The Wild Baron

by Catherine Coulter

  Marianne was waving the feather over the top of Gulliver’s head. He was snorting, his head going up and down, trying to get that feather out of Marianne’s hands and into his mouth.

  “That’s enough, pumpkin,” Rohan said. “Gulliver just might knock both of us into a ditch.” Without thinking, he kissed the little girl’s temple.

  Lady Dauntry tsked. “Your father used to kiss you just so when you were just a little nit, baron. Now, about poor Charlotte?”

  “My mother adores both Susannah and Marianne, ma’am. She is dealing well with my early marriage.”

  “Ro-han!” Marianne waved the feather in his face.

  “I see she is getting bored. We’d best be off before she does something outrageous. A pleasure to see you, ma’am.”

  “She doesn’t call you Papa. But not surprising, I suppose, given that you didn’t see her all that often. I trust you will rectify that soon. Tell dear Charlotte I shall visit her.” Lady Dauntry poked her coachman in the back with her cane. The man jumped, then the horse.

  That was a good point, Rohan thought, hugging Marianne, who wasn’t having any of it. She was bouncing up and down on his leg. Gulliver was snorting.

  He decided it was time to return home. When they neared the stables, he heard Jamie singing at the top of his lungs, in a rich, broad West Country accent:

  “There was a young lady of Lynn.

  Who was so uncommonly thin

  That when she essayed

  To drink lemonade,

  She slipped through the straw and fell in.”

  Marianne roared with laughter, then turned to Rohan. “What does ‘essayed’ mean?”

  He kissed her nose. “It means she tried to drink her lemonade through a straw. Let’s go find your mama. Jamie, all goes well with you?” He realized in that moment that he’d forgotten to speak to him about the marital situation.

  Before Rohan could say a thing, Jamie said, nodding, “I quite understand, milord. Mum’s the word. Don’t ye worry none about me trap flapping.”

  “Thank you. I won’t. Forgive me for not speaking to you about this situation sooner.”

  “Tan’t nuthin’ t’worry ye or me. Now, Marianne, come down to Jamie.”

  “How can you recite limericks in Etonian English and then in the next breath decapitate the language?”

  “Talent, milord. Sheer talent.”

  The later it became, the quieter Susannah became. When the clock struck ten deep strokes, she was mute, staring down at her toes.

  “Whatever is wrong with you?” Charlotte asked, leaning over to place her palm on Susannah’s forehead.

  She gave her mother-in-law the most pathetic look Rohan had ever seen. “Oh, nothing, Charlotte. I’m just tired.”

  “I know,” Rohan said, yawning behind his hand. “I am tired as well.”

  Charlotte beamed at both of them. “Then you should certainly excuse yourselves. Ah, marital bliss.” She sighed. “I do miss your father, dearest. He continued to improve upon his skills, if you can believe that, Susannah. Yes, indeed, he was much sought after. Even by his wife.” She sighed again, then she smiled, a quite beautiful bittersweet smile. “Your father and I always enjoyed being next door to each other. We simply opened the door between us and then opened our arms. I do miss him very much.

  “You are very lucky, Susannah, for Rohan’s father gave him excellent training in the art of lovemaking. Speaking of training, I saw Marie Claire when I was in London, dearest. She sends her love to you, naturally.”

  “Who is Marie Claire?” Susannah asked.

  “She is the charming woman who gave dear Rohan his early training. What were you, dearest—fourteen? It was past time, your father believed. But I discussed it with Marie Claire, and we both agreed that fourteen was just the right age.”

  Susannah couldn’t believe she was sitting in a nobleman’s drawing room listening to her mother-in-law talk of affairs, speaking affectionately of the woman who had sexually trained her son and was her husband’s mistress.

  “I never had any training,” Susannah said, forcing her chin up. She would not act like a shocked ninny.

  “Women don’t need training as much as men do,” Charlotte said, patting Susannah’s knee. “Well, they do, but they learn more quickly how to give pleasure. And, well, gentlemen are so very obvious and predictable in that area, don’t you agree, dearest?”

  “Yes, Mother, certainly,” Rohan said, his voice as serious as a judge’s. “Ladies must be treated very carefully, very gently. That’s what Marie Claire always told me. It’s a matter of trust.”

  Charlotte gave him a proud look. “How right you are. Now, why don’t the two of you retire to enjoy yourselves. Susannah, if Rohan is like his father, then you must be blissfully happy.”

  Susannah looked as if she would scream.

  Rohan grabbed her hand and pulled her up. Without a word, he lifted her in his arms, laughingly called good night to his mama, and carried his wife up the stairs.

  “I have given this a lot of thought.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I mean it, Rohan. You may begin impregnating me tonight.”

  “Now there’s a jolly thought.” He tightened his arms around her.

  “What I mean is that I won’t run off again. That was unworthy. I was a coward and I apologize. I know this is important. We will do it.”

  “My heart begins to race.”

  “There is no reason to be snide and sarcastic.”

  “Perhaps, but allow me the latitude, Susannah. Otherwise I might be tempted to pin your ears back for that stunt you pulled last night. Where did you sleep?”

  “With Marianne, in the nursery.”

  “Oh? And what did Lottie think about that?”

  “I left very early, before she came in.”

  “So you do have a care for appearances. That is a small forward step.”

  “I don’t think your mother has ever been disappointed in her life.”

  “I assume we’re speaking of that loathsome male demand? Of course we are. If a man had disappointed my mother, she would have told him so. She would have instructed him in proper lovemaking technique.”

  She reared back in his arms and stuck her nose in his face. “But I didn’t know anything! I still don’t. I couldn’t instruct anybody!”

  “After tonight you will be able to instruct the pope, if the need were ever to arise.”

  She sank back down. “I can walk.”

  “I trust so, but I enjoy the feel of you. Where’s our racing kitten, Gilly?”

  “With Toby. After he survived his first lesson this morning with Marianne, he slept most of the day in any patch of sunlight he could find.”

  “When I was a boy, there would be up to half a dozen cats sleeping with me at any one time. There are none now, since I spend so much time in London. Ozzy said it wasn’t fair to the cats, expecting to find me in my bed and the bed being empty and all. He said it put them off their feed.”

  She laughed, a sweet, mellow sound. She was easing. Good. Finally.

  “Shall I import some cats to sleep with us?”

  The laugh fell off the cliff.

  “There are occasionally fleas—mainly in the summer months. But that’s another thing a married couple can do together.”

  “You mean pick fleas off each other?” She laughed again, only to stop abruptly when he opened the bedchamber door. It was to his room, not hers. He kicked the door closed behind him. He eased her down slowly, letting her feel every inch of him on the way.

  “Now, my dear, we are going to think of you as a racing kitten. You are going to have your first lesson right now.”

  “Is it an introduction to survival?”

  He laughed, hugged her hard, and said, “The trainer’s survival, madam, not yours.”

  20

  SHE MOISTENED HER LIPS. “SHALL I FETCH MARIANNE?”

  “Oh, no, it won’t be Marianne chasing you about the bedchamber. No one will be chasing an
yone, actually. It will be just me, teaching you to laugh and kick up your heels and groan when a wave of pleasure washes over you.”

  She stared up at him as though he’d grown three heads.

  “Let’s get you out of your clothes.” He didn’t bestow any kisses on her neck, her ears, her shoulders—no, he got that gown off her within a minute flat. He allowed her to keep her chemise on, but nothing else. He’d made a big mistake the night before, leaving her. He’d scared her, what with all his fine technique and overlong warm-up.

  “Don’t move.” He was naked in under thirty seconds.

  She gasped and backed away from him. He felt a stab of impatience. He wasn’t a vain man, but he knew that his body was well formed, with not a patch of fat on it, and since he spent two days a week at Gentleman Jackson’s he knew he showed strength, but surely not enough muscle to scare her or disgust her. Nor was he overly hairy, like one of his friends who had hair curling on his back. “Come on now, Susannah, you’ve certainly seen a naked man before.”

  “Well, no, actually,” she said, staring fixedly at his belly. “I haven’t. George always snuffed out the candles. I just felt him.”

  “You’re jesting with me,” he said slowly, looking so utterly appalled that she was forced to laugh. But it was difficult, because he was naked, standing right in front of her, and he was eyeing her chemise like a hunter eyeing a pheasant.

  “No, he never took off his clothes when the candles were lit. I didn’t realize, I hadn’t imagined—”

  “It doesn’t matter. You are not to worry about it. Trust me on this, Susannah.”

  Again, he didn’t hesitate. He got the chemise off her in a trice. Then he simply pulled her up tight against him. “Now,” he said. “Now. Forget everything that happened to you before right this instant. You’re my wife now. From now on, it’s just you and me.”

  This way he had of feeling her, this way of letting her feel him—it was very intimate, yet all he was doing was simply holding her against him. It wasn’t bad, except for his sex pressing against her belly. George had hurt her. And surely he hadn’t been made like this. On the other hand, she really didn’t know.

  “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” she said in an air-thin voice while he was busy nuzzling her neck.

  “Don’t be a ninny,” he said, raising his head. “It’s a wonderful idea.” He picked her up in his arms, carried her to the bed, and dropped her in the middle. She landed sprawled on her back, her arms and legs wide.

  “I like that. Don’t move.” He came down beside her, not touching her, just looking at her, starting with the top of her head, down to her toes. Then he turned to move the branch of candles closer.

  She tried to draw away, but he grasped her arm, holding her still. “No, Susannah, no.” He didn’t turn into a wild man. He knew she expected that, curse George.

  He looked down at her face, no other part of her, and she knew it. He kissed her then, a long, slow, deep kiss that lasted until she opened her mouth to him. “Well done,” he said in her mouth at the same moment that his hand cupped her breast. The weight of her breast, the heat of her flesh, it made his fingers tremble, made his hand jerk, very nearly made his teeth chatter and his jaw lock.

  As for his bride, she nearly leapt off the bed.

  He didn’t move his hand, just settled her breast in his palm. “I am not hurting you. Not a bit of it. Don’t you like that? It’s my hand, Susannah, touching you. Just me. I’ll do this every night for the next fifty years. Get used to it. That’s right, draw a deep breath, pretend you’re suffering me. That’s a beginning. That’s all a man of my reputation needs for encouragement.”

  “I’m embarrassed. You promised that you wouldn’t embarrass me.”

  “I lied.” He began kissing her again. She opened her mouth this time, without his instruction. He smiled to himself. “But it’s just a little lie, at least in terms of time. In a maximum of three minutes from now you won’t be embarrassed at all. Actually, it might be just one minute. You want to know why, Susannah?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “You’re going to run that soft hand of yours that’s right now clutched against my underarm down my chest to my belly. When you reach my belly, you’re going to flatten your palm against me, feel me, and then move lower. You’re going to tease me, Susannah.”

  Susannah hadn’t the foggiest notion of what was happening to her. Rohan was talking, incessantly talking, his hand still cupping her breast, and he was going on and on about how she was going to tease him. It made no sense. She wanted to very calmly rise from this bed of iniquity and go to her own room and put on a nightgown that made her look twelve years old.

  Then his thumb lightly caressed her breast.

  She jumped.

  “Nice, huh?”

  “No, it’s horrid.”

  “So I will be the parent to teach our Marianne about always telling the truth. For shame, Susannah. In just another moment, you’re going to groan. What do you think?”

  His fingers were on her stomach. Surely a man’s fingers weren’t meant to sit on a woman’s stomach, just lying there doing nothing at all. Well, now they were moving slowly, so very slowly downward, and she knew that wasn’t right. This was what he’d wanted her to do to him? No, certainly no sane woman would do something as mortifying as that. On the other hand, he seemed at the moment not to have a lustful bone in his body. He wasn’t heaving or breathing fast or trying to crush her beneath him. He wasn’t groaning. She would try reason. “Rohan, perhaps you could consider—”

  His fingers were suddenly touching her. His fingers were on her flesh, private flesh, her own flesh that hadn’t ever had anyone’s hand near it. George had never touched her there. She should say something. She should shriek. She should, at the very least, lodge a formal protest.

  She moaned when his fingers pressed gently inward and down on her.

  “Yes,” he said, and began kissing her again, deep, long, drugging kisses that made her brain go blank. Her brain had never gone blank in her life, except when she fancied herself in love with George, more fool she, and said yes she’d marry him. And then he’d ravaged her in the dark. She had found it very difficult to tell him she loved him after he was through with her.

  His fingers began a rhythm that was surely a heathen rhythm, a rhythm that surely no proper lady even knew about, a rhythm that made her want to press her hips upward, a rhythm that made her want to dance and yell both at the same time. Instead, she moaned again.

  “It’s horrid!” she yelled, appalled at herself, then moaned yet again, jerking upward.

  Rohan watched her face, the absolute astonishment that widened her eyes just the instant before her release shook her to her very nice toes. She was wild, arching madly, her hands in his hair, pulling him down so she could kiss him, and still he worked her, gently, then harder, his movements deep, then slick and shallow. He held her there, beyond herself, experiencing something every human being should experience, something he planned for her to experience every night of their lives. When he felt the spasms easing, he lessened the pressure, just stroking now, soothing her until her eyes had nearly lost their wild look. Then he reared over her and came into her in one long, deep stroke.

  She yelled, heaving upward, bringing him so deep he touched her womb. She was tight, her flesh pulsing around him, making him insane with lust, but he knew he wasn’t hurting her.

  He wanted it to last, surely he had the wherewithal to make this business last for just a moment longer, but it somehow seemed beyond him. It was her own release, he thought, his teeth gritted, that was bringing him low, but surely that wasn’t right. But it didn’t seem to matter. She moved, holding him tightly, her mouth on his throat, and the waves of intense pleasure crested, sending him into oblivion.

  In that instant he wondered if he were going to die. His heart was pounding like a madman’s, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He managed to keep his weight off her, balancing himself on his elbo
ws above her. When at last he could speak, he said, “You’re not embarrassed now, are you?”

  She stared up at him, feeling him deep inside her, feeling the small shocks of pleasure, like memories of a precious moment, making her breath hitch. If she had been standing, she knew she would have collapsed. He moved slightly, and she could feel him inside her, actually feel him. He was a man, alien to her, and yet he was within her.

  “It’s horrible.”

  “Hmmm.”

  Reason reasserted itself. She couldn’t believe what she’d done, what she’d felt. It was more than she could deal with. Shame and tears choked in her throat. She couldn’t bear herself. “I was an animal.”

  “You expected maybe a bird?”

  She gave him this lost, shuttered look that made him feel like a brute. He dipped down and kissed her mouth. “A very beautiful, very responsive animal. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before, Susannah.”

  He sounded bewildered to her sensitive ears. Surely that couldn’t be right. He was a libertine, a satyr, his very being was lascivious, it was bred into his bones. Why, he had enjoyed more women than there were folk in Mountvale Village. She was just one more woman in a very long line, nothing special. After all, she hadn’t even let her palm flatten on his belly. She hadn’t sent her palm lower to do this teasing of his.

  He was kissing her mouth, the tip of her nose.

  “You know you don’t have to tell me any lies. I’m your wife.”

  It was gone in just a flash, but she would have sworn she saw anger in him, would have sworn even that she’d felt that anger course through that lean body of his. His body. He was still inside her. He hadn’t fallen off her and rolled onto his back. No, he was with her, and now, he was moving again, very slowly, gently. Then, suddenly, he stopped.

  “I can’t. I would be a selfish beast. It’s been a very long time for you,” he said, a wealth of disappointment in his voice. “I don’t want you sore. However, I might wake you early in the morning. You will like that, Susannah.”