She swallowed. The cramp, caused by overuse, had already subsided. But for some reason, Leonora wanted this man’s hands upon her far more than she wanted to make that revelation.
“Yes,” she lied.
He was in the bed within heartbeats. His hands settled upon her bare ankle, hard, large, firm, and hot. Claiming her, as if she were already his when she was in name but not in action. “With your permission, my lady, I will attempt to lessen your suffering as I did for you previously.”
She almost laughed aloud at his unexpected reference to the day he had ruined her. And she could not help but to wonder now whether or not he had lessened her suffering or increased it by leading her to the brink of scandal and then wedding her. Perhaps it was a question that would only be resolved with time.
How irregular it was for him to seem concerned by her welfare, attuned to her discomfort, when he could not seem to show her a modicum of affection. He had not even given her a true smile, for the smile he had graced her with before leaving earlier in the day had been a wolf’s smile.
“My lady?” he persisted. “May I?”
His hands had not moved.
“You may,” she allowed, sternly reminding herself she could not—nay, must not—allow him any liberty beyond this until he earned it.
Unerringly, his fingers moved, finding the painful knot of her tight muscle. His thumbs pressed. She could not contain her sigh of relief. Nor did she miss the satisfied smile curving his lips as he cast a glance toward her.
“Improved?” he asked gently.
“Better,” she allowed, frowning at her too-handsome husband and his too-pleased countenance. “You may stop, my lord.”
“What if I do not wish to stop?” As he posed the wicked question, his hands moved higher, touching her left leg only, working her sore muscle. And here, at last, was the inkling of something else. Something deeper and darker than that which he had already deigned to show her.
She had overdone it today, between the ceremony and her seemingly endless preparations, not to mention the introductions that came later when she had arrived at Linley House. She was paying for the grandiosity of her presumption she could carry on without repercussions for one day. Just as he had been for the aftermath of her injudicious lack of propriety at Freddy’s ball, the marquess was once again present to atone for her sins.
But then, thoughts of his absence returned once more, negating any gratitude blossoming within her toward him. She frowned. “If you do not wish to stop, you should not have abandoned your bride on the day you married her, Searle.”
The immediate anguish of her cramp ameliorated, she caught his wrists and tugged his hands away from her willing and needy flesh. How could one man so thoroughly consume and confuse her? He was at the center of all her thoughts, and yet, to look upon him for too long was surely to get burned. Much like the sun.
“And if I assured you I could more than expiate my sins in other fashions?” he queried with deceptive calm, for his voice had taken on an edge.
A promise of the wicked.
She did not want to ask him to elaborate upon his question. Yet, she could think of nothing but his answer. “What fashions?”
His lips quirked higher, the smile delivering not just smug satisfaction now but sizzling with possibilities. She could not shake the restless feeling that had dogged her from the moment she had first seen the Marquess of Searle. That he was dangerous. More dangerous than she could comprehend.
And she had married him.
“With my lips,” he drawled. Because she had yet to release his wrists—ever the fool, she—he turned his hands so the palms faced the ceiling and his fingers entwined with hers. “And tongue.”
Leonora had never been kissed. Not even by Lord Robert. Her mouth tingled at the marquess’s words. Anticipation licked through her, flaring down her spine and settling between her thighs. A strange, keening ache had begun to blossom there. She felt heavy and needy, and though she was an innocent, she knew what that pooling warmth meant.
Some years ago, she had discovered, whilst lying alone in bed one night, the sensation could be brought to a raging, pleasurable crescendo, and the heaviness and ache would only be satisfied by doing so. She knew she had been sinful, committing such an act of depravity, touching herself there, where her flesh was forbidden, but she had been unable to help herself.
And she had not stopped. She knew how she liked to be touched, what would make the pinnacle break over her like a wave hitting a shore and splitting into a thousand tiny, beautiful directions.
Even now, lying before her husband of one day, she could not suppress the thought of guiding his knowing hands to her, bringing him between her thighs. He could alleviate the pressure and the need. After all, he was the source of it. She felt quite sure.
“You must not,” she found the strength to protest at last, shocked by her own vulgar urges.
His eyes glittered with an indefinable emotion, boring into hers with expert precision. He must have read something of her thoughts in her countenance, for his own expression changed, his lips parting, nostrils flaring. “Are you curious now?”
Curious, yes. But she must not allow her inner yearning to trump her determination to keep him firmly at bay. “I would have been curious if you had not fled the moment the introductions to your servants were completed. Now, I am afraid, I merely wish to find my bed and get some rest.”
Her voice was a traitor, breathless and low, giving her away.
And Searle did not miss it, for his grin only deepened. “Liar,” he charged softly. “Admit it. You are curious, regardless of my actions earlier today.”
She shook her head, loathing herself for being so easily read, resenting him for being correct. Irritated with herself for the lack of resistance to this man. He was not the first handsome lord she had seen in all her years on the marriage mart. “No.”
He raised her hands to his lips for a kiss, first one, then the other. “The truth, my lady. I begin to think there is far more to you than you have previously allowed me to see.”
If that was the case, surely it was because he had not bothered to spend time with her over the handful of weeks following their ignominious display at Freddy’s ball. They had waited for the banns to be read, and then they had wed. In the interim, he had taken her for a drive in his curricle once. He had paid a call lasting no longer than five minutes one afternoon, and he had danced with her at one more ball.
If he did not know her, the fault was his alone. She summoned all her courage to tell him so. “Perhaps you have not attempted to seek it.”
“And perhaps I wish to do penance for the sin of failing to court you properly.” His jaw was clenched.
“Do not forget the sin of failing to acquaint me with my new home.” She could not resist reminding him tartly.
His eyebrows rose, dark arches inching up his otherwise flawless, high forehead. Every part of him was perfect, from his handsome face to his elegant air. She, on the other hand, was a limping spinster, surely a burden to him. The woman he had no doubt reluctantly taken as his wife.
But although she knew she ought to be grateful, he had made her his marchioness, and given her hope she may one day bear the children she so desperately longed to have, she could not seem to stop baiting him. Something had happened to her. She was changing. Altering. She was a new Leonora. The bravery slipping from her lips was perhaps foolhardy, but necessary.
For most of her life, she had been pitied and ostracized, and she had allowed it. She had sat on the periphery with Mama and her atrocious turbans, knowing no one would ever ask her to dance or seek her hand. But now, someone had.
Still, she was no longer the Leonora who waited on the edge of life, too tentative to live it. Even if having a husband was nothing like what she had imagined it would be for all those years of yearning and hoping. Rather, it was like living with a wild creature. She knew not what to expect. Knew not whether he would run at the slightest provocation, if h
e would allow her to pet him, if he would bite.
The notion tickled her sense of humor, and she could not quite squelch the sudden, inappropriate burst of laughter rising in her throat at the thought of the Marquess of Searle facing her like some feral wolf. It suited him so.
“You do indeed possess untold depths, my lady.” His tone, like his gaze as it traveled over her from the roots of her hair to her toes in one scorching pass, was wry.
She tugged her hands free of his grasp and slid from his bed, her feet touching the luxurious softness of carpet. “Unfortunately, I also possess a strong need to get my rest. I am heartily glad you have returned this evening, my lord. Perhaps tomorrow we may begin again?”
He stared at her, a muscle in his jaw flexing.
Good heavens, he was so powerful and predatory. Leonine, really. Far more regal than a wolf. Yes, the exotic, hazardous beast seemed the perfect likeness.
Her lion, she thought foolishly. If only she might tame him.
“I bid you good evening, my lord,” she said boldly into the silence he had yet to answer.
Thanks to Freddy, she knew her first night as a wife should have entailed far more than what had just occurred between them. But she was also painfully aware she needed to find her footing in this wilderness she was about to inhabit.
She swept from his chamber with as much grace as she could manage.
Just before the door latched behind her, she heard the unmistakable rumble of his voice.
“I bid you good evening as well, Leonora.”
The sound of his deep, delicious voice saying her name haunted her all night long.
Chapter Four
“Dearest Leonora!”
Leonora smiled as she embraced her best friend back with just as much, unladylike exuberance. “Freddy!”
With the sudden wedding preparations on Leonora’s part, and Freddy’s own new marriage to keep her distracted, too much time had passed since they had been afforded the opportunity to chat alone. Freddy sounded and looked so pleased, happiness nearly radiating from her as Leonora took a step back. The salon her friend had turned into a writing area was cheerful and bold, and situated perfectly so the sun poured in through the bounty of windows on an opposite wall.
“Or shall I call you Marchioness now?” Freddy asked, grinning slyly. “You do look different, darling.”
If misery had a look and it could be described as different, that would explain her friend’s comment. Because one sennight into her marriage, Leonora had made a hideous, previously uncontemplated discovery; relieving herself of her spinster status and marrying an eligible parti had not fulfilled her as she had hoped it might.
Instead, it had left her confused, empty, and alone.
Contrary to her urging on their wedding night for them to begin again the next day, the following morning had dawned upon a Searle as cold and flatly emotionless as ever. He spoke few words to her. He breakfasted before she was awake and spent dinners at his club. His gaze was intense, but his moods impossible.
Most evenings, he did not return until she was already abed. Each night without fail, she heard him entering his chamber in the late hours of the morning, his heavy footfalls treading to the door adjoining their chambers. In the cool darkness, she waited as the portal opened and he stood there for an indeterminate span of time before closing it once more.
But she could not possibly share all that with her blissfully happy, utterly in love friend before they had even settled to take their tea. Leonora exhaled on a sigh, not wishing to unburden herself just yet. Perhaps not even at all. Freddy was like a summer breeze, shining and warm and abundant and sweet-scented. Leonora felt, in contrast, like a rasping, ravaging winter’s wind, the sort that sucked all the moisture from one’s lips and stung one’s cheeks.
“I feel different,” she offered with a noncommittal shrug. “But tell me about you, Freddy. It has been far, far too long.”
Her friend pinned her with a shrewd, assessing look. “You look as if you have just slid your foot into your slipper and found it filled with treacle.”
Had she been in a lighter mood, Leonora would have laughed at Freddy’s witty observation. As it stood, her emotions hovered somewhere in the brackish vicinity between spontaneous laughter and a hideous bout of sniveling tears.
So, she forced a smile. “There is no treacle in my slipper, I assure you.”
If there had been, it would have been a less trifling matter than the realization she had married a complete stranger, and that obtaining a husband felt rather like being gifted a prettily decorated box only to find it empty inside.
“And now you rather resemble a lady who has found dog offal in her slipper instead,” Freddy countered, arching one dark brow as if to say she was not fooled by Leonora’s reassurances.
“You are certainly laden with similitudes today, Freddy,” she observed instead of responding to either of her friend’s discreet inquiries into her wellbeing. “You look different as well. Radiant and happy, just as you deserve.”
It was true, for her friend was a vibrant beauty on ordinary days. Today, however, she seemed to somehow shimmer with radiance. Perhaps it was her contentment. Perhaps love had softened her. Leonora still knew a pang in her heart whenever she thought of the manner in which Freddy and Mr. Kirkwood had gazed upon each other at their ball.
Had she truly been foolish enough to believe procuring herself a husband would provide her that same sense of comfort and joy? What a ninny she had been.
“Thank you.” Freddy’s smile turned secretive as her hand settled over her abdomen. “It is early, but I do think I may know the reason.”
A riot of sensation burst inside her chest. Elation for Freddy. Longing for herself. Despair that the same thrilling announcement may never emerge from her own lips. Fear of what her life would mean, stretching before her, childless, with a husband who viewed her as a responsibility and nothing more.
“Oh, Freddy.” This time, the smile on her mouth was not forced, for she wanted nothing but joy for her friend. “Are you enceinte?”
Freddy nodded, her eyes glistening with the hint of unshed tears. “I am. You shall be an auntie, and it is my greatest hope that you will soon have similar news for me. Our children could take their first steps together. Only think of how wonderful it would be. Is that the reason for your long face, Leonora? I know how very much you want babes of your own. But you have been married for only a week. It would be too soon for such a happy event to occur.”
“It would also be too soon for a happy event to occur when a marriage has yet to be consummated,” she observed dryly before she could think better of uttering confirmation of Freddy’s fear she was unhappy.
Freddy’s brows rose, her expression turning grave. “Pardon, dearest. I believe I misheard you. Of course you have…that is to say, you enjoyed a wedding night with Searle. Did you not?”
“Oh, Freddy.” She surrendered her determination to keep her upset to herself. “He has not even attempted to kiss me.”
“Not one kiss?” Freddy sounded shocked.
Leonora sighed again, a sudden twinge of pain forcing her to leverage all her weight onto the leg that had never been broken. “Nary a one.”
Of course, Freddy took note of her discomfort.
“Forgive me, dearest,” her friend said. “What have I been thinking, holding you here without a hint of proper manners? Sit, please do. Tea and biscuits should be here any moment now. I do hope you are staying for a nice, long visit. You are staying, are you not?”
Leonora had thought to visit Mama, as well, while making her first calls as the Marchioness of Searle. But Mama could read her as well as Freddy could, and Leonora had no wish to divulge the sad state of her marriage to more than one person today.
She allowed her friend to guide her to an overstuffed chair, where she happily took her seat. “I suppose I can stay for as long as you would like to have me here.”
Just then, a servant arrived, bearing a tray o
f chocolate biscuits and tea. Freddy waited until the domestic had departed before pouring tea for Leonora, knowing just how she preferred it, and offering her two biscuits as well.
“Two biscuits?” Leonora frowned down at the delicious looking things, thinking of her waistline, which was frightfully responsive to sweets, and not in the manner she wished. “One should suffice.”
“I am having three,” Freddy said unrepentantly. “Duncan’s chef is exquisite, recommended by the chef at his club. Every bit as talented, though blessedly possessed of a significantly smaller sense of his own magnificence. After your first bite, you will be cursing me for only offering you two, I promise.”
Leonora bit into a biscuit, and she had to admit, it was buttery and decadent upon her palate. She chewed it thoughtfully before swallowing. “These are utterly delightful, Freddy. You are, once again, quite right.”
“Duncan finds only the best,” Freddy said with a smile.
“Of course he does,” Leonora could not help but to observe. “He found you, after all.”
Freddy flushed, taking a delicate sip of her tea. “One could say I found him after I trespassed at his club as I did.”
“No matter which one of you is responsible, Freddy, you are both happy and in love, and I am so very overjoyed for you.” And she was. She was incredibly delighted for her friend.
It filled her with warmth to see Freddy thriving. Mr. Kirkwood seemed the perfect foil for her, someone who understood and appreciated her mind and her novel writing, who could not just accept an unconventional lady but worship her as she deserved to be.
“But you are not happy,” Freddy deduced.
Correctly, drat it all.
Leonora supposed it was inevitable she would have to admit the truth. She could not hide her feelings from her friend forever. She sighed for what had to be the third time since her arrival. “I am not happy,” she admitted.
“Searle is not cruel to you, is he?” Freddy demanded, moving to the edge of her seat. Her expression had hardened, suggesting she would gladly take up the cudgels and use them upon Searle if need be.
Marquess of Mayhem (Sins & Scoundrels Book 3) Page 6