A slow smile spread over his face. He wouldn’t make her ask twice. Loosening his smallclothes, he pulled his cock free. He’d done his best to ignore the throbbing need of his own body, but as if sensing the imminent ride that awaited, his cock grew even harder.
He grasped her hips and pulled her fully on her knees, her face still pressed into the mattress. It was an arousing, tantalizing position. Fitting himself at her entrance, he tried to take care, but as the head of his cock pressed inside her, her burgeoning climax snapped his control. Her moans were muffled in the pillow as she writhed on his cock and clamped him tightly. He could be gentle no longer. He slammed himself deep.
As her climax peaked, he pumped his hips, slowly at first, savoring the pleasure skating all the way to his toes, but soon enough, his pace grew more frantic. His spend sent him soaring into a space where he forgot everyone and everything except this woman.
She slid to her belly, and he collapsed at her side, both of them breathing hard. Silence gathered, but not an uncomfortable one. On unsteady legs, he retrieved the linen bath towel and cleaned between her legs until she batted his arm away and curled on her side with a sigh. He climbed in behind her and fitted himself to her curves.
“I apologize,” he whispered. “I had no intention of taking you tonight.”
“I’m rather glad you changed your mind. My bottom still hurts, but otherwise, I feel lovely.” A sigh gusted out of her, and she wiggled her bottom against him. “But I’d rather not discuss what transpired. If I wasn’t so exhausted, I would be mortified.”
“Just so I’m clear, you don’t want to discuss how you begged for my cock?” He smiled into her hair.
“Please forget that exchange ever took place.” A different sort of plea made her voice rise in distress.
He nuzzled the soft skin behind her ear, the scent of her clean skin enhanced by her obvious embarrassment. “As if I could. I’ll dream of you begging for my cock from this night until eternity.”
“You aren’t shocked?”
He was, rather, but in the best possible way. “We have only begun to explore the pleasures of the marriage bed.”
She jerked around to look at him, wide-eyed.
He raised his brows. “It seems as if it’s your turn to be shocked.”
“Do all husbands and wives enjoy bed pleasures such as this?”
How to answer? From simple mechanics, husbands had an easier time enjoying themselves in bed with their wives—and other women—but he wasn’t sure how women felt about their wifely duties. For most of the ton, marriage was an obligation to be met with a stiff upper lip.
But Delilah wasn’t part of the ton, and neither was he. From the stories shared by his grandmother, his mother had been desperately in love with his father and vice versa. He didn’t need stories to know his grandparents had loved one another until the very end. It had been a blessing they passed within weeks of one another. The world had seemed unbalanced when they weren’t together.
Could he and Delilah form such an attachment?
“Some husbands and wives even enjoy such pleasures out of bed,” he said in a teasing voice when his heart was serious. He was a coward for not speaking his heart, but there would be time. He hoped.
Chapter 15
Delilah stretched under the covers and winced at the soreness across her bottom and legs. Was it because of her hours spent on horseback or her nightly activities with Marcus? Heat burned into her cheeks, but when she sat up, the space where he’d slept was empty. Relief had her sinking into the pillows. How could she possibly face him after what she’d said?
A clock ticked on the mantel, but the room was otherwise silent. Light leaked through the heavy draperies at the window. She rolled to the edge of the bed and stood gingerly before shuffling to the window. The rain of the day before had left behind a bright blue sky and birdsong. A garden stirring in the first throes of spring spread out toward the distant shimmering water of a pond. Left behind droplets of rain shimmered on new green shoots and leaves of the vine growing over a trellis below her window.
Optimism unfurled like flowers pushing through the soil. Maybe the killer would give up on finding her. Perhaps Marcus would put aside the quest to clear his father’s name. They could pretend to be a normal newly wedded couple and start their life together at Wyndam Castle. It sounded idyllic.
She stopped herself. Making future plans was a thumb to the nose at fate.
A scratch sounded on the door a moment before it opened, and Mrs. Devlin, the housekeeper, bustled inside the room.
“Ah, you’re awake, Lady Wyndam. I have your clothes, dry and freshly pressed. Let me help you dress.” Mrs. Devlin was brisk and efficient, making quick work of the hooks and ties of Delilah’s brushed-out habit. “Your husband and Master Rafe have been cavorting in the stables like schoolboys since near to dawn. However, Lord Wyndam expressed a wish to make a start toward his estate soon.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Devlin. I must say, I’m relieved with the change in weather. I wasn’t looking forward to arriving at my new home feeling like a wet, bedraggled kitten.” Delilah gave Mrs. Devlin a shy smile.
Mrs. Devlin did not return the smile, her brow furrowed. “You’ve never visited the Wyndam estate?”
“I haven’t. Is there anything amiss?” When Mrs. Devlin’s gaze landed anywhere but on her, Delilah gave a nervous laugh. “Is it haunted?”
“It’s the oldest landholding in the area,” Mrs. Devlin said. “The Wyndam line goes back centuries.”
“Marcus calls his ancestral home a castle.” Delilah couldn’t stop a vision of an armored knight who looked like Marcus riding toward a tower to collect a favor from his lady before battle.
“A castle, yes. A very old castle.” Mrs. Devlin shook a small smile back on her face. “You won’t be but a few hours’ ride from Wintermarsh. You and Lady Lily are of an age. You must come for a visit once she returns from her season in London.”
“I would like that very much.” Unease stamped on Delilah’s budding optimism. Old could mean historic and stately or decrepit.
Mrs. Devlin led her down the long staircase to the morning room where breakfast was laid out. “Master Rafe and Lord Wyndam have eaten. The tea is hot. You should fortify yourself for the journey and bundle up. The rain has moved on, but the breeze is brisk.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Devlin.” Unexpected emotion brought a lump to Delilah’s throat. It was something her mother might have said. She was always nagging Delilah to eat more and put on a pelisse. By marrying Marcus, she had been cast out of a safe, familiar harbor, but Mrs. Devlin’s unexpected kindness was like a comforting lighthouse in the unknown waters.
Mrs. Devlin started to turn away but then reversed to pat Delilah’s arm in a way that was overly familiar for a servant, but welcomed nonetheless. “If you run into any trouble, you and Lord Wyndam are welcome at Wintermarsh anytime. Day or night.”
“Lord Drummond won’t want us disturbing him.” Delilah tried a smile, but her lips trembled. She mashed them together and swallowed hard. Although he’d been kind enough the evening before, Lord Drummond didn’t seem the jolly, welcoming sort.
“Pish. He might not host a ball in your honor, but he will extend a warm welcome to friends in trouble.” Mrs. Devlin’s brown eyes were sharp and all knowing. Except what could the woman actually know about their situation?
If the past week had taught her anything, it was that she should be wary and suspicious, but instead, her instinct was to throw her arms around the housekeeper. Which wouldn’t do at all. She was no longer Miss Delilah Bancroft of Stoney Pudholme, but Lady Wyndam of Wyndam Castle.
Mrs. Devlin bustled off. Delilah did her best to fortify herself, but her stomach was a mass of nerves. While Mrs. Devlin’s offer of sanctuary was consoling, it made Delilah painfully aware of the troubles ready to pounce. She barely choked down a piece of buttered bread before giving up.
The front door opened, and the promised chill breeze rushed into
the morning room along with a duet of male voices she recognized as Lord Drummond and Marcus. Rising, she smoothed down her skirt.
Marcus entered first, his cheeks ruddy, his smile growing wider upon spotting her. “Good morning, my dear.”
Her own cheeks grew hot. Dear Lord, she had begged him for his… For his… It didn’t bear repeating, even in her head. Still, her gaze dipped to his breeches before skating away.
“Good morning.” She turned to Lord Drummond and inclined her head. “My lord.”
Marcus and Lord Drummond seemed to have come to an understanding. Marcus smiled, and there was true warmth in his voice. “I thank you heartily for refuge last night, but we should be off. Hopefully, O’Connell will be waiting at the castle with provisions from Lipton.”
“I’ll be leaving for London soon, but upon my return, we’ll discuss breeding Starlight with Aries.” Lord Drummond directed a small bow in her direction, and she was struck again by the man’s rather grim intensity. “Lady Wyndam. When my sister returns, you must come back for a visit.”
“That would be most welcome.” She sidled closer to Marcus.
Lord Drummond retreated to a book-lined room with a heavy, ornate wooden desk situated under large windows. Marcus led Delilah through the front door. The pins she’d used to secure her hair were no match for the whipping wind. While her hat had dried from the day before, it was bedraggled and droopy, much like herself.
Marcus led her to the stable where Starlight and another horse were both saddled, their traveling bags secured. “You will be riding Pegasus.”
Delilah stopped short, examining the bay horse with white socks who was tossing its head. The name alone filled her with trepidation. “It looks rather more spirited than Pigeon.”
Tom Donahue took Pegasus’s reins and drew her closer to Delilah. “Pegasus is an even-tempered, docile mare. It will be like riding a giant turtle.”
“I once read about tortoises in the tropics big enough to ride. I would prefer you find me one of those.” Delilah tried to hide her cowardice behind a laugh. “I would much prefer to ride with you on Starlight, Marcus.”
Marcus shook his head. “I—we—can’t afford to risk Starlight going lame. Our fortunes rest with her and her progeny.”
Now she felt cowardly and selfish. What was wrong with her? She had scaled the side of a building, bested a possible murderer with a well-aimed turnip, and married a man she’d met over a dead body. She could surely ride a horse.
“I’m sure Pegasus and I will rub along famously.”
They did not rub along well at all. The problems began the moment she mounted with the help of a block. She heaved herself onto the sidesaddle and lost her balance, listing too far over before grabbing the pommel with both hands and righting herself.
Pegasus tossed her head and shuffled to the side to compensate for Delilah’s clumsiness. Tom was taken off guard, and Pegasus’s back end swung around with enough momentum to make Delilah clutch and pull at the horse’s mane, which only made things worse.
Pegasus tossed her head and took off down the drive, the reins slipping through Tom’s hands. Delilah hadn’t yet notched her right leg around the lower pommel, making her balance all the more precarious. She leaned over the horse’s neck, the pommel digging into her stomach. Her hat flopped into her face. For all Delilah knew, Pegasus was headed to the nearest tree to scrape her inconsiderate rider off.
As she considered her options—screaming being at the top of the list—a flash of white whizzed in her periphery. Pegasus stopped so suddenly, Delilah got a mouthful of coarse horse hair and a throbbing nose.
Mounted on Starlight, Marcus held Pegasus’s reins and spoke soothing, lilting words of comfort. “It’s all right. Everything is fine now. Nothing to fash yourself over.”
Delilah wasn’t sure if they were meant for her or the horse, but guessed the latter. She pushed herself upright and positioned her legs properly. Her wiggle on the saddle sent the horse into a shuffle, but Marcus made a tsking noise deep in his chest, and the horse ceased her restless movements.
“I told you I was useless on a horse.” The humor she attempted to inject was ruined by the quaver in her voice.
“You’ll learn.” He seemed untroubled by her lack of horsemanship, but how could he not be greatly bothered? Horses were his passion, and Delilah had turned the most docile horse in Lord Drummond’s stable into an unmanageable beast in less than a minute.
Marcus didn’t return to them to the stables, only clicked his tongue, and both Starlight and Pegasus set off down the long, sweeping drive toward the main road. Delilah looked over her shoulder once, but it upset her balance enough to send a skitter of panic through her, so she focused on the road ahead.
Marcus brought Starlight closer to Pegasus and held out the reins. “Here.”
“No. You keep them.” Delilah maintained a death grip on the pommel. “What if Pegasus gallops off again and you can’t catch me?”
Marcus’s voice was gentle. “Pegasus can barely manage a trot.”
Delilah’s snort was indelicate, and she tried to cover it with a cough. “It was dashing down the lane with me.”
Marcus only gave her a sympathetic glance from the corners of his eyes. “I’ll stay close in case she decides to bolt. Go on, take the reins.”
Delilah took them reluctantly, and Pegasus tossed her head and shuffled to the side. Delilah let out a yelp. “What am I doing wrong?”
“Nothing. You’re merely inexperienced. Horses prefer confident riders.” Marcus stood up in his stirrups and reached over to put a hand over hers. “Loosen your grip. Hold the reins gently.”
Marcus’s hands were bare, and their warmth and strength seeped through her soft kid gloves, relaxing her grip.
“Perfect.” He favored her with a smile as he regained his seat, and she couldn’t help but admire the ease with which he moved atop Starlight, his hips rocking much like…
An invisible hand of wanting pulled the laces of her stays tighter, leaving a not entirely comfortable tension through her chest and belly. She squirmed on the saddle but kept her grip light on the reins, and Pegasus kept plodding along.
The clop of horse hooves and the calls of birds weren’t enough to fill the expanding silence between them, and in that silence, questions bubbled out. “Do you have no relations left in Ireland? Aunts or uncles? Cousins, perhaps?”
“I am alone in the world, except for O’Connell.” The lilting melancholy in his voice filled her with both sadness and indignation.
“You have me,” she said tartly.
A look of chagrin passed over his face. “Please forgive me. Marriage has been an unexpected change in circumstances for me.”
“I would like to say the same, but Mother and Father and Lady Casterly have been pushing me to marry all season.” She sent Marcus a wry smile. “Just not to you.”
“I fear I was a rather unpleasant shock.” He didn’t return her smile. “I hope one day you and your parents can repair things. I don’t like being the cause of your estrangement.”
Delilah wished it was only the brisk wind making her eyes watery. “I hope so too.”
“Do you have a large extended family?” he asked.
“No. It was only me and Alastair.”
“I can’t imagine your pain.” Guilt he shouldn’t have to bear weighed his words.
Her brother had been the most important person in her life. His death had hurt beyond measure, and even though it had been almost two years, the raw pain sometimes took her breath away as if the news had arrived yesterday.
“The truth is important to me as well. I want the people who killed Alastair with their greed to pay dearly.” Only when Pegasus began to shuffle to the side did Delilah realize her grip on the reins had tightened.
Marcus was like a statue on Starlight, staring straight ahead. “And if it turns out my father is to blame? How will you be able to stomach being my wife?”
“Whatever else I learn, you ar
e not to blame for my brother’s death.” She attempted to lighten her voice. “Anyway, you are certain your father is innocent.”
Doubts crossed his face like storm clouds.
Delilah preferred to judge a man by his actions and not an accident of birth. Sir Wallace, for instance, was welcomed into every ball and drawing room in London. He was every inch a gentleman by Society’s standards. Yet he had spoken disrespectfully about her and would have never cared for her.
Marcus, on the other hand, had inherited a tainted title and was shunned by Society, yet he had treated her with admiration and respect. Marcus was not his father, and no matter what truths came to light, nothing would change his fundamental kindness.
Would things change if his father was ultimately implicated? Her worry centered not on her reaction, but whether Marcus would be able to bear the guilt of association. He was prideful and his honor was also his burden.
Alastair would have liked Marcus very much, and her parents would like him too once time had softened their shock. The load on her heart lessened.
“What is your opinion on brown paneling?” She tipped her face up to the sun and smiled. Her mother wasn’t here to warn her about freckling.
“Brown paneling?” Marcus sounded perplexed at the sudden conversational shift.
“Pay me no mind.” She peered ahead but could see nothing resembling a castle rising behind the rolling hills. “How much farther?”
“Not far.” Marcus cleared his throat, his anxiety obvious in the way he held himself.
“Do you fear trouble awaits us on the road?” She squinted at the brambly hedgerows lining the lane, sensitive to any movement. A blackbird popped out of the leaves of a tree on her right and made her start.
“No doubt trouble is on our heels, but I think—hope—we’ll be safe until we can determine what secrets the book holds and how to proceed.” His face remained tense.
“What worries you if not for the mysterious killer on our trail?” she asked.
“Wyndam Castle is rather…” His mouth moved silently as if testing different words and finding them lacking.
A SINFUL SURRENDER: Spies and Lovers Page 17