by Katy Madison
He sought her face, her lovely blue eyes. She stared at him. He pushed her hand down to feel the pulsing hard length of him and nearly lost his mind as her fingers closed around him, and her gaze dropped down. The movement of her hand might be tacit permission to push forward, but he wasn't sure. After all, he'd placed her hand there. He groaned and pushed her hand away, fearing he wouldn't last through her ministrations.
He kissed her neck. "Tell me what you want, what you need. I swear to you I'll please you. We'll make love all night long if that is what it takes." He kissed lower, down the open neckline of the nightgown. He traced his finger down, blazing the path for his mouth.
Her stiff intake of breath mirrored his own wonder as he edged back the sides of the nightgown and her lovely breasts filled his vision. He circled one rosy tip with his finger, watching it pucker and tighten.
"Tell me what you like, love," he murmured just before he took the perked nipple in his mouth.
"Oh, that," she whispered. "Th-that feels good."
He pushed the nightgown from her shoulders with only the fleeting thought that in the future he might use it to tease her with. Not tonight, though. His need was too urgent. He'd waited far too long.
He sought her mouth, mimicking the moves he wanted to make with their lower bodies. Swirling, dipping, rubbing against her playful tongue. His hands remained at her breasts, engaging in the play and tease of her flesh. He stroked his fingers along the curves, nipped at the pink tips, and lifted the weight of them in his hands.
He was so hard, each throb was painful. His skin was on fire. He could no longer deny himself the release he craved. He needed to be inside her, her softness around him, and the sensation of spilling his seed into her warm wet flesh. Every restraint he had stretched to the breaking point. He shook under the strain of holding back.
"Sophie, I can't wait any longer. I need you. I promise I'll see to your pleasure in any way you want, but I need you now."
"I only want to please you," she whispered.
It was enough for him. He forced out the thought that the love play time was too short and stripped her nightgown down past her hips, leaving it to froth on the floor. He shed his unfastened breeches as he backed her to the bed. Her eyes were wide as he lifted her to the mattress, the blue only a slim rim around the black of her irises.
Her face was flushed, the skin of her chest pink. Her eyes dipped and darted back up to his as if she didn't dare look upon his body. He had no such qualms about looking his fill as he knelt on the bed and positioned her with her head on the pillow. He pushed her legs apart, the glimpse of her glistening woman's flesh sending a new agony of desire crashing through his already overloaded system.
She raised partway up, and he pushed her down, settling between her legs, his rod nudging the tender folds of her center. He bit back the urge to thrust forward. His body quaked in response to his demand for self-control.
"You're trembling," she whispered.
"Quite unusual, love. I don't usually. Are you ready for me?" He searched her eyes, regretting his haste, but helpless before his raging desire.
He'd wanted her too long. Long before she was his wife, long before she was even a grown woman. He'd wanted her that day he pulled her from the river. The knowledge was a revelation to him, yet not a surprise. On some level he must have always known he wanted her. He threaded his fingers through her short blonde curls and held her eyes with his.
Her face had gone from pink to fiery red and her embarrassment charmed him, amused him and frustrated him as he waited for her consent.
"Please, I think so." She bit her lip.
He kissed her tortured lip with his eyes wide open. Hers fluttered shut.
"No, Sophie, open your eyes."
He pushed his hips forward as she met his stare.
"Oh," she whispered. "Please."
Oh, was right. He slid into her flesh and met—
"Ow!"
—resistance. Ow? He shifted, wondering if he had the angle wrong like the greenest of boys and pushed forward again.
She dug with her heels, trying to get away from him.
"Sophie, I need you. Don't fight me."
His plea stopped her struggles. He stared into her eyes and his heart melted. "Ow" wasn't the most romantic sweet nothing he'd ever heard whispered in the heat of the moment, but coming from her it poured another layer of desire on his already befuddled wits. His pregnant wife was really a virgin?
NINETEEN
Sophie fought to contain her panic. She wanted to please Keene, but he seemed to be asking her to contribute in ways she didn't know how.
Sensations so new and powerful rode through her on wave after wave, and she didn't know quite how to respond or channel the stormy sea of passions. Everything had gone so fast to this point. Her reactions tossed her around like a small ship at the mercy of titanic swells.
His gaze was so dark and penetrating she feared she would melt into him, yet it anchored her to him. He was her beacon in these uncharted waters.
But the hard push of his male part against her wasn't working. Yet he pressed into her with a relentless pressure, and she thought she might cry out again. Amelia had said there might be some pain, but that it was nothing, over in a trice.
"Sophie, darling, relax. Trust me, it will only hurt worse if you fight me."
The pressure against her eased, and she drew a deep breath. "It won't work. You're much too large to fit."
Keene grinned. "It will work."
He thrust his hips forward, this time he held her shoulders so she couldn't move away. The resistance of her body broke. He slid his shaft inside her, stretching and filling her to completion. The brief pain disintegrated to nothing. His groan resounded in her ears as he dipped his head down to her shoulder.
She marveled at the intimacy of his body within hers, his skin against hers, the beat of his heart so near her own, his breath caressing her face. This was as close to heaven as she'd ever been. This was love.
He lay perfectly still, except he quivered low like a bow stretched taut. She smoothed a hand over the tight muscles of his back and was surprised to find a light sheen of perspiration. In spite of what she'd said earlier to excuse removing her wrapper, the room was chilly. She wasn't cold with him lying over her, covering and warming her skin with his, but he didn't have her body blanketing him.
She turned and kissed his cheek where it lay so near her own. "You're trembling."
"I'm a dolt. I have gone much too fast for you, and I can't hold back." He propped himself on his elbows and stroked her face. His eyes so darkly disturbing to her before were full of tenderness and concern. "I don't want to hurt you, didn't want to hurt you."
"It doesn't hurt now."
His hips rocked, and she heaved in a startled breath at the coiling tight sensation that built where his body joined hers.
"You're certain?"
She nodded. His mouth found hers and began anew with the pleasure of kissing, while he slowly drew in and out of her, layering passion on top of pleasure. His movements grew more urgent, more desperate. Sophie writhed beneath him, seeking a harbor in the storm of her emotions and this new swelling tide of sensations. Yet, she knew the journey would end where it should, because she loved him with all her soul, and he must love her to share this so intimate and private pleasure with her.
He shuddered and groaned and thrust into her. A torrent of warm heat flooded her body as he slumped against her, his manhood pulsing within her, his breath coming in heavy gasps. She wasn't quite sure what had happened, but she knew he had burst through some dam and released himself into her.
A flood of tenderness and love swept over her.
She wanted nothing more than to embrace Keene, to tell him how she had always loved him, from when she was a little child following him around.
Surely, now that he had made her his wife, he wouldn't leave her alone all the time. Perhaps he had waited so long to bed her to allow his own feelings to grow
.
He stirred, turning his lips to her shoulder and pressing damp kisses on her skin. He stroked her hair and shifted to his elbows. He rained tender kisses on her face.
Sophie wiggled, the heaviness of her lower body impatient with the ceased movements. "Is that all?"
Keene grinned. "No, not for you, but give me a minute. I'm spent." Yet, his hands began a slow roaming journey over her skin, leaving trails of starbursts in his wake.
Sophie couldn't imagine feeling more content, more loved, in spite of the tenseness of her body. His full attention filled her with satisfaction and a hunger for more. The only thing she could imagine intruding on this sense of well-being was if he began ignoring her again. And surely he wouldn't do that.
* * *
"What sort of a to-do?" Impatience threatened to get the better of Victor. Would he have been able to persuade Mary Frances to continue her seduction without the fisticuffs if his coachman had continued driving as instructed?
"Well, it seems the servants have dragged several mattresses out into the street, my lord."
"Perhaps they intend to beat the bugs out."
The coachman frowned. "I hardly think so, sir. It appears that they think they might cushion his landing."
Mary Frances whispered, "What is the problem?"
Victor leaned through the door to follow the line of his coachman's outstretched arm and pointed finger. "Bloody hell!"
* * *
"Oh, well if you are tired, you needn't—oh!" Sophie curled her fingers into the sheets at the long sweep of Keene's hand over her curves.
A smile of satisfaction tugged on his lips, even as he pressed them to the graceful column of her neck. He should have taken more time teaching her the wonders of making love, spent more time to be sure she was more than receptive. He should have had her hungering for his touch the way he had for hers. Except he hadn't realized it was the first time for her.
He was a complete and utter idiot. She was no more pregnant than he was. How her parents had reached that conclusion he didn't know, but he could shoot them for making him delay this moment of wonder for three months. Well, he could shoot them if he felt the least bit of anger with the world, but he only felt foolish.
He rolled to his back, taking her with him. She sprawled on top of him, and he rubbed his hands down her back, loving the feel of her. Concerned she might grow cold, he gathered the covers to pull over them.
"We are done, then?"
His wife was lovely and oh so damnably innocent. Even though he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep with her in his arms, he fought the replete languor that followed his explosive climax. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this wonderful. Perhaps he never had, but Sophie was not by any stretch of the imagination satisfied, and what was worse, she had no idea what was wrong, but her chaotic breathing and her wriggles told their own story.
"Not in the least. We are just moving to the next entertainment." The lady's pleasure.
He might have to go for a long cooling walk later if he thought too long upon slaking his needs upon her again tonight. He didn't want her sore. Her body's tensile resistance had surprised him, but then, virgins were not his usual fare. With her surprise and dismay at the delay, she was no doubt caught as unaware as he was by her body's fragile barrier.
Slowly he roamed his hands over her body, while he pressed kisses anywhere he could reach. She grew expectantly still on him. "Are we doing it again?"
Not exactly. "Would you rather talk?"
She shrugged.
He shifted her body to rest beside him, where he could touch her more freely. "I'd rather kiss you."
Her lips were pliant under his. Her taste swirled on his tongue, sweeter than nectar. Her eager whimper and heartfelt sigh when he ended the kiss charmed him to the bottom of his feet where her toes tangled with his.
He stared into her blue eyes and grinned. The smiles kept coming even though he was trying damnably hard to complete the serious business of training his wife, a business he hoped to take a lifetime with.
She stared back. "Why did we wait so long?"
Because he was a stark raving lunatic. That was one way to erase his amusement. The last thing he wanted was to tell her he had doubted her virtue. The reason hardly made sense in light of the evidence and would only misdirect her pleasure. "Someday I'll explain."
Her forehead crinkled. "Not now?"
"Not now." He kissed the tip of her nose, feeling a wave of love sweep over him. He resisted it for a moment, but then it seeped through him like a gentle flood. He did love her, more than he realized before now. In this moment, loving her felt like the only right thing.
He circled her breast with his fingertips. She edged her chin down and her gaze dipped. Her shift away from his touch startled him. Right now he simply wanted to show her the world and return to her the gift of complete fulfillment.
Perhaps he had spent too long regaining his equilibrium. He knew a woman's desire left untended could flicker out. He would spend all night rekindling it if he had to, but perhaps Sophie wanted to talk.
He scooted her closer to his body and tugged her legs over his. "That was one hell of a nightgown, Sophie. Will you wear it again for me?"
"Amelia said it should end up on the floor so fast as to make its wearing pointless."
Did Amelia have something to do with his wife's presence in his bedroom? "Not pointless, love. But I shall endeavor to leave it on longer next time, if that should please you."
Her blue eyes held questions.
He swallowed harder. Did he have the answers for her? Never had it mattered so much. He feared saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing. "What, Sophie?"
"Why did you marry me?"
He could lie and say he loved her, which he suspected he did at the time but hadn't known it. He searched for a reasonable explanation. The truth was he hadn't wanted to marry her and had only done so because he'd had his hand forced, and he was damnably glad his father had greased his path to give him what he really wanted. "Does it matter?"
Her eyes glistened in the dim light, and she shifted her gaze away to stare up at the canopy of the bed. He doubted she found the draperies fascinating all the sudden.
He took a deep breath and dug in. "Sophie, my father made you his heir."
"I can't inherit." Her gaze shot to his. "His estate is entailed."
"Only a small part. Before, Richard was to have most of the estate and the farms. I would only have the title and the old estate house with the ten acres it sits on."
"The dower house? Oh, Keene, why?"
Her face scrunched in both concern and confusion. True, she couldn't inherit the title, but was she ready for explanations that his father hadn't sired him, that he had no idea who his natural father was? And did it matter to the point he wanted to make?
"Why would he do that?"
The words tumbled out of his lips before he could stop them. "I'm not his son."
He held his breath, waiting for her reaction. Not many people knew. Victor knew, and he'd just told George, and now Sophie knew. Of everyone, her opinion mattered most. His real father could be a stable hand for all he knew.
"You married me to get your father's estate?"
No. She would have control over her inheritances and the ability to decide to pass them on to their children. "No! I'll never get it."
Her blue eyes filled with moisture.
"It doesn't matter, Sophie." What mattered was he could have walked away from his father's blackmail. In anything else he would have refused. He would have refused any other woman. But it was her, handed to him, and even when he thought she carried another man's child, he'd wanted her. He'd been ridiculously blind.
Many times in his life he'd considered leaving England and making his fortune elsewhere, but once marriage to Sophie was an option, the idea of leaving deserted him. Oh, he suspected he'd wanted her all along.
"It does matter." Her voice trembled.
He framed her face with his hands. "What matters is that you are my wife and I—"
A pounding on the door made them both jump.
"Keene, are you in there? You have to come, now." The door crashed open, and Victor charged into the room.
"Bloody hell!" Keene flattened his body over Sophie's. "Get out!"
Victor scooped up Keene's clothing off the chair and tossed it toward him. "You have to come, now. George is about to kill himself. You have to stop him."
Keene's heart froze. He twisted to look at Victor. The horror and dread on Victor's face spoke to Keene like nothing else could. Victor hadn't looked this alarmed when they faced each other with pistols at dawn. He didn't think his friend even realized Sophie was in the bed with him.
"We'll finish this when I get back." He slid out from under the sheet and grabbed his breeches.
Victor must have belatedly realized how intrusive his interruption was, but instead of a characteristic sarcastic remark he jerked around and paced away. "He's about to leap from his roof. Mary Frances is talking to him, but, God, Keene, you have to save him. Your carriage is outside."
"Did you tell Amelia?" Sophie sat up, the sheet clutched to her chest.
Victor swung around, his face pale. "Good God, no!"
"I'll come with you." She swung her legs to the side of the bed.
"Sophie, just stay here. I'll handle this. I don't want you there." He didn't want her parading around naked in front of Victor, either. Keene grabbed his boots and a shirt and headed out the door.
Victor was right on his heels. "Your pardon, ma'am." He paused long enough to pull the door shut.
The silence of the room chilled Sophie. She put her head in her hands. Keene had married her because she was his father's heir. And he'd left her again. She'd never felt more alone in her life.
She threw her head back and kept the tears from spilling out. Admittedly, Keene had a good reason to leave her this time, but it hurt nonetheless. He didn't want her with him while he dealt with a crisis. Perhaps the only place he wanted her was in his bed, and even that had only followed her throwing herself at him.
Her heart bled. Was this how George felt? He shouldn't, because Amelia did love her husband. But Sophie had no such assurance. Keene married her because she was his father's heir.
It was almost too much to absorb. But beyond her own problems, Amelia deserved to know that her husband was about to leap to his death. Sophie pushed back the covers, ignored the stain on the sheets and scurried into her own room to get dressed. She slammed the connecting door, even though the point was moot.
