style.”
Sebastian gave her a measured look. “As you wish,” he said in a noncommittal voice, turning his attention back to his food.
She picked up her fork and stabbed at a piece of mutton. “What I wish is to know how much I may spend.”
“Beg pardon?”
“At the modiste. How much may I spend?”
“As much as you care to.” He sliced his meat into precise pieces. “Simply have the bills sent to me.”
Bills he would no doubt pay with her blunt. “And my other expenses?”
“You must do as you please. You have carte blanche.”
Chapter Eight
“This is parfait,” cooed Josette, running her hands lovingly over the expensive silk fabric.
Bella eyed the violet color from where she stood on a perch being measured by Madame de Lancy. “If you think so.” She stepped down and picked up a fashion plate, eyeing a high-waisted gown with a ribbon under the breasts. “Madame, I would like gowns made of your thinnest fabric.”
“Mais oui,” said the French woman. “You intend to be daring in your fashion?”
“Absolutely. And this neckline is too modest. I want it to much lower.”
Madame’s eyes widened with surprised delight. “Of course, most English ladies are too provincial in their dress. You will be a leader in fashion.”
Josette laughed. “Évidemment, Madame,” she said to the modiste. “Lady Mirabella is soon to be a duchess. All will follow her fashion lead. The entire haute ton will visit you after seeing Bella’s fabulous costumes.”
“Perhaps I should offer Her Grace a reduced cost due to the custom her patronage is certain to bring me.”
Bella glanced up from the fashion plate. “That is not necessary, Madame. Please charge me the full amount. The cost is not a concern.”
The startled modiste beamed with delight. “Certainement. I shall have the gowns delivered at once.”
Josette’s brows lifted. Bella mirrored back the movement. “He says I am to have carte blanche. I intend to take him up on his generosity with my funds.”
Josette laughed and dropped down next to her, giving the modiste a pointed look. “Won’t you have your staff bring us tea, Madame?”
The modiste smiled, immediately understanding she’d been dismissed. She signaled her staff to leave. “Of course. I shall have it brought in,” she said, closing the door behind her.
Josette turned back to Bella with an expectant look.
Bella frowned back at her. “What?”
Josette’s catlike eyes slanted with mischief. “Tell me how you found the pleasures of the marriage bed, ma cheri.”
Bella’s cheeks heated. “There’s nothing to tell. He did not visit my bedchamber last evening.”
“Non?” Josette’s eyes widened. “Pourquoi pas?”
Avoiding Josette’s avid gaze, she shrugged her shoulders. “I made it quite clear he would not be welcome.” She hated that part of her had been disappointed with his absence.
Josette’s tinkling laughter filled the air. “Mon cheri, why would you deny your husband your bed? He is, how do you say, very much a man.”
Bella’s heart thumped. “What do you mean?”
A rap on the door interrupted Josette’s answer. A maid entered with the tea. Josette waited until they were alone again to continue. “Monsieur Sebastian has a very strong masculinity. It is obvious. He will probably make an excellent lover.”
“How could you know that?” Bella couldn’t help being intrigued by the mysteries of the marriage bed.
Josette’s eyes sparkled. “He seems to be very, ah, well equipped. Such a man would greatly satisfy his woman.”
Bella’s eyes widened. “Josette! Do you mean what I think you are saying?”
Josette leaned forward with a shrug to pour their tea. “You can tell his assets from those breeches.”
Bella’s body tingled. “Does that make a difference for a woman?”
Josette’s eyes sparkled with devilment. “Mais oui. It is a magnificent feeling to be filled so fully.” She handed Bella her tea. “You should not deny yourself. You are his wife. Why not enjoy the marriage bed?”
“He lied to me, Josette.” Her throat tightened. “He abandoned me for six years. He only wants me in his bed now because my appearance pleases him. If I were homely, he would cast me aside again.”
“Trésor, all men want to bed beautiful women.” Josette bit into a biscuit. “Underneath their courtly manners, they are all beasts. They cannot help it. C’est la vie.”
“What of his lies and his abandonment? What sort of man marries a child? I was certainly in no position to consent to such a thing,” she said bitterly. “You would have me forgive him everything and go meekly to the mar
riage bed?”
“Surely, you are not so naive as to blame him for the alliance.” Josette sipped her tea. “Your fathers arranged the match. He was practically a child himself. What did he know?”
Bella put down her tea with an unladylike clink. “He knew enough to send me away while he lived here in high style.”
“It is the way of the world. Men command us and we are obliged to obey,” Josette said with a shrug. “We must make the best of it.”
“He already controls everything else in my life.” Pushing to her feet, she paced away from Josette. “How can I allow him complete reign over my person? It is the last thing that is still truly mine.”
“So dramatique,” Josette said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Your beauty is a weapon. Use your charms to make him do your bidding.”
Bella’s eyes narrowed. “You make bedding my husband sound like a battle stratagem.”
“It would be no hardship to bed Monsieur Sebastian. Use him for your purposes and your pleasure.” Josette came to her feet. “Then we shall see who surrenders to whom.”
The idea of Sebastian’s powerful form pressing up against her bare skin made her flush all over. “He does make my body feel things that are a little frightening.”
“That is desire, ma cheri. It is good to have with one’s husband.” Wandering to the mirror, Josette reached for a swath of violet silk and held it up against her body. She caught Bella’s eye in the reflection. “If a man is happy in the bedchamber, he will give his wife whatever she desires outside of it.”
“He does seem predisposed to be generous.” She eyed the expensive fabrics and trims strewn about the room with little interest. “Perhaps he hopes the fripperies will distract me from estate matters.”
“How you do go on.” Josette looked wistfully at the violet silk. “A gown in this fabric will be exquisite for you.”
“I agree. And you shall have one as well. We’ll tell Madame to take your measurements.”
Josette shook her head. “Non, my husband left me comfortable, but I cannot overspend.”
“Nonsense.” Bella moved to the bell to ring for Madame. “It is my treat. I’m certain Sebastian won’t mind. We’ll order you a ball gown in that delicious shade of pink as well.”