Impassioned

by Darcy Burke

  “Con, you look as if you either want to run from the room or toss up your accounts in the corner.”

  Constantine barely heard him. He couldn’t think past his wife at the moment. She was changing, and he had nothing to do with it. Anger and disappointment—in himself, if he were honest, and it was probably time he was—coursed through him.

  “Do you think she’s having an affair?” he whispered, the words dark and hollow sounding to his ears.

  “You can’t be serious,” Lucien hissed, his voice a low burn near Constantine’s ear.

  “How else can you explain her newfound confidence, her—” He clapped his teeth and lips together. “Never mind.”

  “She would never,” Lucien said with a certainty that drew Constantine’s full attention.

  “How would you know?”

  Lucien stared at him, clearly aghast. “You mean to tell me that wouldn’t shock you to your very bones?”

  “Everything she does right now shocks me.” Constantine turned his gaze toward her once more, but she’d moved on. Scanning the room, he found the vibrant blue of her gown. She was talking to yet more gentlemen, one of whom he knew quite well and who was smiling and laughing with her as if they were old friends. Constantine didn’t think they’d ever met.

  And what did that say—that someone with whom he was well acquainted didn’t know his wife? Constantine’s abject failure as a husband was becoming distinctly and bitterly clear.

  He’d tried to be a good husband. In doing his duty, he’d given her space and consideration, moving things along in the bedroom as quickly as possible, given her trepidation. He’d ensured she had a beautiful estate, which she could manage on her own without his father’s interference—the duke never visited Hampton Lodge and had “given” it to Constantine to use as his primary residence when he’d wed. Furthermore, Constantine hadn’t denied any of her requests for refurbishment or for the design of the garden. Indeed, he’d gone out of his way to support her. What more should he have done?

  The answer seemed suddenly and painfully obvious. He needed to get to know this woman who was his wife. Only he didn’t know how. “The wall between us is too great,” he said, sounding rather like a frog. He coughed, trying to clear his throat.

  “Don’t let it be. Isn’t it worth trying to breach it? It’s not as if you can find another wife.” He took a breath. “I suppose you could, but why, when it’s very possible things could work out well between you and Sabrina.”

  Hearing his brother use her Christian name provoked something within Constantine. It wasn’t jealousy, like he was feeling toward the men who were flirting with his wife, but it was similar. He felt the need to lay claim to her but didn’t know how. And did she even want him to, or was all of this just to have a child?

  “Who is this person you have in mind?” Constantine asked without looking at his brother.

  “Someone who used to be a courtesan but isn’t any longer.”

  Constantine jerked his head toward Lucien. “Why would she agree to this?”

  “Because she enjoys sex. Plus, she has a very kind heart and is happy to help someone in need. Does this mean you’ve changed your mind?”

  “No.” But he was thinking about it. The longer he watched his wife, the more he realized he wasn’t certain how to proceed. She seemed different and had invited his attention, but he couldn’t shake the memory of the nervous bride who hadn’t wanted to marry him and who couldn’t wait for him to complete his “duty” and leave the bedchamber.

  “Well, when you do, I am here to help you. Now stop glowering toward your wife and try to have fun. I’m going down to the card room. I’d invite you to join me, but I know you won’t.”

  “Correct.” Constantine tried to relax his attention toward the countess. She and Mrs. Renshaw had moved on, their heads bent together in what seemed to be close friendship. When had that happened? Hell, he really didn’t know his wife at all.

  Alone now that Lucien had gone, Constantine moved out of the corner. Only he didn’t know where to go. He ought to rejoin his wife, but after their encounter, he didn’t think she wanted to see him. He needed to work on that. They should try to make an entirely fresh start, as if he were courting her again.

  Had he ever courted her? Their union had been inevitable.

  However, their happiness, or at least their satisfaction, was not. This must be a different kind of courtship, starting with seduction.

  And given the state of their marriage, his lack of skill in seduction, and the uncertainty of his wife’s interest in being seduced, how the hell did he start with that?

  Sabrina had wondered if Aldington would invite her to ride home with him from the rout, but he’d left at an early hour. After his departure, she and Evie had discussed his behavior, how he’d seemed irritated and generally discomfited by her appearance. Grinning, Evie had suggested he might be jealous. That seemed wholly impossible, but then Evie had pointed out that Sabrina had earned the attention of many people at the rout, including a good number of men, both married and unmarried.

  Even now, as Sabrina pulled her favorite night rail over her head, she blushed. She had somewhat been the center of attention that evening, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

  That alone was a problem, for if she meant to become her sister-in-law’s sponsor, she would need to feel comfortable with being seen and heard. The prospect filled her with a thrilling dread.

  Charity put away the last of Sabrina’s clothing. “Will there be anything else, my lady?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll tidy my own hair.” She gave Charity a smile, and the maid departed.

  Sitting at the dressing table, Sabrina brushed out the long waves. There were curls buried in the mass, strands that Charity had styled with an iron as part of her style for the rout. Sabrina looked in the mirror and saw herself but didn’t quite recognize the image.

  The knock on the door nearly made her drop the brush. Sabrina’s pulse sped as she set the implement down and slowly rose. Glancing toward the bed, she didn’t have a dressing gown laid out. Because she’d told Charity it wasn’t necessary. Sabrina had planned on retiring immediately. She hadn’t expected a visitor.

  Padding to the door on bare feet, she opened it to find, unsurprisingly, her husband. He wore a dark gray silk banyan over the black kerseymere pantaloons he’d worn to the rout. At least, she thought they were the same ones. Most of his clothing was black, gray, dark blue, or dark brown, and he presumably had multiples of everything.

  How like her mind to fixate on such things when faced with an anxious situation. Such as her husband showing up at her door unexpectedly.

  “Good evening.” She hoped she didn’t sound nervous. “Do you want to come in?”

  “I thought I might.” His voice was tight, and his words lacked certainty. Perhaps he was nervous too.

  Sabrina opened the door wider and stepped to the side to allow him entry. His gaze briefly dipped over her. He didn’t stare at her as when she’d worn the new pink dressing gown the other night.

  When he moved into the room, she closed the door. He paused near the bed, pivoting toward her. “Did you enjoy yourself at the rout?”

  “Yes. Did you? I noticed you left early.”

  “I went to White’s.”

  She noted he didn’t respond about whether he’d enjoyed himself. “I can understand wanting to find a haven after the crush of the rout. I am rather tired from it, I admit.”

  “Should I go?”

  She wanted to say yes, because she hadn’t prepared herself for this tonight. But that was silly. This was what she wanted, and she shouldn’t have to work up her courage on a nightly basis. “No, you should stay. That is, um, the purpose of my being in London.” Heat began to climb her throat, and she willed herself to remain calm.

  “Shall we get to it then?” he asked tentatively. “We can go quickly as we’ve done before—just get through it.”

  As if it were a transaction, whi
ch she supposed their entire marriage was. A gaping sadness threatened to grip her chest.

  “Might we go a little more slowly?” Pausing, she forced herself to say the next part even though humiliation burned her cheeks. “I’d like to have an orgasm.”

  His eyes widened for a second, and he turned his attention to the coals burning in the hearth. “Yes, that can certainly, ah, be accommodated. I apologize for not taking that into consideration before. I’d only meant to keep your distress to a minimum.”

  He still didn’t look at her, and she couldn’t blame him. Everything about their marriage had been forced and awkward. It was a bloody business transaction. The question was whether they wanted it to remain that way.

  The only definite answer she had at the moment was that she wanted a child. And she preferred to go about it in a more pleasurable way.

  “I appreciate your concern,” she said softly. “I always have, even if I didn’t say so. I apologize for being so anxious. I have never known what to expect.”

  He turned his gaze to hers, the green in his eyes vibrant in the candlelight. “Yet you now know about orgasms. This must be part of how you are trying to be different.”

  Sabrina fidgeted with her night rail, her fingers twisting into the cotton. Willing herself to relax, she dropped her hands to her sides and steeled her spine. “You certainly didn’t tell me about them.”

  The sharp intake of his breath was satisfying. “No, I did not. As I said, I focused on trying to ease your discomfort. Perhaps I should have done things differently. I do wonder how you have become…educated.”

  The flame she’d felt when she’d said the word orgasm returned even hotter to her face. “I have a book. Should I get onto the bed?” That’s what they’d done before.

  “Since we want this to be different, no. I’m going to remove my banyan. Is that all right?”

  Nodding, Sabrina held her breath. He untied the sash and shrugged out of the garment before draping it at the end of the bed.

  There was a candle on the bedside table and the hearth was behind him. A brighter lantern sat on her dressing table. It was the most light in which she’d seen him without clothing. Typically, when they were at Hampton Lodge, he joined her in the bed, with the drapes drawn, while a single candle burned elsewhere in the chamber.

  His chest was pale and muscled with a patch of brown hair between his nipples that narrowed as it trailed down his abdomen. She couldn’t help but stare at him, enthralled with his form, as she wondered what it would feel like to run her fingertips across his nipples as she’d done to herself. Did that feel as good to a man as it did to her?

  He inched toward her, and she instantly tensed, hoping he didn’t notice. “May I remove your night rail?”

  “I’ll do it.” Closing her eyes, she whipped it over her head before she lost all semblance of courage.

  When she finally opened her eyes, it was to see him staring at her, his eyes slitted. She couldn’t read his expression. Perhaps she should have let him take the garment off as he’d requested.

  The urge to cover herself with her hands was great, but she summoned the steel that Evie had said she possessed to stand straight. She might quiver, but she would not bend.

  “May I touch you?” He’d asked her permission on every occasion. As with each time before, she murmured in the affirmative. Unlike their prior encounters, however, her shivers were not entirely due to apprehension. Now that her body knew there could be pleasure, there was a nudge of anticipation.

  He touched her hair, his fingers gliding over the locks before he gently tugged on a curl. She hadn’t expected that and let out a soft gasp.

  “I’ve never seen your hair down.” His voice was soft and captivating. It settled her a bit, and she wondered if this time might truly be different.

  “I hadn’t braided it yet.”

  “It’s…lovely. You’re lovely.” His gaze dropped, leaving no question as to what he was looking at. Her. He was looking at her.

  Again, she wanted to wrap a hand over her breasts, but she resisted. She did not, however, stop herself from moving one hand in front of her sex.

  He met her eyes. “Are you certain you want me to stay?”

  She moved her arm back to her side. “Yes.”

  There was a long moment in which they only looked at each other. She suspected he was waiting to see if she would change her mind. She had to be clear, to make a move.

  Hardly any space separated them, but it was enough for her to take a small step. Her breasts didn’t quite touch his chest, but her nipples tightened at his proximity.

  He bent his head and kissed her cheek, his lips soft and gentle against her. Sabrina closed her eyes, both because it was easier and because she wanted to focus on the feel of him instead of the anxiety of what was to come.

  His lips moved to her jaw before descending to her neck with whisper-silk kisses that barely teased her flesh. He clasped her nape, his touch light, while his other hand skimmed from her shoulder down over her breast. When his palm stroked over her nipple, she bit her lower lip as sensation rippled through her and bloomed in her sex.

  However, his hand didn’t linger on her breast. He continued downward, grazing her belly, until his knuckles swept along her curls. Her breath snagged, and her muscles tensed. In the past, he’d stroked her there—soft, surface brushes before he positioned his sex at her opening.

  But he was still clothed from the waist down, and they were standing up. Sabrina struggled to imagine what he would do in this position, but she’d seen drawings of couples having sex standing up in the book Evie had given her. Perhaps her lack of imagination was because her thoughts were consumed with the very real things that were happening right now instead of possibilities.

  When his fingertips slid across her folds, she jerked. He withdrew his hands from her but didn’t step back.

  Sabrina opened her eyes. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “I can stop.” He’d offered that too on many occasions, and she’d never once asked him to.

  She shook her head. “Please continue.”

  He didn’t resume touching her. “Do you want to get on the bed?”

  “Yes.” Then she wouldn’t be able to feel her legs shake. She went around to the side and slid onto the coverlet where she reclined against the pillows.

  He joined her on the bed, his pantaloons still fastened, and moved between her legs. “Have I ever hurt you?” he asked, surprising her.

  “No. I mean, the first time was uncomfortable, but that is to be expected.”

  “I know you wanted to go more slowly, but perhaps we should move this along tonight. With an orgasm.” A faint smile swept across his mouth, and she tried to relax her body into the mattress.

  He was different too. He was always in control of himself—ruthlessly so—but she sensed something else. She just wasn’t sure what it was. Perhaps it was the discussion of orgasms. A giggle threatened to burst forth, but she held it back.

  Leaning down, he brushed his mouth over hers. Once, twice, a third time, and with each pass, she felt a tug of desire in her belly. He kissed down her throat again as his hand lightly caressed the outer edge of her breast.

  The contact jolted her, making her gasp again. He hesitated, and she wished she could stop deterring him with the sounds she was making. Intent on staying quiet, she clamped her teeth together and gathered the coverlet in her hands, gripping the fabric.

  He touched her again, stroking her in a circle, his fingertip barely touching her nipple. Sabrina squeezed her eyes closed.

  She felt his hand between her legs again, sweeping against her thigh before finding her sheath. This was familiar, the gentle seeking of his fingertips. But since the last time he’d done this, she’d put her own fingers there.

  Rotating her hips, she tried to capture the sensations she’d aroused in herself as he moved upon her. He used his thumb to tease her, and she gasped yet again. However, he didn’t stop. She felt him unfasten hi
s pantaloons and for the first time, she anticipated him—how he would feel as he filled her.

  His finger slid inside her, then stroked back up to massage her clitoris. That was the spot she really loved. She could find release when she only touched that part of herself, but when she put her fingers inside, everything intensified.

  Suddenly he was there—his sex nudging hers. This was the moment she always tensed, her body tightening as she braced for his invasion. Tonight, she willed herself to stay loose—as much as she could—and welcome him.

  When he was fully inside, he didn’t withdraw his hand. This was new. He kept it between them and went back to stroking her clitoris.

  “Oh!” She failed again at keeping herself from making a sound and once more clamped her jaw shut. For good measure, she brought her hand up and put the back against her lips.

  His hips moved in tandem with his hand, thrusting into her as he coaxed pleasure from her restless body. For the first time, she knew what was within reach, felt more than a vague desire.

  He braced his hands on either side of her head and leaned down. “Lift your legs, put them around me,” he whispered.

  Yes, of course. The image from the book flashed behind her closed eyes. In it, the woman’s legs were wrapped around the man’s hips, her feet digging into his backside. Tentatively, she curled her legs around him. This opened her in a new way, allowing him to drive deeper. She pressed her hand into her mouth, her teeth grazing her flesh.

  He moved faster, his hips thrusting between her legs, making her intensely aware of his body and what he was doing. To her.

  The drawing from the book rose in her mind once more. The woman’s head was cast back as the man kissed her throat. And her mouth was open.

  Should she feel free to make sounds? It seemed so…primitive. Surely, he would be horrified. She tried to recall if he’d made noise during their previous encounters.

  His hand was suddenly between them again, teasing and taunting her, provoking a deep, desperate pulse in her sex. This was what she’d learned—this need for release. Only having him inside her was better. There was no discomfort, no uncertainty. On the contrary, this felt like the most natural, wonderful thing in the world.