Should he stop now or continue his explanation. Fie. His reasoning sounded phony to his own ears. What must it sound like to hers? He wished he had a full glass of wine nearby.
“Do you have any questions?”
She shook her head, her gaze again fixed on their clasped hands. He raised one of her hands, then the other, to his lips, turning them over to nuzzle the delicate flesh of her wrists.
“Very well, then. Let us each retire to our bedchambers and disrobe, and I shall come to you in, say, twenty minutes?”
“My room?”
“Well, you certainly don’t want your first experience in the hideous bed Jeremy sent, do you? Dismiss your maid when you’re ready. I’ll knock before entering.”
She rose and walked sedately across the room. Perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned the French letter, but Gwen was a curious woman. She would have wondered, and he wanted nothing to distract her tonight of all nights.
~ ~ ~
The fire in the hearth warmed the room. Her usual cotton nightgown lay on the coverlet. Gwen pointed and shook her head. “Not tonight. I want the gown Miranda gave me as a wedding present.”
Sadie scooped up the wool gown and put it away, laying the sheer white gown of fine lawn on the bed. After removing Gwen’s clothes, she helped her into the garment.
“Shall I braid your hair?”
“Not tonight. You can retire now.”
“Very well.”
After her maid left the room, Gwen brushed her hair, then sat on a stool, her back straight, her hands grasping the cloth at her knees. John’s desire to prevent conception puzzled her. But excitement about what would happen tonight drove all other thoughts out of her head. Oh Lord, was she ready? After the past few weeks, was it finally happening?
A gentle knock made her heart pound. She slowly rose, conscious of how exposed she was in the transparent garment. Would John think ill of her for wearing something immodest? He’d know immediately her body was not sylph-like. Indeed, Lydia had once said Gwen’s body resembled that of a courtesan.
Oh la, don’t be such a ninny. The marital act is a legal necessity, and be honest. You’ve wanted to do it since your first kiss.
“Come in.”
John paused at the door clad in a velvet robe. Was he naked? She nearly squeaked in anticipation. She’d longed to see an unclothed male form, to compare it to the statues in some of the gardens she’d visited.
His gaze roamed over her . . . hot, hungry, focused.
He said nothing as he moved forward to stand in front of her.
Oh dear. Was he scowling? Did her appearance offend him?
Disappointment made her heart heavy as tears welled. Lydia had always reminded her a man would find her lacking. The gown was sheer. Granted, this was not a love match, but she’d hoped John wouldn’t be repelled by her.
She swallowed, stiffened her resolve, and stood. “I am truly sorry if my appearance is not to your liking. But as you said, this is a new experience for me, and I do not want to put if off. Can we not proceed with the bedding, considering we need to do this sometime?”
His eyes softened. He smiled and traced the curve of her face, his finger moving slowly down her neck to where her cleavage was displayed. “You take my breath away. How could I be so fortunate as to have not only an intelligent wife, but a beautiful one as well.”
A new emotion she’d not experienced filled her as she studied his handsome face. “You find me beautiful?”
“Oh God, Gwennie. How could you think otherwise?”
He pulled her close, cradling her face in one hand. His lips covered hers in a gentle, exploring kiss, as if she was made of spun sugar and he didn’t want to miss a single thread of sweetness. She fisted her hands at her side before tentatively reaching up to place them on his shoulders, sighing softly as his kiss deepened and her knees weakened. Their tongues twined, and tendrils of fire laced through her body. This was what she’d been waiting for, no, longing for.
Craving more, she pressed herself closer and sifted her fingers through his soft hair. A throbbing heat filled her breasts as she flattened them against his hard chest. She wanted him to touch her there and lower, where her heartbeats seemed to be lodged. Heat rose in her face at the thought. La, when had she become a wanton?
His tongue slipped warmly across her lips as he ended his exploration of her mouth. She shivered as damp heat flowed into her lower body.
“I think we should move to the bed now, don’t you, Gwen?”
“Yes.”
He gently tugged her toward the high bed, pulled back the covers, and helped her up the step, his fingers warm on the curve of her backside. “Do I keep my gown on?” she asked.
He sighed. “You may if it is more comfortable for you.”
“All right.” She climbed into bed and arranged the gown around her.
John watched her, his gaze never leaving her face. “Do you want me to douse the candle? We’ll have plenty of light from the fire.”
“Yes.”
“Yes. Yes. You’re very accommodating wife.” He grinned, his whole face softening with something. Affection? She hoped so.
He blew out the candle and went around to the other side of the bed, shedding his robe as he climbed in to lay on his side next to her. “There now, this isn’t so bad, is it?”
“It’s quite pleasant actually.”
“Good.”
John, may I see your body?”
He smiled. “Ah, Gwennie, you are a treasure.” As the covers inched downward, the firelight revealed a muscled chest. Reaching over, she touched the fine hairs. He groaned and covered her hand. “When you touch me, you make another part of me come alive.”
“May I see it?”
He lowered the covers farther, revealing the thick hard cock lying against his stomach.
“Oh my.”
“Oh my indeed. Are you ready then? First I will put on the French letter, and then I will do my best to warm you to make this as pleasant as possible.”
He turned away, and she resisted the urge to stroke his broad back. The place between her legs was becoming moist, and she was appalled. Was that supposed to happen?
John turned back and pulled her into his arms, burying his nose in her hair. “You smell wonderful.” Soft kisses moved down the side of her face to her shoulder and the tops of her breasts. “Have I ever told you what beautiful breasts you have.”
He kissed the delicate skin above her neckline, groaned, and tried to pull the bodice down. Frantic to have his mouth on her, she tugged at the ties on her shoulders to loosen them, allowing the gown to slip down around her waist.
When his mouth covered her nipple and gently sucked, the throbbing between her legs became a drumbeat. Unable to keep still any longer, she thrust upward, unleashing sensations so sweet she thought she’d die of the pleasure. How had she thought this experience would be benign? The exquisite ache in her core grew by the minute. She was already breathless. Was there more?
John’s mouth traveled down her body toward her stomach, planting soft kisses in intimate places. When his hand pushed up the skirt of the gown and cupped her mound, she squirmed and moaned as one, then two, fingers entered her. An involuntary movement thrust her pelvis up to meet his fingers, the feeling almost painful in its pleasure. While his fingers worked their magic, his mouth returned to her lips, taking her in a tender kiss that deepened as she opened for him.
His lips moved to her ear. “We have to get rid of this gown.”
He sat up and tugged the gown carefully over her hips and down her legs. He bunched it in his hands and tossed it to the floor. The night air cooled her heated body. Keeping her eyes tightly closed, she allowed herself the luxury of pure sensation—soft lips touching the pulse point at her neck, a
firm hand kneading her breast, the increasing pressure between her legs. Who knew the marital act would be this glorious, like a point in time where nothing existed but pleasure.
With an epithet she couldn’t quite make out, John moved his hand down over her torso, back to where she craved his touch. When she felt his tongue where she’d never imagined, her eyes flew open. Instead of a protest, she twisted her fingers in his hair, and moaned as her hips thrust up to meet this new pleasure source.
The heat in her body built, as did a pressure she didn’t understand. All she knew was she wanted him there, his tongue making her reach and reach until she clenched, cried out, and shattered in a multihued kaleidoscope of feelings she’d never imagined existed.
He moved upward then, over her, his clothed cock hovering at her entrance. His hands pushed her bottom upward until the proper angle was reached, and he entered her slowly until stopped by her barrier. She grabbed at the bedsheets, knowing there would be pain, but wanting it more than anything.
With one more thrust, he filled her and stopped, as if waiting for her body to adjust. The pain was slight. A burning sensation, quickly gone. She held her breath and writhed under him, trying to urge him to thrust again.
“Oh God, Gwennie.”
He moved then, in and out, slowly and gently at first, then rougher and more quickly. The movement was neither painful nor pleasant, but a primitive part of her knew he had not yet had his release. She shifted again, moving her bottom, kneading his back, urging him on until he tensed, and with a cry, collapsed on her body.
His breathing was heavy and his back slick against her fingers. But the deed had been done. She was indeed married now.
A satisfied smile curved her lips as languor invaded her limbs. She now knew why the maids had giggled over their bed sport and Ovid’s Amazonian woman rode her lover like a stallion. She might like to try the position sometime if John was willing.
He’d said I was beautiful.
A feeling of happiness filled her as she tightened her arms protectively around her husband. After a while, he slid to the side of the bed, repositioned, and drew her back into his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder. His heart beat steadily under her ear, and she knew she had crossed over into a new dimension.
She desired her husband, and all she could think about was when she could coax him into her bed again.
Chapter 14
The room was dark when John woke up with Gwen curled into his body. His groin was stirring again. He had to remove himself from her bed before he did something foolish.
Gently pulling his arm from under her, he slid to the edge of the bed, picked up his robe and the used French letter, and tiptoed off to his room. He hung his head and kicked at a boot left on the floor. He was a complete cad. He’d wanted to make the event clinical, explaining each step as it occurred. And then he’d seen her luscious curves and had lost control, like a schoolboy with his first conquest.
She’d not been shocked. Instead, she seemed to enjoy the experience, engaging in it as completely and enthusiastically as she did everything else. Knowing Gwen, she would want to do it again. And God help him, he did, too. Every night. Twice or thrice. Her body was like a potent drug making him crave more. One night he would forget the French letter. Then she would be pregnant.
He shuddered as Mama’s enraged face floated before his eyes.
He cleaned himself and stood at the windows looking out into the darkness. Soon a new day would begin. Gwen would ask questions. Nothing was too embarrassing for her to discuss. He loved that about her.
Loved?
Last night had been pure lust, and there were other ways to find satisfaction. Most married men of his acquaintance had mistresses. Why was the thought of keeping a woman for lustful purposes so disagreeable to him now? It wasn’t merely that he’d be using Gwen’s money to do it, although that was reason enough. No, it went deeper.
Jeremy has no mistress because he loves his wife.
Love was a fanciful term. He wasn’t sure what it meant. For some, it was another way to describe lust, and he certainly lusted after his wife. But love? He wasn’t sure he loved Gwen, but he did respect her and would never do anything to hurt her.
There would be no one else.
Images of the night came back to him. Gwen lying naked on the bed, the fresh lavender scent on her skin, her generous breasts, her fingers kneading his back, her willingness to let him do whatever he wished.
His cock hardened.
No, he could not do this again soon, not until he learned how to control his own ardor.
After dressing, he made his way down the stairs and out toward the stable. He saddled his horse and set out for the lane as twilight filled the sky. He would ride out over the acreage, perhaps all the way to Lord Livesley’s property. Then he’d walk his horse for a while and give himself time to work through his problems.
He seemed to have many of late. He needed to decide what to do with Miss Addersley. He wanted to discuss the idea of purchasing cattle with his primary tenant. And he needed to follow up on a letter he’d received from Jeremy about a boy in an orphanage in Bath, placed there by one of Father’s castoffs. He needed to see the child to determine if he might be one of their half siblings.
He remembered the day he and Jeremy had discovered Phoebe, the daughter of Papa’s longtime mistress. When her mother died, they had taken her in and made up their minds to make sure there were no other children of their own flesh and blood in orphanages. When Jeremy inherited his title, John agreed to be the one to investigate the leads Jeremy obtained from discreet inquiries. Most of Papa’s ladybirds had resided in London where Jeremy now lived. To date, no other half siblings had been found.
Perhaps a trip to Bath would get his mind off Gwen and allow him time to adjust his feelings.
He tightened the reins and urged his horse into a gallop. The brisk morning air was as bracing as a dip in the river. After an hour, he turned toward Trevelyan’s cottage. If he was going to be away, he needed to leave instructions for the housing of the sheep he’d purchased.
He reached the house as streaks of dawn brightened the sky. Harry Trevelyan was outside near his horse trough, seeing to his gelding. Bidding him good morning, John dismounted and hurriedly described his business. As he prepared to depart, he remembered another topic.
“Did you know Miss Addersley has returned to the cottage?”
“Returned, you say? With her father?”
“No. She buried her father in Devonshire. She said he’d been ill for a year and she nursed him until he passed.”
“Aye. I knew he was ailing.” He filled a bucket from his well and dumped it into the trough.”
John followed behind him. “Did you know him well? This is the first I’ve heard of him.”
“Nay. He kept to himself. Farmed his plot and sold tables he’d made in the village. He was good with his hands, a real craftsman. His work was in demand even though he was a strange one.”
“How so?”
“Quiet, never looked you in the eye. Talked to himself. The blacksmith said his da was the same, daft if you ask me.”
A feeling of dread seeped into his bones. Daft. Just as he feared.
He mounted his horse and headed home. If he packed quickly, he could be on the road before noon. Gwen would be up. He couldn’t leave without bidding her goodbye.
Out of curiosity, he took the lane skirting the other cottage. If Miss Addersley had a fire going, he’d stop and quiz her further. If not, he’d see to it when he returned. For years he’d wondered about Mother’s side of his family but never had anyone to ask.
Now he did.
~ ~ ~
Gwen awoke to an overcast day. She opened her eyes and stretched, noting sensitivity in her breasts and a slight soreness between her leg
s. The feeling was splendid. She was a wife in the truest sense. She had hoped John would stay in her bed. She wanted to cuddle into his warm body. When a slight shifting had awakened her before dawn, she realized he’d gone to his own room, perhaps to spare her any unease with his presence.
As if I could be embarrassed over what happened.
She’d never imagined she could be capable of such passion. Nor had she thought John would bed her with such enthusiasm. Had he left her bed because he was disappointed in her? She had not been docile and ladylike, lying there quietly while he did the deed. He’d told her that was all she’d needed to do.
Sadie knocked on the door and brought her morning chocolate. Gwen slid the covers up to her chin.
“Good morning, my lady.” She put the chocolate next to the bed and picked up the nightgown.
Oh Lord, it was still on the floor.
Sadie put it in a basket for soiled linens at the bottom of the armoire and went about her morning tasks—lighting the fire, pulling the curtains open all the way, and selecting a morning gown for Gwen to wear.
“Would you care for a bath this morning?” Her back was to the bed. Gwen couldn’t see her expression.
“A bath would be lovely.”
Sadie knew, of course, or she would when the sheets were laundered. But she was discreet and knew when conversation would not be welcome.
“After you drink your chocolate, I shall have the footman bring your tub in.” She placed a robe on the bed within reach and left.
Gwen scurried out of bed and hurried into the sitting room. John’s door was open, inviting a peek inside. He was not there.
She bit her bottom lip and went back to await her bath, her thoughts returning to what had transpired in the night. The only disappointment had been the use of the French letter. Would he want to talk about it? John liked to analyze everything, a trait she found endearing. He would have fit right in with the array of people who frequented her salons.
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