Читать книгу A Marriage Of Rogues - Margaret Moore, Paul Hammerness - Страница 11

Chapter Three

With a gulp Thea immediately started for the door. “I’ll leave you to enjoy your ablutions in peace.”

“Stay.”

Hesitating, she glanced over her shoulder. He hadn’t completely undone his trousers, but he’d taken off his shirt. She quickly looked away. “You’re half-naked!”

The only other men she’d seen so undressed had been laborers in the fields or on the docks, large, beefy men who reminded her of a lumbering bear she’d once seen at a fair. Compared to them, Sir Develin was like a lean and muscular stag.

“Since we’re married, we’ll have to get used to seeing each other less than fully clothed,” he said, running a measuring gaze over her that made her feel as if she might as well be naked. “I never kissed you at the wedding.”

She took a step backward and hit the door. “It wasn’t necessary.”

“It would have been the proper thing to do.”

Proper? The word was like a dash of cold water, but it helped settle her rattled nerves. “Yes, I daresay it would have. But no matter. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going downstairs. I’m rather hungry.”

“Need I remind you that we’re supposed to be newly married? We should go together, or it might cause unwanted speculation.”

He did have a point. There was going to be enough gossip among the ton when word got out about their marriage. She should avoid causing more.

“Very well,” she replied, doing her best to keep her voice steady and her features expressionless in spite of the tumultuous feelings that made her feel like she was on a runaway horse. The desire to be with him as a wife should be and the hope that he would like her tangled with the fear of looking foolish, of doing something wrong, of seeming ignorant or silly.

“Good. Now I’m going to have a bath,” he said, walking around the screen.

Thea perched on the edge of the chair and tried to ignore the sound of Sir Develin removing the rest of his clothes: the dull thud of his boots landing on the floor, the softer sound of his stockings and trousers following.

No doubt he was used to having his valet pick up his discarded clothing.

She was not his valet and she was not about to go around that screen, not for anything.

And yet, when she heard the water sloshing in the tub, she couldn’t resist the urge to peek through the nearest opening where the screen folded. His muscular back was to her and she watched as he washed his broad shoulders, dampening the dark hair curling at the nape of his neck.

And then he stood up.

Blushing like a thief caught red-handed, she averted her gaze while also wondering—fearing—he had looked through the same opening at her. Which way had she been facing?

“Will you be so kind as to fetch my valise?” he asked serenely, as if he bathed in the company of women all the time.

Perhaps he did. After all, this wouldn’t be his first night with a woman. He’d probably been seen naked by several, and more than once.

Although she was a virgin, he might not be pleased if she acted like a skittish horse, and she did want him to want her.

She walked over to the bed, picked up his valise and went behind the screen.

Sir Develin stood beside the tub with a towel wrapped around his narrow waist, riding low on his hips. With his dark hair brushing his shoulders, he looked like a wild young god, or Alexander the Great come to life.

Her heart racing, forgetting that she wanted to appear worldly-wise, she handed him the valise and hurried back to the chair, where she did her best to regain her composure. She would not look through that gap again, in spite of how tempted she was.

At last he came around the screen, fully dressed and looking as polished as he had seemed primitive and uncivilized before.

While she suddenly felt like a beggar made a guest at a feast.

Nevertheless, she rose, straightened her slender shoulders and said, “I would like to dine now.”

With a regal nod, her husband held out his arm and together they made their way to the taproom.

* * *

“Here you are, my lady and gentleman,” the innkeeper exclaimed, hurrying toward Dev and his bride and grinning like a benevolent uncle.

He led them past several other couples to a table close to the brightly flickering fire in the hearth. A majority of customers were young, some looked very young and one or two were clearly past middle age.

Obviously Dev and Thea were not the only people who’d come to Gretna Green to be married that day, although Dev was fairly certain theirs was the only marriage where the bride had proposed to the groom.

He suspected more than one of the young couples had come to Gretna Green to marry over their families’ objections, too. One or two—like the middle-aged couple near the door—seemed oblivious of anything except each other.

He, too, was very aware of his wife, but for a different reason. Her conduct in the bedroom had not been at all what he’d expected. Based on the kiss they’d shared, he’d believed she felt some degree of desire for him, and when they were alone, he’d done everything he could short of taking her into his arms to encourage her to make the first move toward intimacy. Instead she’d acted as if he were some kind of barbarian who’d abducted a virtuous maiden with the sole intent of ravishing her.

“The wife’s outdone herself for you!” the boisterous innkeeper, who was as bald as an egg, continued. “A fine savory beef stew, we have, and the best bread to be found between Liverpool and Glasgow, if I do say so! And cake, o’ course. We’ve got some cake. Wouldn’t be a proper wedding dinner without cake!”

Dev nodded his appreciation as he waited for Lady Theodora to take her seat, her expression as calm and unreadable as ever.

Perhaps the passion and desire in Lady Theodora’s kiss had been feigned, intended only to get him in the marital noose. Once she’d succeeded, she would do only what was necessary in the bedroom, with as much joy and delight as shoveling out a stable.

He had seen firsthand what happened when desire died, and he had no wish to repeat his mother’s sad existence.

And could a marriage based on the groom’s winning some games of chance, his subsequent guilt and remorse, his pity and lust for the bride, really stand a chance of succeeding?

He should suggest they end this charade of a marriage right now, before it was time to retire. If they didn’t make love, his solicitor could seek an annulment and likely get it.

He would forgive her father’s debts and she would be free to go her own way. He would be free, too, as he’d been before. Alone and lonely, but free.

The innkeeper and his wife appeared bearing two steaming bowls of stew, a basket of warm bread and a tray with a bottle of wine and two glasses. For the next little while and although he didn’t have much of an appetite, he tried to eat while ignoring everyone else in the taproom.

Lady Theodora, on the other hand, ate like one who had been starving, albeit with good table manners.

Perhaps she hadn’t had much to eat in the past several days, thanks to her father’s gambling losses. Pity, however, was no better a basis for marriage than lust or guilt.

“And now the cake!”

They both turned to see the grinning innkeeper carrying a platter toward them, followed by an equally plump and jolly older woman who must be his wife.

“Can’t be a proper wedding dinner without the cake!” the innkeeper repeated as he set down the platter bearing two slices of what appeared to be fruitcake. Petrified, dried fruitcake.

Dev struggled to keep his expression placid. “Alas, I’m unable to contemplate another morsel after that excellent dinner.”

“Oh, surely you can manage a bite!” the innkeeper’s wife insisted. “Just a wee one.”

Feeling like a minor martyr, Dev picked up the cake and took a bite. Sawdust would have tasted better. He managed to swallow, then immediately reached for his wine.

“Good, eh?” the innkeeper suggested.

“Never tasted anything quite like it,” he replied honestly.

“Now you, my lady,” the innkeeper’s wife prompted.

He must not have been as subtle as he thought, for his bride quickly and emphatically shook her head. “I’m sorry. I fear I really couldn’t eat another bite.”

When both the innkeeper and his wife looked about to insist, Dev rose. “It’s time my wife and I retired,” he said in a way that would brook no protest. “Please call us first thing in the morning. We want to be on our way as soon as possible.”

The innkeeper and his wife looked disappointed, until the wife said, “I’ll wrap a piece up for you to take with you. For your first baby’s christening.”

At the mention of children, Dev glanced at Lady Theodora. Her cheeks had turned a light shade of pink and—somewhat surprisingly—her smile appeared genuine when she said, “Thank you.”

“We’ll call you just after dawn, sir.”

“Good,” Dev said, holding out his hand to his wife.

Theodora ignored the gesture, instead leading the way up the stairs.

Just as well. Her touch had a most disturbing effect upon him and should he require witnesses for an annulment, they could honestly say there was a distinct lack of affection between Sir Develin Dundrake and his bride.

* * *

When they reached the bedroom now lit by candles on the washstand and bedside table, Dev faced Theodora and said, “If you’d rather not share my bed tonight, you need not. I can find accommodation elsewhere.”

Her eyes widened and her hand went to her cheek as if he’d hit her. “You don’t want to make love with me?” she asked in a soft, sad whisper.

He thought she’d be relieved by his offer, yet she was undeniably upset. And surprisingly vulnerable.

Where had that brazen, resolute and bold Lady Theodora gone?

However she looked at him, he had to resist both her appeal and his baser urges. He had to think, not feel, if he was to be master of the situation.

Yet despite his own resolve, Dev simply couldn’t tell her that he’d reconsidered their arrangement and was thinking of annulling the marriage. “I thought you might be too tired. It’s been a long day and we have another journey tomorrow,” he said instead.

“I slept in the carriage and so did you,” she noted, splaying her hands on his chest, her eyes full of longing.

This was the reaction he’d expected before. What had changed? Why was she so different now?

Until you know, it would be better to resist the urges of your body, his mind declared.

Yet she cannot be insincere in her desire, his heart replied. Her eyes aren’t lying. And you know what it is to long for affection. For love.

“I thought you enjoyed the pleasures of the bedroom,” she whispered, winding her arms about his neck. She raised herself on her toes so her lips were less than an inch from his. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“Where did you hear such things?”

“London. You are quite well-known, you know.”

“Gossip. Rumors,” he replied, his breathing quickening, his yearning increasing even as he fought to restrain it.

“Were they lies? Do you not enjoy the pleasures of the bedroom?”

He lost the battle to resist. “I did. I do. I will,” he murmured before he embraced her and captured her mouth in a fiery kiss.

* * *

As Sir Develin held her close and kissed her, Thea’s doubt and dread ebbed away. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. She could sense it, feel it, was certain of it. It was like a thick, soft rope between them, drawing them closer and binding them. She’d been afraid her bashfulness had caused him to reconsider and regretted acting like a naive girl. But he was proving her fears groundless. However he had behaved during the meal, he wasn’t sorry he had married her. She was Sir Develin Dundrake’s bride, and this was their wedding night.

Tonight she would have no fear, no shame, no embarrassment, no restraint. She would be his wife in every way, as he would be her husband.

Still kissing him passionately, she slipped her hands beneath his jacket to feel the muscles of his powerful chest. She remembered the sight of his naked back. The taut flesh. The narrow valley of his spine.

Her need growing, she pulled away. Keeping her gaze on his flushed face and questioning eyes, she reached back to untie the laces of her gown, then wiggled out of her dress that was as ugly as her pelisse until it puddled around her ankles and she stood before him clad only in her chemise and petticoat, stockings and boots. As he continued to watch, she pulled the pins from her hair until it fell loose about her shoulders.

Still he hadn’t moved, so after she set the pins on the washstand, she blew out the candle there and returned to him. Without speaking, she began to remove his clothes, starting with his jacket. He made no effort to help or hinder her while she continued with his shirt, undoing the buttons as far as they went. That wasn’t so easy, because her fingers were trembling, but in the end, she succeeded and pulled it over his head.

Regarding her steadily, he reached for the buttons of his trousers.

She was not, she discovered, quite as prepared for what was to come as she thought.

She hurried to the bed, tugged off her boots and stockings and got beneath the thick coverings before blowing out the candle on the bedside table and plunging the room into darkness.

“Do you still want me to stay?” he asked, his voice low and deep and seductive.

“Yes,” she replied, although she pulled the covers up to her chin.

The bed creaked and the feather bed dipped as he got in beside her.

She waited, breathless and excited, until his lips found hers for a tender, seeking kiss, exactly what a bridegroom’s kiss should be.

She put her arms about him, letting him deepen the kiss and slide his tongue between her lips. His hand grazed her breasts, his thumb flicking ever so gently over the nipple that had grown stiff. The warmth flooding her body increased.

She put her hands on his shoulders and slid them down his arms, feeling the strength of him as she moved to caress his back, moving lower until she felt the rise of his buttocks.

That was as far as she dared while he untied the drawstring of her chemise and slipped his hand inside to stroke her naked breasts.

She moaned and arched and he inched closer, cradling her against him, before he broke the kiss and put his lips over her nipple, licking it gently with his tongue. It was like nothing she had ever known. Thrilling. Exciting. Arousing.

She closed her eyes and arched again, panting, while he continued to pleasure her with his lips and tongue. His hand moved beneath her petticoat and crept up her thigh to touch her intimately.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

“Trying to ensure that you’re ready for me,” he answered in that deep, soft voice.

“By touching me there?”

“Yes,” he whispered. He shifted lower and kissed her shin, then moved his lips steadily upward.

“Oh!” she gasped when he reached the inside of her thigh.

Surprise quickly melted into desire. Her knuckles whitened as she held tight to the sheet and let his tongue go where it would, do what it would. She felt no more shock or shame, only a delicious building tension.

Rising, he put his hands on either side of her and hoisted his body between her legs. His mouth returned to hers, taking it not so tenderly this time, but with a fiery, heated passion that kindled a similar blazing desire in her. She ran her hands over his shoulders, his back, his ribs, his chest, thrilling to the feel of his hot flesh and taut muscles, the welcome weight of him as he shifted his hips.

Again he pleasured her breasts, and now she arched to meet his licking, teasing tongue. Panting, she groaned as he stroked her below. And then his finger slid inside.

Her eyes flew open and he raised his head, his breathing swift and ragged. “I think you’re ready. Are you sure you want this?”

She was ready for anything her husband might do. “Yes!”

He reached down and placed himself where his finger had been. Then, slowly, he eased himself inside.

It didn’t hurt.

She smiled with joy and relief until he leaned down to take her mouth with his. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around him and encircled his neck with her arms. Breathing became gasps and small groans. She closed her eyes, the delicious tension building more and more, as well as a growing sense that something was about to happen, like the uneasy calm before a storm.

He moved faster. She, too, began to move, rising to meet his thrusts. Gripping him harder, tighter. No longer kissing, their gasping breaths joined until, in a shattering moment, the tension broke, sending wave after throbbing wave through her body. At the same time, he groaned like a man about to expire, his body bucking.

He stopped and, panting, lay with his head in the crook of her neck while she slowly, slowly returned to a place where she could think. And speak. “Is that...all?” she asked in a breathless whisper.

He pulled away and moved to lie beside her. “It’s enough for tonight. And now that we’re so intimately acquainted, you should call me Dev.”

“And you should call me Thea.”

“Good night, Thea,” he replied, rolling onto his side, away from her.

“Good night, Dev,” she said, also turning onto her side.

But she couldn’t sleep. After a while, she got up and washed, then crept back to bed, trying not to disturb him as she lay wide-awake. He needed his rest, for he must surely be exhausted.

* * *

But Dev was not asleep then, or for a long time afterward. He was trying to decide what, if anything, he should do.

Although he’d agreed to marry Thea Markham out of guilt, remorse and his distaste for the marriage mart, she also intrigued him. Her passionate responses had thrilled him, too, perhaps because she was so serene and practical and resolute at other times. But when it appeared she may have feigned her desire, he’d begun to question all the reasons for his decision and been prepared to seek an annulment—until she’d looked at him with apparently sincere longing. Then, and despite whatever reservations he still harbored, he’d been unable to resist his lustful urges, just as his father always said.

What should he do now? Stay married and trust that her desire was as genuine as it seemed and that their marriage could succeed despite its unusual origin, or give up the hope that any union based on such a foundation could be happy and seek an annulment?

In the end, he decided only one thing: until he was sure of his course of action, he should not touch his wife again.

No matter how much he wanted to.