To Tame a Rogue (21 page)

“I won’t hurt you. I can’t promise I’ll be gentle; I’ve wanted you for far too long. But I won’t hurt you. Never would I hurt you.”

He undid his trousers. He was thick with need of her.
 

She watched in wonder as he slipped them down with his other hand, staring at that manly part of him that was so foreign to her. Sweet God, but she did not know how to touch a man. He took her hand, placed it on his shaft. It was like holding velvet fire.

His heat branded her, sending jagged, silver sparks of desire coursing throughout her body. He groaned, staring as her slender fingers wrapped themselves around him intimately. He shuddered. At the same moment, he eased her thighs apart with his hand and began stroking the most intimate, womanly part of her—the part that held her sweet secrets.

He stroked and cajoled and manipulated her womanly flesh, then delved a finger into her molten heat. Camille gasped. Ragged, savage eddies of pleasure swirled through her being; fires of passion sizzled in her soul. Instinctively, her fingers began to move, tentatively at first, then feverishly in tandem with his finger, which plunged in and out of her, creating a need within her that she didn’t fully understand.

She arched her back in pleasure, opening her legs wider to him.

“My God, Camille, you are so sensual. I’m going to pleasure you as you’ve never been pleasured before.”

As you’ve never been pleasured before.

His words barely penetrated the haze of passion. But penetrate they did. She hated herself in that small moment, hated how easily she lost herself to him. One glance, one touch from this man who had promised never to want her, and she melted.

“What do you mean?” she said, barely able to speak.

“Come now. You act so innocent. There is no need.”

Her voice was but a tremor. “You…You still think me a common whore who only plays the innocent?”

“The past is the past. I care not that…there were others before me.”

“I was a fool to think you could desire me. You came here to hurt me. You said it before—you had no desire to sleep with a common tavern maid.”

Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks and a great ache arose in her throat. “What is it? Now that you know I'm not related to Penley you will deign to sleep with me? Because I’m a little less tarnished? Is that it?

“Is this a game for you? I cannot…
will
not give myself to a man who thinks his wife a common whore. Not matter how much I l….
”
She stopped herself before she said it.
Love you.

He laughed, a hard-edged sound that knocked against the night. His arms came about her, hard bands of corded steel muscle, mercilessly crushing her to him. “You cannot stop this now, my sweet. It is far too late for that.”

Nicholas was angry, angry that she could turn her desire on and off like that, that she could push him away; whereas he felt he would surely die if he did not feel himself buried to the hilt inside of her. Why didn’t she desire him as she did other men? Men like the red-bearded sailor in the tavern? The thought made him suddenly angry.

He pushed her down against the wooden bench. “I’m sorry it has to be this way, love,” he rasped, “for I wanted to savor you. I wanted to show you how it could be different. I’m not like those other men; God only knows how many there have been before me. But it’s too late. You’ve pushed me beyond what any man can endure. I want you beyond all reason. I have to have you.
Now
.”

His lips crashed down on her mouth as his hands deftly bared her creamy shoulder. He nipped it gently before renting her dress off her shoulders, exposing an erect, coral-tipped nipple to the night…and to his hand.

His voice was husky. “You can deny me all you want with words, but your body betrays your needs...needs I will satisfy this night.”

Roughly, his hand came up to palm her breast, squeezing and kneading the small mound. Camille watched in wonder the long, dark fingers splayed across her white, tender flesh, barely able to breath. She moaned despite herself. “Nicholas, no…” Her plea was pitiful and he knew it.

It was true; she did want him. Her body was a pliant traitor, seeking only pleasure at his hands. All rational thought fell away when he touched her, when he raked her with his eyes. She remembered the wondrous waves of heat he’d created in her body that night in the study. Could it happen again? Would it always happen with him?

He hiked her skirts higher, admiring the slim, womanly curves of her hips, his fingers stroking and plunging into her, making her frenzied.

She moaned, closed her eyes, feeling hot with shame, and yet she did not want him to stop.

“You are wet with need of me,” he breathed. His voice was low, male, utterly possessive. “Now I make you wife truly.” His thigh nudged her legs further apart and with a start, Camille realized the hot tip of his manhood was positioned between her legs, poised and ready to plunge within her heated, satin walls.

She was slick in response to the ministrations of his masculine fingers. She made the mistake of meeting his eyes, blonde with heat. “Let me in, Camille. Touch my cock, feel us there together.”

She would not grant him acceptance with words nor would she deny him. She was lost once more to his passion. He did not move, but his fingers, sweet God, his fingers began to ply her flesh once more, the hot manly tip of him still at her entrance. She threw her head back in pleasure as he easily wrought in her what he was seeking—a hot shard of pleasure spasmed through her body, aching and sweet, spreading out across her very being, pulsing and vibrating against his fingers. Her hand caressed the tip of him, the, long hard shaft at the same time. Her limbs weak and quaking with pleasure, Nicholas did not wait. He needed no further invitation.

He rammed himself inside her, hard to her woman’s core, then went utterly still. Camille cried out in pain, feeling the fullness of him, feeling as if she’d been rent in two, passion replaced by pain. She gasped in pain. Vaguely she thought Meagan was right. It’s the man who finds pleasure, the woman who finds pain.

Nicholas couldn’t believe it—she was a virgin! Damn, a virgin! Why hadn’t she told him? A hot current of anger and shame swept through him, for she’d never denied his accusations. He realized belatedly that she was too proud for that.

“Damn me, but you should have told me you were a virgin.” Again he was incredulous. She had never refuted his accusations, never denied them.
Not once
. Why had she let him believe she was a whore, a woman experienced of men when she had never been touched
by any other
except him? The fact that he was the first gave him an odd pleasure, mingling with guilt, lending an odd ache to his breast, making him even harder. He wished he could be more gentle, but he’d wanted her so badly.

The hot tightness of her virginal walls, the upward thrust of her small rounded breasts, her quivering nipples erect with need—all of it was too much for him, even for a man of his experience.

His fingers took hold of her shoulders firmly. He hated himself for his weakness for her. She could so easily make him want her, more than any woman he’d ever wanted. “There is no help for it,” he groaned. “Please, I cannot…stop….” He plunged inside her, over and over. She moaned and then he spilled his hot seed within her. He could not hold back.

He nuzzled her neck quietly for a few moments. She'd gone utterly still. He pulled away from her then, sitting up, spent and frustrated and angry. He pulled his trousers back into place.

“It didn’t have to be like this, Camille. The next time…”

Camille, sobbing now, sat up, the sound renting his breast.

“Next time? There won’t be a next time, Nicholas!” She turned away from him, clutching her torn dress about her.

“Camille, I could have given you even more pleasure…if only I’d known…”

“It’s a lie! Only the man finds pleasure. I was told, but I never believed it…until now. I…I hate you!” she cried. “The only thing you’ve ever given me is pain! You made up your mind about me from the first moment you saw me—and you never saw any other side of me!

“And you broke your promise,” she said hoarsely. “
You broke your promise!”

Nicholas was silent for a long moment, watching her small shoulders shake as she sobbed. He wanted to reach out to her, touch her, soothe her, tell her it would be alright. Damn, but he’d screwed this up royally. Maybe even lost her forever. He felt a bleak emptiness well up in his soul, an unexplainable blackness. He reached out to touch her, then thought better of it.

His voice was a whisper, tinged with regret. “You will be sore in the morning. A warm bath should ease the ache.”

“If only a warm bath could wash away this entire night…wash away the thought of you ever touching me!”

In the darkness, with her back to him, she did not see the hard frown that crossed his features.

“Damn me, Camille, but I never meant to hurt you! You aren’t blameless, you know. You wanted this as much as I did. Tell me you didn’t.”

She could not.

She heard him finish dressing then storm away, his heavy booted footfalls taking him quickly down the path to the street, where his carriage no doubt waited. Where would he go? Camille wondered if he would spend the night in Lavinia’s bed. She seemed to enjoy the lovemaking between a man and a woman, perhaps even satisfied Nicholas in a way that she, inexperienced in these matters, could not.

A strange coldness crept into her heart. She sat up, alone in the gazebo except for the scattered rose petals. Her fingers curled deeper into the rend of her dress. There was a stinging numbness between her legs. She remembered the feel of him there and a heated throbbing began again. No, damn him! None of it made any sense! He was a devil, practiced at seduction. He’d taken everything she’ ever had to give. And he’d broken his word. Damn him, he’d broken his word!

It was late. Camille cursed Nicholas again, gathered herself up, and quietly made her way into the house and up the stairs to her bedchamber, careful not to awaken anyone. She was not sure of the hour, but she knew that dawn would soon creep traitorously over the horizon as if the night had never been.

Angrily, she grasped the pitcher from her bedside table, filled the basin with water, and dipped a cloth into the water. She placed it gingerly between her legs. It was a cool shock, but not as shocking as the slight sheen of blood on her thighs, illuminated by a sliver of copper moonlight slipping through the window.

She wiped her thighs more vigorously. How did women endure such pain in the marriage bed night after night?

Oh how she longed for that bath! The sooner she had it, the sooner she could wash away the lingering male scent of her husband, the feel of the man who’d taken her innocence, found pleasure, and left her only pain.

50

 
Camille and Genny walked the wharves, enjoying the bright sun glinting off the impressive ships. Goods were piled everywhere; bales of cotton, stacks of lumber, barrels of sugar. Stevedores and laborers worked among traders and brokers. Street vendors raised their voices in an odd chorus, trying to sell their various goods. Mules and dray horses drew all sorts of vehicles as visitors disembarked from riverboats and ships.

Camille had invited Genny to go for a walk before having dinner at Josephine’s. There were things she wanted to say to her, and didn’t quite know how.

 
“How are the girls doing? I miss them.”

 
“They miss you too,” Genny replied. “And so do I as a matter of fact.”

 
“Everything has been so strange. I’m still trying to make sense of it.”

 
Genny smiled knowingly. “Do you love my brother?”

 
Camille was silent for a moment. “You don’t beat about the bush, do you?”

 
“That’s why you wanted to talk to me, isn’t it?”

 
“You’re very perceptive.”

 
“You still haven’t answered my question.”

 
“And very persistent.”

 
Camille admired the ships shining in perfect cleanliness, polish, and repair, the brass work sparkling triumphantly. She caught her breath at the size and nearness of them, their bare spars towering high into the sky, thick and sharp, endless and powerful, like the men who commanded them and the men who shouted and swung hammers and mallets.

“The man’s as stubborn as a jackass,” Genevieve said. “But I can tell you I think he is absolutely, irreversibly, undeniably in love with you."

“What in the world would make you form such an opinion?”

“Because he's miserable too, and he’s making everyone else miserable.”

“Tell me something Genny. Is your brother made of iron and stone? Because I’ve often wondered.”

Genny laughed. “He doesn’t let anyone stand in the way of what he wants, that’s for sure.”

“Have they found Philip?”

She shook her head. “I think if he comes back, he knows people will blame him for the shooting and he’ll be investigated. Who else would go to such lengths to hurt him? Besides, once he found out he didn’t stand to inherit anything despite Caindale not being Nicholas’ natural father, what point was there in staying?”