Ryder managed to balance himself on his elbows above her. He was actually smiling, a tender smile that confused her. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I won't hurt you ever again."
"Why did you hurt me this time?"
No more lies or evasions, he thought, and said simply, "This was your first time. You were a virgin just as I finally realized you would be. I had to get through your maidenhead. That's what hurt you."
She stared up at him, her eyes darkening as she finally understood. A lie, it had all been a lie, him taking her at the cottage, her possible pregnancy. "You bastard!" She heaved upward, trying to buck him off her.
"I know. I'm sorry for it." He clasped her wrists and pulled her arms over her head. He was heavy on top of her and she felt him growing inside her. It couldn't be, not this soon, no, she wouldn't allow it. She wanted, quite simply, to kill him.
"I am sorry I lied to you, Sophie. At first I meant it as simple punishment for what you'd done to me. Not very nice of me, I'll admit, but then again, what you and your uncle did to me wasn't any better. It gave me a power over you to have matched you at your same game. After, when I decided I would marry you, I used it against you. And I won."
"How can you believe that marrying me is winning? That is errant nonsense. I am nothing, less than nothing. I have no dowry, no reputation, no—"
"Damn you, you will be quiet."
Her eyes went a very dark gray at the anger in his voice; her face was as pale as the white sheets. "No matter your anger, you can't change what I have been, what I am. You haven't won a thing, Ryder."
"I will always win with you, Sophie. It's best you remember that."
Without warning, without any sound at all, she jerked her right arm free of his hold, and smashed her fist into his jaw. He saw the flash of movement but he wasn't fast enough, simply because he'd been laughing and bragging and telling her how omnipotent he was, in short, her master, the one man who would handle her always to his satisfaction.
Her fist hit him hard and he jerked back with the surprise and the flash of pain. She shoved at him, her legs striking him hard on his back, and he went over the side of the bed and landed with a loud thud on the wooden floor.
She lurched up and stared down at him.
He was laughing, lying there on his back, rubbing his jaw, and laughing. At her.
She scrambled off the other side of the bed, grabbed her nightgown and pulled it over her head. She was panting with fury, with fear, because she'd seen the blood on herself, but she knew it couldn't be her monthly flow. He'd hurt her, all right, hurt her so badly she was bleeding.
God, she hated him, hated herself, wished she could topple the bed over on top of him. It was rosewood and very heavy. She tried, but she couldn't lift it.
He stopped laughing, rose and shook his head. He stood on the other side of the bed now, just looking across at her. She couldn't help herself. She looked at his groin, at his flat belly and the thick mat of hair that surrounded his sex, at his legs that had pressed against hers. He wasn't fully aroused now and he was wet with her and with himself and there was blood too and she gasped.
Ryder looked down at himself then back at her face. He pulled back the covers and looked at the stains of blood on the sheet. "I won't seek retribution for that blow until after I've got you cleaned up."
"You come near me and I will break your back. You've hurt me quite enough, Ryder. No more. If I die from what you've done to me, so be it. I deserve it for being such a colossal fool, but you will stay away from me."
"I told you that the hurt is because this was your first time. As for the blood, that won't happen again either. Good God, if a woman bled every time she had a man, the species would cease to exist in a very short time. I'm not lying to you, Sophie. I do find it passing strange that you are ignorant of this. The bleeding signifies your passage into womanhood."
"That is sheer nonsense and you know it. I am nineteen years old, Ryder, very much a woman."
"Oh, I do agree, my dear wife, indeed I do. But my rending of your maidenhead now means you can bear a child. There will be some stretching for a while yet until you become used to me, but it won't hurt. Indeed, I've been told it's a very nice feeling."
"Yes," she said, "told by doubtless two dozen women!"
Acrimony? He wasn't certain. He prayed it was acrimony, a goodly dose of it. He walked around the end of the bed. She didn't back away from him as he'd imagined she would, instead, she flung herself at him and punched her fists into his belly, against his chest, tried to hit his face.
It was a silent battle and he became aware of that silence and wondered at it. Fighting was a loud business, at least in his experience—cursing, grunting, yelling. But she didn't make a bloody sound save for her harsh breathing. And he realized then, and said aloud, "You learned how to fight, to struggle, without a sound, didn't you? You knew that any sound could have awakened Jeremy and you couldn't allow that. Damn you, Sophie, it's different now. That mangy old bastard is well and truly dead. Damn you, yell at me when you fight me!"
She tried to kick him in the groin instead and he simply turned quickly to the side and her blow landed on his upper thigh. He ripped her nightgown off her and threw her onto her back. He brought his full weight over her.
She was heaving and jerking against him and he simply let her, holding her hands over her head. He didn't look at her heaving breasts, tried to ignore her legs thrashing against his, her belly tensing against his.
When she finally quieted, he said, "You didn't enjoy me touching you or kissing you at all, did you?"
She looked at him as if he'd lost his mind.
"No, that was a rather stupid question, wasn't it? We will change all that, Sophie. You are remembering the past year, aren't you? Those men, and what your uncle made you do. Dismiss it, Sophie, relegate it to a time that no longer matters, a time well gone, and forget it."
She realized then, in a flash of understanding, that she didn't doubt for an instant that he wouldn't hurt her no matter how much she tried to hurt him. Never would he raise his hand to her, never would he smash his fists into her ribs. She could probably shoot him and he wouldn't hurt her. She lay there simply looking up at him. Those blue eyes of his were blazing, brilliant as sunlight against a clear sky, yet somehow deep and calm. She said slowly, "You were a part of it. You were the biggest part of it. I knew everything would fail once you came, but my uncle wouldn't believe me. I tried to tell him you were different, because I knew, somehow I knew what you were, but he wouldn't listen. I didn't want to get near you but I did, and look what happened. How can I forget it?"
"In what way did you believe me different from the other men?"
She wished she hadn't said it but she had. "The others were so pleased with themselves, so filled with their pride and conceit, for they had gotten me, just a simple woman really, nothing more, but I was a prize, a possession, no matter how temporary, and it gave them stature and prestige in other men's eyes. You don't care what others think of you or what you do. You see things differently; you react differently."
He looked thoughtful. "Oh, don't get me wrong, Sophie. I wanted you, don't ever mistake that, but it was a game to me. I wanted to best you, to conquer you. Perhaps I wished to teach you a lesson, as I said, but things changed. I married you. Surely that isn't such a bad thing. You are safe with me, as is Jeremy. You are secure, you will never know fear again in your life. Now, you will forget the past. I am your present and your future. Can you feel me? I want you again but I will bathe you first and give you a while to ease. Will you continue to fight me?"
"Yes."
He sighed and rolled off her. He walked to a long, low dresser and pulled two cravats from a drawer. "I regret doing this for it will probably make you so angry you won't speak to me for a week, no matter that I'm your husband and you vowed to obey me."
She jerked off the bed and ran naked to the bedchamber door. His hand slammed against the door above her head. "Are you quite witle
ss, Sophie? You are splendidly naked, my dear. It is doubtful that any of my siblings or any of the servants are wandering the halls, but who knows? I prefer to keep all your female endowments just for my eyes. You are quite beautiful. Your legs are long and firm. You run well.”
He took her hand and began to pull her back to the bed. She kicked him hard in the back of his leg and he felt the pain spurt through him and his grip loosened. She jerked away from him, and this time, she was at the door and through it before he could stop her. She ran down the long corridor, unaware really that she was naked and out of control. She simply ran until, quite suddenly, there was a shadow in front of her and she ran full tilt into it and it wasn't a shadow but a man and he was in a dressing gown. It was the earl, her brother-in-law, and his hands were wrapped about her bare upper arms and he was holding her gently yet firmly.
"Let me go!"
"You need some clothes," Douglas said, so stunned at the appearance of his new sister-in-law completely nude that he was surprised there were any words at all in his mouth.
"Please," she began, trying yet again to jerk away from his hold, looking back over her shoulder even as she struggled. Ryder was striding toward them, wearing a dressing gown, carrying another dressing gown over his arm. He looked furious.
Douglas saw the look on his brother's face in the dim light. He had no idea what was going on, but he felt the fear coming from her, and he felt a protectiveness that wasn't unlike what he felt toward his wife.
He eased his grip on her arms but didn't release her. He said quietly, "Your wife appears a bit distraught, Ryder."
'Yes," Ryder said when he reached them. He was dizzy with anger at her. And here was his brother, holding his wife, and she was naked. "Give her to me, Douglas."
Douglas knew there was no choice. He also knew Ryder wasn't a cruel man. He wouldn't hurt her, but he would give her a good dose of speech that could shrivel the stoutest of hearts.
He said quietly, "I trust everything will soon be all right?"
"Yes," Ryder said again. "Sophie, put this on. My brother doesn't need to see my wife."
Douglas released her. She was still, not moving when Ryder wrapped her in the dressing gown. It was soft, very soft from many washings; it smelled of him. She shuddered, but didn't move, didn't say anything. Everything had gone awry.
"Sleep well," Douglas said, his eyes resting a moment on his brother's face.
"Yes," Ryder said, took Sophie's hand, and led her back down the corridor.
Douglas stood there many minutes until they went into Ryder's bedchamber. What the devil was going on here?
Ryder didn't say a word. He just pulled her back to the bed. He took her squirming body and eased her down on her back. He pulled away the dressing gown. He reached for the cravats. He was over her again, straddling her, and he wrapped the cravats around her wrists, and secured them to the headboard.
"Now," he said, and moved off her again. He stood by the bed and looked down at her. She was pale and furious and still she made no sound.
"There is a lot of blood," he said and frowned. "I am sorry I hurt you, Sophie. Now hold still and let me bathe you."
She held still because she was too tired to fight him further. She tugged once at her wrists but his knots were secure. Why hadn't he said anything yet about her flight and capture by his brother? She felt him hold her legs apart and closed her eyes tightly. He was looking at her and she felt the wet cloth stroke over her. She hated it, this knowing he had of her, this power he had over her. He looked at her and he saw a woman's body that belonged to him.
When he was done he was silent for a moment, then, "Sophie, look at me."
She opened her eyes. He didn't like the message in them.
"What you did was foolish. I do not appreciate your showing my brother your body. I don't understand why—but it doesn't matter right now. You're tired; you're not yourself. Would you like to sleep now?"
"Yes."
He untied her wrists but didn't release them. He massaged them gently and thoroughly. And when he saw her looking about, he said, "No, no nightgown. Just the two of us together."
The bed could hold six people side by side and still he held her tightly against him. The strong beat of his heart sounded beneath her palm, the prickle of hair against her legs.
As for Ryder, he closed his eyes and sighed. "I like the feel of you against me. You're warm and soft. I locked the door. I do hope you don't snore too loudly."
"I do. I sound like a pig."
"How would you know? I know that I'm the first man ever to have you, the first man to hold you naked against him. If you are not delicate and soft in your sleep, I shan't tell you. I don't want to hurt your feelings."
She snorted and he kissed her hair.
He lay back and closed his eyes. Damnation. He hadn't given her any pleasure, not a dollop, not a blessed whit. He hadn't done anything particularly well with her, and that was unusual for him because he was well used to giving as much pleasure as he got. He hadn't with her. He would have to teach her to forget all the ugliness of the past months, including his own part in it, which could prove a formidable task. But he had to. He had to teach her how to love and how to make love. He felt her breasts against his chest, very soft breasts. He saw also in his mind's eye the look on Douglas's face. He must have heard them arguing and he'd come to investigate. Still, he'd held his tongue. He'd been gentle with Sophie.
Damnation.
He slept.
CHAPTER
15
RYDER AWOKE IN the middle of the night. Sophie was warm and soft against him. He was hard. He hurt and he wanted her, then, at that very instant. It seemed he'd wanted her forever. He wasn't completely full-witted and thus rolled her over onto her back, kissing her mouth even as he arranged her for himself, and came fully into her, hard and deep.
She cried out.
Ryder froze, but the madness prodded at him, and all his fine and honorable vows about her pleasure escaped his brain from one instant to the next. He was more awake than before but it made no difference. It was intense and powerful, this lust of his, and he thrust deeply into her, then pulled nearly out of her, heaving with the strain of it, the savage pleasure, again and again until suddenly he stilled. Then it dug at him again, this urgency for her, this frenzy to have her, to make her a part of him, to bind her to him. But he wanted to slow down, to make it last beyond the moment he knew was left to him. He held her tightly to him and rolled over, pulling her on top of him. He forced her upright and pulled her knees under her and against his flanks. She was riding him now, and she splayed her fingers over his chest to hold herself up. He thrust upward, holding her waist, then sliding his hands to her hips to lift her and bring her down on him, to show her what to do. All women enjoyed riding the man once in a while; they could set their own rhythm. They drove him mad with lust and they laughed as they did it, until like him, they moaned and flung their heads back. But Sophie wasn't moving; nor was she moaning. She held him deep inside her and he was forcing her to hold him, more deeply than the first time. Her breasts were thrust forward, beautiful and white and he gasped and pressed her further down on him. He couldn't see her face clearly in the dim light. And he wanted to. Then he heard her sob. He twisted about until he could see her face more clearly. Her eyes were closed and tears were rolling down her cheeks.
Sweet Lord, was he hurting her? He hadn't thought, hadn't realized, that this way of making love was deep, very deep and she was unused to a man, not just a man, but to him, her husband. Quickly, he lifted her off him and onto her back once again. When he rolled over onto her, he came into her again, not so deeply this time.
He wanted to pull out of her, to kiss her and soothe her, to tell her that he hadn't meant to go so strongly into her before she was ready to take him, but suddenly she moved, twisting to the side, and it sent him right over the edge.
It was a repetition of the first time, and he was furious with himself once he
'd regained his wits. Again, he was balancing on his elbows over her and he felt the force of her sobs against his body, felt her heart against his, and he didn't like what he'd done.
"Go to sleep," he said and rolled off her.
She did eventually, but he listened to those soft, gasping cries of hers for more minutes than he could bear. He awoke the following morning at the streaming of sunlight through the front windows. He felt her weight against him and smiled until he remembered the fiasco of the previous night. He'd been a clod, not once but twice, a selfish clod, a fool, a half-wit. He didn't understand it, and he didn't like himself for it.
Well, it was done. He would make it up to her. He would exercise more patience than he ever had in his life. On the other hand, he hadn't ever needed patience with a woman; a smile, a jest, a caress, and most had come to him. He knew the experiences in his life hadn't demanded much of anything that he couldn't readily and willingly give. Ah, his life had been filled with laughter and hour upon hour of pleasure and reckless freedom—the pounding strength of his stallion beneath him and the utter yielding of all the women he'd known and loved and held. His life had held no responsibilities he hadn't asked for. And that included his children, all seven of them. No, they were a joy, not a responsibility. It was true. His life had been fashioned by a benign deity. Now everything had changed. The woman he'd brought into his life, the woman he'd chosen for himself, didn't want him. There didn't seem to be laughter in her, no spontaneous joy, no wildness that came from deep within, and burst forth freely and gladly.
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