Andrea Kane (11 page)

Ariana let the reassuring prediction soak in like warm honey. Then, hesitantly, she peeked around to the bedchamber beyond. “He was so angry,” she murmured, remembering Trenton’s earlier behavior.

“Anger is easier to admit than many of the emotions it conceals.”

“There is more to him than he allows the world to see,” Ariana concurred instantly. Her expression unclouded, her small chin set. “I just
know
it.”

“Then follow your instincts, pet. And leave any foolish notions behind.”

Ariana pondered the advice, and slowly her anxiety began to wane. “You’re right.” Impulsively, she hugged Theresa. “Thank you, my dear, dear friend.”

“Go,” Theresa ordered, her voice choked. She kissed Ariana’s brow and shooed her off. “The duke is on his way.”

With a determined expression, Ariana stood tall and marched through the connecting door.

She had unpacked her things earlier that night, so it was not the first time she’d been in her new bedroom. Nevertheless, its enormous size and austere presence still unnerved her. Aside from a low wooden table and two straight-backed chairs clustered around the far wall housing the marble fireplace, the room was barren, almost completely devoid of furniture. The polished wooden floors stretched endlessly beneath a towering domed ceiling, with nothing below save a china basin and pitcher, a tiny nightstand …

And, in the dead center of the room, a massive four-poster bed.

Tentatively, Ariana walked over, brushing her fingers across the soft coverlet and cool linen. She noted that the bed had been turned down in preparation for sleep … or whatever preceded sleep.

Ariana tried to imagine lying here with Trenton Kingsley. Her stomach lurched, and turning away, she wrapped her arms about herself for reassurance. It was probably best to keep her mind occupied with other things. She strolled about the room, noting its magnificent elegance and symmetry. The great sash windows were wide and multipaned to allow the maximum amount of daylight in; the walls were intricately tiled … yet oddly and utterly bare of paintings or personal touches of any kind.

Contemplating that unusual fact, Ariana’s eyes drifted to the great gilded lighting fixture suspended from the ceiling, illuminating … the bed.

She gulped and looked away. Was it just her nerves creating an illusion or had the bed really been designed as the focal point of the room?

The click of the door latch shattered her thoughts, and she whirled about, her heart thudding in her chest.

Trenton lounged formidably against the closed door, watching her with predatory intensity. In his black dressing robe he loomed, an ominous shadow in the dimly lit room, his shoulders massive, his features set in harsh, unfathomable lines.

Ariana felt a chill go up her spine as his cobalt stare bore through her, then raked her slowly from head to toe. He spoke not a word but began moving purposefully toward her.

“Would you care for a drink, Your Grace?” Totally unprepared for the impact of having a man … especially
this
man … in her bedchamber, Ariana blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Immediately, she wanted to kick herself for sounding such a ninny.

Trenton came to an abrupt halt, his brows drawing together in a scowl that displayed neither mockery nor amusement but annoyance. “I’m not thirsty. And my name is not ‘Your Grace.’”

Ariana curled her fingers tightly into her palms to stop their trembling. “I’m sorry,” she faltered. “I thought ‘Your Grace’ was the proper form of address for a duke.”

“It is.” His enigmatic gaze flickered briefly to her clenched fists. Then, wordlessly, he closed the distance to where she stood, lifting her chin with a strangely gentle forefinger. His scowl had vanished, in its place a look of tender understanding. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m cold.”

“Broddington is well heated. Seldom in August do we need a fire for additional warmth.” He glanced toward the unkindled marble fireplace. “Would you like me to light one?”

“No,” she whispered, willing her knees to stop knocking. “I just …”

“Frightened, misty angel?” It was no taunt, but a question, uttered with the same sensitive insight he’d shown in the maze.

And suddenly her answer was the same one she had given him then.

“No.” Ariana shook her head slowly from side to side.

“Good. Because there is nothing here for you to fear. Nothing.” Trenton stroked her cheek, slid his warm, strong hand beneath her heavy auburn mane to caress her nape.

Ariana’s breath came a bit faster, and she stared up at him, wide-eyed.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, running the knuckles of his other hand along the slender column of her neck, down to the lacy yoke of her gown. His eyes followed the path his hand had taken, lingering on the spot where the curve of her breasts disappeared beneath the thin cotton material. “God, I can hardly wait to see how beautiful.”

Ariana knew what was going to happen the instant she felt his hand tighten around her nape, drawing her forward. She was astonished to find herself leaning toward him, raising up on her toes and lifting her face to meet his descending mouth.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he muttered thickly. “Let the fire that burns between us take over.”

Ariana’s eyes slid shut, her emotions suspended, waiting, her intuition alerting her to the fact that this moment would forever divide her life into before and after.

Their lips touched, brushed, touched again. And then Trenton’s mouth opened over hers in a soul-shattering kiss that dragged the breath from her lungs … and gave it back again, consuming her and pervading her all at once.

How wonderful,
her dazed mind proclaimed.
How incredibly wonderful.

With a soft, dreamy sigh Ariana gave herself up to the rapturous swirling feelings. She moved closer to her husband, gliding her hands up the elegant silk of his robe, resting them lightly over his rapidly escalating heartbeat.

Trenton responded instantly, leading Ariana into a marvelous new world of sensual bliss dictated by the magic of his kiss. He molded her lips possessively beneath his, fitting and shaping them as perfectly as two interlocking pieces of a puzzle, his fists clenching in her hair.

Hopelessly immersed in the kiss, Ariana was floating away on a silver-tipped cloud, oblivious to everything but sensation. She jerked back to reality, tensing with surprise when Trenton’s tongue glided across her lips, seeking entry.

“Y-Your Grace …” she began.

“Shhh …” As if sensing her shock Trenton paused, soothing her with lazy brushes of his fingertips up and down her back, waiting until she relaxed in his arms once more. Then, with an almost imperceptible motion, he eased her closer, bringing her up against the hard wall of his chest.

Ariana gasped aloud. Even through the thin fabric of her nightdress, the contact was electrifying, wildly erotic, shaking her down to her toes. She gripped the open edges of his robe, her breath unraveling on a soft exclamation of physical awakening.

Trenton captured the sound, tangling his hands in her hair and easing his tongue into the warm, honeyed recesses of her mouth.

Ariana’s knees nearly gave way beneath her. Never had she imagined a man penetrating a woman in this manner … nor that it could feel so incredibly good. For a time she remained passive, letting him teach her how it was done, glorying in each sensual caress, opening her mouth eagerly to receive the suggestive invasion of his tongue. Then, with artless curiosity and grace, she touched her tongue to his, fencing lightly as he had with her.

Trenton made a harsh sound deep in his throat, his body jolting with shock and desire. He tore his mouth from hers, his breath coming in harsh pants, and stared down in amazement.

“Did I do something wrong?” Ariana whispered, seeing his intense expression.

“No, my little innocent, you did nothing wrong.” Trenton sounded as if he’d been running a great distance. “I just never expected such passion … not from you, or myself.”

A hint of a blush stained Ariana’s cheeks, and she attempted to free herself from his grasp. “I don’t know what you expected, but apparently I’ve disappointed you.”

Trenton’s arms tightened like steel bands. “To the contrary, my extraordinary bride, you’ve exceeded my wildest fantasies.” His lips curved slightly. “And believe me, I’ve had many about this night.”

Ariana ceased her struggles. “Oh.” She gave him a quizzical look. “That’s good then, isn’t it?”

He chuckled. “Very good.” He bent to press his lips to the pulse beating erratically at her neck. “You smell like flowers.”

“Which ones?” she answered weakly, her head reeling. “There are hundreds of different varieties of—”

“Sweet ones,” he interjected, taking light, nipping sips of her skin until he reached the delicate curve of her jawbone. “Ones that are new, untouched.” He grazed the soft skin of her cheek. “With buds just waiting to be picked.” He kissed her chin, her nose, the corners of her mouth. “Flowers that are ready to open to the sun, to be bathed in its fire, to drown in its heat.” He buried his lips in hers, and she relented in a rush, melting into a boneless puddle of sensation. She clutched his arms for support, drowning in the inferno of their kiss.

“Put your arms around me,” he commanded against her mouth, urging her hands higher. “Hold me.”

Ariana obeyed without question, reveling in Trenton’s low groan of pleasure.

He molded her body to his, hungry and insistent, forcing her to know her effect on him, every hardened contour, every throbbing inch. And while moments before it would have frightened her, Ariana felt an answering leap inside her, an inner voice that, despite her innocence, knew just what to do.

She pressed closer, moving experimentally against her husband, and was rewarded by the violent shudder that wracked his massive frame.

Trenton lifted her from the floor and crushed her in his arms. “Say my name,” he ordered.

Ariana barely heard him.

“Say it, Ariana.” He tore his mouth from hers. “My
given
name. Not ‘Your Grace’ … or any other form of ducal address. I want to hear my name from your lips.”

She opened her eyes and stared into his, feeling lost and yet somehow not lost at all, knowing what Trenton needed … even knowing why.

“Trenton,” she whispered.

“Again.”

“Trenton.”

Something profound and beautiful flashed in his eyes at her response. “Come to bed with me,” he said hoarsely.

Whether it was a request or a command, Ariana didn’t care. The answer was the same: “Yes.”

He swept her into his arms, reaching the bed in two strides and lowering them both to the soft mattress.

“Misty angel,” he rasped, his voice harsh with need, strained with the discipline of holding back, “I want you … God, how I want you.” He buried his face in Ariana’s hair, his hands slowly exploring the soft contours of her body through the thin nightdress.

Explosions of pure sensation seized her … raw, dazzling, galvanized sensation: the exquisite softness of the bed beneath her, Trenton’s warm mouth and hands burning through her skin, his words of desire reverberating in her ears. No one had ever needed her like this, not ever. The reality was exhilarating.

But it wasn’t enough.

Ariana squirmed, her body desperate for more, but of what, she had no idea.

Trenton did.

Slowly, gently, he reached up to unbutton her gown, lingering over each button as if to give her time to adjust to the inevitability of what was to be. Ariana lay quiet, her eyes wide open now and glued to his.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promised, smoothing his thumb over the bare skin of her collarbone. “Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not,” she breathed back, her chest rising and falling with anticipation and … yes, anxiety. “Well, maybe a bit,” she clarified, her voice barely audible.

He smiled at her admission, bending to brush his lips across her naked flesh. “Fear is not what I want you to feel,” he said huskily, easing the cotton edges of her nightdress farther apart. “What I want you to feel is pleasure.” He bent his head to the inner slopes of her breasts, exposed now to his seeking mouth and hands. “Flowers,” he murmured, inhaling deeply. “Intoxicating flowers.”

“Trenton.” Ariana said his name on a sigh, her trembling fingers sliding into his hair, unconsciously holding him to her. Her slivers of fear fragmented, splintered more completely with each brush of his lips, each tug of her gown, until she was nearly frantic to be naked to the total possession of his mouth. “Please …” she whispered.

He didn’t need to ask for what she was so desperately pleading. With one purposeful yank, the gown was down at her waist, trapping her arms within it and baring her breasts to his will. He didn’t wait but drew one taut, aching nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue, scraping it lightly with his teeth.

Ariana heard herself cry out, but she couldn’t have silenced herself if she’d tried. She arched, needing more of Trenton’s magnificent caresses, needing them now.

Trenton obliged her by deepening the contact, sliding his arm beneath her back, lifting her to him and enveloping her nipple with a suction so powerful she had to bite her lips to keep from crying out again.

“Am I hurting you?” he demanded hoarsely.

She shook her head wildly. “Don’t stop.”

“Never, misty angel. Never.” He bent to claim her other breast, taking it with the same force as he had the first, evoking the same reaction from his bride. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” he rasped, unwilling, unable to tear his mouth from her sweet, sweet flesh.

“What
I’m
doing to
you?”
she responded weakly. “What about what
you’re
doing to
me?”

Despite his raging, devouring passion, he couldn’t help but smile. “What am I doing to you, Ariana? Tell me.” He licked teasing circles around one damp, swollen nipple.

“I’m drowning,” she moaned softly. “And I don’t know how to make it stop.”

“I’ll make it stop. I promise you: I’ll make it stop.” He dragged the nightdress down her legs, crumpling it into a discarded ball at the foot of the bed.