The Irish Bride (25 page)

She rose up, her knees on either side of his hips. Nick held very steady, in an agony of suspense, while she positioned herself, rubbing lightly over his stomach and groin, tearing a groan from his throat. She paused inquisitively and it was all he could do not to grab her, roll her under him, and do all that he’d dreamed of.

Then, finally, everything began to go right. He was safely where he wanted to be, brushing away his lady’s tears while she moved experimentally, trying to accustom herself to this so natural, so unnatural act. Then Nick put his valor to the test. He held on, fighting his understandable urge to find his own pleasure, until Rietta began to be more at ease.

All his good intentions were shattered when she leaned down over him, breasts like ripe fruit, to kiss him as he’d shown her. The sight, the taste, the fragrance of this woman, coupled with the excitement shining in her beautiful eyes just for him, wiped out his self-control like a tidal wave sweeping him off his feet. Even as he shuddered in a long release, he was wondering how he could make up to her for his inconsideration.

She sat across him, staring down with a peculiar expression on her face. She looked like a wild bird, wondering if it were safe to investigate a seed. “Are you all right now?”

“All right.”

“You didn’t breathe for the longest time.”

“You take my breath away, Rietta.” He reached up into the mass of her hair to stroke her soft cheeks, to drag a finger across the contour of her lips and be rewarded by a gentle clench of secret chambers.

“Did you like it?” he asked, daring his masculine pride.

“Oh.” She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, loose and easy. Her long hair swished down her back, but Nick had eyes only for her upthrust breasts and the smooth slide of his hands over the perfect contours of her figure.

“If an ancient Greek sculptor saw you like this,” he said, considering the matter before he spoke, “he would have bitten his chisel in two and thrown the bits to Poseidon.”

To his delight, she preened. He guessed there’d been little enough praise of her in her father’s household. Yet what he’d told her had been no less than the truth. Blanche would have been a dream come true to a man newly returned home from the uniquely men’s idea of a good time—namely, fighting a war. Yet no man with eyes to see past her beauty into her shallow soul would look twice at Blanche if Rietta stood nearby. Nick vowed then and there that not a day would pass without him finding something pleasant to say to her.

Her eyes; shy, she moved away from him to sit cross-legged on the carpet, her body curving protectively inward. Though her modesty was not displeasing to him, Nick wanted to put her at ease. “Are you thirsty?”

“No, thank you.”

“Hungry?”

Her long hair swished as she shook her head. “Mrs. Cook’s eggs were enough for now, thank you. But don’t worry. I shan’t stay long.”

Nick suddenly couldn’t bear her being so coolly polite. He ran his hand over her shining back, her start of surprise communicating itself to her. “You may stay, Rietta, till the sun and the moon dance their way into the sea if it pleases you. You are my wife; that’s eternal.”

“I suppose it must be, or I never should have walked in here tonight”

With his hand on her shoulder, Nick made her face him. “You wanted this?”

She closed her eyes. “I must have done. I cannot lie and say ‘it’s all your doing,’ can I?”

“No, you mustn’t lie to me. Naked, like this, on the floor, like this, all we have is our honesty.” He stroked the back of his fingers down her cheek. “I couldn’t resist you when you were just another woman. My powers of self-denial are utterly gone now that you are mine.”

He kissed her again, feeling deep in his soul that he had made a vow more solemn than those of the marriage tie he’d contracted. This was the first true kiss of their marriage and every one that followed it would be a continuation of his promise to keep and cherish forever. He could not tell if what he felt was love—that word carried too many burdens—but, in his case as he well knew, responsibility was far more binding a tie than adoration.

“Nick?” she murmured. “I was wondering ...”

“Hmmm?” One of her hands rested on his waist. He placed his own over it and guided it lower.

“Oh! Oh, my.”

He sucked in breath through his teeth. “Gently. Smoothly. God, yes....”

A few moments went by before he prompted her. “You wondered something.”

“Did I? Oh, yes. Could we move to the bed? This floor is rather hard on my knees.”

He laughed, not loudly, for he was in no case to shake with laughter. “Whatever you desire, my lady,” he said.

He moved her hands away and stood up. She remained, kneeling at his feet, gazing up at him with that air of hesitant curiosity that charmed and confounded him. “You’re very handsome,” she said. With slim fingers, she reached out to curve around him again.

Nick woke up hours later, his wife asleep beside him, her long, red hair flowing over his shoulders and stomach like curling silken ribbons. At some point, he realized, he’d dragged a coverlet off the bed to swirl over them, while his dressing gown made an admirable pillow. Really, he thought, floors aren’t that uncomfortable. I wonder if we ever
will
make it to the bed? He grinned and closed his eyes once more.

Then he realized what had awakened him. Someone was knocking softly at the bedroom door.

Chapter Sixteen

Rietta awoke to the sound of a voice and blazing sunlight. In an effort to evade both, she rolled over and pulled the coverlet over her head. The light was filtered to a softer glow, but the voice went on.

“Yes, I’m coming,” Nick said. She remembered his door having a peculiar chirping creak. She heard it now as it opened. “Thank you, Sarah.”

“Gentleman to see you, Sir Nick.” That was the young maid—What was her name?

“A gentleman, Sarah? Who?”

Rietta peeped out of a gap in the coverlet, her eyes blinking against the light. She saw Nick’s back, draped with a sheet held negligently against his hip. His back was marked by scars, the worst one ragged and star-shaped, high on his left shoulder, but she only noticed them in passing. She studied instead the play of muscles under his shoulders and the dimples above his firm backside. Then she noticed that some of the marks on his back were straight lines, so new they were still red. Her hands seemed to pulse with the realization that she’d left those with her raking nails.

The maid gave a giggle. “He says he’s yer father-in-law.”

“Does he?” Rietta saw him turn and appraise the formless lump which was all he could see, she hoped, of her. Nonetheless, she shut her eyes tightly just in case their gleam caught his attention. “Kindly tell Mr. Ferris that I shall be with him shortly. Offer him some tea or whatever is suitable for the hour. What time is it, anyway?”

“Her ladyship took luncheon an hour ago, Sir Nick. She said we weren’t t’be bothering you. ‘He’ll ring when he’s hungry,’ she says.”

“I’m hungry, Sarah. Tell Cook.”

“What should I ask for?” Sarah said, obviously thrown off her balance by this unusual hour for eating. “Luncheon or breakfast?”

“I’m not certain what my lady would like. Send up a variety.”

Nick closed the door. Rietta felt his footsteps rattle the floor as he walked toward her. Though part of her longed to throw off the coverlet, exposing her body once again to his amazing touch, another, slightly more embarrassed, part demanded time. She needed to assess all that had happened and what it meant to her future.

The instant passed. Nick walked away. She dared to open her eyes once more. She saw him, the sheet restored to the bed, standing before the window. In his hands he held a brightly flowered bundle which she recognized, after a few moments’ squinting study, as the shawl she’d dropped outside his door last night. The maid must have given it to him.

Now he stood smiling down at it, like a man pleasantly puzzled. Rietta wondered if he, too, might not appreciate some time to be amazed at all that had happened. She’d steal these moments to gaze on her husband as much as she liked. Remembering what astounding pleasure he’d given her, she sighed luxuriously.

He tossed the shawl on the bed and proceeded to dress. His movements were marked by neatness and a rapidity that was quite efficient. He shaved, dressed, and pulled on his boots without the aid of a servant. So far as Rietta could tell, he never made an unnecessary motion and she knew he didn’t make a single sound. If it hadn’t been for the vibration of his feet and later the tap of his boots, she would have believed herself to be alone.

When he had tied his cravat and adjusted the single pin in the folds, he came and knelt beside their impromptu bed. He ran his hand lightly over the contours of her hidden body and Rietta deeply regretted not having thrown off that cover when she’d had the chance.

“Rietta? Rietta? Are you awake, my dear?”

“Just barely.”

“I must go downstairs now to see a man about something. I won’t be long. Sarah will bring you breakfast. If you need anything else, just ask her.”

“See a man?” Her voice was thick enough without her having to feign anything. She threw back the coverlet, wanting to see what he looked like when he lied. “Mr. Daltrey?”

“No, not him. This is someone utterly unimportant but he’ll make a nuisance of himself if I don’t see him at least once. Never mind.” He smiled at her and she hated him for the smug complacency she saw there. “Maybe you’d better move to the bed. Shall I carry you?”

“No. I don’t want to muss you.”

“You would, too.” He leaned down and kissed her, in a way that made it quite clear that he was pleased with himself. Then he paused before kissing her again in a way that showed how very pleased he was with her. Rietta, despite everything, longed to wind herself around him like a purring cat.

“What have you done to me?” she asked in despair.

His brows twitched together at her tone, yet he could still smile. “Let me get rid of this old fool and I’ll come back to refresh your memory. Rietta...” He shook his head. “It’ll take all day to tell. When I come back ...”

Even so, he lingered a moment more just gazing down at her. He made Rietta nervous when that possessive gleam showed in his eyes, but it was a nervousness that had more to do with anticipated pleasure than fear.

When the door had closed behind him, Rietta sat up. Then she groaned as her back, especially her lower back, protested against the sudden movement. It reminded her of the way she’d felt the morning after she’d first learned to ride a horse. The experiences were not that dissimilar, now that she thought about it.

Rietta learned that even depravity did not mean a loss of the ability to blush.

A hot bath had relieved the ache after her riding lessons but there was no time for that remedy now. She must find out what her father wanted with Nick. She doubted he wanted to know how the honeymoon progressed. For all he cared, Nick had murdered her in the night and put her body in a room with those of his other eight wives.

Attired in a man’s dressing gown five sizes too big, and a dusty shawl, Rietta crept back to her own room, praying fervently that she wouldn’t meet anyone. Ignoring the twinges that plagued her with sudden motion, Rietta hurried into a simple dress that buttoned down the front from breast to hem.

Her hair was a tangled knot. Dressing gowns did not make good pillows! She scraped the mass ruthlessly off her face with a comb and bundled the rest into a lopsided snood. With her stocking garters tied, feet scuffed into shoes, and a
little perfume rubbed in behind her ears, Rietta ran downstairs, determined to find her father and her husband.

She found her new mother-in-law instead. Lady Kirwan stood bent at the waist beside a pair of large wooden doors, her entire attitude that of an eavesdropper. She saw Rietta and a darker color came into her cheeks. But she held a finger to her lips, enjoining silence, and held out her hand in invitation.

Rietta glanced around, saw they were alone, and glided noiselessly to Lady Kirwan’s side. The older woman squeezed her hand and whispered, the merest breath of sound, “Nick and your father—

“I know. Ssh.”

“Quite a touching ceremony, I thought it,” said her father. “I was touched, all right. That mad monk wanted another twenty pounds on top of what I’d already paid him. There’s no charity left in this hard world.”

“Quite the philosopher,” Nick said, though Rietta hardly recognized his voice for it had turned cold and sneering. “Come to the point, Ferris. I’ve no time to waste on oily pleasantries.”

“Nor have I, come to consider it. A man in my position has many calls on his time.”

Rietta could imagine her father preening himself like a fat cock on a dunghill. He’d achieved everything he wanted in one master stroke—married a daughter to a titled son-in-law, become the sole voice of authority in his house and business, and bound to him the woman of his tawdry dreams. The fact that his daughter would never forgive him didn’t even weigh in the scales

“Come away, Lady Kirwan,” Rietta said in nearly a normal tone. She couldn’t bear it, listening to her father beside a woman who must be sick at the revelation of the sort of man who’d raised her new daughter-in-law. “Let’s not listen any further....”

“Ssh ...” Lady Kirwan took the big brass knob in her bony hand and pushed so that the opening widened slightly. Now Rietta could both hear and see, though only in flashes as the two men circled around each other like panthers sharing the same cage.

“I like to do my business in a timely fashion,” Mr. Ferris said. There came a muffled clink that had something strangely aggressive about it.

Rietta knew what it was without looking, for she’d seen her father do it before. It was his trick, the mannerism he used at parties or meetings, to increase his prestige without involving any actual work. He kept a bag of shiny golden sovereigns handy so that he could lob them onto a convenient surface if there was any doubt of his wealth. ‘There.” His tone was a marvelous combination of pride, greed, and haste. “As promised, the first of your little bags, each containing a hundred pounds in gold.”