How to Woo a Reluctant Lady (27 page)

He caught her about the waist. “This wasn’t quite what I had in mind for tonight, darling.”

Startled, she gazed up at him, then flashed him a teasing smile. “I can’t imagine what you did have in mind that would be more important than unpacking my books.”

He took her hand and drew her toward the door. “Can’t
you?”

“Well, you already said that you wouldn’t let desire rule your life, and I don’t see why it should rule mine, so if I want to set up my study—”

He kissed her square on the lips. “All right, you made your point. I’m an idiot.”

She looped her arms about his neck. “Yes, you are. But I rather like that about you. Clearly, there’s something seriously wrong with me.”

He picked her up and headed for the bedchamber. “Absolutely. You resisted marrying me, didn’t you?”

“True. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were skittish, that’s all. Some maidens are.” He stared down into her face as he angled her through the door. “I’ve never bedded a virgin, you know.”

“Well, that’s good, because neither have I. So it should all work out.”

He laughed. “You do realize that any other man wouldn’t find that amusing.”

“Ah, but you aren’t any other man, are you?” she said, eyes bright.

Unfortunately, he really was concerned about bedding a virgin. From what he’d heard, some women had more difficulty the first time than others did. What if he hurt her? Or God forbid, made her afraid of him?

It would kill him to see Minerva look at him in fear.

Then there was his other concern, one that he’d been thinking about quite a bit the past few days. Minerva’s only lover had been the imaginary Rockton, whom she’d described as a consummate lover more than once. He wasn’t sure what that meant to a virgin. And he damned well didn’t like the idea of failing to live up to his alter ego’s fictional reputation.

So he wouldn’t fail. He would keep his desire in check until he could bring her so much pleasure that she would find their joining well worth it, despite any pain she suffered. Because he was
not
going to disappoint her on her wedding night. He was going to outperform Rockton, even if it killed him.

From the moment Giles set her down near the bed, Minerva’s heart jumped into a stammering that wouldn’t be quelled. Not that she wanted to quell it. This was the night she’d been waiting for half her life. Giles was going to make her his wife, and she could scarcely contain her excitement.

But when she reached up to remove her veil, he said, “No. Let me do it.”

Ooh, he was giving orders now. How perfectly delicious. Who could have dreamed that such a thing would thrill her?

He took it off, then let down her hair, pausing to kiss a coil of it and give her more delectable shivers. Then he turned her around and unbuttoned her gown slowly. Too slowly.

She wanted him to take her with abandon, to fall on her like a hungry animal, to show her that she inspired him to heights of reckless passion. This aching sensuality unnerved her.

“Giles, please . . .”

“Do you know how often I’ve imagined this, Minerva?” he said in a guttural voice. “Imagined undressing you piece by piece, unveiling your perfect skin, your lovely back . . .” He pressed a kiss into her back, then pushed the gown aside so he could do the same to her shoulder. “Your fine arms . . .”

“You can’t have imagined it
too
often,” she snapped, “or you wouldn’t be doing it so slowly. Besides, you already unveiled my perfect skin at the pond. I should think you’d want to unveil something a little more . . . intimate.”

“Patience, darling,” he said, laughter in his voice. “There’s
something to be said for the pleasures of anticipation.”

“Is that what you’ve learned from all your . . . I mean, they say you’ve been with hundreds . . .” Now, why had she brought that up?

Probably because his careful seduction was reminding her that he’d done this far more than she had. That she couldn’t possibly measure up to his others. Not that she was jealous of those other women. She wasn’t.

Oh, all right, she was.

“Not hundreds,” he countered. “The number is a good deal smaller.” He dragged her gown down her body to fall in a puddle of shimmering silk at her feet, then dispensed quickly with her petticoat. “And they were mere ciphers compared to you.”

Him and his silver tongue . . . no wonder he was such a good barrister. “Gran told me that you didn’t . . .
don’t
have a mistress.”

His hands stilled on her corset ties. “How did she know that?”

“Mr. Pinter found it out.”

He hesitated a moment, then continued working her laces loose until he could shove her corset off, too. It landed atop her gown and petticoat. “Your grandmother was very thorough in her investigations.”

Except that Gran hadn’t found out about his stealing. Or if she had, she hadn’t said anything to Minerva. “Gran is always thorough. She wanted to be sure I wasn’t giving myself to an out-and-out scoundrel.”

“I take it that she decided you weren’t, or she wouldn’t have let you marry me.”

“Gran had no say in that,” she said stoutly. “I chose to be here. I hope you realize that.”

His answer was to reach around and cup her breasts.

Her knees went weak. “So . . . was Mr. Pinter . . . right? You don’t have a mistress?”

Why was she harping on this? She knew he didn’t. Yet she wanted to hear him say it. If she couldn’t have words of love from him, she wanted reassurance that he really did want her and only her.

“I don’t have a mistress,” he said with an edge to his voice as he dropped his hands from her. “Truth is, I’ve only had a couple in my life, and only when I was young.”

“Truly?”

“Once I became successful, I had no time. It was less complicated to have the occasional . . . Good God, must we discuss this on our
wedding night
?”

She turned to face him, contrite. “No. I just want to know that—”

“That I chose to be here, too. That I chose you over any others.”

“Yes,” she said, relieved that he understood.

His eyes burned into hers. “Do you see that bed behind me?” he said as he tugged her against him.

She hadn’t noticed anything but him when they’d entered the room, but now she looked past him at the bed.

It was a truly fine example of a Chippendale four-poster, but the part she paid particular attention to were the hangings and coverlet of spring green figured silk. They seemed a bit . . . extravagant for a man.

“I had you in mind when I picked it out weeks ago, even before we began courting,” he said. “I kept thinking of you in it, on it, with your hair spread out about your luscious shoulders. The bedclothes are the exact color of your eyes, which I imagined shining up at me as I made love to you.”
He swept his hands down her body. “Does that answer your question?”

She couldn’t speak. Her throat was too dry, and her heart pounded like a timpani.

He bent forward to whisper in her ear, “I’ve wanted you for a very long time, Minerva. You, and only you. And if you haven’t figured that out by now, then you’re not as clever as I thought.”

There was a truth to his words that she simply couldn’t deny. But wanting her body was one thing, wanting
her
was quite another.

Still, when he took her mouth, kissing her with deep, bold strokes of his tongue, she forgot anything else but him. At least he
did
want her body. Lord knew she wanted his. And his kisses were perfect, fiercely passionate, making her eager for their bed.

Except that he was not taking her
to
their bed. His hands lingered over her, touching and caressing until she thought she’d go out of her mind. He tore his mouth from hers only so he could tug her shift up and untie her drawers. When they slithered down her legs, she dragged at his coat lapels, and he shrugged off his coat. But before she could do more, he stripped her shift off over her head, then lifted her in his arms and took the few steps to the bed, where he laid her down.

At last. He was going to make her his in every way.

But he didn’t. He just stood back to rake her from head to toe. She shivered, unsettled by the thought of being completely naked in front of him. She felt exposed, not just in body but in soul, as if he could see into all the secret parts of her. She wondered what he saw with that raw, piercing glance.

“Giles?” she asked, coming up on her elbows.

He blinked, as if she’d jerked him out of some reverie. Then
his gaze warmed.

“Now that’s a sight to make a man’s blood rise,” he rasped, his eyes continuing to devour her as he untied his cravat, tossed it aside, then unbuttoned his waistcoat. “My water nymph has turned into a seductress.”

“Not a very good one, if all I inspire you to do is look,” she said in a low, sultry voice.

“Trust me, minx, you inspire me to do far more than that.”

“But you’re taking too long. And I want to look at
you
, too.”

He flashed her his crooked smile, the endearing one that always arrowed straight to her heart. “Whatever my seductress wants.” He stripped down to his drawers in measured motions that made her want to gnash her teeth with frustration, but when he finally shucked them, too, she caught her breath.

His flesh was stiff and imposing. It stuck out from its bed of dark curls like a night watchmen’s staff, a palpable threat that she somehow hadn’t expected.

“Good Lord,” she breathed, “it’s huge.” And for some perverse reason that made it grow even larger.

He laughed. “Not really. But probably bigger than you expected.”

That was an understatement. It certainly hadn’t felt that big in her hand. Then again, she’d been a little preoccupied when she’d had her hand in his drawers. “It’s
definitely
bigger than I expected.”

“Trust me, darling,” he said drily, “you’ll be glad of that in the end.”

She wasn’t at all sure about that. No wonder people said that the first time always hurt. Now she wondered whether the second, third, and fourth times hurt, too.

He climbed onto the bed, and she actually scooted away
from him.

“Oh, no, you don’t, minx,” he said huskily as he threw one leg over hers. “You’re not getting out of this that easily.”

Then he kissed her again, and that soothed her a little. Especially when he began to knead her breast and fondle her below, as he had before. This part was quite enjoyable, and he did it quite well. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been in such a hurry to move things along—she could easily keep doing this part forever.

Within a few moments, he had her squirming beneath his hand, and the same strange sensation that she’d felt at the pond rose from between her legs, like heat stealing through her veins, tingling over her skin, making her arch into him for more.

Then abruptly his hand was gone. She opened her eyes—she wasn’t sure exactly when she’d closed them—to find him moving down her body. What on earth?

He kissed her belly, then moved lower still. She grew self-conscious. Did he have to look at her
there
? It wasn’t a particularly pretty part of her, though she had to admit his admiring stare was making her hot and bothered.

Then he kissed her thatch of curls, and she nearly shot up off the bed. “What the devil are you
doing
?” she cried and tried to pull her legs together.

But his hands now gripped her thighs, holding her open to his rakish gaze. “Relax, darling. You’ll like it.”

“Oh, you think so, do you?” she said as he covered her there with his mouth. “I can’t imagine why I would . . . why I might . . . oh . . . Oh my . . . Giles . . . Oh, my word . . . oh, Giles!”

He just chuckled and kept doing wicked things to her with his mouth and teeth. She wanted to be angry at him for being so dratted in control while she was writhing and moaning, but it was hard to be angry when the most amazing feelings were rocketing through her. She was sure she was about to
explode. She
wanted
to explode, but before she could, he left her hanging and moved back up over her.

“No, Giles, not yet!” she cried out.

“Don’t worry, darling, I mean to give you everything you want. But I want to be with you when I do.”

She blew out a frustrated breath. “I don’t see how
that’s
going to help anything.” Her whole body felt strung tight, like a fiddler’s bowstring ready to snap. “But I suppose you’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you?”

“Not unless you don’t want me to,” he said, his voice sounding decidedly strained. His eyes were a brilliant blue, sharp and hard like faceted sapphires, and his jaw was set, as if he struggled to contain himself.

That small sign of a break in his control reassured her a little. Perhaps he was having a difficult time of it, too—though she couldn’t imagine how, given his vast experience in bedding women.

The thought made her scowl. And lie. “Of course I want you to. I’m your wife, aren’t I?”

“Not entirely,” he choked out. “But you will be.”

Then he pressed himself inside her. It was quite unnerving, but before she could tell him so, he began mating his tongue with hers in that slow dance that she so enjoyed. At the same time he filled one hand with her breast, teasing the nipple until the sweet, hot honey of desire trickled through her again.

And all the while he inched farther inside her. Her body actually accommodated him. Not
well
, mind you. It wasn’t as comfortable as she would like, but it was . . . interesting.

When she reached up to clutch his shoulders, he tore his mouth from hers to whisper, “It feels amazing to be inside you, darling. You’re so soft.”

“I wish I could say the same about you,” she retorted.

Her curst husband actually had the nerve to laugh. “No, you don’t. Trust me.”

“I’m trying to trust you, but you’re making it awfully difficult.”

“Lift your knees,” he said. “That will help.”

She did as he said, and he slid into her another couple of inches. “Help who?” she muttered under her breath. But then she felt it—the way he now pressed against the part of her he fondled whenever he was trying to drive her insane with lust. “Ohhh,” she murmured. “That’s intriguing.”