His Sinful Secret (10 page)

Her eyes widened. At first it was in surprise as she took in the bandage wrapped around his torso, but then her gaze dropped lower to his erection, the rigid length of his cock upright against his stomach.

It hadn’t occurred to him to use her ignorance of the workings of the male anatomy as a distraction from his wound. It was leagues out of his own experience to imagine how a sexually naive young woman who had probably gotten a very rudimentary lecture on wifely duty might feel about seeing a man in full arousal for the first time. To her credit, she didn’t really seem afraid, just a bit taken aback.

“I . . .” she faltered and trailed off.

“You . . . what?” With care to not frighten her and because he didn’t want to reopen the wound, Michael eased back onto the bed next to her. She was warm and luscious as he took her in his arms, the resilient pressure of her breasts against his bare chest as he cautiously adjusted position.

“You’re bigger.”

He stopped for a moment, not sure how to respond.

“Than I imagined,” she amended hastily, her cheeks pink.

God only knew what her mother—who he thought was a somewhat frivolous woman—had told her. “We can fit together perfectly,” he whispered against her mouth, hoping a kiss would be reassurance. He’d never bedded an innocent young lady of the upper class—no prudent young man who was anywhere close in succession to a dukedom took that sort of chance. How much pain there would be, he wasn’t exactly sure, but at least she had experienced pleasure first. With his knees he spread her legs, the balance between pure need and the soreness of his injury an interesting sensation. To his relief she didn’t resist, but her hands flew up to grasp his upper arms and she broke the kiss, turning her head to the side and closing her eyes, her lacy lashes dark against the rosy hue of her cheeks.

He hesitated, the tip of his rigid sex pressing against yielding flesh. The idea that she was bracing herself for what came next made him realize the finality of the moment. The minute he entered her they were tied together forever. Consummation meant there was no going back. Not that he intended to change his mind anyway, but the very act of bedding his bride irrevocably made her his wife in truth.

This was a crucial moment in both their lives and no matter his determination to stay detached, he found, inexplicably, he would rather they not share it with her turned away from him.

“Julianne,” he said, his voice holding the husky rasp of sexual need, “look at me.”

T
he smoothness of the sheets felt cool against the heat in her face.

The words were ordinary enough, but there was nothing pedestrian about the moment. Julianne sensed the leashed restraint of the man poised over her, the nudge of his erect sex solid against her female cleft. Under the grasp of her hands, the muscles in his arms were rock hard.

Slowly she complied, turning her head and opening her eyes.

His were that unusual, brilliant gold-flecked green, at the moment holding a glitter that was not something she’d seen before, but then again, this night had brought to the forefront how little she knew him. Though she hadn’t known quite what to expect in the bed of the Marquess of Longhaven, she certainly hadn’t dreamed he would wickedly put his mouth between her legs. Or the sinful pleasure of it. Her heart still pounded, her brain registering the significance of his effort to please her while at the same time rejecting the outrageous method. She’d never imagined anyone doing such a scandalous thing.

But it
had
been wonderful.

“That’s better.” He didn’t precisely smile, but the corner of his mouth—that skillful, tantalizing mouth—lifted a fraction in approval.

The declaration had an autocratic tone to it, and she wanted to point out to him that even her own mother had explained it was her responsibility to submit to his needs, but at that moment she felt the stretching pressure as he began to enter her.

“Don’t tense.” The words were murmured, warm and persuasive. “It will be over in a moment.”

Since he’d said he didn’t touch innocent young ladies, how can he be assured of that
, Julianne wondered with a frantic sense of panic over the sheer size of the long length of swollen flesh that even now slowly possessed her body. It didn’t hurt as her body adjusted to the hot, hard invasion, but was different from anything else she had ever experienced.

With Michael.
The idea of it was still foreign, even after the engagement and her realization the marriage was going to happen.

Even with him naked and looming over her, his face set in an intense expression as he eased into her passage with what she, in her inexperience, could even recognize as exquisite care. A small bead of sweat ran along the edge of his lean jaw but he kept their gazes locked. Thick chestnut hair curled against his neck, gleaming in the soft lamplight.

He stopped, there was a stinging pressure, and then she cried out as he surged forward to bury himself completely.

“That’s it.” With one arm braced to support his weight, he lifted the other hand to touch her cheek in a surprisingly gentle gesture. “It’s done.”

Julianne swallowed hard, her senses overwhelmed by the strangeness of having him so deep inside her, a little confused over whether or not she felt pain or pleasure. Something made her instinctively lift her hips, and while the discomfort of what had just happened hadn’t passed, it eased a little. With a conscious effort, she relaxed her grip on his arms. If that was as bad as it was going to be, she was relieved. “I’m . . . fine.”

“Fine?” One chestnut brow went upward in an arch. “I’d like to attempt for a bit more than that. Let me give it my best effort.”

Though she wasn’t sure exactly what he meant, Julianne had to stifle a small sound as he slid backward and then thrust forward, settling himself against her so his hips forced her thighs wide. Her husband moved with slow, contained power, easing out almost all the way and gliding the length of his cock back until the tip went to her womb.

At first it was endurable, then vaguely pleasant, and as he began to move a little faster, even enjoyable. Her body seemed to know more than her mind, for it responded to the rhythm in small, subtle ways, her pelvis undulating to his possession, her hands moving from his arms to his muscular shoulders, then sliding down his back, arrested by the cloth wrapped there.

Bandages? She wondered why—just as she had earlier when he’d disrobed and she’d gotten the first look at his hard, honed body—but her interest was fleeting, overcome by tumultuous sensation.

She’d ask him later.

After something miraculous happened.

His hand slid down her side, sensuously rubbed her hip, and then slipped between her legs. Julianne felt a moan escape when he touched her in a certain way, all her attention centered between her open thighs. A peculiar excitement she now recognized coiled in the pit of her stomach.

“Please,” he said on a suffocated breath.

She wasn’t sure what the request was for, exactly, or even if it was directed at her, but she clutched at him, her hands now on the small of his back below the swatch of mysterious bandages, a shudder beginning to ripple through her.

“Yes.” His fingers pressed with delicate precision, working subtle magic.

It blossomed then, like before, but different and more intense this time with him inside her. The world went blank; warmth and pleasure rolled over in shocking waves that carried her forward until she couldn’t breathe. In a haze, she was aware of him stiffening and dropping his head. A hot liquid surge flooded her, each pulse echoed by her own inner spasms.

It was unsettling, but afterward her first traitorous thought was of Harry. Not traitorous because she was betraying Michael by thinking of someone else even as his hard chest heaved against her breasts and their damp skin was pressed together, but just the opposite. She knew deep down that her wedding night with his older brother would not have been the same.

Harry had many good qualities, but he hadn’t been sensitive. She was sure he would have preferred she enjoy their physical union, but she doubted he would have spent much time thinking about
how
to make it enjoyable for her the first time.

She didn’t even know Michael, and she’d always liked Harry so much. How was it she knew somehow her new husband had taken more care with her than how things would have been if tragedy had not stepped in and changed their lives?

Michael spoke first, his breath ruffling her hair. “Are you . . . well?”

It was an awkward question for a man she guessed rarely was awkward. Her response to each caress, to each touch and kiss, had hardly been in question and she knew he’d felt it. Since he still rested inside her, hard and long, shyness seemed incongruous, but she stumbled over her response. “I . . . I think I should ask you instead, my lord.

I am not the one with a swath of cloth wrapped around me. What happened, if I may inquire?”

“I wasn’t paying full attention to my surroundings and had a small accident.” The response was fluid and smooth. His mouth grazed her cheek. “It is of no consequence.”

Judging from the thickness of pad that obviously covered the injury, she wasn’t sure she believed him. “No one told me you’d had a mishap.”

He distractingly nibbled on her earlobe. “Why should they?”

Why should they?
What kind of question was that? She explained with more curtness than she intended, “I would think maybe your betrothed should be kept informed of your well-being.”

“It didn’t interfere with the wedding.” He kissed her throat, making the spot tingle as his lips whispered against her skin. “Or fulfillment of my husbandly duty. Now, did it?”

“No . . . no.” The evasiveness of his response bothered her, but she found it hard to concentrate with his mouth doing such delicious things to her neck. She was still a bit stunned over the enormity of what had just happened. He had not withdrawn from her body and she was all too aware of the stark intimacy of their position, with his lean hips balanced between her open thighs.

“I believe I’ll fulfill it again if you’ll give me a few moments.”

Again?
Her mother hadn’t mentioned more than one time in one night, but then again, her mother’s reluctant little talk hadn’t been very informative anyway. Startled, Julianne murmured, “As you wish, my lord.”

He lifted his head and those mesmerizing eyes held hers. “Spoken like a true obedient wife. What do
you
wish? I was under the impression you enjoyed it.”

She had, which he knew full well, and she wondered if the involuntary sounds she’d made were considered unladylike. Maybe enjoying it in the first place was unladylike. The gossip she’d heard seemed divided into two camps: those women who made sly references to the pleasure of having a lover, and those whose distaste for the marriage bed conjured up words like
obligation
and
animal needs
.

Since it had to be part of her life, she was glad she seemed to be in the former bracket. To the devil with being a lady if it involved eschewing the incredible sensations she’d just experienced.

Julianne bit her lip and stared into her husband’s eyes. He would find out soon enough she wasn’t a meek milk-and-water miss. Had he paid any attention at all to her before now, he would know it already. “I enjoyed it very much,” she admitted. “It was not the repulsive act I imagined.”

“Repulsive?” Michael looked openly amused, his weight braced on his elbows so he was carefully balanced above her, but she could sense he did favor one side. The golden brown silk of his rumpled hair framed those aristocratic, masculine features, and the span of his muscular shoulders emphasized their disparate sizes. “Who told you it would be repulsive? No wonder you looked as if I were dragging you into Newgate Prison when I suggested we go upstairs.”

“All brides are entitled to a bit of nervousness, are they not? After all, it is a new experience and no one wishes to explain it in satisfactory detail ahead of time.” There was a defensive note in her voice. “Or at least no one did to me. My mother tried, but, from a more enlightened perspective, it wasn’t a very good effort.”

“Come, now. In her defense, do you think it is possible to really explain physical, sexual pleasure?”

He had a point. The spectacular pinnacle of rapturous sensation was beyond imagining.

“Maybe not.” She gave a small, breathless laugh. “Demonstration is probably the only way. Please . . . kiss me again.”

Something flickered in his striking eyes. Surprise at her brazen, spontaneous suggestion? She wasn’t sure. She’d just surprised herself. He lowered his head and said softly, “With pleasure, my lady.”

And he kissed her.

Then he kissed her again.

 

“Is that what you wore?”

Antonia smiled in a deliberate feline curve of her mouth. She fingered the satin material of her claret-colored skirt before replying. “I wanted to make sure he noticed I was there.”

“A scarlet woman at a wedding? You needn’t have been so dramatic. I am sure he noticed. I am sure he would have noticed anyway. Few things escape Longhaven. It is how he’s stayed alive so far.”

She lifted her empty glass in a mock salute. “I needed to share the happy moment with the beautiful couple. Now I am toasting it. Pour me another, darling.”

Lawrence reached over and moved the decanter of brandy a discreet distance, just far enough that it was out of reach. “That’s quite enough. Do you wish to compound your current state of self-pity by having a heavy head in the morning?”

“Heavy head?” Offended and ready for battle anyway, she narrowed her eyes.

“You’re foxed, my love. Or at least well on your way.”

The reasonable tone of his voice annoyed her. Antonia sat back in her silk-covered chair, her lashes drifting down. He was wrong: she hadn’t yet drunk
enough
. She wasn’t inebriated; she was, unfortunately, dead sober.