by L. R. Olson
“Do you like to dance, Julianna?”
Her palms flattened to my chest, her eyes wide with surprise and yes, wariness. Was she truly the naïve innocent I’d thought her to be those many months ago? Rafe seemed to think so. My brother wanted me to trust my wife. Could I? I took her hand in mine and rested my other at her waist. The warmth of her skin through her clothing sent my pulse racing.
“Do you know how to waltz?”
She didn’t respond, merely stared up at me in bemused confusion.
I moved forward, forcing her to step back with my thighs. In a low voice, I counted the steps. She fell into place easily, naturally. Like all accomplished women she’d been taught to dance, prepared for the ballroom. But she had an elegance about her that other women of my acquaintance could not claim. She stared at my buttons the entire time, I stared at her. There was no music, but it didn’t matter, I couldn’t seem to stop.
Her hand grasped my shoulder as I spun her around, and around. She clung to me in a way that made the primal urge within roar to life. I wanted her with a desperation I’d never felt before. Tasting her those months ago had only lit the fire within. I twirled her around one last time and shoved her up against the wall.
I didn’t let go, nor did she try to escape my hold. Slowly, she tilted her head back and meet my gaze. In her eyes I saw her nervousness, her confusion, her desire. I released her hand and trailed my knuckles down the side of her face. Her lips parted, her breath warm upon my neck. I could feel the rapid beat of her heart against my chest. She was nervous, perhaps anxious, maybe both. Would she push me away if I kissed her?
Hidden in the shadows of the corner of the room, I could do whatever I wished with her and no one would notice. When I lowered my lips to hers, she closed her eyes. She did not flinch, did not scurry away. I paused, our breaths mingling. She wanted the kiss, but did she want me? Her hands curled into the lapels of my jacket. Unable to help myself, I brushed my lips against hers softly at first, testing.
When she moaned it was all the encouragement needed.
I pressed my body into her, holding her captive against the hard wall. She gave up, her lush body sinking into me, tempting, so very tempting. I could not get enough of her. With a growl, I slid my tongue between her parted lips. I would take her there in the ballroom. The heat inside my body burned through my veins. I was afire, aching with a hunger I’d never felt before. My hands trailed down her arms, pausing at her hips.
“James,” she gasped. “Not here.”
“Where ever I say,” I growled against her lips. “Whenever.”
She whimpered as my mouth trailed down her elegant neck, tracing a path across the sensitive skin. While I tasted her, I found the material of her skirts, crushing the muslin in my fists. I had to touch her. Needed to feel her heat, her warmth. Blasted women’s fashion and their many layers.
Her breasts heaved with each harsh intake of her breath, just begging to be touched. I lowered my mouth to that valley between the mounds, desperate for more. I wanted to scrape my teeth over her tits, to bring the hardened buds into my mouth and suck until she cried out with pleasure.
I pulled her skirts higher, the hem brushing her shapely calves.
“Don’t,” she whispered, turning her head away from me. “Please.”
I gritted my teeth and paused. My cock throbbed, pressing against my trousers. I could have her. So easily.
I could have her.
Damnation.
I couldn’t.
With a curse, I pushed away from the woman and stumbled back.
For one long moment we merely stared at each other, both of us breathless, both of us in need. We wanted each other. There was so much left unspoken between us, neither wanting to say the words, admitting what we desired.
“Two children,” I snapped. “Two boys.”
She flushed. “And what about girls?”
A little girl with her wavy hair and brilliant blues eyes flashed to mind. My chest grew tight with an emotion I didn’t dare dwell upon. I turned and started toward the door. “Two boys. You’re welcome to have as many girls as you wish, and I will ignore them as well as I ignore my male spawn. But for your freedom…two boys.”
“And if I continue to have girls?” she called out stubbornly.
I paused in the middle of the ballroom. “We keep trying.”
The thought did not upset me like it should have. I could practically feel her mind spinning. I didn’t have to wait long to know what she thought. “You don’t wish to have a real marriage?”
I laughed as I turned toward her. Her face was flushed with desire, her lips swollen from my kisses. “Real? What is real? Most members of the ton marry for wealth, privilege. They lead separate lives, the men having a mistress on the side to fulfill their desires and satisfy their cravings. Is that what you mean by real?”
“My parents didn’t have a marriage like that,” she whispered, frowning. “They cared about each other. We were a family. They had no others to satisfy their…cravings.”
“That you know of.”
Her jaw clenched as she fought her irritation. I studied my wife, wondering if she expected the same of our marriage. Impossible. It was insane to think that a man could be content with one woman. I pushed the thought from my mind.
“Friday, Julianna. I will see you Friday.”
Without another word I turned and left her standing there to find her own way back to her rooms, cursing her bloody perfect childhood and her bloody perfect parents and their bloody perfect marriage.
Chapter 6
Julianna
Friday came much too quickly.
After having stayed up most of the night, listening to the wind rattle against the panes and the eerie and terrifying howl of the breeze, I’d finally given up on sleep. How could I rest knowing what the day would bring? And so I’d spent the hours pacing my room.
Dinner had come, but I’d barely eaten a thing. My stomach felt twisted into knots. The sun had traveled across the sky. I’d bathed. The sun had set. The house had grown still. The only thing left to do was wait.
I sank into the chair near the fireplace and closed my eyes attempting to calm my racing heart. At times I felt like it would explode in my chest, as if the very air had left the room and I could breathe no longer. Images of that kiss in the ballroom flipped over and over through my troubled mind. It had taken all the energy I’d had to push him away. Another moment longer and I would have allowed him to take me up against that wall in a room where the servants could have walked in at any moment.
With a groan, I stood. James would arrive soon. He would kiss me again. He would touch me where no one else had ever touched me. And this time he wouldn’t stop. I pressed my fingers to my lips. As much as I was loathe to admit it, that kiss had felt like coming home, as if I’d been hungering for something for far too long and my appetite had finally been sated.
With a sigh, I paced to the fireplace mantel. If I was being honest with myself I’d admit that I didn’t fear Jamie’s touch. No, it was worse. I feared that I would enjoy it far too much. That I wouldn’t be able to help myself and I’d beg him for more, sell my soul merely for the satisfaction I knew he could bring. The thought that I might lose control worried me. The thought that I might always want him, always hunger for his touch, terrified me.
But there was a way out…if I got with child I would be free.
Could I? Could I sleep with him and not become emotionally attached as I had those months ago? He would destroy me, break my heart all over if I gave him the chance. But if we were intimate and I got with child, I would be free for at least nine months. Surely he wouldn’t wish to be intimate while I was heavy with child. And I would be completely free within a few years.
I’d never have to see him again. Never have to hear his harsh and bitter words. See the anger and accusations in his gaze. Eventually, my heart would heal, wouldn’t it? I closed my eyes and leaned against the mantel. Could I let him in?
No.
Fear raced through me. Not yet. I wasn’t ready for his attentions. Wasn’t ready for his touch. I needed to learn to control my feelings first.
I opened my eyes and raced across the room.
I couldn’t let him see me vulnerable, wanting him, desperate.
He would destroy me, and he would enjoy it. Determined, I bolted the door. My hands shook as I flattened them to the hard, solid wood that would keep him out. It was insanity, madness. I understood the ridiculousness of locking my husband from my room, but couldn’t seem to stop. I was being silly, immature. My mother would be so disappointed. I acted like a veritable child. Exhausted, I rested my forehead to the panel. He’d be angry, that I knew for sure. Perhaps I could ask for a few more days…
“I won’t let you, James,” I whispered, staring hard at that door. I was too vulnerable. I wouldn’t let me him break my heart again. In a month or two, perhaps I could lay in bed and not feel while he took me…
“Won’t let me what, my dear?”
With a yelp, I spun around. James reclined in the chair near the fireplace, his jacket gone, the sleeves of his linen shirt rolled up his sinewy forearms, looking every bit the relaxed lord.
“As is with many old manors, there are secret tunnels so that guests may go about their affairs unnoticed.”
I barely heard his explanation. As surprised as I was, I still noticed every little detail about him in that moment. From the way the whiteness of his shirt contrasted with his tanned skin. The way his thick lashes made shadows against his cheeks. And most importantly the way he held my sketch pad, the pages open for his perusal.
Seeing him sent a thrilling ache of lust rushing through my body. At the same time, nervousness and anxiety crashed through my very core. It was a thunderous storm of emotions that left me shaken and trembling.
“Won’t let me what?” He paused on a page in my sketch book. Dear God, the book was full of drawings of him. Was my humiliation to know no ends? “Won’t let me enter your room? Won’t let me fuck you?”
My jaw clenched. Anger and shame mixed together in a sickening queasiness. My embarrassment forgotten, I raced forward and snatched the book from his hands. “I don’t feel well tonight.”
As if I hadn’t spoken a word, he stood slowly, unfolding his long, lean body from the chair. I stumbled back as he loomed over me. With his hard gaze pinning me in place, he started unbuttoning his waistcoat. “I will be quick.”
Dear God, he was still going through with this utter madness. Yet again I wondered if he could claim any conscience at all. “Surely you can give me time to prepare!”
His face was all hard planes—cold, heartless—showing not the least bit of compassion. “The sooner we get you with child, the sooner we can part each other’s company. Wouldn’t you like that, Julianna? Your freedom?” He tossed his waistcoat to the chair. “Of course you can’t be out of my sight until you’re with child. I do want to make sure the babe is mine.”
“Go to hell,” I seethed. Insult after insult, the man didn’t know when to stop. Fortunately, I was so used to his biting tongue that I was growing numb to the abuse. “God, you’re an arse.”
“Oh, I will eventually go to hell. But first I’m going to bed you properly, in my own home, as is my right.” He started unbuttoning his shirt. “Remove your bodice, Julianna.”
He said the words with no emotion, as if he ordered women to remove their clothes on a regular basis. My nails bit into my drawing book as I resisted the urge to toss it at his head. The conversation we’d had in the ballroom had not mattered. He still hated me. Still wanted only to use me. “Your right? And what of my rights?”
“You’re a female, you have none. Take off your bodice, Julianna, or I will do it for you, and I won’t be gentle.”
I swallowed over the lump of fear clogging my throat. As he unbuttoned that last button, my gaze went unwillingly to his muscled chest, down over his flat stomach and the trail of dark, crisp hair that disappeared behind his waistband. The lust that flared low in my belly was as humiliating as it was frustrating. As much as I feared him, as much as I hated him, I still wanted him. He wasn’t the only one insane.
He tossed his shirt to the chair, revealing broad shoulders. “This is the last time…take off your bodice or I will take it off for you.”
“Will you force me?” I snapped, jerking my gaze away from his chest and focusing on his stoic, unforgiving face.
“I won’t have to, will I?” He started toward me. “Because truth is you want me as much as I want you.”
So, I wasn’t the only one. He’d admitted he wanted me. It should have made me feel better about my own desires, it didn’t. It didn’t make me feel better because he knew…he knew I wanted him. He knew I had no choice.
With trembling fingers I started to unbutton my bodice before he tore the garment from me and ruined one of only a few dresses I’d managed to pack. “Fine,” I said. “I will allow your advances. But I swear I won’t react to your touch. I’ll merely lay there while you do the deed.”
He paused only two steps away. That close, he towered over me, but I would not quake under his hard gaze. I’d once thought he had demon eyes, now I knew for a fact they were. He didn’t care if he humiliated me. He didn’t care if I was shamed. He only cared about himself.
“We’ll see.”
I’d worn my most modest gray dress, but it didn’t seem to deter him. He reached for my bodice. I froze. Even through the thick material the touch of his hands burned my skin. With quick and efficient movements he had my top unbuttoned before I could draw words to protest. He’d obviously undressed women before.
His fingers trailed down my throat. I couldn’t deny that my body reacted. My very skin tingled with awareness, desperate for his touch. The musky scent of his aftershave swirled around me, teasing my senses, drugging me. I almost closed my eyes on a sigh as his hands slid underneath my bodice, over my corset and up toward my breasts. My nipples hardened, reacting instantly to his touch. Oh, how I wanted him. My body stirred with pleasure even while my rational mind told me not to trust him, not to give in.
“If you think I want this, if you think I want to want you, think again,” he said.
I glared up at him. “Oh I think you do. I think you love controlling and frightening people as much as you love torturing me.”
His jaw clenched, the only sign of his anger. With a jerk, he tugged my bodice over my shoulders, but the tight material got stuck halfway down my arms and I suddenly found myself captive, my arms pinned behind my back.
Realizing my predicament, he took advantage and jerked me closer, my breasts crushing to his hard chest. His warm breath fanned across my lips, his pupils dilating so his eyes were almost black as his lids lowered seductively. I was helpless to escape. “As I said, the sooner you are with child, the sooner you can leave. The sooner I can get on with my life.”
Get on with his life? In other words, go back to his mistresses. Why did the thought sting? Why did I care? Fine, if he wanted nothing to do with me, if he wanted this to be a marriage of convenience, I would use it to my benefit. “I want the Welch estate. I want to be near my parents.”
He slid his hands up my corset, under my breasts, cupping them. I sucked in a sharp breath. Slowly, tauntingly, he rubbed his thumbs over my hardened nipples. The touch seemed to travel down my body, quivering between my thighs. The world spun.
“I…I…want the Welch estate,” I somehow managed to repeat.
He tugged the bodice down my arms. “No.”
Free, I brought my arms forward, resisting the urge to cross them over my chest. “Why not?”
He reached for the strings of my corset and began to loosen them. His touch confused me, made me stupid and anxious. I couldn’t think coherently when he was near. “I have three estates and a home in London. Pick one of those.”
The corset fell to the ground. “I want the Welch estate.”
“I said no,” he snapp
ed, his hard gaze meeting mine.
I could tell he wasn’t going to relent. “Fine. Another place near my parents.”
Before I realized his intentions, he gripped the thin material of my shift and jerked it over my head so I stood in only my skirts and slippers. I gasped, trying to cross my arms. My chest exposed, I’d never felt more vulnerable. He didn’t take the time to appreciate me, or even sneer over my obvious embarrassment. He was like the automatons I’d once seen at a fair…cold, impersonal.
“You owe me at least that much,” I continued, my voice quivering. He wasn’t the only stubborn person in the room; I would not give in.
He undid the buttons of my skirts. “I owe you nothing and you know it.”
Just like before he lifted me from the pool of material, my slippers falling from my feet, and set me on the floor. But this was not like our first time. No. During our first time together I’d wanted him with a fierceness that could barely be contained. I was excited about our prospects. Now I was merely nervous, unsure what this intimate act would bring.
He jerked down my bloomers. “I will not buy you a home near your family merely so you can go whimpering back to your parents about how badly I’ve treated you.”
“I would never.” Naked, I stood before him in all of my righteous anger. His words so frustrated me that for a moment I almost forgot I was devoid of clothing. “I want to be by my family. I want my children to know their grandparents.”
His dark gaze flashed. “I won’t have you buying that man’s house!”
I flinched, startled. Why did the thought of me living in Welch’s home anger him so? Would I ever understand James? Boldly, I took his hand, hoping to appeal to his humanity…if he had any. “My father is dying.”
He tore his hand from mine. “Do you honestly think I’ll believe anything you tell me?”
His words stung, hurt with an aching fierceness that left me gritting my teeth. I would never win with James. Never. Had I truly betrayed his trust so badly, or had I never had it in the first place? It didn’t matter what I said, he would always twist the truth to support his horrible opinion of me.