Chapter 26
Tristan had taken a risk coming to her in nothing but his robe and smalls. She might decide to bash him with her book. He was almost too tired to fight back.
Last night he’d been wearing his smalls too, and it had been a near thing not to strip and have her right then and there. For too brief a time, she had been soft. Approachable. But he hadn’t lied—he was old-fashioned. He hadn’t wanted to take advantage of her distress, or the kiss that had been so cataclysmic.
Most men of his acquaintance would encourage him to storm Sadie’s castle. He was her husband, was he not? Entitled to exercise his rights and appetites.
And God knows, Tristan wanted her despite knowing that his lust was likely to be his downfall.
There was a great deal riding on their marriage—Puddling’s security, for one. He didn’t trust the Duke of Islesford farther than he could throw him, and throwing the old geezer was very tempting at this moment. The man had almost ruined Sadie, made her obstinate. Oppositional. Obdurate. If he weren’t so sleep deprived, he could probably think of more words.
He and Sadie had to make this marriage look real to her blasted father and that idiot Charlton. It was a compromise to come here tonight with no intention of taking her innocence.
No. Wrong word. Sadie was not innocent, but a sly, conniving imp. He could feel her breathing at his back, stirring his loins like they hadn’t been stirred in ages.
Tristan was just a man, after all. He punched the pillow again.
“Do you plan to spend the whole night here?” his nemesis asked.
“I think it best. I know people like us do not traditionally share a bedroom with a spouse, but my parents did. One of the few ways my father ever broke a rule. If we are to silence gossiping tongues, you’ll have to put up with me.”
“I don’t care about gossip.”
“No, you actually enjoy it, don’t you? I’ve had quite enough of it in my life, thank you very much.” How he had hated to read all the blind—and not so blind—items about Linnet in the gutter press. Their divorce had splashed his misery all over the front pages. His architectural practice had suffered until poor Linnet had conveniently died. He was no longer a divorcé; he was a widower to those who believed that man and law courts could not dissolve a marriage.
“You? I’ve never met such a proper man. A proper stick-in-the-mud,” she added loud enough for him to hear.
He rolled onto his back. “Yes. I expect my placid, boring nature is no virtue to someone like you. Would you like it better if I throttled you when you misbehaved?”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“It would be out of character, but you might drive me to it.” Tristan did not believe in physical brutality toward women, or even men. He saw himself as a reasonable, cerebral man. But Sadie made him lose his reason. He could easily see spanking Sadie’s lovely bare bottom.
At least he assumed it was lovely. All signs pointed in that direction, and he’d like to see if for himself.
“One can never blame another person when one loses one’s temper,” she said tartly.
“Really? So then your entire life has been predicated on your own lack of control. Your weakness.”
Sadie bolted up. “I am not weak! And I’ve always been in control! I did things—planned things—so I would not—” she trailed off.
“Would not what? Be considered normal?”
Sadie smacked his arm. “What is normal for a woman? How would you know?”
“I had a mother.” And a wife, but he didn’t say it. Linnet was hardly normal anyway.
“Was your mother forced to marry your father?”
“Good gracious, no. It was a love match, although I’ve never been precisely sure what she saw in him. My father can be difficult. Not as difficult as yours, obviously. But he’s stiff, I suppose you would say. Full of his own and the family’s consequence.”
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Sadie said too sweetly.
Tristan bristled. Just because he had standards of acceptable behavior didn’t mean that he was like his father.
“I admit I observe the conventions. I find life to be easier that way.”
“Well, you would, wouldn’t you? Nobody’s making you get mar—” She stuttered to a stop, realizing how very wrong she was. Tristan had been maneuvered into this mésalliance as much as she had.
He found her fist on the coverlet and gave it a squeeze. “Look, I’ve said it before. We must make the best of this for our own sanity. I choose happiness, Sadie, or at least some pleasant accommodation. We don’t have to live in each other’s pockets. I won’t ask to hear your every thought.” In fact, her thoughts were apt to be pretty hair-raising, if her past was anything to go by. “And you know I won’t touch your money,” he added for good measure.
“It all sounds too good to be true,” she said, the doubt thick in her voice.
Tristan chuckled. “That’s me. The paragon of manly virtue and understanding.”
Suddenly, he wasn’t so tired anymore. He continued to hold Sadie’s hand in his, and could feel it tremble. Tristan had an overwhelming urge to soothe away her fears.
A kiss was called for. It was their wedding night, wasn’t it?
He drew her fingertips to his lips.
“What are you doing?” she squealed.
“Tasting you.” He licked the next digit, and inserted her forefinger in his mouth, sucking on it at first with gentleness, then more determination.
“Stop it. That’s disgusting.” She made a halfhearted effort to pull her hand away.
“Every inch of you was made to be kissed.”
“D-don’t be silly.”
“Do you doubt me?” He nuzzled her palm. “Your throat. Your earlobes—perhaps even inside the shells of your ears. Your eyelids. Your shoulders. Your beautiful breasts.”
“Aha! You felt no need for any adjectives before when naming my other body parts. You men are all alike.”
“Guilty. Probably. No man could withstand your glorious bosom, madam. It was one of the first things I noticed about you, apart from your noisy histrionics on the Stanchfields’ floor. I would very much like to see those breasts when they’re not corseted or covered in white cotton.”
“Well, I have no intention of showing them to you.”
“Pity. I’ll have to use my imagination then.” He thought back to the afternoon in the attic as she stood in a shaft of sunlight wearing little more than a scarf, her white skin glowing with tiny golden spangles. Last night at the Red House when he had touched her, the exquisite fullness of her breast filling his hand. Tristan sighed, and licked a finger again.
She sighed back.
What would she do if he kissed her breasts? Through the fabric, of course—he didn’t want to rush her.
Much.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. She was still sitting up, so he slid up and leaned against his smashed pillows. There was scarcely a foot between them. He could feel the heat of her body, smell her rose-infused perfume, hear her shallow breathing.
There was no point to overthinking what would come next, but he’d need both hands. He set hers carefully down on the bed, then erased the space between them. Tristan silenced her gasp, his mouth covering her lips. After a few long seconds, she responded.
Ah, this was more like it. Warm woman, mild September night, the future unfolding kiss by kiss. She allowed him to embrace her and loosen the tail of hair that was tied by a plain ribbon. His fingers were nimble even in the dark, and he lost himself for a moment in its scarlet silk.
Focus, Tris. Her chest was touching his, and he edged her away so his hand could perform his heart’s desire. Her softness was everything his touch had told him before. Her nipple peaked under his care, and he broke the kiss to attend it.
Sadie’s stifled groan was most gratifying. She might pretend to be aloof, to have no interest in the physical side of their marriage, but Tristan knew better. She was as responsive as any husband could wish for, relaxing in his arms. Her fingers curled in his hair, keeping him in place.
As if he wanted to be anywhere else.
The nightgown was thin, presenting no serious barrier to his indulgence. The fabric tasted sweet, but not as sweet as her bare skin would, he wagered. He laved until the wetness revealed the pink underneath the white, and he suckled harder. She bucked against him.
“Easy, my love,” Tristan whispered. “There is much more to come.”