by Robyn DeHart
She cried no tears, but rather sat quietly staring out the window as they rode home. He wanted to comfort her, but didn’t know how. He wanted to kill her father for causing her such pain, but for obvious reasons he couldn’t do that. She’d chosen him, and he was yet again deceiving her. All for good reason, but what would she say if she knew he was close to accusing her father?
Once they arrived home, he followed her up to their room, not wanting to leave her alone. He closed the bedroom door and turned to her.
“Claudia, I—”
She put her finger to his lips. “No. There’s nothing to say. I’ll be all right. A little shocked. Although I’m not certain why. I shouldn’t be the least surprised. It’s not as if he’s shown me any warmth to indicate that he loved me and wanted me to be happy.” She tried to smile. “Honestly, I don’t know what my mother saw in him.”
“Perhaps nothing. They could have married for any number of reasons.”
“She claimed she loved him. But maybe she only said that for my benefit. I can’t imagine someone as gentle and loving as my mother giving her heart to that man. I’ve wasted so much time trying to please him.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
She stood silently a moment, then met his gaze. “Yes. Right now I feel so numb, so dead inside. I need to touch you. I need you to touch me. I need to know that I’m alive and can still feel.”
He nodded.
She came to him then, her hands already unbuttoning her dress. Her eyes traveled the length of him in a look so seductive and practiced, she looked more mistress than wife.
In an instant, her mouth was on his, hungrily kissing him. Her fingers fumbled with his shirt, and he tried to help her, but she pushed his hands out of the way. She was in charge. Had his mouth not been otherwise engaged, he would have smiled.
She peeled his shirt off and immediately began unfastening his pants. Already partially aroused, he grew instantly hard as her hand grazed him while unfastening his pants.
He tried again to touch her, to cup her breasts, and she moved his hands.
“No,” she said. “This time I want to do it.”
She needed to be in control, and he understood that. She’d fought her own desires her entire life, and tonight she’d stood up to her father for the first time. It would take more than one night of taking the lead in the bedroom to banish her demons, but it was a step. She finished removing his clothes and led him to the bed. He climbed atop it and turned to face her. Her beautiful blue eyes had darkened to the color of the sky right before a storm.
She gave him a lazy smile, then began removing her clothes. Slowly. Seductively. He was going crazy with want for her. His loins ached for the warmth of her body.
First her dress came off, and she gave a little wiggle. Then her petticoat. Piece by piece, until she stood before him gloriously naked. He wanted to lick every inch of her pale, soft flesh.
His eyes moved to the triangle of hair between her legs, golden like the hair on her head. He longed to part it and bury himself inside her.
“Claudia, please.”
“Be patient.”
She sauntered to the bed. One hand grabbed onto a bedpost, and she tossed her head back, and her blond ringlets brushed against her plump bottom. He squirmed. She inched onto the bed next to his feet, then got on her hands and knees. Ever so gently, she crawled up his body, only stopping to rub her breasts against his legs, then his member, and then his chest.
She spread kisses up his torso and neck, lingering at his right ear, where she licked and breathed and nibbled until he thought he would lose his mind. He reached between them and cupped both her breasts, and she cried out. If she would but lower herself. He bucked up to meet her, and she released a low giggle.
“Do you want me?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“How much do you want me?” This time she looked him in the eyes.
“More than I’ve ever wanted anyone. Please.”
The change in her was dramatic, and it was all for him. He’d taught her to trust him enough that she felt comfortable being the dominant lover. His heart pounded rapidly. He loved her. God, how he loved her.
She lowered her body, and he felt the hot slickness of her rest against him. She moved a little. Back and forth, back and forth. Bloody hell, if she wasn’t careful, he wouldn’t make it very long.
“Claudia, I need to be inside you.”
She leaned in and kissed him while she lowered herself on him. She sat still for a moment before she began to move. Faster and harder she rode, and he thought he would explode, but he kept up with her.
She tilted her head back and squeezed her eyes closed. Tears slid down her cheeks, yet she continued to move. And then it was over, in a flash of pleasure. Her waves of pleasure subsided and still she cried. She collapsed on top of him, her curls brushing his cheek.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
He said nothing, merely wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly.
I love you, he wanted to say, but couldn’t. Not now. Not until he could be completely honest with her. Damnation. When she needed to hear it the most, and he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
She listened to the steady rhythm of his heart. The crinkle of hair sprinkled on his chest tickled her cheek. She felt exhilarated and free. Never had she thought she would do what she’d just done. She’d never imagined the marriage bed could be pleasant, and Derrick had taught her differently, and now she was instigating their lovemaking.
She giggled.
“What’s so funny?” He smoothed the hair at her temple.
“Married life is not at all what I envisioned. I’m not the same person I was mere weeks ago. I can’t even believe what I just did.”
“You can do it anytime you want.” His hand slid down the length of her back and swatted at her behind. “I mean it. Consider me your personal love slave.”
Now that was a delicious thought. Every once in a while, it hit her that he was hers and hers alone. “Sometimes it doesn’t seem real.”
“What?”
“Us. Our marriage. Sometimes I think I’ll wake up and it will only have been a dream.”
He brushed the hair out of her face. “A good dream?”
“Yes. When we first got married, I wasn’t so sure. I thought you were the wrong husband, that my life would be a terrible mess from then on. But the truth is, I married the right man. I’m happy with you, Derrick, and I hope someday you’ll be happy with our marriage too.”
“What makes you think I’m not happy?”
“I know you didn’t want to marry again.”
“No, I didn’t, but I don’t regret it. I’ll never regret marrying you.”
“What about Julia?”
“What about Julia? She’s in the past.”
“Do you still love her?”
“No. I haven’t loved her in many years.”
“You said that day by the pond that your marriage to her was a story for another day. Will you tell me now?”
He shrugged. “There’s not much to tell, really. I met her shortly after I returned to London after going to the university and doing some traveling. She enchanted me, and I fell in love with her immediately.”
Claudia tried not to wince. She’d known he’d loved his first wife, but she hadn’t been prepared to hear him say it.
He idly rubbed her back while he spoke. “It was a boy’s love, though, childish and fanciful. We married a few short weeks after we met, and a year later she was gone.”
“What happened?” she ventured.
“She got pregnant.” He took a deep breath.
“If this is too painful, we don’t have to talk about it.”
“It’s not painful. Julia had an affair, her lover got her pregnant. Julia wanted to run off with him. She made certain that everyone knew the truth, that everyone knew who the father of her child was.”
> “Wasn’t that a little risky with her reputation and yours?”
“Yes, but she didn’t care. She’d always been reckless, it was one of the things that attracted me to her. I wouldn’t let her leave though. I was selfish, I didn’t want to let her go.” He released a deep breath. “She died having that bastard’s child and he didn’t even come to her funeral.”
“And the child?”
“She lived all of three days, then she too died. She’s buried at my estate.”
“You gave her your name?” Claudia asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yes. She deserved to die with some degree of dignity, even if her parents had none.”
“You are a good man, Derrick.”
He shrugged. “It is all in the past. I was a boy, it was a long time ago, and it’s forgotten. Whatever your worries are about Julia, dismiss them. She does not affect our marriage.”
She smiled. “Very well.”
“I do have something I’ve been wanting to tell you, though,” he said. “I guess it’s a day for confessions.” He gave her a weak smile. “There are things about my past that you should know. Twelve years ago, I worked for my father’s newspaper, the Challenger. I was a journalist. His paper printed mostly political news. The latest of Parliament, scandals, debates, anything regarding politics went into that paper. And it was popular. The sales were great.” He was silent for a moment before he continued.
“Then I got the story of a lifetime. A scandal to beat all scandals. My source was reliable, or so I thought, and when I questioned the gentleman, he had no arguments against my facts. So I printed the story. And it ruined him. He was terminated from his position with the patents office and charged with treason. Two days after the paper was printed, he shot himself. His wife and daughter found him.”
His voice was lined with pain and obvious guilt. She tried to think of something to say, but found no words.
“I swore I’d never write again. And I haven’t. Eventually the paper was ruined. People didn’t take too kindly to us ruining that family—we were blamed for his suicide, me especially.”
“But it wasn’t your fault. Surely you know that.”
“It wasn’t completely my fault. But I am partially to blame. As it turns out, the story wasn’t completely true.”
“But the man. You asked him to comment, and he didn’t challenge your facts.”
“No, he didn’t. I’ve always wondered why. At the time, I thought he was being a stubborn, righteous old man. But now I know that he was protecting someone.”
“Who?”
“He was being blackmailed to embezzle the money. Of the funds he skimmed, he never spent one cent. It all went to someone else. He should have gone to the crown and reported the blackmailer. But I suppose he didn’t see any way to do that. To him, the secret he hid was more important than crimes against the crown.”
“Do you know who it was? The person behind the blackmail?” she asked.
“I have my suspicions.”
“But you won’t tell me?”
“Not until I have proof. I don’t want to wrongly accuse anyone. I can tell you that my source, the one I trusted who gave me the original story, was Richard.”
“So that is your past together, why you didn’t trust him.”
“Exactly,” he said.
“So your father’s paper was destroyed by this one act?”
“Yes. He died shortly after that. That’s when I started thinking of ways to recreate his success. I wanted to carry on his good name of providing quality news to people. But I wanted to take it a step further and make it available to everyone. It took me eight years to get the formula right, but I’m proud of my paper. And I think my father would be proud.”
She touched his cheek. “I know he would be.”
“He would have liked you very much.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“You know, that wasn’t exactly the first time I’d heard that story.”
“You knew about me?”
“No, not precisely. That day you found Richard and me. He’d told me something similar. I figured he was angry and didn’t know what he was talking about.”
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
“I felt if it was important, then you’d tell me eventually.”
He was quiet a moment, then asked, “What do you think about it?”
“I’m dreadfully disappointed in myself that I did not see Richard for the man he truly was. Now I understand you trying to protect me from him. As far as the story and the man’s suicide, it was unfortunate. Certainly not your fault. I bet you were a wonderful writer.”
She tilted her head and kissed his chin.
“So you believe me?”
She searched his eyes. He was serious, concerned. “Of course I believe you. I trust you.”
“You’re amazing.”
She smiled. “I don’t think so, but thank you for saying so.”
“I’m serious. I’ve given you no reason to have faith in me, and yet you do. Unwavering, it seems. You walked out on your father for me. I don’t even know how to say thank you for something like that.” His hand brushed her cheek, lingering by her ear.
“You’ve given me every reason to have faith in you. Aside from your slight prevarication at the beginning of our relationship, you’ve been nothing but honest with me. You went out of your way to prevent me from marrying Richard, and while I’m not certain your tactics were the best, under the circumstances—me refusing to see the truth—it was your only choice.
“As for my father, I realized that I’ve spent my entire life seeking his approval, and it’s never going to happen. No matter who I am or who I become, I will always be lacking in his eyes. I much prefer the way I look in your eyes.”
Chapter 20
“Not that color.”
Claudia eyed her husband. “What’s wrong with this color?” She fingered the fine pale blue silk. He’d talked her into going to the dressmaker this morning. They’d been here a full twenty minutes, and he’d rejected every fabric she’d selected.
“It looks like all your other dresses. I don’t want you to buy a gown your father would approve of. I want you to select material that makes you feel like a woman.” His voice was a mere breath away, warm next to her ear. “Vibrant colors. Passionate.”
She fought the urge to lean into him. What a wanton she’d become. He didn’t even have to touch her, and she melted.
“Show me what you want,” she said.
“Very well.”
She followed him around the aisles of fabric, and nearly bumped into him when he stopped suddenly.
“This is perfect.” He held up a rich, red velvet.
“Honestly, Derrick, I’ll look like a harlot.” She reached past him a grabbed a bolt of pink silk. “This is nice.”
“Yes, lovely.” He faked a yawn. “And boring.” He grabbed hold of her hand and smoothed it across the bloodred fabric. “Do you feel that? How can you walk away from something that feels that good?”
“It does feel rather nice,” she admitted.
“And when you wear it”—he leaned in closer to whisper—“I will not be able to keep my hands off you.”
Sold. It was beyond beautiful; the bright, warm tone beckoned for a touch. It would make a glorious ball gown. Perfect for their wedding ball.
“We’re not done.” He moved through the store, then stopped and picked up a bolt of deep purple. It was silk and shimmered beneath the lights. He unrolled a portion, then slid it against the bare skin at her neck. Her nipples hardened in response. Gracious.
“What do you think?”
“I like it,” her voice came out in barely a breath.
“I like it too. I think I will especially like the way it slithers off your body.”
“You are incorrigible.”
He gave her a toothy grin. “Can’t help it. You bring out the worst in me.”
“Are you sure about all of t
his? Not all women can wear such daring colors.”
He turned to face her, tilted her chin so that she looked him in the eyes, and smiled. “Yes, I’m positive. Can you trust me on this?”
Could she? Perhaps everyone would think she looked like a harlot, but for all she knew, they all thought she was a harlot already. Her husband wanted her to wear bold colors; she owed it to him to do so. And truth be told, she rather liked the thought of slipping into that rich, red velvet.
“Yes, I will trust you on this.”
They continued through the store, picking fabric upon fabric, reds, greens, blues, purples in velvet, silk, cashmere, muslin. She would have an entirely new wardrobe, and none of it was pink, she thought with a smile.
He seemed so positive that she was born to stand out, as if those words were absolute fact, not merely his opinion. She’d spent her entire life trying to melt into the crowd, yet he insisted she was an original.
While the dressmaker measured her, Derrick waited patiently. She’d never known of any man who went to the dressmaker with his wife. But there he sat, a giant among the tiny feminine chairs, hard and masculine amid the soft and lacy fabrics filling the room. He’d helped her select everything: fabric, patterns, hair ribbons, and even some new fans.
The entire experience had been one of the most sensual things she’d ever done. Every color, every texture, all meant to engage the senses. Up until today, she had known nothing about dressing. And she’d learned everything from a man.
She had picked out something all her own, though. When Derrick had been going over the patterns with Madam Silver, Claudia had picked out a sheer nightgown and matching robe and had them wrapped.
Two evenings later, Claudia took one last look at herself in the mirror before heading downstairs. She’d never had a ball hosted in her honor before, and it was both flattering and nerve-wracking. But Derrick’s aunt had insisted. She’d said it would stop the gossips who were still twittering about their sudden nuptials.
