Unraveled By The Rebel (32 page)

“What are you wanting from me?” he asked. “In this marriage, I mean.”

She studied him a moment, breaking off another piece of cheese and offering it to him. “I want to put the past behind me and start over. Living with my best friend,” she added.

Not to mention, he would grant her protection from the earl. But he saw in her the desire for a second chance. The hope in her eyes was strong, and he wanted to believe in it.

“And beyond that?” He drank a sip of wine and offered her a piece of cold mutton, teasing, “Surely you’ll want to take all of my coins and spend them, as most women do.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “I’ll manage your money, but I’ve no need to spend it all.”

“Now you’re lying,” he remarked. “You want to get your hands all over my—”

“No!” she blurted out. “That’s not what I—”

“—accounting ledgers,” he finished. When her face turned crimson, he laughed aloud. “What were you thinking I was going to say, lass?”

She threw a piece of cheese at him. “Stop teasing me.” He picked up the cheese and ate it before he came to kneel beside her.

“We both know how much you adore ink and paper,” he said. “And keeping accounts. I thought I’d give you all of my money to manage.”

Her face softened. “You’re not teasing me now, are you? You’re speaking the truth?”

“Aye. If it would make you happy.”

She drew her arms around him and pressed a kiss against his mouth. “It would, yes.”

Her response pleased him, and now she seemed more relaxed about being with him.

“I’m going to remove your boots,” Paul told her. “If you’ll allow it.”

Juliette lifted the hem of her gown and held out her boot. He unfastened the buttons and eased the first one off, then the second. When she was in her stockings, he pulled her foot into his lap, rubbing it softly. She leaned back, but her leg muscles tensed at his touch.

“No one has ever done this for me,” she confessed.

“We’ve been traveling for a long time. Let me tend to you.” He rubbed the insoles of her feet, using his thumbs to stroke her.

She was tensing at every touch, and though he tried to gentle his hands, she was biting her lip hard.

When he grazed the center of her foot, at last, she let out a shriek. “You’re tickling me. I can’t stand it.”

He hadn’t expected her to say that, and he let go. “It was no’ my intent to torture you.”

“I know.” But she withdrew her feet and stood up. “I won’t do the same to you. But would you like me to… rub your shoulders? My mother sometimes did that for my father.”

He gave a nod, unbuttoning his shirt and lifting it over his head. “I would like your hands on me, very much indeed.”

The air within their room felt heavier, almost heated in intensity. Juliette had never before seen Paul without a shirt, and it startled her to see the carved muscles upon his shoulders. He had a workingman’s body, of one who had done his share of heavy lifting and labor.

Have courage,
she told herself. Touching him gave her the power of controlling the storm of emotions gathering within. She reached out, resting her hands on either side of his neck, and found that his skin was warmer than she’d expected, smooth and hard. Her fingers found the tension there, and when she began to move her hands over him, he sucked in a breath of air.

But he didn’t ask her to stop. She explored his back, finding the knots of tension by touch. As she’d seen her mother do, she used her thumbs to gently press against him, finding a way to release the pain.

“Take your hair down,” he said quietly.

She moved her hands back, pulling the pins free and laying them upon the table. There was no need to ask why. He wanted
intimacy with her, to know her as a husband should. And this, at least, was no threat at all.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. I’m wanting your hands upon me for as long as you want them there.” He guided them back to his shoulders. “You could touch my neck, too.”

She did, finding even more tension there. Her hair spilled over one of his shoulders, and he took the strands, lifting them to his nose. “You smell like summer, Juliette.”

Gently, he guided her around to sit upon his lap. Both of his arms came around her, and he moved his mouth to hover above hers. Though he didn’t kiss her, she recognized the invitation.

This time, she brought his mouth down to hers, initiating the kiss. His lips were familiar, a welcoming presence.

But somehow, there was more. As she kissed him, his hands drifted into her hair, gathering the locks and resting upon her nape. She felt his arousal beneath her, and her first instinct was to run.

He held her steady, pulling back. “I gave my word, Juliette. You’ve naught to fear.” He kissed her temple, running his mouth along her jaw. “It’s only the reaction of a man who desires you.”

Paul kept his hands loosely around her, and when she started to sit up, his hardened length nestled against her. This gown was far too thin, and she recognized the familiar ache between her legs. It was just like the time when he’d touched her at the
cèilidh.
He leaned to kiss her again, and his hands moved around her waist. “Don’t be afraid of my touch, Juliette.”

His voice mesmerized her, his midnight-blue eyes staring into her own. “There can be pleasure between us, even if I’m no’ inside you. You ken this.”

When he moved again, she felt his length touching a secret place within her. She was growing wet between her legs, and her breasts were tight, the nipples forming hard nubs.

“I remember,” she whispered. And yet, she couldn’t stop the unwanted memories from intruding. The violence of the rape, and the way the earl had forced himself within her, overlaid this moment. She was trembling, so afraid of the feelings he’d evoked. But Paul would never hurt her. She trusted in that.

“Let me undress you,” he commanded. “Let me touch you the way I’m wanting to.”

Juliette didn’t know what to say. Although he’d caressed her in secret that night, the idea of baring herself to Paul made her fear that he’d want to claim her with a husband’s right.

“I don’t know if we should,” she hedged. She was nervous about letting him see her without any clothes, though she knew it was only natural. What if he demanded more of her and lost control of himself? She remembered too well how she’d forgotten herself that night at the
cèilidh
.

But a secret part of her had also delighted in his touch.

“You are in command of me, Juliette.” He captured her mouth again, kissing her hard until she was breathless. “If you’ll allow it, I want to bring you pleasure with my hands and my mouth.”

She hesitated, tempted by a forbidden desire. The last time Paul had touched her, she’d been overwhelmed by sensation. He’d sensed what she wanted, until her body had shuddered beneath his hands.

A wicked voice inside was urging her now to surrender. She’d promised herself that she would try to be a good wife, and all he wanted was to touch her a little. Surely there could be no harm in that?

“Strathland stole your innocence and gave you naught but nightmares,” Paul said. “Let me give back to you what was taken.”

“What do you want from me?” she whispered.

He drew her to stand up. “I’ll remove the gown, but you’ll keep your chemise and petticoat on. That is, until you’re ready for me to learn every part of your body.”

His words painted a sensual picture, and she imagined his hands upon her. She gripped the edges of the gown, braving a courage she didn’t feel.

“I don’t want the memory of
him
intruding on what we have together,” he said. “I want to cast out those demons this night and start anew.”

The thought of standing here and submitting to his touches only heightened her anxiety. She didn’t see how it could possibly make things better. Although he had never harmed her, and she
had
felt a shuddering release when he’d touched her before, somehow this night was different.

“Could I… touch you first?” she ventured. If their roles were reversed,
she
could be in command. The idea of exploring his shoulders and chest wasn’t at all threatening. Instead, it might be a way to alleviate her own nerves.

“Aye,” he said. “If it would make you feel better.”

She rested her hands upon his shoulders, exploring his bare skin. She kept her touch light, and his eyes burned into hers. Then his hands moved to the buttons of her gown.

“You canna be unfastening these by yourself, Juliette.”

“No. I’ll need your help.” She allowed him to push at the buttons while she ran her hands over his heart and down his ribs. His broad back held the strength and resilience of a man who had known hardship and overcome it. “I never thought I’d have a wedding night,” she confessed.

“Especially with me?” he predicted.

“With anyone. I thought I would be a spinster until the day I died.” She grew distracted when he lifted the gown away, exposing her chemise and petticoat. Though it was not one of the more daring garments, Amelia had given her a rose satin chemise and corset, trimmed with embroidery. The fabric was soft against her breasts, but when she saw the way Paul was staring at her, her body went rigid.

Then his hands moved to the back of her corset. The heat of his palms made her a little fearful, and she distracted herself by learning the texture of his skin. He asked, “May I remove this?”

She almost said no, but then, that wasn’t practical. She had no maid, and the only person who could help her undress was Paul.

“Go slowly,” she pleaded.

He moved her hair to the side and pressed his mouth to her throat while he loosened the ties of her stays. He freed her from the laces and lifted the corset away.

She couldn’t stop herself from crossing her arms over her chemise. Though he couldn’t see through the satin, her breasts were tight and aching, the points taut through the fabric.

Paul stood up and reached for her hands, gently lowering them to her sides. “You’ve no need to hide from me, Juliette.”

Perhaps not, but shyness reigned over her at the moment.

His eyes were shielded as he moved his hands up her spine. “You take my breath away, Juliette. And always have.”

“I have no breath, either,” she confessed. “I feel as if I’m about to faint.”

Paul led her toward the bed and guided her to sit down on the left side. Strangely, he didn’t press her down, but instead sat at the foot of the bed so that their backs were against one another. “I’ve an idea,” he said. “Look at the wall over there, and I’ll simply tell you what I was wanting to do this night.”

“But you won’t touch me?” she whispered, lifting her gaze to the faded wallpaper.

“No’ unless you ask me to.”

The promise
did
make her feel better, knowing that he would slow down the pace, giving her a moment to gather her senses.

“You go first,” he prompted.

“In what?”

“Tell me what you were wanting to do to me this night.” He leaned back against her, and the pressure of his bare back against
the silk suddenly reminded her of the days when they used to steal away to talk. They had sat on opposite sides of a tree, hidden within a small pine grove. Paul had complained about his frustration at never being able to leave Ballaloch, while she’d complained about her sisters.

“I’d want to kiss you,” she began.

“No, you can imagine better than that, lass. Tell me something wicked that you’re wanting to do.”

He sounded so interested, she couldn’t help but smile. “I’m no’ a wicked lass,” she mocked, using a Highlander accent.

“We’ll have to be changing that, won’t we? Go on, then. Tell me where you were wanting to put your hands and your mouth.” His left hand reached around and took her right palm in his.

She was tempted to invent something that wasn’t true. To shock him with words. But in the end, she was too embarrassed to speak. “I suppose I’d want to kiss the space over your heart. To see if your skin is as sensitive as mine.”

“I’ll lower your chemise and touch your breasts with my hands. Then my mouth,” he countered. “I’d want to see if your nipples grew hard, and I’d want to see how they felt against my tongue.”

A deep ache rose up between her legs. She imagined the sensation of his heated mouth sucking against her breasts, and she suspected she would like it.

“I would want to try it with you,” she whispered. “I’d want to know if you would feel the way I do inside.”

“I’ll touch your ankles, then move my hands higher to take off your stockings,” he said.

Just the thought of his hands so near to the aching center of her made her heartbeat quicken. Juliette reached beneath her petticoat and unfastened the garters, rolling down one stocking, then the other. The heat of her own palms echoed the visions of her imagination.

“And after that?” She almost didn’t want to know the answer.

“Your turn,” he prompted.

“I’d reach for your breeches and help you unfasten them,” she said quietly. “I’d slide them down, over your hips.”

He moved against her, and from the rustling noise, she realized that he’d done just that. Was he… naked? Her face went scarlet, and she was struck with curiosity, wanting so badly to know.