After dinner, Alistair indicated he would join his wife for tea in the drawing room. Hedged about with servants since returning from their ride, he’d had no further opportunity for private conversation with her about the matter his half-brother had raised. A matter he had decided, after considerable thought, could not be ignored.
While she went through the ritual of pouring tea, he sipped at his port. To his surprise, he enjoyed the simple pleasure of watching his wife’s graceful movements.
After their time in the orchard, he was beginning to wonder how long he could deny himself pleasure with his wife. And whether it was really necessary. As a punishment for past sins, he could tell himself it was fitting, though nothing would make up for those. But his abstinence was also punishing her, if the shadows in her eyes were anything to go by. A subtle punishment, that was true, nothing to cause her to flinch, but unkind. Ungentlemanly.
His intention had in no way been meant to make her unhappy.
Nor to ruin her health with worry. Though he could not be sure that was the cause of her recent bout of illness, she certainly seemed happier when he was not keeping her at a distance. She looked healthy enough now. Ravishing, in fact.
As long as he restrained his ardour, and he had no doubt he could...
Once she had her teacup in hand and was gazing at him over the rim, he raised his glass. ‘To my lovely and extraordinarily forbearing wife.’
She blinked uncertainly.
No doubt because she wasn’t certain of him. An indication of his bad behaviour.
‘You are no doubt wondering what warning Luke imparted.’
She smiled faintly. ‘Curiosity killed the cat.’ She sniffed at her tea, then took a delicate sip.
Was that the sort of thing her first husband had said to her? ‘I apologise for not telling you sooner.’
‘My greater concern was that I had stepped where even angels should not tread.’
A gentle criticism indeed, when he deserved a thorough dragging over the coals for not warning her. He let guilt rake its claws across his conscience. ‘I am sorry for that, too. Luke’s wife died years ago, after the birth of their second child. It did not occur to me to mention it.’
In truth, he hated recalling Elise, and how she had lured him into her bed, let alone speaking her name. How horrified he had been on his return from Italy to learn she’d borne his son after marrying his brother. No wonder Luke hated him. Their father had done neither of them any favours by spiriting Alistair out of the country and leaving Elise with no choice but to accept his brother’s hand.
‘I do hope he will bring his boys for tea one afternoon.’ Another delicately phrased admonishment.
‘When the honeymoon is over, perhaps.’ Luke had categorically refused to have anything to do with Alistair after his miraculous return from the Continent’s shores. No doubt Alistair’s reappearance had blighted all his hopes of inheriting the dukedom. Harsh words had been spoken when Alistair had discovered the terrible state of the duchy’s coffers. Now his brother was no doubt also resenting Julia’s appearance on the scene at least as much as, if not more than, Isobel, given that an heir would cut out both him and Jeffrey.
Alistair had no intention of relieving his brother’s mind on that score. Why should he? He would do his damnedest to outlive his half-brother and ensure the title went to the true heir. None of which he could tell Julia.
‘His mother has arrived in the neighbourhood.’
‘That is what you were whispering about?’
He took a long pull at his drink. ‘While Luke knows I would sooner never set eyes on her again, he advises that we get the introductions over and done.’
A frown creased her brow. ‘You think she won’t approve of me?’
Alistair stilled at the anxiety in her eyes. ‘I care nothing for what she thinks, but that is not the source of her unhappiness. She hates being merely the Dowager Duchess. It does not suit her pride.’ Nor did the potential displacement of her son as Alistair’s heir.
‘Should we invite her for tea along with your brother and his children?’
He grimaced. ‘I prefer to contend with them separately, if I must contend with them at all. Dealing with dear Stepmama is wearing enough without adding her darling son and grandchildren to the mix.’ Although Alistair admitted he would like to see more of Jeffrey. Get to know the boy. Hear about his hopes and dreams. Luke had refused to bring the boy anywhere near him, out of petty revenge no doubt, since he knew Alistair could never acknowledge the boy as his own without causing a scandal.
He didn’t care for himself, but Jeffrey did not deserve to carry such a burden.
A pause ensued, while Julia sipped her tea thoughtfully. She put down her cup. ‘I enjoyed our ride today. I am looking forward to more such expeditions.’
It was a change of topic, when he had thought she might take him to task for his lack of familial feeling. A rush of warmth filled him, for her kindness and for her support in his decision.
‘You have not noticed any ill effects from our outing?’
‘None at all. In fact, I feel very much better, if a little tired. I think I will retire.’
He rose to his feet, took her hand and helped her to rise. ‘I will escort you. If you will allow?’
She must have heard something in his voice for her eyes widened and her breath caught. ‘I would be delighted.’
He brought her fingers to her lips, grateful for her honesty. The night they had met, she had been flirtatious, but also honest. He’d forgotten it was one of the things about her he had found so attractive.
When they reached her chamber, he dismissed her dresser, who for a moment looked as if she might dispute his right of entry, until he glowered. The woman sniffed and disappeared.
Julia stifled a giggle and he frowned at her.
She laughed outright. ‘She will never forgive you, you know.’
He raised a brow. ‘I am supposed to care?’
She turned her back and glanced over her shoulder with a smile. ‘In her absence, perhaps you might help with my fastenings.’
‘The pleasure will be all mine.’
Her little gasp sent great deal of pleasurable anticipation heading south.
As seduction went, the smile on his wife’s face was surprisingly innocent. Yet undeniably welcoming. A look of such courage, it captivated a man used to the jaded ladies of the demi-monde.
Her brief glance touched every inch of his skin. Resided in every beat of his blood and had done so since their earlier kiss in the apple tree. Heat trickled along his veins.
Turning away, she dipped her chin, presenting her vulnerable nape. A delicate spot he ached to taste with his lips and tongue. A whisper brush of the pad of his thumb and tiny hairs rose along her hairline. A shiver, she scarcely repressed. She was so responsive, his wife.
Resisting the temptation to touch his mouth to the place where his thumb had grazed, he gently, carefully, unfastened the buttons of her gown, exulting in the occasional brush of his knuckles against the creamy skin of her back and the resultant hitch of her breath.
What man wouldn’t want to unwrap such a delicious parcel? Desire, perhaps even need, roared through his veins. Hot. Demanding.
For years, lust had been little more than a physical nuisance. A function of being male, requiring an outlet from time to time. Or not. It had always been his own decision. Until Julia. From the first, he’d found control elusive.
Everything about her aroused his base urges: her voice, her smile, even her scent. He inhaled deeply. Jasmine and a deeper note he had never quite isolated. Clove? Delicious. Enticing. Uniquely her.
He pressed his lips to the curve of her neck above her collarbone.
She curved her spine, like a cat seeking more stroking. He half expected her to purr. A tiny vulnerability that hit him like a blow to the heart. A strange longing deep inside him battered his carefully constructed walls. Seeking the light. Her light.
He could never let her see how much this husbandly act meant to him. Never know how she pulled at his deepest desires. While he did not deserve such bounty, perhaps they could enjoy each other on the physical plane.
The gown slid down her hips to the floor. Lips parted, eyes slumberous, she laid it on the end of the bed.
He swallowed a growl of frustration at the sight of her stays. The dresser had threaded them in some complex arrangement that caused a man anxious to see his wife to wish for a pocket knife. He started at the bow at the bottom.
She inhaled a deep breath when he’d worked halfway up her back. ‘That feels better.’
He frowned at the relief in her voice. ‘Why lace so tightly if it is uncomfortable?’
‘To improve the drape of the jacket.’
‘Are you some sort of mannequin that you must conform to the shape of your clothes?’
She threw a glance over her shoulder. A teasing smile curved her lips. ‘That, Your Grace, is fashion. It is a hard little god who must be obeyed or one suffers the consequences.’
Teasing he could handle. He welcomed the distraction of conversation. He tackled the last few holes. ‘Consequences such as letters to the editor of The Times, perhaps?’
The Times would no doubt prefer the story of a duke come back from the dead. The true story—a sorry tale of hiding behind a woman’s skirts while the gendarmes searched from house to house and her final betrayal when he ran out of money—rather than the one he had concocted for the sake of his pride. He swallowed his shame.
‘If other ladies think one has not made the proper effort to conform to accepted standards they can be quite unpleasant, I am given to understand.’
‘Given to understand by whom?’ he asked.
‘By Mrs Robins, naturally. She is the arbiter of all things regarding ladies’ fashion.’
‘She’s certainly a bit of a battleaxe when it comes to your wardrobe,’ he muttered, his voice a bit more gravelly than he intended. ‘Had Lewis in a fine old fuss when she thought someone had put the hatboxes beneath your trunk.’ He tossed the stays on top of her skirt and turned her about by the shoulders.
Breathing faster than normal, she gazed up at him with the light of desire in her lovely amber eyes. Little puffs of air caressed his jaw.
Unable to resist, he bent and kissed her lips, brushing his mouth gently back and forth across hers, loving the velvety feel of plush lips against his own. He deepened the kiss. Tasting the sweetness of her mouth, feeling her body arch against his.
Over two weeks they’d been wed and he suddenly realised he wanted her so badly his eyes were crossed.
* * *
Julia met her husband’s heavy-lidded, seductive gaze with breathless anticipation. A drugging glance to a woman who thirsted for that particular look and seen little to nothing of it since the day of her wedding.
Her heart drummed in her chest, not a warning, but the rhythm of a deliciously sensual melody. Julia had never felt so alive as she did at that moment. Her blood was singing in her veins. Her pulse setting the rhythm for a dance she wasn’t sure she knew the steps to.
But if she stopped now, he might turn away. She remembered how bold she’d been during their first encounter and reached for the courage to be so again.
Her fingers untied the knot at his throat, without her consciously thinking about it. She tossed it aside and started on the buttons of his waistcoat, his shirt.
‘You would play the valet,’ he said, his voice husky in her ear as he nuzzled at her throat.
‘If you would allow?’
Buttons undone, he eased out of his coats. He pulled his shirt free of his waistband and pulled it off over his head.
A breath caught in her throat at the sheer male beauty of the man. She’d forgotten how muscular he was beneath his clothing. How defined his arms and shoulders and how the smatter of springy golden hair across his chest gleamed in candlelight. Her husband. Hers. And she was his wife. Finally, they were free to indulge their every desire.
And yet a blush rose in her cheeks. A sudden feeling of shyness. She hesitated, gazing up into his face. The heat of passion in his eyes, the softening of those lips gave her courage.
She lifted up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his. His mouth was warm, tenderly wooing. Seductively soft, yet demanding. She leaned into him, sliding a hand around his neck to curve against his nape, pulling him closer while her other hand explored the magnificent width of his shoulders.
Strong arms encircled her. He exuded strength and restraint, for he did not seem in any sort of hurry. The press of his chest against her breasts caused her nipples to tighten. His tongue licked along the seam of her mouth. A dart of dark pleasure low in her abdomen made her gasp.
She’d forgotten the sharpness of desire.
A heartbeat later he dipped his tongue into her mouth, tasting, exploring the delicious slide of tongue against tongue, sending cascades of thrills down her back. Her insides fluttered wildly.
Until now, she had not realised how hot her desire for him had burned. The glowing embers of passion sparked to wicked flame with the feel of his body flush with hers.
She raked her fingers through his silky hair. It felt so good to hold this man, this husband, whom she had feared did not want her. The evidence of his desire was a hard ridge against the swell of her stomach.
He broke the kiss, holding her close, his forehead to hers, his heart a strong steady beat against her ribs, his every breath a statement of male lust under rigid control. She longed to see him let go and become as undone as she was herself.
His warm palm cupped her jaw. Raised her head. Gazed down at her. ‘Julia.’
Assurance. The man wanted to know if she was all right.
‘I want you,’ she said softly.
His eyelids lowered, his expression so sensual she could hardly breathe.
‘It is your turn to undress,’ she gasped.
Heat flared in his eyes. A slow sensual smile curved his lips. He lifted her up on to the bed and she scooted backwards, up against the pillows. She licked her lips and his gaze fixed on her mouth.
Slowly, he unbuttoned his falls.
* * *
The jolt of pleasure that had zipped up his spine at her boldness had almost brought him to his knees.
In tamping down his desire for this woman, Alistair had also buried his memories of how passionate this wife of his truly was, how lusciously she responded to him when kissed and touched. He prided himself on his ability to arouse desire in a woman to such a fever pitch she would forget her own name. Now he was undone by the need to make Julia respond that way again, over and over.
Given his current view of long silken thighs, and a hint of her femininity through her shift, not much of his mind was capable of thought, but feral instinct remembered her deep sighs at the sight of him naked.
In moments, he stripped down to his bare skin and despite the urgency of his roaring lust, he waited beside the bed while her gaze roamed his body. Her moistened lips parted. The way her eyes stroked along the length of his shaft made blood the temperature of molten metal race through his veins. His heart pounded against his ribs and echoed in his ears.
‘Mmm...’ she said.
He grinned at the moan of pure pleasure. ‘I hope you’ve seen enough, because I am going to bite and lick and savour every inch of you until you beg for mercy.’
She opened her arms. ‘Now there is a pleasing promise.’
He climbed on to the bed, crouching over her, straddling her hips. She leaned forward to kiss his mouth.
Gently he pressed her back against the pillows. ‘Now it is my turn to play.’ He glanced down her length, practically salivating at the sight of her nipples standing out beneath the filmy fabric of her shift. ‘Here, I think.’ He licked at first one, then the other.
She shuddered and reached for him.
‘Not yet, little one,’ he murmured.
He backed down the length of her until his face was level with the apex to her parted thighs. He gave her a wicked glance from beneath his lashes. ‘Like to tease, do you?’
She raised up on her elbows, her expression sensual and her eyes slumberous. ‘As much as you do.’
‘Hmm. Too bad we forgot to bring your mask.’
She sucked in a breath, as if the reminder of that night was not one she welcomed. A glance at her face showed a flash of embarrassment before she got it under control and her expression calmed to the point of reserve.
‘I was sure it had a couple of feathers left,’ he continued as if he had not noticed her discomfort, though he filed the reaction away for future consideration, when he was capable of thought. For future discussion, too, because the game they had played with the feather had been one of the most sensual experiences of a life filled with hedonistic games.
The playful words seemed to ease her tension and he leaned forward on his knees and took one rosy peak in an open-mouthed kiss. She arched her hips upwards in an attempt to increase the pressure of his erection against her, showing him with her body what she wanted while clutching at his shoulders to hold him in place.
He easily slipped from her grasp, ducking down to blow a hot breath into the valley between her thighs.
She gasped. ‘Alistair. Please.’
A tingle ran up his spine. Hades, he was too close... He drew in a deep breath and rode out the pulses of pleasure until like ripples caused by a stone dropped in a pond they diminished at the edges of his consciousness.
Sitting back on his heels, aware of her greedy gaze touching that male part of him, yet distancing himself by willpower alone from the urgency she incited, he pushed her shift upwards, baring her fully. She lifted her hips to help in the process, drew the whole thing up over her head and tossed it away.
He did not see where it went, he was too focused on the lovely shape of her, curvaceous calves encased in stockings to just above the knee, pale thighs, softly rounded yet long and elegant, chestnut curls, the flare of her hips, the dip of her waist, the flatness of her belly, the fragile ribcage supporting her deliciously full breasts topped by tightly furled dark rose tips.
No artist could capture the warmth, the subtle scents of her perfume and the musky scent of arousal that spun him into her orbit as if he were no more than a falling star.
Twining her arms about his neck, she brought her mouth and lips and tongue down to dance with his. Tendrils of desire curled around him, drawing him in, her sensuality surrounding him until reason slipped from his grasp. Her kisses were heavenly. Seductive as hell.
He wanted to be inside her, to drive himself deep, to claim her in the most fundamental way. And bind them together on some deeper level. A rush of something tender and fragile swamped him. Tenderness. Hope.
He froze. He would not let emotion take control. That way led to disaster, weakness. This was all about pleasure. Nothing else.
As if sensing a change in him, she drew back, her gaze puzzled.
‘Alistair. Please,’ she moaned and wrapped her legs around his waist in a primal invitation.
This, this, he understood.
He bent his head to lick first one breast, then the other, while his fingers danced over her, teasing and stroking until he could sense she was close to her climax. At last, he entered her, finding her natural rhythm, listening to her sighs and sensing what pleased her most. And still without warning, her inner muscles tightened and pulsed around his shaft. A glorious heart-stopping climax that shook him to the core.
A storm of sensual pleasure raced along his veins. The urge to follow into bliss was nigh overwhelming.
Fighting to hold back the primitive need, he jerked away, collapsing to one side of her before he unravelled. The pain of denial had him clenching his jaw and breathing hard while coherent thought escaped his command, but he sensed her confusion.
He pulled her close, his heart thundering in his chest, his body a jangle of anger and disappointment.
Her hand cupped the side of his face. ‘Alistair?’ The question was little more than a breath of air across his cheek.
He swallowed rawness in his throat. Only once in recent memory had he forgotten himself entirely during intimacy. With her. That time, he had been assured all precautions had been taken and they had not been married. This time the risks were too great, yet he’d almost forgotten, he’d been so overcome.
He blew out the candles and drew the covers up to her chin. ‘Sweet dreams.’
In the dark, he sensed her uncertainty. ‘Alistair, why—’
‘Sleep,’ he whispered against her hair. ‘I have quite worn you out.’ He pushed away from the bed and returned to his chamber. He didn’t have a choice. He did not trust himself not to want her again.
And that was troubling.