The Proud Viscount (21 page)

His hands followed the trail of the sensation, kneading their way down her satin flesh to the forest of hair and beyond. Before she could even grasp the intensity of her reaction, his mouth had come to rest on one nipple. Again a shock of feeling raced down to meet the new sensations called forth by the hand that spread her legs apart. His lips encircled her nipple, massaging it, suckling it until it was like a cord to her interior, tugging on her very insides, the tension mounting, mounting, with each renewed assault.

He had her legs spread apart and his fingers searched within the soft folds to unveil the entrance to her waiting body. His fingers rubbed a sensitive spot in their search, causing her to moan softly. In order to position himself above her, his mouth left her breast while his hand remained to guide his swollen manhood into the moist opening.

The pleasure Jane had been experiencing was abruptly eclipsed by pain. Her moan of joy turned into a groan of hurt. Rossmere murmured something she didn’t hear.

“You’re hurting me,” she whispered fiercely.

“It will only be a moment. The maidenhead must be broken,” he explained, though his voice sounded far away.

Jane was mainly aware of the thrusting, like a goat butting against a wall. Except that he was butting against her, and it was painful. “Ah,” she heard him say, an exclamation of satisfaction. She felt no relief. As he stroked through the destroyed maidenhead, each pass felt like scraping a raw wound. Really, this was not at all what she’d had in mind!

With a shudder and a moan of pleasure he collapsed upon her, alternately kissing her lips and whispering endearments. He ran his fingers over her face with a kind of dazed delight. “How wonderful you are,” he breathed.

Well, it was their wedding night, and at least one of them was pleased with the way things had gone. Jane reminded herself that she had reason to be grateful that Rossmere had married her. She reminded herself, also, that she had heard tales of painful initiations into marital relations. If she hadn’t expected something quite otherwise, she wouldn’t be so disappointed right now. Jane managed to caress her husband’s shoulder and kiss his cheek with a semblance of happiness.

“You must be exhausted,” he said. “It’s been a hectic day for you. Sleep well, my dear.”

Jane rolled over on her side away from him, but he managed to mold himself along the length of her, his warmth feeling oddly familiar. “Good night,” she said. Her voice disappeared into the vast, silent room.

He was already asleep.

Chapter 17

Rossmere awoke as the light of dawn was growing steadily brighter. He had dreamed of Longborough Park, restored and inviting, with its rooms filled once again with music and laughter. There was a family there, children running through the halls and servants tidying up after them. He would have thought it a dream of his own boyhood except that he had been a solitary child. As one did in dreams, he knew that if he passed through the door of the master suite he would see himself, grown into manhood, as he was in real life. But he would see, also, the woman by whom he had produced all these noisy, happy children. Either the door resisted his efforts, or he was unwilling to make a strong push to gain this knowledge.

Before he could determine which was the case, his eyes blinked open and he found himself contemplating Lady Jane. She slept deeply. The sheet over her came up to her waist. She lay on her stomach so he could see only the smooth whiteness of her back. He was tempted to wake her, or to begin stroking the exposed flesh to arouse her for another erotic encounter, but he remembered that theirs was, after all, a marriage of convenience. Somehow it seemed to him that it would be greedy for him to expect a physical episode again so soon.

Because her vulnerable beauty tempted him, he climbed cautiously out of bed and removed himself to the dressing room, gathering up his clothing along the way. A good gallop on Ascot would alleviate any tensions that were building up in him. It wasn’t simply that he would have liked another intimate interlude with his wife; it was that he suddenly
had
a wife. Surely that was the furthest thing from his mind when he came to Willow End. He had deemed himself a perpetual bachelor for many years now, and he had come to enjoy the privilege of solitariness it granted him. Was he going to feel comfortable living with this woman he hardly knew?

The answer scarcely mattered, he decided as he tugged on his riding boots. He was going to be living with her no matter what. The thing to do was to establish his intention of maintaining a certain distance from the conjugal pairing. Not the kind of high-handed disappearing act John Parnham indulged in, of course. That was totally unnecessary. But Rossmere deemed it wise to illustrate from the start that he would keep a great deal of time for himself, for riding, managing his estate, doing whatever he pleased, essentially. Jane must learn from the start that he would not be at her beck and call.

The house was still fairly silent as he descended the back stairs. He unlocked the door out into the summer garden and followed the path toward the stables. Things were more lively there. Barnes started the stable lads hopping at daybreak, since there was more than enough work to keep them busy before breakfast. When Rossmere entered the wooden building, it had already been swept clean of the hay spilled in the process of feeding the horses. He walked directly to Ascot’s loose box and rubbed the horse’s dark forehead.

Barnes walked spryly to his side, smiling widely. “We hear your lordship and Lady Jane was leg-shackled last night. The lads and I wanted to wish you both happy. There’s no better woman on earth than her ladyship, if you’ll pardon my saying so. A regular trooper, that one. Has been since she was a bit of a girl.”

“Thank you, Barnes. We appreciate your kind thoughts.”

“Did you want me to saddle him?” Barnes asked with a nod toward Ascot.

“Yes. I’ll take him out for a run.”

“You know, there’ve been those as has asked about that one for a stud since he won the race. I mean, what with the other two being his offspring and all. Just offhand questions, like, and I didn’t want to bother your lordship unless you was interested. He’s a wild one to be put to stud.”

“Hmm. I hadn’t really thought of it. Who’s approached you?”

Barnes scratched his head. “Rivers from over Lockley way. And Sir Giles Carson’s man just happened to come by this way.”

“Sir Giles Carson? He must live more than fifty miles from here.” Rossmere was instantly alert. Sir Giles was known for his keen horse sense; he’d been breeding winning racehorses for twenty years. “Does his man often come by here?”

“Never before, to my knowledge. But we all know of him.”

“Did he look at Ascot?”

“Asked after him, but your lordship was away with the horse. Seemed real eager to have a look-see. I said I’d tell your lordship and send a message if you was interested.”

This last was delivered more in the nature of a question than a statement. Rossmere regarded the black stallion stamping impatiently in his loose box. Why had he never thought of putting Ascot to stud? Probably because he’d never actually raced him before. It was one thing to believe a horse was incredibly fast, another to prove it. There were a lot of people who would pay healthy sums to have a horse of Ascot’s attributes service their mares.

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

But he was already thinking that he had had a way of getting himself out of debt and he hadn’t even recognized it. It might not have best pleased him to have Ascot raced regularly, but it hadn’t best pleased him to be without a shilling to his name, either. His face remained impassive as he watched Barnes put a bridle on the magnificent beast. When Ascot stood ready, Rossmere swung into the saddle with an excess of energy. He would need a good, hard ride to rid himself of this new sense of dissatisfaction.

* * * *

Jane was relieved to find herself alone in the huge bed. She thought it was considerate of Rossmere to absent himself this morning when she felt so in need of a warm bath to restore her. So that was what losing one’s virginity was all about. Not a very appealing business. There was dried blood on the sheets and on her thighs. Really, whoever invented this ritual might have gotten it a little less messy.

When she rang, Tilly arrived quickly, as though she’d been awaiting the summons. The maid tapped lightly on the door and stuck her head cautiously around it when Jane called to her to come in. “Will you be having your tea now, milady?” she asked.

“Not until I’ve had a bath. Would you have them send up cans of hot water, please?”

“Right away. And his lordship?” Tilly allowed her eyes to wander toward the door into the dressing room.

“I think he’s gone out.” Jane could now hear the sound of rapid hoofbeats coming from the direction of the Home Wood. Rossmere’s favorite ride, the trail along the wood. She wouldn’t have thought of going riding at dawn on the morning after her wedding, but it seemed strangely appropriate for her new spouse. “If he comes in and wants a cup of tea, I’ll ring you.”

“Very good, ma’am.”

Jane was relieved that Rossmere didn’t reappear when she was having her bath, but she began to feel a bit uncertain about appearing at the breakfast table to face her Aunt Mabel, Nancy, and her father when her husband hadn’t hung around to wish her a good morning. Ah, well, she thought as she allowed Tilly to choose her most youthful walking dress of jonquil muslin, this is not an ordinary marriage and I mustn’t expect it to conform to any old-fashioned ideas. And just to add a finishing touch to this sterling piece of rationalization, she added— not aloud of course—that Stephen was not, in truth, the man she would have chosen to marry in the ordinary course of her life.

A man, after all, who knew nothing about antiquities, she reminded herself with a smile. Her humor restored, she proceeded downstairs to breakfast after her usual fashion, ignoring any unspoken questions about where her new mate had gotten himself.

* * * *

They moved into Graywood two days later. The tenants had treated the house and its contents with remarkable consideration. As Jane walked through the manor, she could see that the Browns had kept the staff at their duties, cleaning and polishing, dusting and rubbing. Though she’d called a few times during the last year, Jane hadn’t gone beyond the morning room, with its lovely rosewood sideboard and cabinets.

Now she led Rossmere through the entire house, explaining the history of a portrait or the significance of a ceiling cornice in the form of the Vitruvian scroll. He had visited Richard here and would likely not care about the background she gave, but she felt overwhelmed by the memories that assailed her, and she found it impossible to hide her anxiety in any way other than by imparting this useless information. It never occurred to her that Rossmere would wonder at her intimacy with the house.

As they climbed the staircase, she pointed to a niche, a Georgian addition to the medieval manor house, where a small collection of ornaments in pottery and porcelain rested. “Richard’s father was an avid fisherman, and he collected pieces that represented every aspect of fishing. Richard wasn’t quite as keen on fishing, but he enjoyed the collection.”

“I remember fishing with him once. As I recall, there’s a stream that runs through the very southernmost corner of the property.”

“Oh, yes, I keep forgetting that you’ve stayed here.” Jane clasped her hands behind her back and continued across the first-floor landing to the southwest room. This was a moderate-size bedroom with a carved beech four-poster bed and several mahogany chests of drawers. When Jane couldn’t find anything to say about the room, Rossmere commented, “This is the chamber I occupied. I remember the Dresden mirror. As I recall, Richard’s room was the one just down the hall.”

“The north room, yes.” Jane was terrified that he would suggest they take over the north room. “It’s the largest chamber, but not suited to a couple. There’s no dressing room or sitting room attached to it. I’m sure we’d be more comfortable in the southeast room.”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” she said firmly, meeting his bland gaze. “Richard’s parents used it, you know.”

“I didn’t know, actually. Let’s have a look at it.”

Since this offered the opportunity to skip Richard’s room altogether, Jane grabbed at the chance. “The view is out over the lawns and gardens, rather than over the woods,” she said as she hurried down the corridor with Rossmere at her heels. Why did she have the feeling he was toying with her? He really hadn’t said anything.

Probably it was all her imagination. He couldn’t possibly care which room they used. That sort of thing was almost inevitably a wife’s choice, in cases such as this, of a temporary nature. Not in an ancestral home, certainly, but Graywood was not his ancestral home. She’d be perfectly willing to share whichever room he chose at Longborough Park.

“I’m rather partial to woods myself, especially with autumn coming soon. The colors will be invigorating, whereas the gardens will be forlorn by then,” he suggested as they walked down the corridor side by side.

“Oh, not at all! There’s a wonderful burst of color in the autumn. The chrysanthemums and the Michaelmas daisies, the japonica and the Chinese lanterns. It’s quite a spectacular display. And before that, just after the main summer flowers are gone, there are the dahlias and sunflowers, the asters and gladioli, the phlox and monks-hood, the—”

“As you say,” he hastened to interrupt. “I’m sure the view from the southeast room will be everything I could wish for.”

“The woods look so desolate after the leaves are gone.”

He didn’t bother to answer her, but pushed open the door of the bedchamber with a decided negligence. Jane was relieved to see that the room was as delightful as she had remembered. There were beautiful oak floors and paneling, except for one wall, which had a leather wall hanging with a design of swags of fruit and flowers, eagles and monkeys in gold and black on an ivory background. It was a charming item, reputed to have been brought from Spain by Catherine of Aragon. Jane noticed that Rossmere was regarding it with great skepticism.