Forever a Lord (16 page)

He shifted in his chair in what appeared to be agitation. “You will make a decision tomorrow. In the morning. Before we leave for Jackson’s.”

She blinked. “I will make a decision when I come to it. It may be tomorrow or it may be next year, but you will not treat me as my brother did. For you are not my brother. And lest you forget you are my husband
only
in name.”

He shifted in his chair again, but otherwise said nothing.

She returned to eating her meal in awkward silence. Why did she feel like she had just slapped him? She sensed he was trying to help. She had honestly never connected her medicine to her fainting spells. She had been drinking it for far too long to have ever made such a connection. But what he said was possible.

She retrieved her wine, her gaze momentarily wandering across the table toward Nathaniel.

He wasn’t even attempting to eat.

His full plate sat untouched.

With a half-empty wineglass still in hand, he leaned farther back against the chair, staring at her.

Her pulse jolted, realizing he’d been staring at her the whole time. She looked away and instead of grabbing her wineglass, which would only further blur her senses, she dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “Are you not hungry?”

“No.” He lifted his glass to his full lips, still watching her from above its rim. After a lingering taste, he lowered the glass again. “Are you done eating? Because I want you to be. So finish.”

She fisted the napkin in her lap in disbelief. Did he really think he could command her to eat at whatever pace pleased him? When she was paying for their meal?

Swallowing the last of her food, she dragged the napkin from her lap and set it onto the table. “I will see you in the morning. I am retiring
alone
this evening. Good night.” Pushing back her chair, she stiffly rose and left. Gathering her skirts, she hurried out of the dining room and back down the corridor toward the main foyer. The sooner she got into her room and locked the door, the better.

The jogging steps of Nathaniel behind her made her eyes widen. She skidded into the foyer, turning toward the stairs, ready to outrun him.

“Imogene,”
he called out. “For God’s sake, if you have something to say, fucking say it. We’re either partners in this or we’re not. Which is it?”

She winced and stopped short of the staircase, where all of her trunks still sat. He was right. If they were going to survive these next four months and get him to be the best he could be to win that championship, they had to use words. Lots of them. And she cringed at the idea of all the stuttering ahead of her. Letting out a shaky breath, she turned and waited for him.

Nathaniel slowed his jog and drew close, blocking the expanse of the hallway. “What is it? What did I do now?”

“Commanding me about at the dinner table as to how fast I am to eat, when I am the one providing the meal, is humiliating.”

He huffed. “Dealing with women isn’t really a forte of mine, all right? I usually only bed them. I don’t
befriend
them.”

Imogene jerked her gaze up to his husky face. “Have you never had a female friend? Truly?”

He shifted closer, his gaze wandering from her eyes down to her nose until they paused on her lips. “No. I’m not interested in that.”

A knot rose in her throat and the air between them grew hot and unbearable. It was obvious what he wanted.

And annoyingly, she wanted it, too.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Where now are all my flattering dreams of joy?

—P. Egan,
Boxiana
(1823)

I
MOGENE
’
S
BREATH
HITCHED
as she waited for him to lean in and kiss her.

Instead, Nathaniel glanced away and appeared to be more interested in flexing his right hand.

She blinked. Why was it when she wanted him to do something, he didn’t, and when she didn’t want him to do something, he did? Without thinking about the consequences, she quietly asked, “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

His gaze snapped back to hers. “Do you want me to?”

Her shoulders fell. “Maybe not.”

He yanked her against himself with an aggressive tug of her hips, causing her to gasp, and crushed the velvety, hard feel of his naked torso against her. “Let me.” With the dip of his head, he captured her mouth, his hot, wet tongue overtaking hers.

She almost fainted. And she knew it had nothing to do with her condition.

He swung them toward the stairwell, causing her to choke against his mouth. Still engaging her mouth with the rapid rotation of his hot tongue, he leisurely stretched himself out onto the stairs, lowering her onto his body as he positioned her legs to straddle his thighs.

It was heart-poundingly thrilling to lean over him and kiss him and touch him in the way
she
wanted.

He sucked on her tongue, slowly pulling it deep into his mouth. Releasing his hold, he circled his tongue on the inside of her mouth while his large hands roamed down her skirts.

Pressing his mouth harder against hers, he dug into the fabric of her gown with his fingers and he crushed her body even harder against his. The urgency within that tense, muscled body grew as he ground himself into her and rolled, ground and rolled.

As one of his hands held the back of her head, dominating her by keeping her in place, his other hand shoved up her skirts and slid beneath the muslin fabric, smoothing up her naked thigh.

She stiffened, but he only pressed his hand against her head harder, his tongue moving harder against hers. His other hand slipped between her thighs, which were ajar from straddling him. Her eyes popped open when his fingers slid between her wetness.

She tore away from his mouth and tried to shove down her skirts. His free hand jumped around her waist, locking her in place against his thighs, while the other still rubbed her wetness, causing her to gasp against sensations that had no right to be there.

He held her gaze, his chest heaving. “Trust me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Her cheeks flamed as his fingers, which were buried beneath her skirts, continued to flick and rub her, rippling stomach-twisting sensations up and down her entire body. She swayed and grabbed his shoulders hard, trying to steady herself against what he was doing.

She held his penetrating gaze as she rode his hand right there with him draped beneath her on the stairs. She rode harder, torn between wanting the sensations to increase or altogether end.

Curiosity and a mingled haze of everything she felt for him physically in that moment made her not only bold but stupid. She slid her hands down the smooth length of his hard chest, down, down and touched the rigid line pushing against the flap of his trousers right where his hand was savagely fingering her.

He hissed out a breath and slipped a forefinger fully into her wetness.

She froze from the violating aggression that pinched, but his thumb slid and rubbed, slid and rubbed against the nub that caused those incredible sensations, erasing the discomfort.

His finger quickened.

An unexpected torrent shook her body and she gasped against it as pleasure unlike anything she thought possible overtook her breath and her entire world. She collapsed against him.

He slipped his hand from beneath her skirt, his chest heaving, and dug his shaven chin into her hair.

The rush of cool air drifted against her lips, she realized he had long ceased kissing, and for a few passing moments, she couldn’t even bring herself to open her eyes let alone move. All she could do was focus on their heavy breaths and how his large warm hands now firmly held on to her arms.

“We finish upstairs,” he said in a low voice, slowly releasing her. “The way I want it.”

She opened her eyes, shifted to sit up against his thighs and blinked down at him. “Finish? But I thought…” She thought they were done.

Still laid out on the stairs, he stared up at her with a set jaw that told her he was far from done. “What just happened wasn’t even admission to ringside seats.”

Her entire body blazed at the thought of her own hand going into his trousers. “You don’t expect me to…to put my hand into your trousers, do you?”

He rolled his eyes and eased out from under her. “No,” he muttered. “I don’t force myself on women. But when you’re feeling particularly generous, let me know, will you?”

Rising, he grabbed her waist and yanked her up off the stairs with a single turn. Without meeting her gaze, he adjusted his trousers against the rigid line of his erection still pressing against the flap. “We should settle your trunks into your room so your lady’s maid can organize all of this for you.”

Stepping around her, he leaned over and grabbed both sides of the trunk. Heaving it up with one sweep, he straightened and made his way up the stairs.

Imogene stared up after him as he disappeared to deliver it into her room. Lifting a trembling hand, she covered her still-swollen mouth, which burned from the heat of his lips. She could still feel the way his hips had ground and rolled against her and the way his fingers had penetrated her into oblivion.

No wonder people got married.

Nathaniel jogged back down the stairs toward her. “You left the table because of me. Did you want to finish your meal?”

She dropped her hand down to her side, rather dazed at how casual he was in light of what they had just done. She shook her head. “No, thank you.”

He yanked up another trunk and made his way up again.

She pressed her hands against the sides of her blazing cheeks and tried to catch her breath. She was probably going to have to make an effort and do for him what he had done for her. He had appeared disappointed when she insinuated she wasn’t interested in returning the favor.

Atwood appeared again and jogged back down the stairs. He grabbed for her last trunk, toting it up with a toss, and went back up the stairs. Not once sparing her a glance.

Imogene followed him up, knowing she ought to oversee his…
needs.
Whatever that meant. Oh, God. She slowly headed down the corridor leading to their bedchambers.

Setting a nervous hand to her stomacher, she decidedly made her way toward the last door he had disappeared into.

Pausing in the doorway, she peered inside.

The large latticed window on the far side of the wall had been draped with verdant velvet curtains and gave a stunning moonlit view of the park laid out in the night beyond.

A large, four-poster bed loomed, taking up almost the entire expanse of the room. An abundance of crisp, white linens and honey-colored blankets and silk plush pillows complemented the soft, golden hues of the painted walls. For a man who claimed he had gathered whatever furniture he could for her, his taste was quite elegant and impeccable.

Atwood pushed the trunks up against the wall, next to the large, mahogany dresser and mirror that were already set with a fresh basin and pitcher of water.

She knew whatever lay ahead couldn’t be any worse than the lye trauma of her childhood. And it might prove to be as pleasant as what had just occurred on the stairs. Setting her chin, she stepped into the bedchamber and closed the door behind herself.

He stood and turned, swiping his hands across the front of his trouser-clad thighs. His hands stilled as he glanced toward the door she had closed.

She smiled, albeit nervously, and made her way toward him, trying not to give away that her heart pounded so hard she thought it might pop out from her throat and hit the wall. “I’m…I’m feeling generous.”

His fiery gaze met hers. “Are you?”

She nodded. “Yes. What do you want me to…do?”

He remained perfectly still, but that set, shaven jaw conveyed he was waiting. “Come here.”

She moved in closer. Pausing before his tall muscled body, she suddenly felt light-headed. But in an insanely good way that had nothing to do with her illness.

She lifted her gaze to his.

He unbuttoned his trousers but otherwise said nothing.

She dared not look down.

Taking her hands into his own, he slowly drew them toward the flap of his trousers. “Push down the flap and the undergarment beneath.” His voice was tense but equally patient and soft.

She swallowed and with trembling hands pushed down his flap and his undergarment beneath. She instinctively lowered her gaze to what she was doing. His thick erection fell heavily toward her, making her suck in a startled breath. Her hands stilled.

She had to touch…
that?

His hands gathered hers again and set them firmly against its velvety, rigid length. He forced her hands to rub it.

It was surprisingly smooth and firm. She pinched her lips to keep herself from looking at it and glanced up, trying to remain calm.

His chest rose and fell in uneven takes. “Do you want me to do the rest?” he whispered.

She nodded.

He grabbed her waist hard and yanked her up and into his arms and carried her to the bed.

She clung to him in both dread and anticipation.

His mouth drifted close to her ear, the heat of his breath against her neck. “Do you trust me?”

She nodded. She hoped she did.

“I won’t undress you or remove my trousers. That will make it less traumatic for you, given it’s your first time. But I am going to tie your hands for a small while. Will you let me?”

She nodded, desperately trying to please him, even though she was frightened out of her wits.

Laying her out on the bed, he dragged up her skirts, exposing her lower half to him completely. Tossing off her slippers, he undid the garters, his fingers grazing her skin, and rolled down her silk stockings. “These are going on your wrists. That way the marks will be minimal.”

Her breaths came in panicked takes. “Do you have to bind my hands?”

“Yes. But I’ll take them off when we’re done. I promise.” He entwined his fingers with hers, her silk stockings separating their palms. His rugged face now hung inches above hers as he raised both arms up over her head, his hands tightening against her own. “Relax. Don’t fight me or this.”

Something about the way he was holding her hands against his, as if he were trying to mentally prepare her for what he was about to do, felt oddly guiding and loving.

His large, warm body kept her in place against the mattress. Releasing her hands, he quickly wrapped both stockings around her wrists and yanked them tightly into knots.

He wrapped them tighter and tighter, until her wrists were not only bound but immovable. “Keep your hands over your head,” he urged heavily, making one last tight knot. “The rule is—I touch you. You don’t touch me.”

She blinked as the heat of his skin against hers penetrated her body and her senses. She sucked in a deep breath as his fingers trailed down her arms toward her breasts.

He leaned in and kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheek and then her lips. “Don’t panic,” he murmured. “I’m going to slip myself inside you and ride you.”

Himself?
In there? “With what?” she managed.

He positioned himself above her, his hand reaching between them and held his sizable erection toward her. “With this,” he confided. “And it will hurt. But not for long.”

Her fingers dug into the linens as he nudged her thighs apart and edged its tip into her opening.

“Imogene.”

She swallowed, waiting, feeling incredibly vulnerable with her hands tied and knowing what he was about to do.

“Imogene, look at me.”

Her gaze jumped up to his.

He continued to remain propped above her, his free hand smoothing her hair. “If you focus on the pain, it will be all you feel. So don’t focus on the pain. It won’t last. It is my intent to not only take pleasure but to give pleasure. Believe that.” Those blue eyes intently held hers with the same measure of assurance he had given her when he had been asking her to speak through her stutter.

She relaxed, knowing everything would be all right. For he had said it would be.

Still holding her gaze, he tightened his jaw and with a quick solid thrust of his hips, he buried himself so deeply and thoroughly inside her womb, the pain seared her into gasping.

He stilled and held her tightly against himself. With a domineering hand, he buried her head against the curve of his shoulder, setting her face against it. “Bite your way through the pain. Go on. Bite.”

She didn’t even think twice. She pressed against him and clamped all of her upper teeth down onto his smooth shoulder to get through the pain.

He moved against her, jarring her. “Good. You can bite me harder. Because I’m about to ride you harder.”

She bit down as hard as she could, bracing herself.

His hips rolled slow at first, those thrusts controlled and smooth. But it didn’t last. “That’s it. Take it.” He pushed into her faster and harder, his broad frame tensing against her as he seethed out breaths.

Though each savage thrust stung against the tightness of her passage and grew in intensity, she managed to survive by keeping her teeth clamped on his shoulder.

He dipped his head toward her and sucked on the curve of her throat, making her melt and writhe in sudden blooming pleasure.

His bucking movements kept jarring her until she realized she wasn’t in pain anymore. It was all pleasure. Sweet pleasure.

Unlatching her teeth from his shoulder, she threw back her head to better extend herself against her tied hands, and let his mouth roam and devour her throat. She felt those same stomach-tightening sensations overtaking her body. Again. Only it felt bigger. Fuller. Like it was about to rip her apart.