"You have gone too far, Rowena." Alaric’s voice was low, but furious. "You are my wife, and you will be one to me in every sense of the word."
"You will have to force me!" Rowena flung the words at him like a curse. She had mentioned Lily intentionally, hoping he would tell her he had dismissed his mistress, and that she was now the only woman in his life, but it seemed he had no intention of doing so. She felt miserable, and it was only with an effort that she stopped herself from bursting into tears.
Alaric drew himself up and glared at Rowena, unaware of the complicated emotions raging through her. It seemed to him that she had become suddenly childish and petty.
"I would not have to force you, Rowena. You and I both know that it would take very little for me to make you want me as much as I want you."
"But I do not want to want you." Rowena spit the words out. "I feel trapped, my lord. It was unfair of you to put me in this position."
"You are behaving childishly, Rowena." Alaric’s voice had become cold and distant. He was furious with her for her intransigence, and for refusing to see that this marriage was for the best. He was in no mood to coax her. The anger she had engendered in him only made him want her more. He desired only to strip her clothes from her and take here and now, on the gleaming surface of his desk. But that would only fuel her anger and prove to her he was the monster she was picturing him to be. Let her wait a few days, he thought. Let her see that her foolish pride would not satisfy her the way he would be able to. But first, he would remind her of what she was missing.
He stepped towards her, untying a few more of the provocative bows, and then lifted her and set her on his desk.
"What are you doing?" Rowena asked sharply.
"If you intend to refuse me, I think that first you should have the opportunity to decide if you truly wish to wait," Alaric said with a devilish smile.
He untied more of the ribbons, and pushed the bodice of her dress down over her shoulders. The sunlight streaming into the study made her golden hair shine, and the pale skin of her shoulders and bosom glow. He reached out and caressed her breasts, lifting them with both hands, and bowing his head to kiss them, licking and sucking at her nipples. Rowena squirmed, trapped between pleasure, fear of discovery, and her stated wishes.
"Stop that," she commanded. "The servants could enter at any moment."
"My staff knows better than to interrupt us on our wedding day," he said with a hint of laughter in his voice.
He returned to kissing her breasts, and then took her lips deeply, plundering her sweetness, as he raised her skirts. Rowena tried to slap his hands away, but discovered it was difficult to sit upright on the desk when she did so. She continued her feeble efforts, until Brayleigh, taking advantage of her imbalance, put an arm behind her, then pushed her farther back on the desk and gently toppled her flat on its gleaming surface.
Rowena hissed with fury, afraid to raise her voice lest it be heard outside. Brayleigh laughed, and lifted her feet to the desk, removing the satin slippers she wore and pushing her full skirts up to her waist. He paused to enjoy seeing his beautiful bride, laid out like a feast before him.
"Now, let us make sure that you are well informed before you decide you want none of me for the moment," he remarked.
He knelt on the floor, his head between her thighs, and blew gently at the juncture of her legs. Rowena scrabbled at the desk, trying to push herself up, and he put one hand on her abdomen to hold her down.
"No, not yet, we’re just getting started," he said, and gently parted her labia, exposing the glistening pink lurking there. He blew again gently, and she quivered under his hand.
"If you wish to enjoy it even more, you could rub those rosy nipples between your fingers while I do this," he remarked. "It will enhance your pleasure, and I would certainly enjoy watching."
"I do not wish to enjoy anything," she retorted. "You aren’t respecting my wishes."
"You told me you didn’t want to enjoy ‘marital relations,’" Alaric responded, sarcasm tingeing his voice. "I’m merely showing you some of the things that I can do while respecting that request."
He opened her a little wider and slid his tongue over her, licking back and forth as Rowena panted on the desk, trying not to moan from the intense pleasure shooting through her. When Alaric slid a finger, and then two, into her as he pinpointed the spot that ached for his attention most, flicking his tongue over it as she writhed, she could no longer remain silent, and a tiny cry escaped her. At that Alaric stopped, removing his fingers slowly, and rubbing her mons gently as he stood up. Rowena looked up at him, clearly suffering from her unsatisfied need, and clenched her thighs together.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice fading away.
"I think this would be so much more comfortable if we went upstairs, don’t you darling?" he asked, a look of triumph and certainty on his face.
Rowena, who only seconds ago could have sworn she would do anything to feel Brayleigh’s satisfying thickness inside her again, felt fury replacing desire. She pushed herself to a sitting position and drew her bodice together, and then slipped to the floor, allowing her skirts to fall as she stood.
"You did that just to manipulate me," she accused him. "You want to make a mere statue of me, a living breathing statue that will satisfy your desires, and require none of your emotions or affections."
Brayleigh gritted his teeth. "I see that I erred when I presumed that you were more sensible than other young women." Rowena winced as his words cut at her. "You are clearly becoming hysterical. Very well. You have asked me to leave you alone tonight, and I will. I will give you your chance to become better acquainted with me. But you may learn, my lady, that you like me better when you are not challenging my wishes."
"Is that a threat?" demanded Rowena.
"Take it however you wish. You seem to believe that you know far better than I do my own motivations and feelings." Alaric folded his arms across his chest and leaned back onto the corner of his desk.
Rowena eyed him nervously. "You will abide by my wishes?"
"I don’t see that I have any choice, Rowena. I may force you, as you told me, or I may indulge you in your foolishness." Alaric’s green eyes glittered. "Behold me, the indulgent husband."
Rowena shivered. Alaric looked anything but indulgent, his lean and powerful body only inches from her own. He attracted her like a magnet, and she suppressed an urge to reach out and touch him.
"How long will you wait?" she asked in a small voice.
"I was not aware that I was allowed a choice in the matter," said Alaric coldly. "Is it for me to set the date of our first...encounter?"
"No, no of course not," said Rowena hastily. "I merely wondered how--how--" she stopped, unable to continue.
"How patient I am?" asked Alaric. "You tell me, Rowena. What do you feel is a suitable period of time?"
"A month?" said Rowena, aware that her voice was uncertain. Now that she had made her proposal and Alaric had agreed to it, she found that the victory seemed a little hollow. He was very attractive after all, and her body still tingled with unsatisfied passion. It was beginning to seem a lot to sacrifice in order to make a principled stand.
Alaric blinked. He couldn’t imagine waiting an entire month, living in the same house as Rowena, before touching her. He would have to convince her, and very soon, of the need to change her mind.
"A month will be fine," he said softly. "But if you reject me now, at the end of that month, or sooner if you change your mind, you will have to ask me very nicely to resume my attentions. Is that quite clear?"
Rowena sighed. She was not at all sure that she had actually won this battle. She looked up at him and attempted to smile.
"Thank you, my lord."
There was a long silence as Alaric watched Rowena broodingly and she looked at everything in the room except for her husband. Hastily, she retied her bodice and pulled on her slippers.
"What shall we do now, my lord?" she a
sked, attempting a bright tone.
"Surely you jest?" Alaric raised an eyebrow. "If we were a typical married couple, I have a fair idea. But as we are not, I have no notion at all. Perhaps you would care to examine your rooms. I will send for Mrs. Pynchon."
He went to ring the bell, and Rowena watched his powerful movements with a certain wistfulness. "Perhaps we might discuss later what more we shall do to clear Malcolm’s name," she volunteered.
Alaric stopped short and stared at her. "Clear Malcolm’s name? My dear, do not tell me that you mean to go on with that scheme."
"Why not? Now that we are married, we can work more closely together than we could in the past. It will be an excellent way to get to know each other."
Alaric shook his head. "Rowena, if you will not spend time with me as my wife, I have no intention of wasting my energy pursuing the hopeless task of clearing your foolish brother."
Rowena felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. "Do you mean that you believe Malcolm is guilty?"
"Of course Malcolm is guilty. If you believe that I did not kill Ingram, you must believe that your brother did. It is quite simple, Rowena. I indulged you previously, but these ridiculous fantasies of yours must stop."
Rowena’s toe began to tap dangerously. "You were merely indulging me, my lord?"
Alaric had the grace to look slightly shame-faced. "It was a way to spend time with you." His voice softened. "Rowena, you must face facts. Either your brother or I killed Ingram. You cannot believe us both innocent."
"Then perhaps you are guilty." Rowena’s voice rose, her anger fueled by her frustration and hurt. "For I shall never believe Malcolm to be a killer. And Lady Bingham assured me that you are. Who should know better than the woman who was your mistress?"
Alaric’s hand shot out and seized her wrist. "When did Lady Bingham tell you this?"
Rowena tried to wrench her arm away and failed. Alaric’s grip was like iron. "At the masquerade," she answered, her voice small.
"That damn masquerade. Listen to me, Rowena. You will not speak to Marguerite again. Do you understand me?" His eyes bored into hers.
Rowena’s lip lifted in a delicate expression of distaste. "Are you afraid of what she might tell me?"
Alaric let go of her suddenly and shrugged. "If you wish to believe her instead of me, there is nothing I can do. But trust me, Rowena, she is evil."
"That’s odd. She says the same of you. Perhaps you are a matched pair." Rowena rubbed her wrist.
"Perhaps we are," agreed Alaric angrily. "She at least never refused to sleep with me."
Rowena gasped. "That is unjust. She was your mistress, I am your wife, Alaric."
"You just told me you are not my wife, and will not be my wife, Rowena. Which is it to be?"
Rowena flushed. Their talk had not gone as she had envisioned it. She had meant to regain control of her life, but now her situation seemed more out of her control than it had been before.
"We need to know one another better," she repeated, the words sounding weak to her own ears. "You tricked me into marriage, and one of the things I believed we had in common, a belief in Malcolm’s innocence, was no more than another of your lies. Can you blame me for being uncertain?"
"You should trust me, Rowena." Alaric's face was very serious. "You know you can. You know how you feel when I hold you, when you shake with pleasure in my arms. Is it so hard to believe that I want only the best for you?"
Rowena’s eyes met his, and she grew very still. She badly wanted to give in to him, to tell him that she hadn’t meant what she had said, and that she wanted him to carry her up the stairs to finish what he had started on the desk. But that would mean that he had won, that she would give in to him although he didn’t love her. She couldn’t allow her desire for him to swamp her self-respect. He had toyed with her and tricked her, and she still had no idea why he had married her. She needed desperately to know that he cared for her.
"I’m sorry, my lord," she whispered.
"Very well." Alaric’s voice was brisk. He rang the bell and they waited in silence until a trim little woman entered and bobbed a curtsey.
"My lord. My lady, welcome. May I congratulate you on your marriage?"
"Thank you, Mrs. Pynchon." Alaric’s voice was cool and unruffled. "Please show Lady Brayleigh to her room and make her familiar with anything she needs to know."
"Certainly, my lord. If your ladyship will follow me?"
Mrs. Pynchon moved to the door and waited as Rowena looked up anxiously into Alaric’s face.
"Will I see you later?" she asked softly.
"Certainly."
"When?"
"That can hardly matter to you, considering our recent conversation." Alaric raised her cold hand and touched it briefly to his lips. "Please, make yourself at home."
Rowena, unwilling to press the point in front of a servant, walked slowly to the door. When she glanced back over her shoulder, Alaric was not looking at her, but instead had turned his back and was gazing out the window. She followed Mrs. Pynchon forlornly out of the room.
Chapter 14
After Rowena left the study, Alaric stood silently for some minutes, staring absently in front of him. He remembered with a certain irony the feeling of lightness he had experienced that morning when he had arisen, knowing he was about to be married. It had been not unlike the emotions he felt whenever a long-sought-after item was added to his collection; a clear sense of accomplishment, a glow of triumph, and a touch of relief. It had buoyed him throughout the ceremony, and he had looked forward with great anticipation to the coming pleasures of the night.
But it seemed now that marriage was somewhat different than collecting. Rowena appeared to be reluctant to sit quietly and be admired. She had startled him with her defiance, and he had found her insistence on sticking to her point irritating. Surely she realized that they belonged together. He knew she responded to him with exquisite passion, and was certain that other men did not elicit the same reaction. He had seen her turn from Voxley in disgust. What did it matter if he had pushed the issue, backing her into the marriage despite her expressed dislike of it? Rowena should realize by now that he knew what was best for her.
Alaric’s fingers began to beat an impatient rhythm on the top of the desk. This bargain he had made with his wife was a great mistake, he thought savagely. He was quite certain he would not be able to retain his sanity for even a week living in the same house with her and not touching her. That had been his primary motive behind the rushed marriage; while he had indeed wished to bind Rowena to him quickly so that she could not think of a good reason to break the engagement, even more than that he had desperately wanted her. His dreams had been haunted since he had met her by the image of her naked, spread alluringly before him on his bed.
"Damn," he muttered, striding across the room and pouring himself a glass of brandy from a crystal decanter. He tossed the drink back. His thoughts of Rowena had driven him to dismiss Lily weeks ago; he was no longer interested in any woman except the one who was now his wife. And then Rowena had suddenly declared that they should wait to be intimate! If she had tried for a year, she could not have thought of a more fitting punishment for him.
He poured himself another glass and glared into it. Alaric was not accustomed to waiting. His parents had not been affectionate people. Their arranged marriage had not been loving, and they had lived separate lives, completely wrapped up in their own affairs. They had viewed Alaric simply as an heir, the payment the Countess of Brayleigh had owed her husband in exchange for his bestowing his title upon her. The Countess had been a distant figure, beautiful and unobtainable, viewed only from afar as she departed for teas and balls escorted by her beaux, her gowns and jewels glittering. His father had immersed himself in his horses and gaming, losing thousands of pounds a night at the tables, going off for days with the lower-bred ladies he preferred to his cold and stately wife. Alaric had seen his parents together only on rare occasions when his
presence was required for family reasons, and he had been sent off to school at a young age, followed by time at Oxford and the Grand Tour of the Continent. When he had received a letter while he was in France informing him both his mother and father had died in a carriage accident and he was the new Earl, he had felt almost no emotion at all; they were strangers to him, his memories of them hazy, dim, and filled with an inchoate longing.
But if his parents had not offered their love to Alaric, they had at least provided him with every material thing he might wish for; the boy had only to express a desire for it to be immediately met. He had owned toys and clothing and animals of every description. They were produced when he asked for them and disposed of when he wearied of them, without his ever having to ask from whence they came or where they went. The servants who raised him had been instructed that Alaric was never to be crossed, never to be contradicted, and they had followed their instructions to the letter. Brayleigh was totally unfamiliar with the emotions associated with unfulfilled desire.
When he had grown and begun collecting rare objets d’art the results had been the same; he set his mind on acquiring something and did so in the quickest way possible, without thought as to who might be hurt in the process. Only Malcolm Arlingby had ever been able to stand in the way of the Earl of Brayleigh. And now another Arlingby, and a mere woman at that, was defying him as well.
Alaric tossed back the brandy. Rowena would be made to see quickly that her course of action was foolish. If she wanted to be left alone, then she would be. He strode out into the hallway, surprising the footmen, who jumped to attention.
"Where is my wife?" he demanded.
"Upstairs with Mrs. Pynchon, my lord," a footman answered nervously. His lordship looked as though he could murder someone.
"I am going out. Tell the Countess that I am not sure when I will be back." Alaric seized his hat and stalked out of the house, leaving the servants staring after him. None of them were eager to convey such a message to a newly wed bride.
A Collector's Item: Rowena's After Dark Regency Romance (The Arlingbys Book 1) Page 13
