Wicked Delights Of A Bridal Bed

by Tracy Anne Warren

  Ah, sweet heaven, he’s killing me, she thought, his touch driving her to the point where she wondered when she was going to start to beg.

  “Tell me what you want,” he whispered, curving his large body over hers in a way that made her feel caged. “Tell me what you need.”

  “I-I need you,” she whimpered.

  “Tell me what else.” He rubbed his cheek against hers, then angled his head to caress her neck, nuzzling her with his lips and tongue. “Where do you need me?”

  “I-Inside,” she murmured brokenly. “I-Inside me.”

  “Like this?” he purred, as he thrust into her in a long, deeply penetrating stroke.

  “Ah God, yes.” Arching back, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

  He curved an arm diagonally across her and cinched her tight, bracing her against him as he slid out, then in again. His second stroke claimed her more thoroughly than the first, lodging his shaft so firmly inside she didn’t think she’d ever before been so powerfully or viscerally aware of him within her. Her legs trembled, making her grateful for his support as he eased back, then thrust again, establishing a rhythm that began slowly at first, then started to build.

  He rocked them together, each new sensation stronger than the last, each throbbing pulse of desire lifting her to greater heights of yearning and delight. Literally suspended in his grasp, she was his to control, his to dictate and demand, as he drove her to places she’d never been, to realms of ecstasy that lay halfway between agony and bliss.

  She cried out, past the point of caring about anything but the longing that raked her like a set of razor-tipped claws, that twisted through her vitals with a ravenous hunger that only he could assuage.

  “Say my name,” he demanded, as he pumped into her at a relentless pace.

  “A-Adam,” she cried, aware of him in every inch of her body.

  “Whom do you love?”

  “You…”

  “Say my name.” He thrust hard and fast.

  “Adam…”

  “Adam what? Tell me what I want to hear. Say you love me.”

  “I love you…Adam.”

  He increased his pace, thrusting inside her as if both their lives depended on it. “Again. Say it again.”

  “I love you, Adam.”

  “Again.”

  “I love you, Adam. Ah, God, I do. I love you. Adam, don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”

  Arching her into him, he penetrated her in the most devastating way, stroking her so that her world turned again to fire. She wailed once more as the ecstasy roared through her, sensation breaking her apart before showering her in a joyous haze that pulled her together once more.

  Floating in a warm sea of bliss, she hung in Adam’s arms as he found his own release, his hoarse shout proof of his deep and lasting satisfaction.

  Slumping down together exhausted, she lay with him pressed over her, her mind drifting as lazy tendrils of pleasure continued to flash and flicker all through her body.

  At length, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him. She made no demur as he tucked her tight, his large hand reaching to smooth her hair away from her damp brow. Her eyes slid shut, smiling as his lips brushed over her cheek.

  “I love you, too, Mallory,” he whispered. “I’ll never stop—pleasuring you or loving you. And nothing and no one will ever take you away from me again.”

  Then, before she could form a response, her need for sleep took over, and she knew no more.

  CHAPTER 24

  Adam awakened early the next morning, sliding quietly from Mallory’s bed in order to bathe and dress for the day.

  She was sleeping soundly, a pretty dusting of warm colour gracing her cheeks and lips, no doubt remnants of the blistering passion they’d shared during the night.

  His shaft sprang to life at the memories, but he ignored his body’s eager demands, knowing Mallory needed to rest after the myriad exertions he’d put her through. Though in spite of the intensity of his lovemaking, he didn’t think he’d left her with any reason to complain.

  Padding quietly across the carpet, he let himself into his room, careful not to disturb her as he closed the door at his back.

  An hour later, attired in an old pair of riding breeches, a coat of tan superfine and polished Hessians, he strode out of the house and across the yard to the stables. The lads greeted him with friendly good mornings, then left Adam to saddle his mount himself as they knew he preferred.

  Eric whickered softly at his arrival, the stallion pawing the ground with clear anticipation of the ride ahead. In quick order, the horse was readied, Adam swinging up onto his back with easy grace.

  Then they were away.

  Adam gave the stallion his head, the frost-covered ground flying past under the horse’s hooves. A brisk November wind shifted like a set of fingers ruffling Adam’s hair and across his cheeks, slapping his skin with cold.

  With a contrary turn of mind, he thought of Mallory lying warm in her bed and the heat of her flesh as she’d touched him last night. How her fingers had moved over his skin in fiery caresses and the velvety sensation of her mouth—hot, wet and divine.

  I love you, Adam.

  His pulse beat in hard strokes at the memory of her words, his spirit thrilling to the knowledge that she finally cared for him as he’d always dreamed. He might very well have shouted his joy aloud were it not for one thing.

  Hargreaves.

  Just the thought of his rival’s name made his vitals tighten into a cruel knot. Considering her assurances last night, he knew he should no longer be jealous.

  But he was.

  He oughtn’t be worried, yet he couldn’t keep a niggling sliver of doubt from jabbing him like a splinter of wood caught under a fingernail.

  He believed her explanation, that Hargreaves had taken her by surprise, that he had kissed her. Even so, Adam couldn’t quite get the memory of her in Hargreaves’s arms out of his mind. He couldn’t forget the agony he’d felt at the sight of her kissing the man she had once loved and whole-heartedly grieved. Nor could he completely quiet the red haze of rage that had engulfed him when he’d first come upon them, betrayal twisting like a dagger in his gut.

  In the past, he’d never considered himself a particularly jealous man. Certainly none of his prior liaisons had ever inspired such passionate extremes. On one or two occasions, his more determined lovers had tried to ignite sparks of jealousy in him in order to better fix his interest. Instead, he’d been bored and amused, aware that it was time to walk away.

  Then again, he hadn’t loved any of those women. Nor had he cared whether they stayed or went their own way, content to end another affair that had run its inevitable course.

  But nothing would be ending with Mallory. As he’d so thoroughly demonstrated last night, she belonged to him and him alone—and he would do whatever it took to keep her.

  He shifted in the saddle, considering as he did her concern over hurting the feelings of her old fiancé. Hargreaves would just have to recover from his loss on his own, he decided. The major had had his reunion, and as far as Adam was concerned, it was the only one he and Mallory were going to get.

  Perhaps after Adam had gotten her with child three or four times and she had a brood of little Greshams tugging at her skirts, he would let her trade how-do-you-do’s with Hargreaves once more—assuming the major was married to another by then. Until that day, however, he planned to keep Mallory and her old flame apart and let time put a permanent distance between them.

  Despite her assurances that she would not seek out Hargreaves, Adam didn’t trust the other man to abide by such strictures. If Hargreaves could, Adam suspected he might try to lure Mallory away; he knew he would if the tables were turned. Well, he wasn’t going to give Hargreaves the chance.

  I love her too much to ever risk losing her.

  Slowing his stallion to a more moderate gait, Adam surveyed the land before him. His lands, which he was making whole and prosperous again. His legacy, w
hich would thrive as never before with Mallory by his side.

  The same would hold true in his marriage, which would grow stronger over the years. He and Mallory had been happy before Hargreaves’s return, and they would be happy still. He would keep her well pleasured in the bedroom and far too busy with the estate matters to dwell on memories of her old fiancé. And as the days slid into weeks, and weeks to months, her thoughts would be so full of her future with him that she wouldn’t have time to dwell upon her past with the major. Hargreaves would fade into memory, while Adam would be with her every day—and all through the countless nights to come.

  His shaft thickened at the idea of those nights, leaving him thinking wistfully of Mallory sleeping now in their bed.

  Slowing Eric to a walk, he forced himself to continue on with his usual survey of the estate rather than turning for home as his body was urging. Time enough tonight for more lovemaking, he told himself. Room enough for a lifetime of nights—and days—with the woman he loved.

  Mallory stretched against the sheets, awakening at a gradual pace as she left sleep behind. Opening her eyes, she blinked into the drowsy sunlight filtering into the room. Relaxed and limber, her body hummed with residual satisfaction from Adam’s bold sexual demands of the night just past. But then he was always bold, both in bed and out, always sharing new experiences and leading her to heights she’d never known before.

  He loves me, she thought, absorbing the idea with a dreamy smile on her lips. And he’s jealous. Very jealous and extremely possessive—more so than she would ever have imagined he might be.

  Her smile fell away, remembering his edict that she was not allowed to see Michael again.

  Ever.

  A tiny frown creased her forehead, uncomfortable at the idea of turning her back on Michael and not having an opportunity to say a satisfactory good-bye. She’d made a pledge to Adam, however, and she didn’t take her pledges lightly.

  Still…she thought, as she worried the tip of one fingernail between her teeth, she couldn’t help but feel bad for Michael. After everything he’d suffered on the battlefield and later in that dreadful French prison, well, it seemed cruel to dismiss him without offering any explanation at all. She could already imagine his dismay and hurt over the fact that she hadn’t waited longer for him.

  Only three months, he would say. Three months more, and I would have been home.

  But how was she to have known he would return when she and everyone else believed him long since in the grave? How was she to have realized that another man had mistakenly taken his place in death? Or that Michael would someday come back to claim her?

  Ironic now to realize that the wistful, supposedly unrealistic hopes she’d cherished while she’d been in mourning for him had come to fruition. To think of all the times she’d dreamed he would return, that he would walk through the door and tell her he wasn’t dead after all, and that his supposed death had all been a tragic error. Really, it was laughable now to consider that was precisely what had come to pass.

  Only three months.

  If she’d just waited, how those few short weeks would have changed everything. How her entire world would now be different.

  But would it be better?

  Even knowing what she did now, she had no regrets about marrying, and loving, Adam. How could she when he brought her joy and laughter and such exquisite delights of the sort they’d shared in this very bed only last night? No, if she had to choose, she realized she would do nothing differently.

  In the end, she would still choose Adam.

  If only he could see that too. She supposed it was only natural for him to feel a bit threatened over the situation, but she wished he realized how unnecessary such emotions were.

  She was his wife.

  She loved him.

  And he had no need to fear that would ever change.

  As for her pledge to him, she’d promised not to see Michael, and she would not. Even so, she couldn’t evade the nagging sense of guilt that pinched her like a cruel set of fingers.

  With a sigh, she tossed back the covers, then rose and went to ring for Penny.

  Over an hour later, bathed and attired in a warm woollen gown of dark blue cashmere, she walked down the stairs. She’d just set foot on the bottom step when Adam strode through the front door, having clearly come from the stables. His black hair lay tousled around his head, a hint of extra healthy colour lying just under his swarthy-complexioned cheeks and throat.

  He stopped when he saw her, pausing for an instant before striding forward, a smile spreading over his face.

  She smiled back. “Good morning.”

  “Morning,” he replied with a low, husky lilt.

  Despite Brooke and the pair of footmen, who were standing in the hall, Adam took her hand and drew her forward. Bending, he gave her a warm and far-too-lengthy kiss for public view.

  “You slept well, I hope,” he murmured for her ears alone.

  She nodded. “For what few hours you let me sleep.”

  With a hearty chuckle, he kissed her again. “I suppose I ought to go upstairs and change out of these riding clothes?”

  “Now that you mention it, you are a bit ripe with the scent of horse, so yes, I suppose you ought.”

  Reaching up, he gave her nose an affectionate tweak. “And what shall you do while I’m occupied?”

  “From the look of it,” she said, craning her head around as a pair of deliverymen were escorted into the hall by Mrs Daylily, “I believe I shall be occupied as well since the first of the new furnishings seems to have arrived. Arranging it all will require careful oversight.”

  “Ah,” he said, watching as a huge walnut library table was maneuvered through the doors. “Then I shall leave you to your duties. Will you join me for nuncheon?”

  “Of course, with you properly attired and wearing rather less eau de equine cologne,” she added with a teasing grin.

  Tossing back his head, he laughed again, kissed her once more, then turned and strode up the stairs.

  Mallory watched until he disappeared. Only then did she turn and join the housekeeper to take charge of the proceedings.

  The next three weeks were busy ones for Mallory, who was consumed with the task of redecorating and refurbishing the house. From morning until evening the halls rang with the sounds of journeymen and carpenters charged with a variety of tasks—painting and hanging wallpaper; attaching chandeliers in the ceiling and light sconces to the walls; screwing in curtain rods and other decorative bits; unrolling carpets and carrying in furniture and crates.

  The housemaids and footmen were occupied as well, cleaning, unpacking and arranging the myriad items that arrived with daily regularity from London. As the rooms came together, the house slowly transformed from a barren shell to a warm, comfortable, tastefully appointed home—one fit for an earl and his countess.

  The local gentry soon called upon them, curious to see all the changes and to make Mallory’s acquaintance as they did.

  “Lady Gresham is the Duke of Clybourne’s sister,” more than one was overheard to whisper in approving, awestruck tones. “Gresham Park hasn’t looked so fine in nearly a quarter of a century,” said many of the others, visibly admiring of all the changes Mallory had wrought, as she fed them tea and entertained their curiosity.

  For his part, Adam was no less occupied, meeting regularly with tenants, farmers and a few neighbouring gentlemen eager to discuss the improvements Adam was setting in motion. Over evening meals, he shared the more interesting details with Mallory, explaining that most of his efforts would begin in earnest with the spring planting. Until then, however, there was still plenty of other work to be done.

  As for the issue of Hargreaves, there was no further talk on the subject between them. And though Mallory sometimes found herself dwelling on the lack of a proper farewell to Michael, she kept such concerns to herself. As Adam had pointed out, Michael was a grown man, and he knew she was married.

  Surely he unders
tood the reason for her reticence.

  Surely he was aware why they could not correspond.

  Nonetheless, the unfinished nature of their relationship troubled her, and although she knew she’d done nothing wrong, a part of her felt as if she had. She knew she’d hurt him, and she didn’t like it, not when he had once meant so very much to her. And still did if truth be told—just not as a lover anymore but as a friend. Funny that he and Adam should have reversed their roles so thoroughly. Sad that she could no longer have both of them in her life, as once she had so innocently done.

  Doing her best to put the matter aside, she kept busy with the house and her duties as its mistress—and with Adam, of course, who was never at a loss for ways to keep her entertained.

  December soon arrived, bringing colder temperatures and an occasional, frenzied burst of snowflakes. Rather than remain at Gresham Park, she and Adam decided to spend the holidays at Braebourne, a journey she couldn’t help but anticipate.

  Dressed now in a smart emerald green traveling dress and a warm, red fox cape that Adam had surprised her with that morning, the two of them set out by coach for Gloucestershire.

  The roads proved clear, and the drive was not at all unpleasant. With evening darkness beginning to descend hours later, Mallory watched from the window as the ducal estate came into view.

  Home, she thought, though home no longer. Gresham Park is where I belong now.

  Yet everything was infinitely familiar as she stepped from the coach, the immense house, with its honey-hued stone and warm candlelight that burst in smoothing arcs from dozens upon dozens of windows. Servants hurried forth to assist them, Croft greeting them with dignified warmth as they passed through the open front door.

  “Mallory! Adam!” Claire said moments later, gliding toward them across the entry hall. “Oh, I’m so happy you are arrived.”

  Mallory smiled as she and her sister-in-law shared an enthusiastic hug, Adam repeating the process with the duchess moments later. Ned and Esme quickly appeared, and a fresh round of greetings ensued, a pair of the dogs milling around their heels, tails at full wag.