Louise Allen Historical Collection (55 page)

‘
Please
, Elliott, let me say this,’ Arabella said with a desperate earnestness that cut through his own preoccupations and silenced him. ‘I know I am a coward. It will hurt, I expect that, but it was a little better last time. And the more I think about it, the worse it is going to be. So, really, I would much rather you just did it again now. I will get accustomed, honestly I will.’

‘Hurt?’ He stared at her, then picked up the blanket and laid it over her cold white body. The brandy was still on the nightstand. He took another swallow, handed her the glass and sat down on the end of the bed. ‘Drink. Arabella, were you so stiff because you expected it to be very painful? Is that why you were crying? Did I hurt you on our wedding night?’

‘Yes, but it was not your fault.’ She sat up, dragging the blanket to cover her breasts. ‘I am such a coward. I knew it would hurt. It was just that the first time...I hadn’t expected it to be so bad, you see. And so much blood was frightening.’

Dear God
. Elliott closed his eyes.
You selfish, randy, thoughtless swine, Rafe. A notch on your bedpost, that is all this girl was to you. A virgin and you brutalised her for sport as though she was a hardened whore, left her torn and pregnant
. Had he damaged her permanently?

‘Have you healed?’ he asked gently when he managed to open his eyes with some confidence that the blazing anger would not show in them.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I did. I am fine now, truly, Elliott.’ The wide hazel eyes fixed on him, determined, and, through the fear, trusting. ‘It really was not so bad the other night.’

If Rafe had come back to life and walked through the door at that moment, Elliott realised, he would have punched him on the jaw. ‘Not tonight,’ he said, making up his mind. ‘You are cold and upset. I am...tired. But I promise you that next time it will not hurt. Not at all. And you will enjoy it.’

‘Enjoy it?’ She looked so bemused by the concept that he almost laughed.

‘You have my word.’

‘But you do not understand.’ She bit her lip, then took a deep breath. ‘You see, even before he...before I was expecting it to hurt, I was no good. I am clumsy, you see. Inept. Probably frigid.’

‘What?’

‘I am very sorry. I am trying, but it is difficult, knowing that whatever I do you will be disappointed. I expect you had a mistress who was very skilled and beautiful—that’s why I wouldn’t mind if you went back to her.’ He saw her throat move convulsively as she swallowed. ‘Well, no, I
would
mind, but I know it is my fault so I would never reproach you.’

‘Who told you that about yourself? Rafe, of course.’ The anger became a red haze, then he saw the look in her eyes and made himself be calm.

Bella saw the fury in Elliott’s eyes subside and drew in a shuddering breath. She must not cry, that would only make him angry again. She had told him, confessed to her failure as a wife and now he had the worst confirmed. No, not quite that—soon she would be as big as a whale, even clumsier. He had been kind about her looks, but then he was a kind man and had been trying to put her at her ease.

‘Arabella,’ Elliott said, ‘Rafe was selfish, grasping and insensitive. He set out to seduce you with every intention of abandoning you, right from the first. He did not care about you, not one iota. When he had what he wanted, the last thing he needed was a woman who thought herself in love, who expected things from him, who clung. And the easiest way to prevent that was to be as cruel as possible, to hurt your heart and your mind as he had already hurt your body by his heedlessness.’

‘He was lying?’ But Rafe had lost his temper with her—could that have been feigned?

‘Yes. That is what Rafe did. I do not. I will not lie to you, Arabella. You are not a classical beauty, but I think you lovely, graceful and charming. I desire you. When I tell you that you must believe me or call me a liar.’

‘Oh.’
Lovely?
‘I believe you, Elliott.’ The truth was in his eyes. ‘But—’

‘You were a virgin. Of course you had no idea what to do, how it would be—how it should have been. It was up to him to be gentle, to be thoughtful, to show you with patience what your body needed and how you could please him too.’

‘I should not have known instinctively, then?’

‘No, of course not. Your body knows some things, but your mind does not. Can you swim?’

‘Yes. Mama taught us in the millpond, long ago.’
When Papa had been away one long hot summer. Mama and Meg and little Lina…

‘Did it take a little while to learn?’

‘Of course.’

‘And what would have happened if she had grabbed you and thrown you into deep water?’

‘I would have panicked, flailed around and drowned, I suppose. Elliott, do you mean that making love is the same?’

‘Yes.’ He leaned back against the bedpost, careful not to touch her, she realised. ‘Just the same.’

The relief was incredible. It had not been her at all. The concept that she might be able to please her husband, that making love was something that might give her pleasure, was breathtaking. ‘So, kissing is like paddling close to the shore?’

‘It can be. It can be like diving into deep water, too. Arabella, we can take all the time you need to learn. All I ask is that you are honest with me and tell me how you feel.’

‘Could we start now?’ she asked, greatly daring. ‘Can I try to make love to you?’

‘Yes.’ It sounded as though he was having trouble breathing.

Before she could think about it too much Bella wriggled out of her nest of blankets and down to the end of the bed. ‘Then you must take off your dressing gown.’

‘You do it.’ That was daunting. Bella tugged at the knot, then pushed the robe back over his broad shoulders. ‘Would you like me to lie down?’ Elliott enquired, the corner of his mouth twitching.

‘Yes, please.’ He was teasing her a little, but he was not laughing at her. Confronted by six foot and several inches of large naked man, Bella wondered where she was supposed to start. The top seemed safest and she knew that kissing was something she could do.

She lay down along Elliott’s right side, put a tentative hand on his shoulder and leaned across to kiss him on the mouth. It was disconcerting to be on top and to feel the heat of his body below hers, the spring of hair tickling her breasts, but it also felt safe not to be trapped under a man’s weight. Elliott had kissed her neck, her shoulder; perhaps he would like it if she did the same to him.

Bella let her mouth roam and discovered that he tasted good, smelt better and that there was a pleasure to be had in the feel of satin skin over hard muscle. Elliott appeared to like what she was doing too, until her hand carelessly brushed his nipple. Instantly it hardened under the palm. ‘Oh. I’m sorry—’

‘Don’t be,’ he said, touching her in the same way. ‘You see? You could use your mouth,’ he suggested.

Breathless, she slid lower, licking and kissing. How odd that to pleasure him—and the way his body tensed told her that she was doing that—gave her pleasure too. Her breasts felt swollen and acutely sensitive as they moved against Elliott’s body and she felt a growing ache of pleasurable need low in her belly.

Now she was lower down his body her left hand, the one that was not pressed against his heart, was lower too. It brushed coarse hair, then hot hard flesh and Bella froze. Elliott simply took her hand in his and curled it around his erection. ‘Hold tight,’ he said, the lightness in his tone suddenly changing as she took him at his word. ‘Ah,
yes.
Arabella…’

She looked up. His eyes were closed, his head thrown back on the pillow as if he was in pain, but the low growl that came from his throat was one of pleasure and when she let him show her how to move her hand it became a gasp.

I am touching my husband and he is enjoying it. I am not inept, not clumsy.
It felt so good, so right, but she had no idea what to do next. ‘Elliott?’

He opened his eyes and looked at her, the deep blue almost black, the lids hooded, his lips slightly parted. For a long moment they looked into each other’s eyes and then he rolled, taking her with him until she lay beneath him. ‘Slowly, this time,’ Elliott murmured and began to enter her.

It was slow, and for the first time Bella discovered that there was pleasure, that her body would open to caress his and that she could move to find the right angle to cradle him. And then, mysteriously, it was too slow and she wanted him, wanted that hard, possessive thrust. ‘Elliott, please?’

The dark eyes smiled into hers as he moved, took her fully, and set up a rhythm that rocked her up, up into a place that was full of sensation, tension, aching need. She felt his hand slide between their bodies and touch her and the tight knot unravelled into sensation so acute that everything went black, she lost herself and fell.

And Elliott caught her and she felt him cry out and go rigid and then there was peace.

Bella found herself again, tucked against Elliott’s side, her cheek on his shoulder, his arm around her.

‘Arabella?’

‘Mmm?’

‘Do you need me to tell you that you have pleased your husband?’ She could not see his face, but she could hear he was smiling.

‘I do not think so,’ she said, her own smile ending in a kiss against the smooth skin below his collar bone.

‘Would you like to go back to your own room?’

Oh. No, I would not. I want to stay here with you and perhaps…
But it was not fashionable for wives and husbands to share a bedchamber and no doubt Elliott wanted his privacy and his rest now. After all, what had been a miracle for her was simply what he would expect as the minimum from a lover. He had been very patient with her.

‘Thank you, I think I would.’ Bella made her voice as polite and distant as she could. She must not spoil all that had been gained tonight by seeming needy or clinging.

Elliott was still for a moment, then he got up, lifted her in his arms and carried her through to her own bed.

‘Goodnight, my dear,’ he said as he bent and kissed her, and was gone.

E
lliott built on the lessons of that revelatory night during the next week. There were kisses when he came upon her alone, on the mouth, the hand, the nape of her neck if he surprised her, and at night long, passionate kisses when he came to her room and showed her how to listen to her own body and to read his. But he left her afterwards alone in her bed. She wished he would stay so that perhaps they could talk, relaxed and intimate together. She could tell him her feelings and perhaps he would reveal more about his hopes and fears and plans. But viscountesses did not hang upon their husbands’ sleeves and expect to behave as though they were partners in a love match.

And it was wrong and ungrateful to expect more than Elliott had already given her.

‘My lady?’ Gwen asked, her hand with the hair-brush suspended as she saw the expression on Bella’s face in the glass.

‘Oh, nothing. Just a foolish thought about something I have no courage to do. I will go out and visit tenants today again, so my walking dress, if you please.’

The visiting was going well, she thought as she sat in the gig, one of the grooms at the reins and Gwen beside her. She would like to learn to drive, but Elliott would not hear of it, not while she was pregnant. And even on the estate she must take Gwen as well as the groom.

‘You are mollycoddling me,’ she had said, trying for a light tone, hoping he might say that he would come and drive her himself so they could be alone and she could watch him at work.

‘I am trying to look after you,’ was all he would say before he strode off. Breakfasts were becoming increasingly precious. Dinners were formal, just the two of them. More lessons in conversation, table manners, formality that continued into the evening and careful discussions of neutral topics over the tea tray, with the pulsing awareness of the bedrooms upstairs always at the back of her mind. And then the wonder of lovemaking and the lonely comfort of a luxurious bed.

‘Mrs Trubshaw’s, my lady,’ the groom said, pulling up in front of a cottage with a sagging roof and an overgrown garden. ‘You said you wanted to start here today.’

‘Thank you, John.’ Bella got down and made herself think about something she did have some control over. Mrs Fanshawe had told her all about the Trubshaws. Father had run off when pursued by the gamekeepers for poaching and had not been seen for seven months, the eldest daughter had a wasted leg and could only get around on a crutch, the son was rapidly heading along the same path to crime as his father and Mrs Trubshaw was pregnant with the baby due at any moment.