Forbidden (21 page)

After she had forced herself on him once, however, Lord Middlethorpe—Francis—would hardly be sympathetic to any modest qualms on her part tonight.

Perhaps the inn would be crowded, so that a private room for Arabella would be impossible to procure. She prayed for it.

Soon they drew up at the Bear in Esher, a pleasant, solid inn that Serena regarded with deep disquiet. It was spacious and did not look like the sort of establishment to run out of rooms in February.

Her belief was proved true. Francis had no difficulty in obtaining a suite of rooms consisting of two bedrooms and a private parlor.

Soon they were in the latter, with a large table being laid for their meal. Arabella went immediately to hold her hands out to the welcoming fire and Serena joined her.

Arabella moved aside. "Come closer, gel. You're looking chilled. All right, aren't you? You seem to be taking this business like a trooper, but don't hold back if you're feeling not the thing. We can make arrangements."

Serena stared at Arabella but then realized that she was referring to her pregnancy, not her wedding night. "I am quite well," she said. "Just a little chilled, and perhaps a little weary."

Francis came over without his greatcoat. "Can you dispense with your cloaks yet?" he asked, then eased them off and laid them aside. "I've ordered a bowl of punch. That should warm us all. Tomorrow's journey will be short as we only have a little over ten miles to go."

"I've never been to London," Serena said.

"Have you not? Then I will take pleasure in showing it to you." It was said courteously without warmth. "And you will doubtless wish to make many purchases."

"I could send to my brothers for my clothing," she offered hesitantly.

"No." His voice was rather sharp. "It will be more pleasant to start afresh."

Serena agreed wholeheartedly with that. She thought she might be able to have an intelligent conversation with her husband if Arabella weren't there, but situated as they were it was impossible. And she would not be without Arabella for the world.

The innkeeper came in with a large, steaming bowl of punch, and they all sat down to enjoy it. In a little while Serena felt her tension ease.

"So," she said, "tell me how you won three thousand guineas from my brothers, my lord."

A mischievous grin lightened his face. It was the first time she had seen him smile in such a way, and it suited him. She smiled a little herself, for she could see he was quite proud of himself.

"It was all on account of a hell-horse called Banshee," he said, and told them the story.

Serena actually found herself laughing. "That was truly noble! How I wish I had been there to see Tom's face. He must have been furious."

"I fear he was," agreed Francis with a distinct twinkle. "Serves him right. I almost wished I'd managed to palm off the horse on him as well, but he'd have fed him to his dogs, and the beast deserves better than that."

"What will you do with him, then?"

"Lord knows, for I never want to ride him again. I suspect he'll live a life of leisure, eating my grass and believing he's won the game after all."

"You'd keep a horse you will not ride?" Serena asked in wonder.

"He served me well," was his only reply.

By that time their meal had arrived and they set to. Aware of eyes on her, Serena managed to eat the soup and a little of the rare beef, but she refused the apple pie.

Without asking, Francis peeled an apple and sliced it onto a plate for her. "Eat it," he said.

Her first marital command. Serena sighed and chewed her way through the apple.

Arabella suddenly stood. "I'm for my bed. These old bones don't travel well anymore."

Francis raised his brows at this unlikely statement, but he made no objection and politely opened the door to his aunt's room. "Good night."

"Good night," said Arabella. She looked at her nephew as if she might add something else, but she didn't.

Francis came back toward the table. "Are you finished?"

It was time to face her fate. Serena stood. "Yes, thank you."

He took her hand. "It would please me if you would eat a little more. You have to think of the child."

She looked up at him. "I will. My appetite was quite good until... until recently. It is just that matters are so unsettled."

"Matters are quite firmly settled."

She flinched at the edge in his voice. "No they are not. I feel adrift."

"I suppose I feel adrift, too," he admitted. "But our course is settled." He touched the ring on her finger.

"There is a family betrothal ring. I will have it for you soon."

Serena wanted to protest, as if she had no right to it.

Dear Lord, if only she hadn't been taken by that mad impulse in the Posts' bedroom.

But in that case, Francis would have washed his hands of her. Oh, he would have made some arrangement, but she would have played no part in his life, and that would have been a shame....

"Perhaps you would care to retire."

Serena's mouth dried as she recognized the command.

"If you ring," he continued, "one of the inn's maids will come to assist you."

Serena went to the bedchamber thinking that at least he didn't intend to rip the clothes off her. Of course, ripping well-made wool would not be an easy business.... Her mind was skittering around, seeking to avoid the central matter.

The maid assisted Serena out of her garments and into the plain flannel nightgown. Serena realized then that she should have tried to obtain some more appealing nightwear. There had been no time, but would he realize that? An alternative occurred to her, but she would not, could not, await him naked.

The maid brushed and braided her hair, then tidied the room and left.

Serena reviewed herself anxiously. Remembering Matthew's rage whenever he found her in bed with her hair braided, she undid the plaits and spread her long hair around her shoulders. She wiped her damp and trembling palms on the heavy cloth of the nightgown and climbed into the warm bed, heart thumping.

Really, it was absurd to be so terrified. It was beyond belief that her new husband ask anything of her tonight that she had not already endured. And yet she was deeply frightened. She was aware of too many horrible possibilities, aware that supposedly civilized men could show another side entirely in the privacy of the bed.

At least on her last wedding night she had been ignorant....

Unable to bear sitting up, Serena slid down beneath the covers and worked at calming her scurrying heart.

Her husband came in. He scarcely glanced at her, but her eyes tracked him as he went behind the screen to undress and wash. She studied each sound he made, as if it were a clue to a puzzle. Eventually, he emerged in a nightshirt and joined her in the bed. He left the candles burning.

Memories of another occasion came back like a brutal wave. How could she have been so wicked?

"I am so very sorry," she whispered, staring at the bed canopy.

"Sorry for what?"

"For all of this. If I'd not... if I'd trusted you not to abandon me..."

"What's done is done," he said flatly. "For the child's sake, you must stop worrying."

"I'll try."

"You could also look at me, perhaps." His voice was sharp.

She swiveled her eyes nervously. He was lying on his side, looking at her. "Of course."

"Devil take it, Serena, you've presumably achieved your aim, so why these tragedy airs?"

"Achieved my aim?"

"Me. Marriage. A title. You've done very well and I won't hold it against you, but I'm damned if I'm going to be made to feel like a brute over it."

He thought she'd seduced him with this in mind? "I didn't—"

"Spare me. You most certainly did."

She felt the color flood her face. "I said I was sorry, and I am. For me as well as for you. The last thing I wanted was to be married."

His expression conveyed total disbelief. He swooped down and captured her lips in a kiss.

Serena stiffened, shocked by the sudden intimacy after his disbelief, and by the anger in it.

She struggled, but he captured her hands and she found she had no recourse against his strength. His lips demanded more and more of her, and his body pressed on her. Her old defenses rushed back and she surrendered, pulling her mind away from what was being done to her body.

He broke the kiss. "Serena?" He sounded concerned. "I'm sorry if..." But then a touch of irritation entered his voice. "If you're going to pretend to be delicately offended, forget it. You're no virgin bride."

She blinked up at him, returning cautiously to her body. "I'm not offended, my lord. Do what you want to do."

"On a rag doll?"

Serena studied him anxiously. "You frightened me."

The anger faded, or at least was shielded. "I'm sorry. I don't like lies."

"I wasn't lying."

"Forget it," he sighed. "It's spilt milk." He picked up a strand of her hair and fingered it gently, studying it as if it were of great worth. "It's softer than I thought it would be."

"I hope it pleases you. I hope I please you."

"How could you do otherwise?" But it was flatly said.

Serena didn't know what to do, and the panic of it was swelling in her chest like a pain. She was an expert at submission and at a host of erotic skills, but she didn't know what to do.

She did the one thing that seemed safe.

She had long ago lost any inhibitions about her naked body, only hating the sense of vulnerability that it brought. Now that they were together and he hadn't changed into a monster, she was no longer afraid of being naked.

She wriggled out of her nightgown. As her head emerged and she shook her hair back, she saw the heat in his eyes and relaxed. It would be all right.

She knelt up and presented herself to his gaze. She was supposed to be beautiful and she prayed he found her so. Matthew had been very interested in her breasts. They had always been full and in the past weeks had grown a little fuller. She glanced at Francis anxiously and saw the intent look in his eyes as they explored her.

"You are exquisite," he said, but guardedly.

He put out a strangely tentative hand and cupped one breast, testing the weight and texture of it. The very hesitancy touched Serena deeply. She had never experienced anything quite like it. She leaned into his touch a little and remained there, letting him do as he willed.

He raised his eyes to hers as the roughness of his thumb brushed over her nipple. She caught her breath and saw his eyes darken in response.

He gently pushed her down onto the bed, sweeping back the covers so that she was completely exposed. Then he took off his own nightwear, so that he was as naked as she. Serena looked at him and marveled, realizing how little she knew of the male form.

Matthew had rarely stripped for his pleasures, but then Matthew's body had been better hidden.

Her new husband was as beautiful as the ancient gods. His lithe, well-muscled torso flared up to broad shoulders. In a strange way he looked bigger naked than clothed. Her gaze passed over his genitals but did not linger there. He was made like other men and such things held no fascination for her. She noted, however, that he was already well aroused. There was both relief and threat in that. There would be no need of extraordinary measures to stimulate him, but there would be no putting off his release.

To her surprise, he made no immediate move to seek his ease. Instead, he began to explore her with eye and hand, as if each curve of flesh, each edge of bone, were a new-found miracle. His touch was pleasant, but the rapt expression in his eyes was more so. She felt worshipped.

His hand came to rest, at last, over the gentle swelling of her womb. "Do you feel anything yet?"

"No."

"When you do, I want to know. I want to know about this child before it is born."

On instinct, she covered his hand with her own and held it there. "It
is
yours," she said.

"I know."

"How do you know?"

He looked up into her eyes with a faint smile. "I don't know how I know, and that's the truth. Do you not like being kissed?"

She was unprepared for the question. She thought of lying but knew her expression had given her away. "I haven't."

He dropped a light kiss on her lips, then let his mouth drift down to her breast. "What about here?"

The playful gentleness of his lips on her skin confused Serena. She thought she'd experienced everything that the marriage bed could encompass, but she had never experienced this slow, gentle exploration.

It was not entirely pleasant. She had no idea of her part in this and was terrified of making a mistake. The quickest glance showed her that he was ready for her now, more than ready. Why the delay? What did he need from her?

She was hardly paying any attention to what he was doing, though the play of his lips was causing her some physical agitation. Then his head traveled down over the mound of her belly, paid homage to her navel, and kissed at the juncture of her thighs. "Do you like this?"