Bride Who Fell in Love with Her Husband (3 page)

A shiver passed down her body. “I think not. It will be a fool's wager that you will lose.”

* * * *

Thomas chuckled and stepped back as Mrs. Jensen returned. He reclaimed his chair as the two women discussed the skill of the lace maker who'd trimmed the dress.

Rose was as stubborn as she was lovely. Her hair came out of the pins as Mrs. Jensen pulled the dress over her head. The mass of red fell in a silky twist over one shoulder.

He stirred beneath his trousers.

“The dress fits perfectly,” Mrs. Jensen said, and made adjustments until it was settled in the right position. Then she stepped back to admire her creation. “Excellent.”

Thomas barely heard her. He watched Rose in the mirror, her lashes lowered as she looked down at the creation.

The outing was proving a success. He'd shoved aside his annoyance at last night's debacle and accepted that his wife needed time to settle into their life, and his bed. And he needed patience to accept that the matter would not be settled after a few hours of marriage.

Her eyes lifted and caught his gaze. The light in her blue eyes sent heat straight to his cock. Before he embarrassed himself in front of Mrs. Jensen, he cleared his throat and turned away to collect his cane. “We shall take that one, the blue, and the lavender that my wife chose earlier. I shall wait outside while Mrs. Stanhope changes.”

He stepped out of the room. Shopping for Rose was an arousing experience. She was enticing, his wife.

Unbidden, a thought flashed into his mind that challenged his confidence and brought back Rose's beliefs about love. What if Rose was correct and she could not love him? Ever. What if she never settled into their marriage? Could her past pull her back into its seductive fold?

Tightening his hand on his cane, he realized there was no satisfactory answer.

Chapter Four

Rose found the evening odd. After the shopping excursion, Thomas was quiet as they made their way home, and continued to be so throughout dinner. The baroness, too, had little to say, and the sisters followed her mood. If not for the slightest hint of a smile on Priscilla's face, the meal was without humor.

“Is your mother ill?” Rose asked him as he escorted her from the table to the library to select a book. “Not once did she insult me or scowl in my direction. Is it possible she has come down with a fever . . . or the plague?”

Thomas snorted. “Mother is too cross to die before she has found a way to drive you off. No, I think her silence was caused by her plotting your painful demise.”

Rose nodded, her face grim. “I expected as much. Is there a reason for her hatred or does the idea of you begetting a grandchild with me, and my imagined inferior Gypsy bloodline, cause her anguish?”

“My dear, Rose, though my mother will never sleep comfortably under the looming terror of knowing you could one day mother my children, I know that is not her greatest fear.”

“Then what is her greatest fear?”

Thomas glanced around him to make certain no one was near to overhear the secret then leaned in. “Rats.”

Her eyes widened. “Truly? How dire. We shall keep a rat catcher close lest one of the dirty rodents dare make a run toward your mother's dainty feet.”

They shared a laugh. After a moment Thomas sobered. “Truthfully, Mother likes no one. She forces herself to be amiable to certain persons because of her duties as baroness. She hates Father, tolerates her children, and probably secretly wishes she'd taken to a convent. There is nothing you can do to change her opinion.”

Rose stared at his perfect, smiling mouth. “How did you manage to remain good-humored with such a parent?”

He shrugged. “As her son, I had the freedom my sisters lacked. I was not shadowed by her unhappiness. My brother was the same.” He sighed. “Fredrick will be baron one day. For now he is happily living as far from her as he can manage.”

She envied men their freedoms. “Hmm. I feel compassion for your put-upon sisters. Surely something can be done to lift their spirits.”

“I fear not, though you are welcome to try.” He led her into the library. “If you can find a solution to their misery, you are a greater force than I. Clearly, I was unable to pry them away from Mother.”

She pondered the challenge for a moment. Perhaps Thomas would accept her matchmaking his sisters. However, until she had suitors selected, she'd stay mum on the subject. “I shall keep watch for the next few days to see what I can do. There has to be a way to change their circumstance.”

Shrugging, he walked to a bookshelf and examined the spines of the books it contained. He pulled out a volume for further inspection. “My mother will not be pleased with your interference. Are you certain you're up to the fight?”

He turned back to her and must have seen a devilish gleam in her eyes, for he chuckled wholeheartedly.

* * * *

A week passed without Thomas finding a way to her room. He was charming and attentive, yet held himself back from any sort of overt affection. It was a companionable existence and Rose hated it to her bones. She desired a second chance to please him. On their wedding night, she had found pleasure when he'd kissed and touched her so intimately. It was trying to separate courtesan and wife that left her puzzled. Were wives supposed to enjoy love play or had the orgasm been a fluke?

It was common knowledge amongst courtesans that men expected their wives to be proper at all times, even in bed, and looked to courtesans for passion. Had she been misled? Or was she doomed to be sinful no matter how hard she tried to behave?

Life was such a confusing muddle.

Sighing, she walked to the wardrobe and pulled out a small chest. She carried it to the bed and opened the lid. Inside was a feathered hat, scandalously bright, the sort of hat that no proper wife would dare wear in public.

This ridiculous hat, once worn by a beautiful courtesan named Rose, was her last link to the life she'd left behind; now it was no more than a symbol of a young woman torn between past the present. She'd hated being a courtesan, but wondered if she could be happy here.

Stroking a yellow feather, she stared at the door. Thomas was everything she wanted, wasn't he? “Of course he is what I want,” she whispered without true conviction. “I can be an excellent wife. I know I can. I just need another chance.”

Despairing that he'd never come again to bed her, in spite of his assurance that he still wanted her, Rose noticed that it was nearing ten o'clock on this, the eighth day of their marriage, when she finally heard Thomas approach her room. She was dressed in a pale pink nightdress, which she'd chosen in the hope of his visit, but without entirely expecting him to do so. Though their moments together outside of bed were amiable and without strife, she didn't know how long he'd go before bedding her again, if ever.

The door opened, and Thomas looked slightly disheveled as he walked inside. Her heart danced.

“I wasn't convinced you'd come.” She laid her brush on the dressing table and stood. She clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking.

“I could not stay away any longer,” Thomas admitted. He walked to her and ran his hand over her soft hair. “I hope I am welcome.”

Rose closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his hands. His knuckles brushed her cheek as he played with the silken strands. This tickled her skin and she sighed softly. “Of course you are welcome. You are my husband.”

Releasing her hair and stepping back, he pulled his shirt up and over his head. He tossed it toward the recently vacated dressing-table stool.

She struggled to keep from melting at his feet. He cut a fine figure. Trim, yet finely honed, he was perfect. She wanted to touch him, but wasn't confident she'd not make a mistake, so she pulled back her outstretched hand. She did not want a repeat of their first night. She needed guidance, but she did not know how to ask for it.

“You are welcome to touch me, love.” He reached for her hand and placed it on his chest. “I fact, your touch is most acceptable.”

Nodding, Rose left her hand in place, feeling his heartbeat beneath her palm. He was strength and kindness, her husband.

“I do not know what to do,” she said. “I am afraid I will do something in error and ruin this moment.”

Thomas tipped up her face with his fingertip. “I want you to feel me, to assuage your curiosity about my body, to do anything you wish to me. I do not want you to worry about my pleasure tonight. Be selfish, Rose.”

“Truly?” He was giving her permission to seek her pleasure? How did one go about such a thing? Would her body know?

He grinned. “Truly.”

Tentative but gaining confidence, she ignored her trepidation and moved her hands across his chest. She explored the expanse, following the ridges, caressing the planes, even swirling her fingertips around the cleft of his navel. When she drew her index finger along the waistband of his trousers, he sucked in a breath, yet she didn't stop. He lifted his arms so she could follow the fabric around to his back without breaking contact. Smiling, she splayed both hands up over his shoulders. His skin was supple and smelled of spice.

“You are very strong.” She moved lower to span his waist. There was not a roll of fat to be found. “Men would look upon you with envy.”

He chuckled, but said nothing. She took his silence as permission to continue. Her boldness seemed to please him.

She continued her exploration to his sculpted buttocks, covered in fine cloth. As with the rest of his body, his buttocks were hard-muscled beneath her hands and drew from her another sigh. “You have a most excellent backside, husband.”

Another chuckle followed. Grinning, she returned her attention to the curve of his spine. Drawn in by his scent, she pressed her lips to his skin and inhaled.

Touching him brought her body to life. His warmth infused her and made her eager to feel his hands on her again.

“There is much about you to like,” she breathed.

There was a moment of silence. Then, “Your breasts against me are driving me mad.”

This time is was Rose who chuckled. She eased back and walked around to face him. Sliding her arms around his waist, she lifted to her toes. “Kiss me.”

Thomas quickly obliged. His mouth sent tingles through her. He only drew back long enough to divest her of her nightdress before kissing her again, pressing his erection against her.

Rose broke the kiss and pushed back. She lifted her hands, palms open. “I have not finished my exploration. You must behave.”

He frowned and dropped his arms to his sides. “By all means, please continue,” he said kindly.

Rose nodded and reached for his trouser buttons. She was beginning to understand that with Thomas, it was acceptable to be improper. “I want to see everything.” She tried to open the button, but it resisted her effort. She tried again. It was more difficult than she'd anticipated. She sighed through gritted teeth. “You may help me.”

As she watched, he removed the garment with little effort and left it where it lay. Rose tried not to gape openly at his erection. She failed. Though she'd seen it previously, it seemed far more imposing now than it looked while poised over her as she lay prone on the bed.

Believing that Thomas would not mind if she touched him, she reached out her hand. Though stiff, it was soft in her open palm.

“Are most men so big?”

Thomas groaned under her hand. “I suspect there are many different sizes . . .”

She nodded. “From what I have heard, sometimes wealth is the only sizable possession a man can boast about.” She bit her lip, realizing how scandalous such a comment was. The tension eased after she looked into his eyes and realized her husband was not the least bit shocked by her candor.

“Miss Eva would be disappointed in me,” she said. “She once scolded me for threatening to castrate the duke. She would find this topic well outside the boundaries of what is proper.”

“Miss Eva adores you, Rose,” Thomas countered. “I saw her affection for you and the other young ladies. She would never scold you for words spoken privately between us.”

“Still, I should learn to curb my outspoken nature, lest it get me into trouble.” She looked down at his erection. Clearly the topic had not put him off his desire for her. She moved her hand up the length of him. The thought of him inside her caused a tingle between her legs. “I think it's time to end my exploration.”

A low groan followed. Thomas bent to lift her into his arms. Rose snuggled against him as he carried her to the bed. He eased her down on the coverlet and took a place beside her.

Thomas kissed her gently before moving downward. He kissed her breasts and tugged the nipples between his teeth. Rose whimpered when his hand slid down between her legs. He teased her to her release.

Not knowing what was expected next, she waited. Thomas rolled onto his back, taking her with him. “Straddle me,” he said. When she complied, he guided himself inside her. “With you astride, I know you will not be counting cracks in the plaster.”

Rose flushed. “It was a cobweb, and it helped distract me from the mating.”

He brushed back her hair. “I do not want you distracted, Rose. I want your full participation.”

She nodded. “I thought being agreeable was all that was expected of a wife. I was mistaken.” She wriggled and felt his erection twitch inside her. Her husband groaned deep. She paused and looked into his eyes. The passion he felt for her was reflected there. It made her feel powerful, desirable.

She slid up and down his erection. The position teased parts of her of which she'd been previously unaware. Her interest was fully on the coupling. She had no interest in cobwebs or cracks.

He cupped her buttocks, adjusting her movement and speed as she rode him. She found if she tipped her hips forward, the motion scraped the bud between her legs against him in just the right way. She rocked and sighed, her pleasure mounting. Thomas played with her breasts and tugged her nipples until she cried out. He reclaimed her hips and drove himself deep inside her until he found his own release.

Rose collapsed on his chest.

The rapid clip of his heartbeat brought a smile. She turned her face to place a few kisses on his skin. His hands caressed her, from her buttocks up her back, then tangled in her hair.

“That is what true pleasure is, love,” he said, and claimed a slow, deep, and delightful kiss.

When she broke the kiss, she let out a soft sigh and ran a hand down his chest. “Never again will I count cracks.”

Thomas chuckled and rolled her onto her back.

* * * *

Rose breathed softly beside him, her face partially hidden in her tangled hair. He ran his fingertips down her spine and she twitched in her sleep. Clearly, he'd found a ticklish spot.

He pressed his lips to the top of her head, satisfied their evening had been more than he'd hoped.

Gone was the pretense of false passion. Every sound, every moment of pleasure, had been real for her. She'd been fully engaged in the moment.

Leaving her to lead the seduction, he'd left her to discover her passionate side.

And sometime after, when she'd been sprawled on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, he'd realized that he was falling deeply in love with his beautiful wife.

What a turn. A lark had taken him to the matching party. Their courtship should have progressed slowly, but there had been another man equally smitten and he'd had to make a decision. He chose marriage. It had been the first truly impulsive act of his life.

He cared not that his mother hated Rose. In a few weeks she'd be gone from London to return to her dowager house until the next Season. By then, Rose would be confident in her role as his wife. She was no wilting lily.