B005R3LZ90 EBOK (30 page)

She caught him staring at her, and she smiled. The smile was like a beacon in a subterranean cave.

He and Sally barely won, and only because of Sally's skillful play. He had not played whist with her since they had married. Now he remembered her extreme competence at the game. No man could play better. Sally was so thoroughly competent in so many ways. He had come to love everything about her.

"No more games," Sally said as she stacked the cards into a deck and set it aside. "George has done far too much for one day."

"I'm fine. Really I am," he protested. He did not wish to go to his lonely chamber. He did not wish to part from Sally.

She shook her head firmly and stood up. "Come along, dearest. You must be exhausted."

"It appears the former Miss Spenser has made you an excellent wife, Sedgewick," Blanks said.

As George got to his feet, a crooked grin settled on his face. "I assure you, I have no complaints."

Sally slipped her hand into his.

Good lord! Did she still fear he would fall down the stairs? Even more ridiculous, did she think she possessed the strength to prevent him from doing so? He shot her a mischievous smile.

They said farewell to Glee and Blanks, whose rooms were in the east wing, and began to mount the stairs.

The same thought resonated with each step up the staircase.
If only she were coming to my bed
. "You curled your hair tonight," he observed.

"Now that you no longer need me every moment, I shall start having my hair curled again."

He came to a stop and turned to gaze somberly at her slender face. "Don't."

"But I thought you liked me with curly hair!"

"I did, but I've come to appreciate you as nature made you, and no one could please me more."

Her hand brushed the burned side of his face. "Thank you, George, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

He took her hand and pressed his lips into the cup of her palm. Her breath swooped. God, but he wanted to ask her to allow him in her bed tonight. But he knew he couldn't casually sleep with Sally.

He could only take her body after she knew she possessed his soul.

He started back up the stairs, an awkward silence engulfing them. From the top of the stairs, they walked midway down the hall to the viscountess's chambers and came to a stop.

"Good night, my lady," he said morosely.

She drew in her breath. "George?"

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. "What, my dear?"

"Please don't worry that you will offend me by refusing, and I shouldn't wish to hurt you or exhaust you for the world, but I thought, perhaps, you might wish to . . . to come into my chamber tonight."

He could sing hallelujah! to the heavens! Never had he felt so exalted. "There is nowhere on earth I'd rather be."

Chapter 28

Once inside her dark chamber, Sally turned to face him. Without removing his eyes from hers, he kicked the door shut behind him and greedily took in the loveliness of her slim body silhouetted against the firelight behind her. He moved to her, settled his trembling hands upon her shoulders, and gazed down into those soulful dark eyes of hers. His senses awakened to the rising and falling of her breasts, to her sweet floral scent, her warm breath. His head lowered to touch her lips, lightly at first, then with a deep and devastating hunger.

He gloried in the gentle whimper that shuddered through her as her arms came around him, as her mouth opened to him as hungrily as he tasted her.

This wasn't how he had planned their first mating. He was to be the master, patiently schooling his youthful bride in the ways of love. But he felt more like a green schoolboy than a master in the art of love. His patience was nonexistent. Her very touch set him trembling, and he was no more in control of himself than he was over that cat of his daughter's. He crushed Sally against him, against his arousal. His eager hands kneaded her soft breasts. Her breath came as fast and raspy as his, assuring him of her total compliance.

She was so utterly compliant he could have cried out his gratitude. Ever bolder, he slipped his hand beneath the silken bodice of her ivory gown. She drew in a deep, ragged breath. Growing even more aroused, he traced the roughness of her nipples. She answered by swaying her lithe body to him—to his arousal—in a maddening, rhythmic motion.

He backed her nearer to the fire for he wanted his eyes to feast on her body. As he unfastened her dress, each new button seemed to take an eternity. The dress came to pool at the base of her lovely long legs, and his eyes greedily covered her. The laces of her stays were next, then he stood back, taking in the silvery highlights dancing in her hair. His eyes lingered over the gentle slope of her breasts, then her flat stomach that dipped in at her waist. His gaze came to rest on her drawers—damn the drawers! The sooner they were removed, the better.

He watched her solemn face, expecting embarrassment, but there was none.

"You are beautiful," he murmured in a hoarse voice. He came closer and dropped a kiss on one breast, then the other. When he reached beneath her drawers, she gave out a startled little gasp. His hand glided to the thatch down low. This time it was he who gasped. Gasped with agonizing anticipation.

Sally untied his cravat and tossed it to the carpeted floor. Then her gentle fingers slowly unfastened the buttons of his shirt. His eagerness to feel his bare flesh against hers raged like a wildfire within him. When she finished with his shirt, he stopped and threw off his coat and shirt, then kicked off his boots. He scooped Sally into his arms, carried her to the bed and laid her on the center of the silken spread. He stood gazing into her face, tenderly stroking it, appreciating her fevered look. He pulled back the bed's coverings on the outer side of the bed to enable her to move beneath them.

Sensitive that she was a maiden and unwilling to frighten her, he said, "I'm going remove the rest of my clothing now."

Her eyes smoldering, she nodded.

She turned her head as he undressed, but after he climbed beneath the covers she faced him, a hungry flame leaping to her eyes. He threw back the covers, then eased down those blasted drawers of hers and propped on one elbow to gaze over her slender body shimmering in the firelight. The hair at the juncture of her thighs was as blond as that on her beloved head.

He swallowed and spoke huskily. "I've wanted this for a very long time."

She answered by lifting her sweet lips to his for an open, demanding kiss.

He wasn't sure what should come next! Damn greenhorn! It was not as if he had not done this before. He had done it hundreds of times, most likely. But even with Diana, who also had been a virgin, it was not like this. Now, he felt as if he could explode with his great need, yet he knew he had to be gentle. The last thing he needed was to frighten her.

He had thought to taste her. There, between her legs. To lubricate her virgin's crevice. The very thought sent his heart racing to the heavens. But were he to settle his lips there, he had no assurances his innocent wife would not leap from the bed in hysterics.

He decided against loving her with his mouth. Perhaps later, after she had become used to being with a man. Perhaps one day she would even taste him. There. He could scarcely breathe at the thought.

First, he would just savor the feel of his bare flesh touching hers, their mouths deliciously locked. His practical wife wildly exhilarated him with her own unexpected subservience to passion. He raised himself over her, and—to his utter gratitude—she had the good sense to part her legs for him. He grew even more breathless. Careful not to put all his weight upon her, he settled over her, his engorged need brushing against her sweet blond curls. With gentle fingers, he probed her seam. And deeper. Sweet God in heaven! She was ready for him.

He lowered his face to hers for a tender kiss and whispered words. "This may hurt you, my love."

"Oblige me by not stopping," she whispered in a breathless voice.

He had never thought to find one such as her in a lifetime. He stroked the moist hair from her warm brow before closing his mouth over hers. This time, the kiss was more urgent, almost frenzied as he lowered himself into her slick sheath, sucking her tongue into his warm mouth. She was tight. So blessedly tight. So far he hadn't hurt her. She rolled her hips up to meet his thus-far gentle thrust. Then she stiffened, her hands digging into the flesh of his back. He went rigid and gently kissed her. "The worst is over, my dearest."

"Please don't stop whatever it is you are doing to me," she murmured in a hungry voice.

Her words were tinder to his fire. He came into her swiftly and fully, and his lover pounded her torso up to meet his thrust after thrust until she cried out and trembled uncontrollably. He felt the warmth of his seed spreading in her molten crevice, and he had never in his life felt so utterly content.

"God in heaven, but I love you, Diana!"

* * *

Diana.
Had her husband closed his eyes and imagined she was Diana? With the satisfaction of a sated lover, her husband had uttered the only word that could trample the heart Sally had given him.

Those frank talks Sally had with her brother rushed back into her foggy mind. A man does not have to be in love with a woman to make love to her. When a man's need is great, he has to have a woman. Any woman.

That's all she had been to George. A willing body. A substitute for Diana. And, oh, how willing she had been! She had allowed him complete access to her. His lips had caressed places she never imagined a man would venture.

Even now as she lay beneath him, wet with his seed, she shuddered at his touch. Waves of some powerful physical explosion washed over her.

For a few minutes she had allowed herself to think her husband had at last fallen in love with her. She would never forget the greedy way his eyes had raked her naked body before telling her she was beautiful. For those few moments she had allowed herself to believe she was beautiful.

George gently pulled away, brushing a chaste kiss on her brow. "I love you so very much."

As I love you
, she wanted to say. But she must cling to her last semblance of pride. Tears gathered in her eyes. Just now . . . when he said those words she longed to hear, longed to be true, were his eyes closed? Did he pretend to himself she was Diana?

Within a few minutes she heard her husband's steady breathing and knew that he had fallen asleep. He truly had done too much on his first day out of bed.

She lie there for a long time, remembering every touch, every caressing word. Even if he did not love her, she was now truly his. She possessed his seed, a fact that gave her a wistful sense of intoxication. Dare she hope she would bear George's babe? Her heart drummed at the prospect.

It was a long time after George went to sleep before she could detach herself from the feeling of being one with him. What they had shared might only be a physical necessity to him, but to her it had been profound, uniting them not only in body but also in soul.

But detach herself she must. She had too much pride to degrade herself by allowing George to use her merely for physical gratification. Never again would she allow herself to be a substitute for Diana.

After more than hour had passed, she eased herself from the bed and quietly opened the door of her linen press. She selected a muslin morning dress and dressed herself in the darkness. Once she lighted a taper, she came to sit before her writing desk. With heavy heart, she began to compose a letter to George. When she finished, she folded and sealed it, addressed it to him and propped it against the silver candlestick before blowing out the taper and leaving the room.

* * *

As the faint sun drifted into the chamber, George lay in a blissful, half-conscious state. He knew something was vastly different from the other mornings of his life. For one thing, this chamber was not as dark as his. For another, there was that scent he had come to love, the scent of Sally. He came fully awake, vibrant memories of the night before nearly overwhelming him with the tenderness he felt for Sally. He turned to her, wanting to feel her flesh once again, wanting to feel his lips on hers, wanting to continue where exhaustion had made him stop last night.

But she wasn't there. Perhaps nature had called. He lay there languidly, waiting for his wife to return. When she did not return after a considerable period of time, he propped himself up on his elbows and scanned the room for her. His heart pounded when he realized she was not there.

He was piqued that his wife had left him. More than that, disappointment filled his heart, and the euphoric feeling he had wakened with vanished. This was not the way it was supposed to be. Something was wrong. His heart leapt. Had that evil force taken his wife from him? He bolted up to a sitting position. Where in the deuce was she?

He climbed down from the bed and into the pants he had shrugged out of the night before. There was nothing to do but get dressed, go downstairs, and find that wife of his. Something must have happened to her.

As he strode to his adjoining dressing room, he saw the letter propped against the candlestick. His name appeared on it in bold letters. His heart skidded. With shaking hands, he picked it up. He was afraid to open it. Instinctively, he knew its message would not be a welcome one.

Had he been that bad? It had been a very long time, but still . . . And his full strength had not returned, but still . . . She had seemed as satisfied as he.

And he had been extraordinarily satisfied. His breath came rapidly at the memory of his utter fulfillment.

He broke the seal, unfolded the vellum, and began to read:

Dearest George,

I am not going to say I'm sorry about what happened between us last night. How could a woman go to her grave without having experienced what I now know occurs between a husband and his wife? If I should be fortunate enough to be with child, I shall be most happy, indeed.