Confessions From an Arranged Marriage (26 page)

Chapter 29

H
e'd given her everything she'd always wanted. Thanks to Blake, she now had influence she'd scarcely dreamed of. And the dreams of her girlhood had never been modest.

But she was greedy. She wanted more. A true political partnership with her husband had always been her goal in life and simply ruling through Blake was not enough. How much greater the satisfaction would she gain from exercising power with his full participation. If her theory about him was correct—and she was more and more sure of it—it explained his long disengagement from ducal and national affairs. Whatever the cause of his inability to read, it didn't matter. With her help he could overcome it. She wanted the role she guessed had been Amanda's.

She demanded it. It was her right. Not as his duchess but as his wife.

Blake didn't trust her enough to confide in her, and she understood why. Throughout their acquaintance she'd underestimated and scorned him. When she thought of their quarrel in the streets of Paris, the way she'd railed at him, she was ashamed. A demonstration of her changed sentiments was in order. If she hadn't lured him to speak by the time their guests left, then she'd raise the subject herself. In the meantime she'd use some of the feminine wiles she'd learned from Celia and Diana. That naughty book of Celia's had given her lots of ideas she hadn't been able to imagine putting into practice. Now she looked forward to it.

G
ideon wasn't happy about Warfield Castle but Blake told him firmly that his decision was made and he should live with it. To his surprise his brother-in-law gave in gracefully. The late duke's assessment had been correct: he was a follower. To assuage any resulted discord between Gideon and Minerva, he suggested they work together to soothe bruised feelings among the competing parties.

That worked well. The pair of them huddled in conversation in a corner of the drawing room for at least an hour after dinner. That he'd been able to find a solution to her dilemma pleased him, but if he hoped for a physical demonstration of his wife's gratitude he was disappointed. She informed him with a modest smile that he shouldn't come to her room that night. From which he deduced that the next Duke of Hampton did not yet exist, even in embryonic form. It wasn't the lack of a potential heir he regretted.

He felt restless and not at all like going to sleep. He couldn't even get a game of billiards without having the satisfying clunk of ivory balls disturbed by speculation and horse trading, not alas of the equine variety. He prepared for bed, let his valet help him into a light banyan suitable for a summer evening, and dismissed the man. The sight awaiting him when he opened the door to the duke's bedchamber drew a happy smile. He felt better than he had in days.

The duchess was draped across the giant bed. By the light of a few carefully placed candles he absorbed the curves of arms, waist, and hips, admired the long golden hair draped over her shoulders and barely covering the peaks of her breasts. She wore not a stitch of clothing but an emerald necklace and a pair of almost matching bracelets.

“Good evening, Duchess,” he said. “May I compliment you on your dress?”

“Someone with excellent taste selected this ensemble.”

“When I saw the necklace in the shop I thought it would suit you. The effect is
just
what I had in mind.”

She raised her brows. “You thought
I
would wear it like this?”

“A man can always hope.”

“I don't believe you ever thought of me unclothed. Not back then, when you bought
me
the necklace.” Thus she averred her certainty that he'd chosen the emeralds for her, not for another woman. And though she underestimated a man's capacity to imagine a woman naked, almost any woman, his wife was the only one who now interested him. His smile broadened.

“Lately, Minnie, I find I think of little else. Especially when I'm surrounded by our tedious guests.”

“I noticed you weren't enjoying yourself so I thought I'd try to cheer you up.”

She looked pointedly at the area below his waist, showing through the opening of his blue cotton robe. The evidence that he had, indeed, cheered up drew a smile he could only describe as lascivious. He cheered up even more.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked, striking a pose that revealed the length of his body. He'd noticed before that she enjoyed looking at him and her blatant ogling aroused him to an anticipatory ache.

“Join me in bed and you'll find out.”

He dropped his robe to the floor, swung up onto the high mattress, and stalked on hands and knees across the linen expanse of the great ducal bed to where she lay.

She was a banquet for his delectation and he contemplated which part to taste first. She lay on her side like a goddess, Venus rather than Minerva, one arm supporting her head, the other resting along the line of her hip, the hand a partial fig leaf to her sex. She raised it, revealing to his eyes the nest of blond curls. It was tempting to tuck in but he was in no hurry.

He dipped down for a kiss, sampling her with slow thoroughness, tracing the bow with his tongue and sucking tenderly on the plump lower lip. “You're so sweet, Minnie,” he murmured.

That was the wrong thing to say, or perhaps the right one. She set her palm to his forehead and pushed. “I am not sweet.”

“I beg to differ.” Sweet wasn't the right word for her character, but she possessed far more softness than she admitted to. And there was no other way to describe her taste.

“I want you on your back.” Within seconds she had him spread-eagled on the soft cloth, and she'd taken his position on hands and knees, her eyes raking his body.

His chest shook with laughter. “I see the forceful, demanding side of your character has invaded the bedchamber.”

“Do you mind?”

“Far from it.”

In the bedroom, if nowhere else, she'd always let him lead, but he had no objection to her taking a turn. Their roles were reversed so he was now the feast. And he knew that he was a lucky, lucky man.

She started at the neck, nibbling and nuzzling, then worked her way down his torso. She seemed fascinated by the contours of his chest, honed by years of strenuous exercise.

“Why do you have such beautiful muscles?” she murmured between licks.

“So that you can kiss them,” he said.

“Thank you. You've spent your time well.”

And it continued, thrilling him with touch and foolish, arousing words. As her fingers, palms, and lips explored his rib cage his straining cock knocked against her firm little breasts. A little pant of surprise, and she raised her head to regard it, her lips pursing into a perfect O. Sitting back, her knees on either side of his legs, she wrapped both hands around it and experimented, pushing up and down to expose the tip.

“Hmm.” She gave the matter some consideration and for once he didn't want to tell her she thought too much.

Would she or wouldn't she? He didn't expect it, neither would he ask. He realized he'd never, in all his many and varied relations with women, had greater joy in bed than with his inexperienced wife. Still, he yearned for her mouth on him and his cock jerked in her grasp.

His breath caught, her lips parted, her head dipped. A red tongue emerged and brushed the tip, arousing a shudder of delight. Then she took the entire head into the wet heat of her mouth and he was in heaven.

She had no skill. How could she? As far as he knew this wasn't something you could learn from a book. But trust his Minnie to give it her best shot.

After some delightful and maddening experimentation, she caught on and imitated the rhythm of coitus. In very little time she had him groaning in pleasure and thrusting back, though he tried not to go too far. A fierce grip on his thighs kept her from losing balance and being thrown off by the convulsive heaves of his hips. Before he completely lost control he brushed aside the wild golden hair spread over his stomach.

“No more,” he rasped and raised her head.

“But . . .” Before she could argue he sat up in one forceful move, lifted her by the waist, and brought her down to straddle his lap. Though they'd never made love in this position either, she understood at once, without words, what he wanted. Holding his cock, she guided herself into place and took him in, welcoming him with slick warmth that left no doubt of her own readiness and desire. She put her arms about his neck and whispered how much she wanted him, how good he made her feel. His racing heart lurched and the fleeting notion crossed his fevered mind that if he died now he'd depart this world entirely happy.

“Minnie,” he whispered. “My Minnie.” He held her tight and would never let her go.

The possessive words went straight to Minerva's heart. Too moved for more words, she expressed her feelings with deep, fervent kisses as she rode him in time to his own thrusts. Breast to breast in a fierce embrace, she was lost in the intensity of their congress and an intimacy greater than anything she'd ever felt with another soul. Tears pricked her eyes as she approached the apex.

“Blake,” she whispered. Then shouted his name again as her head jerked back in bliss. As delight continued to ripple through her body he turned her on her back and drove to his own finish.

They lay together afterwards, exchanging lazy caresses and soft kisses. “Thank you, Minnie,” he murmured. “I cannot describe how much better I feel.”

Minerva couldn't recall ever feeling better herself. “I know this party isn't your idea of fun. Thank you for putting up with it. And for supporting me today when I made that stupid mistake.”

“Just as long as
you
are enjoying yourself. You appeared to be this evening.”

“I was,” she said. “I am enjoying it, for the most part. But I didn't expect so many fruitless arguments. Some of these men behave like quarrelling children. Don't they understand than none of them is going to get everything he wants and that they need to compromise?”

He pecked at her nose. “Are you telling me that a nineteen-year-old female has more sense than the combined male wisdom of the party?”

“Yes, actually.”

“I'm not surprised. You're worth a dozen of them, Minnie.”

“Why, thank you.”

“
You
should be Prime Minister.”

“That's what I've always thought.”

“But I'm extremely grateful you can't be. If anyone should seriously recommend extending the franchise to women I shall have to oppose it.” He kissed her in a spot in the middle of her rib cage.

“I thought you agreed with me in all my goals.”

“Not when they run counter to my self-interest. As Prime Minister you'd never have time for interludes like this one.”

It was hard to muster any outrage while he paid delectable attention to her breasts. “Don't you think that's rather selfish?” she said between gurgles of pleasure.

“I've always been a selfish man.”

“I used to think so, but I've changed my mind.” She made to stroke his head but he raised it, knocking her hand out of the way.

“Why?” He regarded her intently.

“Well, first of all you could have refused to marry me.”

“I said I was selfish. I hope that doesn't mean I'm not a gentlemen.”

“You didn't have to buy me emeralds.”

“I like giving people presents.”

Blake, she knew, didn't really possess the endless self-assurance and arrogance he showed in public. He appeared embarrassed by her praise.

“And you wanted to give Warfield Castle to an old school friend.” She awaited his response, suddenly hating her stratagem of trying to coax a confession from him. The connection between them felt deep and honest and beyond the need for manipulation. But still she didn't demand the truth. More than ever she longed for his trust.

For a moment she thought she had it, that he was on the brink of saying something momentous. Then a grave expression turned quizzical. “You're extolling me for that? For Huntley?”

“You were wrong about him, but the impulse was a generous one.”

“By all means give me credit for my errors.”

“And you took my side over Sir Gideon's about his replacement.”

“I'll admit to that act of benevolence. It was a great sacrifice for me. And I've been amply rewarded. Now I believe it's time for me to repay the favor.”

He started kissing her again, this time on her stomach which set her laughing and wriggling with pleasure. “You like that, don't you?”

“You read me like a book.”

He raised his head, looked at her oddly, opened his mouth as though he had something to say, but nothing came out. Instead he returned to his previous activity. Intelligible conversation came to an end.

H
e almost told Minerva the truth. He wanted to and he would, soon. His desire not to keep secrets from her overcame his fears of rejection. He trusted her to treat him kindly. In fact he woke up the next morning feeling so well he wouldn't care if everyone knew. He went out to the stables and the world seemed a new place. Pale sunlight washed the cobblestones of the yard; brilliant cerulean blue framed cheerful, fluffy clouds; and birdsong competed with the whistles of the grooms and stableboys at work.

The only thing that could improve the morning would be the company of his wife. But she'd kissed him tenderly and returned to her room to gird herself for a morning persuading a trio of recalcitrant M.P.s to behave.

Galloping up Mandeville's famous avenue of beeches, he felt deep content. He was doing what he loved, and so was Minerva. And later they'd come together and share their joy and their love.

He drew his horse to a halt at the apogee of the avenue, crowned by a Roman style arch. He was stunned.

He loved her. He'd fallen in love with Minerva. His breath was as challenged as that of his panting steed and he had a moment of sheer panic that settled into satisfaction. It was a joy to love. He felt as triumphal as the arch behind him. He wished he had a rapier to wave, a trumpet to sound, an enemy to slay on behalf of his lady.