Wicked Wyckerly (30 page)

34

Abby tucked the children into bed after telling them a bedtime story. She startled the nanny with the simple act of thanking her—once more proving she didn’t know how to go about being a countess—then bumped into Fitz outside the nursery door.

“I’ve made our good-nights and left our guests well occupied,” he declared, taking her arm and leading her down the hall. “I don’t want you to feel as if you must hide in the nursery on our wedding night.”

Which she’d been doing, she must admit. She was far more comfortable with the bouncing children than the fashionable guests drifting about Fitz’s faded but elegant home.

“I wasn’t hiding from you,” she murmured. Or she didn’t think she had been. His easygoing smile had disappeared after his discussion with his friends. She was just a tiny bit nervous of the determined man he revealed under his surface charm. She had seen that fierce focus turned to action, and she wasn’t certain she wanted it turned on her.

It occurred to her that she had made a very rash decision in trusting a man she really didn’t know—

No, she told herself. She had made an excellent, very wise decision, and she was proud of it. She would not second-guess her marriage or Fitz.

“Not hiding,” he corrected himself, proving he understood her well, “but squirreling away and pondering and fretting until you work yourself into a state. I’ve hidden all the rotten apples so you can’t throw them at me.”

Abby chuckled as she recalled their first argument. Not having to be on her very best behavior every moment was a freedom she could easily come to love, a freedom she would never have had as a vicar’s wife. “I apologize for that episode. It was very rude of me to pelt a guest with apples.”

“In the face of your generous apology, I will admit that I am inclined to impulse and not much inclined to consulting anyone else about my affairs, so you had some right to be aggravated. May we kiss and make up now?”

Her
husband
lifted an expressive eyebrow in a lascivious leer that had Abby laughing even as he opened the door to his bedchamber.
Their
bedchamber.

She entered a room illumined by dozens of tall white tapers that reflected off hundreds of lamp crystals hung deliberately to produce dancing rainbows over the floor and walls. And amid all the rainbows and light sat vases spilling white blooms: elegant lilies, simple daisies, luscious roses. . . .

Abby gasped in awe and clasped Fitz’s waistcoat to steady herself while she scanned the ethereal chamber. “How did you do this?” she cried, wanting to weep in response to the exquisite gift he’d given her. If she had any doubts left, they fled in this moment of awe at his thoughtfulness.

“I called in a few debts,” he said with his usual confidence, before tilting her chin and studying her with worry in his eyes. “I did not have any magnificent jewels to give you, but I hoped you would understand that I would give you the world if I could.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she lost herself in the depths of her husband’s honest gaze. “No one has ever given me beauty,” she whispered, choking on a sob of pure joy. “I’ve received many practical gifts, but this . . .” She stood on her toes and planted kisses across his freshly shaven jaw. He’d even stopped to shave just for her! “Gifts from the heart are the very best ones of all. I wish I had thought to do the same for you.”

“You are the gift I claim,” he murmured, swinging her up in his arms and carrying her to the bed. “You are giving me a present more precious than gold. I have waited forever for this night, so in part, the candles are pure selfishness. I want our wedding night to be perfect, to be the start of the kind of life I’ve never had.”

She ought to be paralyzed by fear at the enormous dream he’d just laid at her feet—he was asking for the love and family he’d never known,
trusting
that she would provide it. But her brave Fitz’s admission washed over her with warmth, and the unusual tenderness in his expression melted her heart. If he thought she could offer what he needed, she would be proud, not frightened.

She settled on the mattress and reached to break a daisy stem so the flower bent less formally over the side of the vase. “There is beauty in imperfection, too,” she reminded him. “It’s our flaws that make us special.”

Standing beside the bed, Fitz peeled off his tight coat. “I am more a rutting bull than a daisy right now. I have done nothing but plot this moment for four days.”

His confession that he’d been thinking of her for four days stirred the hungry desire she always felt in his presence, but she could not let him reduce her to mindless-ness just yet. She hurriedly tugged up her crushable skirt and knelt on the bed. “Then you may wait a moment longer and tell me what the arrow meant. And the stone thrower last week. There cannot be secrets between us. I think it is a law of some sort.”

“Not unless it’s the law of just deserts.” He flung himself beside her and dragged her down on top of him, planting kisses across her cheeks and tangling his hand in her hair.

Abby shoved her hands against his waistcoat and sat up again. “No, I mean it, Dane. Fitz. Jack. My wonderful husband. No secrets.” She was amazed that she could find her tongue so easily. “I am much happier if I know the problem and don’t have to fret over what it might be.”

“You are supposed to be a shy bride,” he complained, pulling her down to lie beside him and whispering kisses down her throat. “Enthralled with my lovemaking and forgetting all else.”

Fighting fire with fire, Abby untied his neckcloth and kissed the taut skin revealed at the base of his throat. Finally, she had the opportunity to touch him. She began fumbling with his waistcoat buttons. “I am a farm girl aware that we will be making more children. I have no desire to raise a brood all on my own. So if you are in danger, I must know.”

“And do what, my warrior queen?” He found the hidden hook at the front of her bodice and slid it open, exposing more of the translucent chemisette beneath. He trailed a seductive finger over the fabric covering her breasts. “Run scared back to Oxfordshire? Let us have a night of romance without thought to the real world.”

He was right, of course, which didn’t make it any easier to accept that he had secrets. But she had five children upstairs and now a husband to worry about, and she wouldn’t relax until she
knew
. A countess must be strong and decisive, even if her mind washed away while her earl played a seductive game with the greedy beggars her nipples had become.

“Please,” she murmured ambiguously, pushing at Fitz’s unfastened waistcoat until he sat up, shrugged it off, and threw it to the floor. His shirt draped across broad, muscled shoulders and powerful arms, and she had some inkling of how ridiculous she was being. He was all huge, raw male, capable of handling mad archers, and she was mere cotton fluff in comparison. But she wasn’t used to anyone taking care of her problems for her. “Tell me,” she demanded, but even she’d forgotten the question.

Leaning over her, he untied her skirt and bodice and began unfastening her corset. “There is nothing to tell. Some madman keeps aiming at my hat. He holds some grudge, but I don’t know about what. My friends will hunt him down if he comes near us. The house is locked up as safe and sound as a prison. The children will be fine. And if for some inane reason my heir thinks to frighten me into running away, he is sadly mistaken in my character. Tonight, I intend to beget the next earl.”

Abby gulped as he divested her of corset and bodice and leaned over to suckle at her breast. She had not given her actions enough thought.

Her son would be an
earl.
How could she possibly raise an earl? This was what came of it when she rushed into something.

“And whatever you’re worrying over now, don’t,” Fitz ordered, rolling back to the bed and carrying her on top of him. “I desperately need you, and you need me, and that’s all that matters.”

And he was completely, totally, irrevocably right, Abby decided as her husband tugged at her skirt until it fell below her hips, leaving her with no more than an unfastened chemise to cover her nakedness. And he was
still
dressed.

If she was to be countess and mother of an earl, then by George, she would have to learn to act with the same assurance as Fitz. Grabbing handfuls of his linen, Abby tugged his shirt up until she could finally touch his muscled waist and chest and the line of hair dipping into his breeches. “Take it off!” she ordered.

Laughing with pleasure, he did as instructed.

Fitz thought he’d surely died and gone to heaven as he lay beneath his new bride and admired the curve and bounce of her nearly naked breasts from below. No shrinking wallflower was his Abby. Once she made up her mind, the little general raced full speed ahead. And apparently, she’d finally decided he would suit.

Admittedly, she still looked a little stunned after he stripped off his shirt, but he was pretty certain that was admiration in her eyes, raising heat in his groin. Women had admired him before, but none were as special as his wise wife.

Candlelight and rainbows danced across her glorious red gold curls, and at long last, his eyes were open to the beauty of the world. Tomorrow, he might have to return to groveling for survival. . . . Tonight he had the cosmos at his fingertips.

Reverently, he grazed his fingers over the curve of her breasts to pert pink crests that furled under his touch. He coaxed her to lean down so he could kiss and lick and suckle until she moaned and no longer quizzed him about things over which he had little control.

Gently, he rolled her back to the sheets. His cock pressed into his buttons, but he wanted her awash with joy before he had to hurt her. He’d never taken a virgin before, and he almost wished she weren’t so innocent. But then selfish masculine pride took over, and he was glad he didn’t have to share her, that for once in his miserable life he didn’t have to accept secondhand goods, and better yet, his wise Abby had chosen
him
above all others.

He eased her chemise straps off her shoulders while he kissed her throat, and she squirmed and tried to kiss him back. Her lips fluttered like butterfly wings across his thick hide, and he marveled at the tenderness she exposed in his callous soul.

Abby was the honest gem he’d sought without realizing what he’d been missing. Her loving hands stroked, and her gaze bathed him in the approval he hadn’t known he needed. Tonight, he felt invincible.

When his bride daringly lifted her head to kiss his nipple, Fitz shuddered with a desire so deep, he didn’t think he could hold back much longer. He lifted her to slide her chemise up and over her head until she lay utterly exposed to his gaze. And she reached for his trouser buttons, meeting his eyes with courageous defiance. He wanted to laugh with joy that his brave Abby had emerged from behind her bashfulness. Instead, he bent and claimed her mouth.

Once he was sure he had conquered her lips and tongue and that they were fully his, he engaged her bounteous breasts until he nearly surrendered to the ecstasy of her sighs. Valiantly determined to lay claim to every inch of his new bride, he held one breast hostage with his hand, while he ran kisses southward to her navel.

His ultimate goal was moist and vulnerable, and Abby wriggled and tried to evade his intention, but tonight, Fitz was undefeatable. He settled between her firm thighs and touched his tongue to the glistening nub begging for his capture.

He’d already taught her what to expect, so she didn’t shy away but dug her hands into his hair and lifted her hips in a rhythm that had him near to bursting.

He assaulted her castle, scaled the ramparts, and demanded surrender. And she gave herself completely, crying out her ecstasy as he brought her to the peaks and over. Satisfied, he teased her into urgent expectation all over again.

His turn. Finally. Kneeling, Fitz unfastened his buttons. At this point, he would gladly apply golden chains, as long as they meant he could dip into the honey his bride offered.

Weak with pleasure, Abby murmured a protest as her husband’s heavy warmth moved away. Her chafed cheeks burned from his kisses. Her breasts were wet and aching from his suckling. Her bones had melted into the mattress. And even though her body hummed with the release to which Fitz had introduced her, her womb ached for more.

She reached blindly to tug him back, but her hand encountered only air. She could feel the bed bouncing with his hasty motions, and her eyes flew open to see what he was doing.

In the flickering candlelight, her husband loomed tall and muscled above her, like a Viking warrior of old. He wore his hair short at the nape, but the lock falling across his broad brow accented the fierce male pride of possession on his aristocratic face. A sophisticated Viking. She smiled at her foolishness, and he instantly leaned over to steal a kiss.

That’s when she felt the heavy rigidity of the male instrument he would use on her. He was completely naked, at last.

She slid her hands into his silken hair, smothered his face with kisses, and lifted her hips, goading him to hurry. Even though she’d just been so thoroughly satisfied she thought she’d never move again, arousal swept through her with an urgency she could not deny.

His tongue penetrated her mouth, a precursor of the intimate sensations to which he meant to introduce her. At the same time, his powerful thighs spread her wide until she was exposed and open to the hard pressure of his entrance. She ought to fear the invasion to come, but she wanted Fitz with every particle of her, inside and out.

She loved him too much to ever deny him. She wrapped her arms as far as she could around his shoulders, lifted her hips to meet his, and whispered her secret desire—“Love me.”

And he did, with exquisite gentleness. She gasped and wriggled when he pressed inside her. At her cry of protest over his size, he stopped to kiss her tears and apply his attention to her neglected breasts until she urged him on again.

He muffled her cry of pain with his kisses and pushed deeper, claiming her more surely than any vows they’d spoken. And once she knew she wouldn’t break in two, Abby reveled in the physical intimacy of the dashing, delightful Earl of Danecroft inside
her.
Cherishing
her.
Making mere Abigail Merriweather his wife and countess and the mother of his heir.