Lifting her hand, she touched a fingertip to her still-swollen and tender lips. Shame filled her. She had nearly brushed her breasts against his chest, and let her tongue tangle with his.
Not the behavior of a duchess, but a hot-blooded wanton like her mother. Grandmother would be furious.
Lilian took a deep breath. She needed to stop this foolishness. Every married woman in history had had a wedding night, and all had endured. Besides, the sheer number of ton babies being born said ladies everywhere were doing their duty rather than being twits with the fortitude of syllabub. All she had to do was lie quietly and still, as a lady, as a duchess should. Once she knew what to expect, it would be far easier. And as Grandmother had said, once she birthed the heir and spare, Exton wouldn’t trouble her at all for marital relations.
She could do this.
She would do this.
Tonight.
Chapter 4
His wife resembled a prisoner downing her last meal.
Gabriel sighed and took another gulp of wine. A gentleman wouldn’t be frustrated—she was a virgin, God knew what rot about the marriage bed had been crammed into her head, not to mention he would never be the husband of her dreams.
But after the intoxicating kiss they had shared in her bedchamber, he’d been hopeful Lilian might be at least a little eager. Instead, she sat pale and stoic, restricting conversation to the kind of topics no doubt given the seal of approval by her harridan grandmother. Yet he couldn’t even take her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze as he’d done in the chapel, not with a mile of polished oak dining table, and enough crystal, silver, and elaborate floral centerpieces to sink a warship between them. And as Aunt Imogen had taken to dining in her chamber with her companion Clarissa to give the newlyweds ‘privacy,’ no one else could act as a conversation buffer. At least the room was well lit, its one saving grace.
In all honesty though, he probably wasn’t helping matters with one misstep after another when it came to etiquette. The chef was probably insulted because he turned away all the rich ducal dishes, preferring plain beef, a serving of vegetables sans sauce, and freshly baked bread and butter. Soldier food. Which he’d eaten as he always did; quickly rather than savoring. He poured his own wine rather than have a footman do it, because he didn’t want men standing anywhere near him. Certainly not hovering near his shoulder.
“Did you enjoy supper, Exton?”
Gabriel forced himself to smile. There would be countless conversations about the weather and food in his future, not just from his wife, but all the other members of the ton. He needed to get his short, bland assurances in order, and practiced so they could be replied without stutter or pause. “Most adequate. Thank you.”
Lilian nodded, and lifted her wine glass for a small sip, although her hand trembled and the crystal clinked against the edge of her plate. Now she looked both mortified and even paler. “Do excuse me.”
He sighed again at the uncomfortable awkwardness between them. Right at this moment there were couples all over England enjoying proper courtships. Learning about each other’s likes and dislikes, having long conversations about meaningful things. Kissing and touching, maybe even fucking each other senseless if they felt strongly enough and could arrange some time alone together. Mothers and chaperones tended to be much less vigilant once the betrothal was settled. Either way, the marital bed wouldn’t be something the bride dreaded, as his virgin wife clearly did.
Gabriel envied them all.
“Lilian,” he said, tapping his fingers on the dining table. “Are you well?”
She looked briefly startled. “Quite well.”
“Your lack of color suggests otherwise. I’m concerned you might swoon…face-first into your syllabub.”
As an attempt to make her smile, his joke fell embarrassingly flat. In fact, it seemed to only increase her tension, now her shoulders could probably be used to prop up scaffolding. Then it dawned on him: they had an audience. Yet another annoying aristocracy quirk he had to get used to, servants everywhere. Only a fool would be so candid in front of them; none were his men or Lilian’s for that matter. Anything said could be across London in a matter of hours.
Hell and bloody damnation.
Lilian took another sip of wine. “I assure you, Exton, I am in robust health.”
Even a blindfolded man could see his wife wanted to run screaming from the room. Perhaps the townhouse also. A part of him wanted to throw down his napkin and announce there would be no bedding, that she could rest easy, alone in her chamber. But that wouldn’t help. It would only prolong her anxiety if the event kept being postponed. Besides the fact that he was a selfish cad who had been dreaming about fucking his beautiful wife from the moment they’d met. Hell, his cock had been semi-hard most of the day, knowing that tonight she would finally be his in all ways. “Are you still hungry?”
She hesitated, clearly on the verge of telling a lie and saying she could eat enough for a regiment despite having picked at her food all evening. Then she took a deep breath and shook her head. “No. I…I am finished. But I would dearly love…a b-bath.”
Gabriel gritted his teeth. Even the thought of Lilian naked and wet had his cock surging against the confines of his trousers. He wanted to reach down and adjust himself, instead he turned to one of the footmen standing by the wall. “Advise the kitchens. A hot bath at once. In Her Grace’s chamber.”
The footman gulped. “Yes, Your Grace,” he replied, scooting from the dining room at great pace.
Smiling inwardly, Gabriel placed his napkin on the table. When he spoke in short, clipped sentences to hide his affliction, he actually sounded rather ducal. “Allow me to escort you…upstairs.”
Good God. That particular pause made him sound like the worst of rakes.
Lilian nodded graciously, and another footman dashed forward to pull back her chair. Soon they were on their way to the second floor, his wife’s nerves obvious in the rigid press of her hand on his sleeve. When they reached the door to her chamber, she hesitated again and looked at a spot over his left shoulder, her cheeks pink.
“I…I will be ready shortly. I just need to bathe. And ch-change. And braid—”
“Lilian,” he said gruffly, patting her hand when a part of him wanted to pull her close and stroke her hair. “Take as much time as you need. I’m not going to say something trite…like don’t be nervous. It’s new. It’s unknown. But I swear I’ll be…as gentle as I can.”
In the warm glow of the lit hallway candelabras, a hint of a smile lifted her lips. “Thank you, Exton. You needn’t worry. I know my duty as a wife and duchess is to provide heirs, and the line must be secured as soon as possible. I will, of course, permit you entry to my bedchamber whenever you wish it.”
On another occasion, those martyr-like words might have been enough to kill his lust entirely. Ah, the ton and their devotion to cold duty with their spouses rather than passion. Quentin probably would have visited Lilian strictly for heir-making purposes and departed without so much as a hair out of place. But Gabriel wanted her. Badly. It would take every bit of control he possessed to go slowly, to not accidentally hurt or frighten Lilian with his rough soldier ways or the things he wanted to do to her. His tongue and fingers and cock were eager to teach her about pleasure. If he could just find the lusty woman beneath the duchess shell, the woman who had kissed him back so erotically this morning…
Gabriel bowed. “I am the most fortunate of men. Until later, then.”
If at all possible, she would have stayed in the copper bathing tub until she grew gills. Instead, Lilian sat in front of her dressing table, trying not to shriek.
Outwardly, she looked calm, if pale, dressed in a modest, long-sleeved nightgown with lace edging and a pink satin bow securing the bodice. Dawn had expertly arranged her long blonde hair into a neat braid. But her skin was clammy, and her stomach churned. Right now she would give anything to already have this night behind her, to know exactly what marital relations e
ntailed. To be so blasted ignorant was both frightening and infuriating.
A brief knock sounded on the door connecting her and Exton’s chambers, then he ambled in. “Your maid informed Hobbs…you were ready.”
Lilian barely suppressed a gasp. She might be ready, but the same certainly could not be said for her husband! Exton should be wearing a knee-length nightshirt. Instead, he stood before her in a heavy black silk robe, belted at the waist. And from the sprinkling of dark chest hair in the small triangle of bronzed bare skin visible, he wasn’t wearing a stitch underneath it. “I…yes.”
“You are staring, madam wife,” he said with an unexpectedly roguish grin, as he moved closer.
“Quite,” she replied stiltedly, her mind scrambling for words. He was near-naked. “Because a duke does not visit his duchess dressed in such an informal manner.”
Exton folded his brawny arms. “Really? Based on your experience?”
Heat surged across her cheekbones. “Surely it is improper?”
“We’re going to bed. Not a ball. I hope this is the last…conversation we have…about proper night attire. Christ, it’s dark in here.”
Lilian’s embarrassment at the setdown turned into confusion. Dark? As well as the fireplace, she had several candles lit, and the bedchamber had a soft yellow glow. “Do you wish me to light more candles? I’m not sure if I have any more beeswax ones. Only some spare tallow. And the smell isn’t overly pleasant.”
His jaw tightened, and one hand reached up to rub his maimed cheek. “Don’t care. Light them. Now.”
Heart sinking, Lilian hurried to obey. A wonderful start—she’d managed to anger him both with her too-blunt comment on his attire, and the state of her chamber. Could she do anything right as a wife?
When they had lit the room near bright as day, she gestured hesitantly to her bed. “Do you…?”
Exton went to the bed and pulled the embroidered quilt back, revealing crisp linen sheets. “By all means.”
Clumsy with anxiety, she climbed onto the bed and attempted to arrange herself as per her grandmother’s instructions. Did she lift her nightgown to her waist? Or would he? Blast it, she couldn’t remember! Eventually she lifted it halfway, so her ankles and knees were revealed. Surely she couldn’t be faulted for that. Now, if only her hands would stop trembling, she could prepare herself for The Event. Resting her head on the pillow, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Please do proceed.”
Nothing happened. In fact, her husband didn’t even move from where he sat perched on the other side of the bed. Thoroughly unsettled, Lilian opened her eyes and looked at him. What had she done wrong this time? Was she so unappealing Exton couldn’t bring himself to bed her again?
Then he smiled faintly. “I thought we might kiss to start. If you’re agreeable. But do not…please do not touch me.”
Lilian bit her lip to halt a barrage of questions. Alongside the wretched hot blood, her naturally inquisitive nature was something else she must firmly suppress. “Of course. Whatever you wish.”
He made a rough sound, and his gaze darkened as it practically pinned her to the bed. Sweet heaven. Not a proper look, but a hungry one. Her skin heated and dampened, and abruptly her nightgown felt like sackcloth rather than soft linen. Then he moved across the bed toward her, slowly and yet with such intent, that Lilian shivered.
Kneeling beside her, Exton cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing her lips. Finally, he bent down and brushed his mouth against hers, back and forth, again and again, until her lips were oh-so-sensitive and parting for him, and tingles shot down the length of her body.
“That’s it. Good,” he gritted out, flexing his jaw before his lips firmed, pressing much harder, and his tongue darted into her mouth and tangled with hers.
It was so delicious, she didn’t even realize his hand had moved until it cupped her left breast, his thumb unerringly finding her nipple and rubbing it through her nightgown. A jolt raced through her, hardening the tender peak, and Lilian jerked away in shock. “What are you doing?”
Exton blinked. “Readying you.”
Confusion swirled, turning her mind to mud. Readying? “I don’t understand.”
His disconcerting dark gaze fixed on her again. “Make you wet.”
Now he spoke in riddles. She’d already bathed. Why would she want to be wet again? “I don’t see how that will help.”
“It will. When pleasured,” he said roughly, the timbre of his voice rasping against every nerve ending she had, almost making her squirm against the sheets, “your body will create wetness. Between your legs. To ease my way.”
A chill shot through her at his words. Pleasure?
Only whores enjoy the act.
“N-no thank you,” she choked out. “Could you simply do what needs to be done so we are properly wed?”
Exton leaned back and rubbed his jaw again, turning his face away so she could only see the uninjured side. “You want me to just…lift your nightgown and shove inside you. Like Quentin might have.”
His words were low and calm, yet she sensed resignation and…hurt? But how could that be? Surely, bedding his wife in the correct manner was something to aspire to. “I really don’t know how he might have, ah, done his duty. But I understand that is how it is for marital relations between a duke and duchess,” she replied cautiously, wanting to share what she knew and yet not offend. “Swiftly and efficiently done, and then you bid me good evening and leave.”
“I see,” he said, pulling his robe a little tighter.
Oh no. She kept doing everything wrong. Exton didn’t look hungry anymore, just weary. “But,” she said desperately, reaching out and touching his hand, “if you wish something different, I will of course obey.”
To her great relief, he eventually gave her fingers a faint squeeze. “Before we begin, I’d like to apply a little oil. Don’t want to hurt you…more than necessary.”
Lilian hesitated. “Ah—“
“It is commonly used.”
Hmmm. To ease her discomfort, surely it couldn’t be wrong. “Very well.”
Exton nodded, and reached into the pocket of his robe for a small bottle. Uncorking it, he tipped a quantity into the palm of one big hand, and soon a pleasant citrusy scent filled the air. He swirled his fingertips in the oil, and then leaned down and delved under her nightgown until he reached her core.
Lilian jumped at the coolness of the oil against her most private part, but it soon warmed. Up and down, back and forth, her husband smoothed the liquid in, only stopping to recoat his fingers as he circled an acutely sensitive place at the top of her mound, then slid down…down…
Oh. His fingertip had pushed inside to gently stroke her. All while his thumb brushed that other place, making it pulse, making her want to tilt her hips and shamelessly rub her mound against his fingers to increase the pressure. It felt strange and disturbing…and very, very nice. If he continued, she wouldn’t be able to halt an unladylike moan of delight escaping.
Only whores enjoy the act.
She had to stop this. Immediately.
Lilian gripped his wrist. “That is sufficient,” she blurted. “I’m ready.”
Sufficient?
Gabriel begged to differ.
Nothing about this damned evening had gone the way he’d hoped. More like the destruction of any last remaining shreds of pride as his lady wife inadvertently said and did everything she could to cool his lust.
And yet it hadn’t cooled. His cock still throbbed beneath the thankfully thick quilted robe. Which just proved how pathetically desperate he was to bed her, to have that intimate connection with another person. But Lilian wasn’t ready, not truly. Even though her clitoris had begun to swell against his thumb, she hadn’t climaxed. And her tight, hot center was slippery only with the oil he’d used, not her own juices. He didn’t even know the color of her nipples, hidden as they were under the godawful nightgown. And yet he did know they were sensitive. Before she’d yanked away from him, the pe
ak had hardened with the barest of touches. Who knew how firm and jutting he could make them with a little stroking and sucking?
Gabriel swallowed a groan. Then there was her cunt, which he’d also only felt rather than seen thanks to the wretched cloth barrier. What shade were the crisp curls that had tickled his fingers? How would the silken, petal-soft folds of her labia, the swollen bud of her clitoris taste when soaked with her arousal? When she finally did reach orgasm, would Lilian be a woman who sighed and arched? Moaned and writhed? Who screamed the house down and shredded the sheets with her fingernails?
At this rate, he would never know the answers to his own questions. Not when his wife could be as changeably hot and cold as a spring day.
“Exton? I am…that is, ah…”
He forced a polite smile. Another thing he would never get used to, the cold impersonality of being referred to by a title. In public, he could understand. But hell, they were in bed. “Of course. Let’s get on with it, then.”
Lilian nodded and shifted her gaze to a spot somewhere across the chamber. God damn it, how, in the face of such reluctance, could he still want her so much?
Moving again on the bed, Gabriel eased himself between her spread thighs and folded her nightgown up out of the way. The curls between her legs were golden, perhaps a few shades darker than her hair, framing a dusky pink cunt and the darker folds of her labia where he’d stroked her.
Hunger, raw and overwhelming, surged through him like a storm. Fortunately, his robe remained belted tightly, if she saw the rest of his horrific scars, or the size of his engorged erection, she would bar him from her chamber forever.
“Must I do something?” Lilian asked suddenly. “To assist? Or should I just lie here? That is what I was told to do. But I don’t know if that is what you wish. I don’t know anything. It is so…so disagreeable not knowing anything.”
Gabriel stilled at the unexpected frustration in her tone. Curiosity at least offered a sliver of hope that in future she might be willing to learn. To experiment. But he didn’t want to overwhelm her this first time, and if his bloody foot began to misbehave and cramp his leg, they would never have a wedding night. Besides the fact that it had been so long since he’d bedded a woman, his cock was practically screaming to get inside her. Hell, the erotic contrast of her half-naked on the bed, from the waist up so prim and proper, and below, her thighs spread and cunt on display like some sort of carnal fallen angel would be etched in his mind forever.
Duke in Darkness (Wickedly Wed Book 1) Page 6
