The Inheritance (25 page)

She moaned, and her hips arched against him. Nicholas felt the blood race to his groin but held himself still, letting her thrust against him until he couldn’t stand the pleasure any more. He slipped a leg between her thighs and lifted her onto it.

She gasped and leaned farther into him, pressing her breasts against his chest.

Daisy was lost in a euphoria of pleasure. The fear was still there, but buried by layers of want and need and desire. She gave herself up to Nicholas, body
and soul, gave him the trust he had asked for, even though she knew he would never give it in return.

She felt a moment of panic when he lifted her and carried her to the bed, but he never gave her a chance to run. One quick thrust and he was inside her.

He paused then.

Daisy kept her eyes closed, afraid Nicholas would see the surprise—and elation—she felt. It hadn’t hurt at all. His entry had been slick and smooth. She wanted to shout hosanna. But then she might have to let Nicholas in on her secret.

She should have known he wouldn’t let her hide from him.

“Daisy. Open your eyes.”

She did, just enough to see him in the twilight. “It isn’t at all like I thought it would be.” She arched her body experimentally under his, and he bit back a groan. Daisy wiggled her fanny, and Nicholas pressed her flat with his hips.

“If you don’t stay still this is going to be over before it’s gotten started,” he growled.

“No, it’s not like I expected at all,” she confessed, her fingers walking up his chest to slide confidently into his hair.

Nicholas’s grin was slow in coming, but it spread until it reached his eyes. “Oh? What did you expect? Gunfire and Indian drums?”

Daisy smiled, a lazy curl of her lips. “I would have liked that, I think.”

He laughed. “No you wouldn’t,” he assured her. “Too noisy. I wouldn’t be able to hear those little purring kitten sounds you make in your throat when I touch you,” he said as he began to move slowly in
and out of her. “I wouldn’t be able to hear you moan,” he said as his hands cupped her breasts. “And I wouldn’t be able to hear your cry of satisfaction when you reach the pinnacle of desire.”

“I would never … I don’t …”

“You do,” he assured her. And proved his point by taking her nipple in his mouth to suckle and drawing from her a low, gasping groan.

Daisy had never been so conscious of the sounds that came from her throat. But she couldn’t stop them. The gasps. The moans. The groans. And the cry of pleasure he had promised when he arched above her, his body racked with pleasure as he spilled his seed.

Their bodies were slick, their breathing labored as he slid off her. He pulled her into his arms with her buttocks spooned into his groin and slipped a leg over her. Then he fell asleep.

Daisy felt the tears sting her nose and swallowed back the sob of joy that threatened to break free. She had never been so happy. Or so downright miserable. She had finally found a man who made her body sing for him and whom she knew she had pleased, as well. It was wonderful to lie entwined with him, to know they would awaken together in the morning.

That was the good part.

The bad part was, all this was entirely temporary. When Nicholas left England she would have years and years to lie in bed alone and remember this night.

Nicholas’s hand tightened possessively around her waist.

Daisy closed her eyes and bit her lip. It was better
not to think about the future. Better simply to enjoy the moment while she could.

She drifted off, expecting to sleep until morning. It was still dark when she heard a match strike, smelled sulfur, and blinked her eyes against the yellow glow of the kerosene lamp beside the bed. Daisy had the fleeting thought that Priss would have loved the ornate lamp. The white globe was circled by at least four inches of red fringe.

“Nicholas? What are you doing up? It’s the middle of the night.”

Nicholas debated whether to tell her the truth. He had been dreaming, of course. And the dream had woken him, as it always did. Fortunately, Daisy had slept through his restlessness before he awoke. Nicholas felt a tightness in his chest. It was amazing that he should be here as the Duke of Severn, with this lovely, luminous woman lying beside him. It was far more than he deserved, a gift he should treasure.

He reached out and laid a callused hand on Daisy’s satiny hip.

Daisy flushed when she realized they were both still naked. And that Nicholas was staring at her with avid eyes. She wasn’t sure what part of her most needed covering. When she lifted a hand, he said, “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t hide from me. You’re beautiful. Exquisite, really.” He laid his hand on her hip and slid it across her hipbone to her belly, then down into the nest of curls between her thighs.

Daisy was mortified. “What are you doing?”

“Making love to you.”

“I don’t … You can’t …”

“You do … I can …” he said with a teasing laugh. His fingers slid inside her, first one, then another.

Daisy tensed for the pain, then realized she was embarrassingly wet down there.

“Relax. I promise this won’t hurt a bit.”

Daisy laughed nervously. “It already does.”

He paused and looked at her face. “Really? Does it?”

“It doesn’t hurt, exactly. But it feels … strange. My body …”

“Is responding to mine,” Nicholas said in a husky voice.

Daisy felt his thumb move across a particular spot and hissed in a breath of air. Her fingers clenched on the sheets. “That feels good.”

“I’m glad,” Nicholas said.

“Should I touch you?”

“Do you want to?”

Daisy was torn between wanting to touch and being shy and embarrassed. Nicholas solved the problem when he brought her hand to his chest and slowly slid it down to his abdomen. He stopped there, leaving it to Daisy to decide whether she wanted to do more.

Daisy did.

It was strange, Daisy mused much later, how easy it was to shed her inhibitions with Nicholas. He had no modesty at all and allowed her none. His delight in sex was earthy and natural, and he expected her to enjoy their bedplay every bit as much as he did. Daisy was more than willing to experiment. In fact, she discovered that Nicholas was as vulnerable to
being kissed and touched all over as she was. It was a heady experience to reduce him to gasps and groans and cries of pleasure as he had done with her.

It was only when daylight came, when the dawn seeped through the windows, that Daisy realized the folly of what she had done. During the night, Nicholas had demanded everything of her. And she had given him body, heart, and soul.

She had meant to take, not to give.

It was time to step back and reexamine the marriage of convenience she had so blithely entered. It was time to think of self-preservation. Two weeks of this kind of loving and she would never be able to let him go. But he would leave. He had no roots to keep him in England.

Daisy rose from the bed and dressed, careful not to wake Nicholas. This honeymoon was over. He could go to London by himself. She was going home. It wasn’t far, and she could probably be there before he roused.

Once she was home, she would be safe from him. He wouldn’t be able to force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. If he did, she would scream for help. The servants at Severn were her people, and, duke or not, they would come to her rescue.

Daisy took one long last look at the sleeping beast before she closed the door behind her. She knew she had to make her escape quickly. Because when Nicholas awoke, she knew the barbarian would be back.

Daisy told John Coachman that a business emergency had made it necessary for His Grace to leave The Wolf and the Lamb during the night and that she was returning to Severn Manor to await his return. She gave no reason for scheduling her departure before it was light enough to see the road, leaving it to the servants to assume it was a simple matter of the Quality being corkbrained and clothheaded.

Daisy gnawed all her fingernails to the quick during the journey home, then was so upset with herself for running away, instead of staying to challenge the duke and demanding new terms for their marriage of convenience, that she burst into tears. She found the handkerchief in her reticule and dabbed at her eyes. It wouldn’t do for the servants to see her crying. She was supposed to be a happily married woman. Although it probably didn’t matter whether she continued the charade, since Nicholas would arrive very shortly to obliterate it.

He was going to be livid.

Daisy’s chin came up a notch at the mere thought of confronting the duke. It had been his idea to take her to bed. She hadn’t promised she was going to
like it, or that she was going to hop cheerfully between the sheets whenever he ordered it.

She sniffed and wiped her nose with her damp handkerchief. If only it were a real marriage. If only he were in love with her. Then everything would be fine. Because, to tell the truth, she had liked what happened between the sheets just fine. It was the threat of heartbreak that concerned her. Nicholas had the power to destroy her.

Daisy knew it was imperative that the servants believe her story about the duke’s business. There was the slim possibility that Nicholas wouldn’t come storming in and shatter the illusion she was creating for both their sakes.

“Good afternoon, Thompson,” she said as the butler held open the door for her.

“Welcome home, Your Grace.”

She saw the questions in Thompson’s eyes and blessed the man for not asking them. “Please tell Mrs. Motherwell to send up some water for my bath. Tell Cook I’ll have tea in the drawing room in an hour.”

Daisy walked up the stairs to her room knowing that word would quickly spread through the house that she had returned from her honeymoon after a single night, and that she had come without the duke.

Jane was scheduled to leave shortly on her trip to London. She was just putting away the last of the laundered and pressed clothing in Daisy’s closet, checking as she did for clothing that needed repair, when Daisy walked through her bedroom door.

“Your Grace! Why are you here? Where is His Grace? What happened?”

“Let me close the door first, Jane,” Daisy said, as she shut out all the curious ears in the hall. It was a relief to be home, to be in her room, to have made it here at last. She wanted to lie down on the bed and close her eyes and sleep. Three hundred years sounded about right.

“Are you all right?” Jane quickly spied the mark on Daisy’s throat, which Daisy had forgotten in her agitation. “That brute! Look what he did to you.”

As soon as Jane mentioned it, Daisy’s hand flew to her neck. “It’s nothing.” But she flushed as red as a beet.

“Nothing, is it? That man should be horsewhipped!”

“Then you’d have to whip me, too,” Daisy murmured, sinking onto her bed.

“What?”

“I marked him, as well.”

“Oh. So that’s how it is. Well, if you took to each other so fine, what are you doing back here? Where is His Grace? Did he come with you?”

“I left the duke at The Wolf and the Lamb, the inn where he took me last night,” Daisy explained. “He … he …” She couldn’t say Nicholas was going to London, because he might return to Severn. She couldn’t say he was returning to Severn, because he might go on to London. “Something came up. The duke asked me to return home and wait for him.”

“You had a fight with him.” Jane stated it as a fact.

“No,” Daisy contradicted.

“He abandoned you on your honeymoon?” Jane was aghast. “I’ll murder His Grace myself.”

Daisy was moved by her maid’s defense of her.
“Don’t blame His Grace, Jane. The choice to come home was mine.”

Jane didn’t presume to sit beside the duchess on the bed. But she had been Her Grace’s confidante for too many years not to offer a sympathetic ear. “I wish I understood what all this means.”

Daisy lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, oblivious to everything around her. Jane began to undress her, as though she were a child.

“There, there now, Your Grace. It will all work out. You’ll see. He’ll come back home, and everything will be fine.”

Daisy wasn’t listening. She was back in the soft feather bed at the inn, with the duke’s sweat-slick body wrapped around her. She could feel his strong arms and smell the musky scents of their lovemaking on the sheets. She was warm and languorous and felt loved and protected.

Illusion. It was all illusion. He was not what he seemed to be. Their marriage was not what it seemed to be.

Daisy felt the tears well in her eyes and tried to blink them back. One spilled over anyway. She turned her face away so Jane wouldn’t see.

Jane had already seen the tears. And cursed the man who caused them. She would let them know downstairs what the duke had done. Then see if his hot shaving water didn’t come cold and late, or if his food didn’t manage to get burned and if his horse was ready when he wanted it. There was no way to retaliate directly, but His Grace would pay for hurting their darling Daisy.

“Please leave me, Jane,” Daisy said. “I want to be alone.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.” Jane had stripped Daisy to her chemise and pantalets. She had seen where the duke’s whiskers had abraded Daisy’s fine skin and where his teeth had marked her shoulder. Lord knew what other claims the duke had made on the duchess. He was a savage, all right. No question about it.