TheWifeTrap (25 page)

That’s when her belly had clenched and she’d begun to panic.

Why, she bemoaned, had she ever let that bounder Toddy touch her?
She’d known it was wrong at the time, but he’d been so persuasive, making her
promises of love and devotion and, one day, marriage.

Only, marriage to him had never come, and her innocence had been
lost.

She knew it was unfair to Darragh, knew too that she ought to find
some way to tell him. But how did a bride tell her new husband that it wasn’t
her first time? She wished she could turn back the clock and be the virgin he
expected. The best she could offer him now was faithfulness.

Of course, it would all be so much easier if he didn’t know she
was not innocent. Did men automatically recognize such things or might he
somehow be left in sweet, blessed ignorance?

Should she tell him? Should she stay silent?

The weight of her uncertainty had plagued her through the evening.
Buzzing with anxiety, she had endeavored to stall their eventual ascent
upstairs, all the while chattering like a magpie. Nervousness always made her
talkative. Eating slowly, she had drawn out each dinner course, encouraging
Darragh to drink rather more wine than he ought in the hopes he might become
drowsy and fall asleep.

But she could see now that her plan had failed. Darragh was
wide-awake and keenly alert, his Irish head obviously so hard he had remained
sober as a tea-drinking granny despite all the alcohol he had imbibed.

And with his mouth making delicious forays across her neck, she
knew he could not be put off much longer. The moment of truth was nigh and
there was little she could do to prevent it. Still, a girl could try.

“Darragh, don’t,” she protested, her words high and breathless, as
she wrinkled her shoulder to dislodge his eager lips.

“Why not?” he soughed against her skin, not the least bit
discouraged. He caught her earlobe between his teeth, gave the curve of flesh a
tiny nip. “Do you not like it?”

“I…I…”
Oh, Lord, how could she lie, when everything he did
felt so divine?
“Yes, I like it but…”

“But what? Why should I stop?”

“Because this is…this is…the dining room.”

“Aye, and so it is.”

Darragh felt the rising heat in her, as he curved an arm across
her chest, smiling as he filled his hand with one of her lovely, pliant
breasts. Her nipple puckered through the cloth of her bodice. Teasing her flesh
with his thumb, he relished the sensation as it beaded even more. “What better
way to finish a meal than for a man to make love to his wife?”

“But the servants,” she protested halfheartedly. “One of the
footmen might return any moment to clear. What would they think?”

“That we’re a pair of newlyweds who can’t wait long enough to find
the bedroom.” He paused, pressed his mouth to her cheek, her chin, then let her
go. “But perhaps you’re right and we’d best continue this upstairs.”

Pulling out her chair, he stepped to her side to assist her to her
feet.

She swallowed, her nervousness apparent on her face. “But I
haven’t completed my meal.”

He eyed the barely eaten tartlet on her dessert plate. “Have you not?
At the rate you were going, I estimate it would take you past midnight to be
done. If you’re so fond of that pastry, perhaps we should carry it upstairs.
You can nibble on it later to regain your strength. After I’ve had my chance to
nibble on you, that is.”

“Mr. O’Brien, you are outrageous.”

“I am that, Mrs. O’Brien,” he said with a wink. “And so are you.
’Tis the reason we do such a fine job sparking off each other. Now, come to
bed.” He took her hand, dropped a kiss onto her palm. “Come to
my
bed.”

Her pupils dilated, encircled by brilliant sea-colored rings, her
lips parting as if she was thinking to delay yet again. Then she closed her
mouth and let him help her to her feet.

With her small hand tucked comfortably inside his large one, he
led her from the dining room and up the stairs.

Jeannette’s lady’s maid was waiting when they entered, the bedroom
cozily warm from the lively blaze burning in the fireplace. A half-dozen
candles stood on the mantel and end tables, lighted to push the deepest of the
night shadows away from the honey-colored walls and polished pine furnishings.
A four-poster bed dressed in forest green bed curtains sat positioned in the
center of the far wall. A thin lawn nightgown and robe lay in a frothy wash of
white across its matching counterpane. Sweet beeswax and the womanly fragrance
of dried lavender perfumed the air, a bridal bower waiting for its bride.

Betsy jumped to her feet and bobbed a curtsey, glancing
inquiringly between him and Jeannette.

Jeannette moved to free her hand, but he held on.

“Go on to your own bed,” he told the maid. “I’ll see to your lady
tonight myself.”

Betsy stared at him for a long, surprised moment, then at
Jeannette. She dipped her knees seconds after. “Very good, sir. Good night,
sir. Good night, my lady.”

His bride faced him the instant the door closed at her maid’s
back. “You should have let her stay to assist me.”

“Why? Do you not think I know how to unfasten a woman’s dress?”

“I am sure you do, but…”

“But what?”

She looked about to raise another protest, then abruptly dropped
her shoulders in surrender. “But nothing.”

Lifting her hair out of the way, she turned and presented her back
to him.

As promised, he nimbly worked open the run of tiny buttons on her
gown, saying not a word as he lifted the garment off over her head. After
draping her dress across the padded arm of a striped settee, he returned to
unlace her stays and loosen the tapes and ties of her chemise.

Stripped down to only one thin petticoat, she folded her arms over
her breasts. Clearly, she thought to hide herself. Instead, her action only
increased her cleavage, making her breasts appear fuller and more enticing, as
viewed from his height and perspective. She shivered, goose bumps rising on her
delicate skin.

He stroked his hands over her shoulders and arms, then slowly
turned her, tucked her against him. “Why the nerves, lass? We’re not in the
dining room any longer, no one about to disturb us. Surely you know you’ve
nothing to fear from me.”

She raised her eyes to his. “I know, but it’s our first time.”

He cupped her cheek, pressed his lips tenderly to her mouth. “Aye,
and your first time as well.”

Her lashes fluttered for a moment before she lowered her gaze.

“We’ll go slowly,” he promised. “I’ll make sure it’s everything
you could wish.”

Darragh kissed her again, gentle and undemanding, expecting
nothing greater than she could give, nothing more than she wanted to give.

She stood in his arms, her posture rigid. In a random pattern of
leisurely, unhurried touches, he dusted his lips over her face. From forehead
to cheeks he roamed, over closed eyelids that fluttered like fairy wings against
his mouth, onward across her nose, down to her chin, across to her ears and
along the divine curve of her neck.

He saved her lips for last, returning only after he had completed
a most thorough tactile exploration of her features, leaving her skin warmed by
a glowing, pink flush of desire. Her breath came in rapid puffs, breasts rising
and falling against his chest in a most enticing way. He resisted the urge to
bite her lips as he longed to do, forcing himself to go easy, to keep it simple
and light.

She sighed and slid her arms around his waist to pull him closer.
He knew she must feel his erection, straining thick and hard beneath his
breeches. But she didn’t flinch or show any sort of dismay, holding him tight
as she responded to his kiss.

Encouraged, he eased some of the restraints he’d placed upon
himself and intensified their embrace. Stopping just short of ravishing her
mouth, he coaxed open her lips and slipped his tongue inside to play hot, dark,
wet games.

She answered back, taking everything he had to give and offering
more. He delighted as she traced her hands over his back, his shoulders,
caressing him through the cloth of his shirt and coat. He moaned when she
slipped her hands beneath the tails of his coat to ease the tips of her fingers
beneath the waistband of his breeches. Anchored there, she held on for long,
long moments before sinking the tips of her nails into his shirt and the skin
beneath.

Half stunned, he quaked, his aching groin hardening even further.
On a muffled oath, he broke their kiss.

Curving an arm behind her knees, he swept her off her feet and
carried her across the room to the bed. He bent and yanked back the
counterpane, then set her onto the cool white sheets.

She lay there, silent and watching as he tugged at his clothes. He
had no wish to frighten her, to hurry things along like some green boy ready
and eager to take his first woman. So he forced himself to slow, to behave as
if he weren’t yearning to simply toss up her chemise, part her legs and plunge
deep inside.

’Twas hard controlling the beast, harder than a man of his age and
experience should find it. Hard as well not to give in to the impulse to act
the impatient fool and rip off his coat, yank at his neck cloth, kick free his
shoes and pop every bloody button from his shirt and waistcoat and breeches in
a frenzy to be naked.

Instead he took his time, draping each garment upon a nearby chair
as he divested himself of his clothing. Her eyes widened as he revealed himself
to her, inch by bare inch. To her credit she didn’t look away, not even when he
stood completely naked, his arousal jutting forward in a manner many an untried
bride might have found alarming.

Remembering her earlier reticence concerning making love in the
light, he blew out all but one candle. Near darkness spread over the room,
leaving the bed bathed in concealing shadows. Setting a knee upon the mattress,
he slid in beside her.

Wanting her relaxed and eager again, he set to kissing her,
softly, slowly, then with increasing hunger. She feathered her fingers into his
hair and kissed him back.

Her unfettered sighs and breathy moans played like music in his
ears, making his pulse stutter as his hunger arced higher and hotter.

His hands went to her chemise, drew back the slim ribbon that kept
her breasts from his touch. Parting the fabric, he ran his fingers over her
warm flesh, tracing her shape, savoring her texture. On a groan, he buried his
face between her breasts, thrilling to the sensation of her lush female form
against his cheeks, the intoxicating scent of her dizzying as a drug in his
head.

Turning his face, he fastened his lips upon a single nipple,
licking, teasing, suckling her in a way that made her fingers fist in his hair,
her legs shift restlessly against his hip. She moaned when he opened his mouth
wider to draw even more intensely upon her. He paid equal homage to the other
breast, her hands shifting over his arms and shoulders, caressing the side of
his cheek, the back of his neck.

Exercising careful control in an effort to increase both their
pleasure, he slid lower, dappled lazy kisses and tiny licks all over her skin.
Hands and arms, neck and shoulders, the undersides of her breasts, across the
flat plane of her smooth belly.

Reaching down, he pushed the skirt of her chemise up to her waist
then bent to lavish the same attention there, beginning at her feet and working
his way back up. With hands and lips and tongue, he caressed her until she
writhed against the sheets, his name a murmured prayer in the air. Skimming his
hand over the velvety skin of her inner thighs, he parted her, felt her jerk as
he slid a finger inside of her. She surrounded him, hot and wet, her fragrance
filling his nostrils. She sighed and relaxed, vulnerable muscles quivering as
she accepted his intimate touch, granting him her ultimate trust.

His arousal throbbed, so much so he nearly gave in to the
temptation to settle himself between her thighs and put a whole lot more than
his finger inside her. But she wasn’t completely ready, not enough that she
would be able to ignore any pain his initial entry might cause. Putting aside
the knowledge that he might shock her, he spread her thighs wider apart, leaned
closer and replaced his finger with his mouth.

She froze against him in obvious dismay, her hand reaching down to
push him away. But she didn’t push for long before she began to moan, panting
in a litany of high keening cries that signaled her pleasure, her delight, in
everything he did. Gripping his skull, she pressed him closer, urged him on. He
smiled and applied himself more fully to the task of teasing and tormenting her
to distraction. And then he did a thoroughly wicked, utterly immoral thing with
his tongue that made her arch and shake, her release strong and satisfying for
them both.

Knowing he could wait no longer, he moved up and over her body.
Crushing his lips to hers, he poured out his hunger and want, demanding she
match him, meet him, take him gladly into her mouth and her body.

Positioning himself, blood thrumming like a drumbeat between his
temples, pulsing in his heart and loins, he eased himself inside her. Her
slick, inner warmth wrapped around him, tight and snug as a hot velvet glove.
The urge to plunge deep and hard roared through him. He held back, teeth
clenched, jaw tight, muscles quaking. Pushing forward inch by deliberate inch,
he allowed her to adjust to his size, waiting to encounter the resistance of
her virgin barrier and gently ease through.

She shuddered and shifted beneath him, arms and legs curled around
him, her face buried against his neck. He felt her tense slightly around him as
he forced himself deeper, and deeper still.

For a second he thought she was stiffening against the pain of his
penetration. Then he realized her reaction stemmed from something else,
something for which he had not been prepared.