“I’m afraid I haven’t spent much time redecorating these rooms,” he apologized, as he led her over to where a small table had been laid with a tablecloth and was covered with tureens and dishes filled with all sorts of delicacies.
“I’m afraid I’m too hungry to care,” she said as he pulled out a chair for her, and to her dismay, her stomach gave a little growl.
“Then by all means, eat,” he said with a chuckle as he took the seat opposite. “I am pleased to meet a lady who does not pick at her food like a bird.”
“No danger there,” she said as she bit into a bit of bread. “No danger at all.”
* * *
He found Ophelia to be a lively conversationalist, and thanks to their shared circle of friends they were able to tell stories without needing to explain their various relationships to the players. Ophelia asked what it had been like for the quartet of Trent, Mainwaring, Freddy, and the now departed Jonathan Craven at school. And Trent was able to make her laugh over their boyhood scrapes and feats of derring-do. And she shared with him tales of her childhood in London, which despite her sister’s presence, sounded a bit lonely to his ears. She’d had friends, of course, but having been kept home and educated by a governess, she and Mariah had had only themselves to rely on for most of their youth.
“Then at some point,” she said wryly, “Mariah became the pretty one. It wasn’t that I was considered to be particularly plain, you understand. Just that Mariah was so winsome—and quite able to use it to her advantage when necessary—that I faded into the background. It was galling to me at first. For every young lady longs to be the one who catches the gentlemen’s eyes. But soon I found other ways to show my worth. My writing was one of them.”
“How so?” he asked, fascinated by these tales of the young Ophelia. He found it hard to believe that she was ever seen as anything but lovely, but he supposed it was impossible to draw comparisons when two sisters were standing side by side. Mariah was quite pretty, of course. But there was something rather vacant in her eyes that made him think that for all her looks she would not be nearly as entertaining a companion as her sister.
“You know how young people like to put on amateur theatricals and the like,” she said with a smile. When he nodded she continued, “Well, I was often called upon to pen our little plays. Especially when my sister wished to take a starring role. So I would spend all night scribbling out the most dreadful plays. Truly awful things with melodrama and mysterious inheritances and the like. And Mariah would take the lead role, and naturally, the most handsome of our neighbors, or sometimes some schoolfriend he’d brought home, would play opposite her.”
“So you were essentially playing matchmaker for your sister?” he asked with a laugh. He could think of few ladies who would so calmly hand over the best part to someone else. Even a sister.
“Sometimes.” Ophelia shrugged. “But it wasn’t as if I were pining for any of these gentlemen. As far as I was concerned they were just foolish boys who would make terrible husbands one day. I had no wish to find myself married off to one of them.”
“And your sister?” he asked, genuinely curious. “Did she expect to marry one of them?”
“Hardly.” Ophelia laughed. “She wanted them no more than I did. What she did want was their adoration, and their undying devotion. Mariah has always been remarkably practical when it comes to things like romance. She has no time for sentiment, does our Mariah.”
Though she spoke wryly, Trent could sense that there was more to her confession than that. “What about you? Do you find any appeal in sentiment, Ophelia?”
The question hung in the air between them for a moment as he watched the candlelight dance across her lovely countenance. She really was the lovelier of the two sisters, he thought with a start. It wasn’t that Mariah was ugly or unattractive. Far from it. But Ophelia had a quiet loveliness about her, something that took more than a glance to recognize. But once seen, it was impossible to miss again.
“I suppose I am as open to flattery as the next lady,” Ophelia said now. “And sentiment has its place, does it not? I imagine the right words uttered at the right moment could make my heart beat quite fast. But I’m not one to be constantly bursting into tears over the way a sunset moves me, or waxing poetic over a flower’s beauty.”
Trent grinned at the image. “While you do not seem to be without feeling, I cannot imagine you are the sort of foolish creature who weeps over the delicacy of a bird wing either.”
“Far from it,” Ophelia confirmed. “Though I obviously appreciate bird wings as much as the next person.”
Laughing, Trent reached across the table and clasped her hand in his.”If you’re finished with supper, I think it’s time for bed.”
Eighteen
Ophelia found herself less nervous about what was to come than she’d expected. The thing about it was, she trusted Trent, and from everything Leonora and Hermione had told her, the marriage bed could be quite pleasurable. Thinking back to the kisses and caresses they’d shared, which had been quite exciting, she thought he would make tonight just as intriguing.
Rising from her chair, she allowed him to take her by the hand and lead her to the enormous bed that dominated the room.
When they stopped just shy of the bed, he turned her in his arms and slid his hands over the gauzy fabric of her night rail. “I owe your friends considerable thanks for giving you this,” he said as he reached up to untie the lace at her neck and slide off the thin robe.
She would have answered, but he stopped her with his mouth. And Ophelia wasn’t sorry for the interruption. Of their own volition, her arms slipped around him and stroked over the hard muscles of his back, feeling the warm heat of him through the linen of his shirt.
His kiss was soft at first, a tentative caress that grew into something bolder as he opened his mouth and with a sure stroke of his tongue pushed into her. All the while holding her fast against him as if she were in danger of floating away.
Again and again he stroked, bit, caressed, and she gave it all back to him. Welcomed it when the soft fabric of her night rail added another dimension to the novelty of his touch.
When Trent’s hand slipped between them to caress her breast, she gasped, startled by the pulse of feeling that ran from her nipple to her center. And even as he kissed his way over her chin and down to her exposed collarbone, he was untying the ribbons of her dressing gown at her neck.
“Let’s get rid of this,” he murmured against her chest, as he pushed the sleeves down and over her shoulders and down her arms. She drew back a little so that the gauze would fall to the floor. She watched his eyes darken more as he took in her nudity.
“I wondered how far that blush would run,” he said aloud and, to her surprise, slid his arm beneath her knees and lifted her onto the bed.
In the dim light of the lamp at the bedside, she watched as he began to remove his clothes. First the cravat, which was gone far more quickly than she’d have imagined. Then the jacket, which he almost ripped in his desire to have it gone. Next, he untucked his shirt and pulled it off over his head.
Ophelia was unable to stop a gasp at the sight of his smooth bare skin. He was certainly a well-proportioned figure of a man, she thought, as she followed the trail of hair from between his nipples down until it disappeared into the dark fabric of his breeches with her eyes. And for a moment her gaze dwelled on where that blunt part of him that would make her his strained against its cloth prison.
When she dared to look up, Trent was smiling. “I can promise you there’s no reason for alarm. I’m only a man. Just like any other.”
“You’re not like any other man,” she responded with an answering smile. “And I’m glad for it. I certainly wouldn’t welcome some other man into this bed to … to…”
“Have his wicked way with you?” he inquired as he began to unbutton his breeches. “Ravish you?”
“Have me,” she said, and it was both a statement and an invitation.
And never letting his gaze leave hers, he stripped off his breeches and stood naked before her. Daring to look down, she saw that he was larger than she’d anticipated, but she was ready. And there was no more than a moment to stare before he was sliding beneath the covers with her and pressing his warm body against hers.
“That’s better,” he said against her hair, and soon she was falling into a dreamlike state as his big hands stroked over her bare skin with a gentleness that made her want to weep. “If you only knew how much I’ve wanted you,” he whispered against her mouth before he scraped his teeth over her lower lip. “Since we first met, I think.”
Her surprise was tempered by desire as he kissed his way down over her chin to her neck. As his fingers played over her sensitive nipples before he replaced them with his mouth. “You did?” she whimpered as he sucked her into his mouth. “Oh, my God.”
“I did,” he whispered as he moved to cherish the other side, first plucking at the peak, then covering it with his lips. “So sweet,” he exhaled against her as Ophelia struggled to be still, but could not, and moved her hips as much as possible against him.
“Easy,” he said, moving up to kiss her mouth again, even as he slipped a hand down over her abdomen and then farther, diving into the heart of her where his fingers stroked through her hair and over the wetness there.
She cried out at his touch and when he pulled away a little struggled to lift her hips and follow his hand. “Easy,” he said again, stroking over her again, giving her what she had never known she needed before. “That’s it,” he soothed, pressing one finger inside her, nearly sending her over the edge even as he pressed his mouth to hers and she kissed him back.
It was impossible to remain still, and when his tongue and his finger began to work in unison, it was almost too much to bear. Unable to hold back any longer, she moved her hips. Again and again he pressed into her and she moved against his hand, chasing something she couldn’t name.
“More, my darling?” he asked against her ear, even as he pressed a second finger inside her. She moaned, unable to remain silent. The striving of her body was all she knew, and when he abruptly moved away she almost cried out with frustration.
But soon enough he was back. Only this time, he slid his own legs between hers and braced himself on his hands over her. “This might hurt a bit,” he whispered after a quick kiss, “but I hope not too much. And only the once.”
And before she could reply, she felt his hand skate down to her knee, which he lifted over his hip. And she felt him pressing there, where his fingers had been. And the unfulfilled ache of the moment before became eagerness as he thrust inside her.
But instead of pain, she felt only relief.
Bit by bit, inch by inch, he pressed into her and slowly what had been relief became a pinch of discomfort.
She bit her lip. He’d said it would hurt, and he was right, she thought as he continued to press forward slowly, her body stretching to accommodate him. Until finally, he was fully seated within her. And there was no more pain. Only a curious fullness.
“Sorry,” Trent said against her mouth, his voice hoarse as if he were in pain.
But she shook her head. “It’s not that bad,” she said, and to her surprise, it was the truth. He began to pull back and her body pulsed around him, which was also pleasure. And when he thrust in again, she gasped at the sensation.
Soon he was moving in a rhythm impossible for her to ignore, and she began to move with him.
“That’s it,” he said, sliding his hands under her, changing the angle and making her gasp. She was overwhelmed with the power of it. Of him, of how much her body ached to take him again and again.
And soon it was impossible to think at all, and when he moved to touch that sensitive part of her above where they were joined, she felt herself fly away into a fractured maelstrom of nothing but pure sensation. Her hearing dimmed and her vision darkened and she was at once herself and not herself. Somewhere far off she felt him speed up and then shout. And for a moment there was only this moment of sheer joy in her husband’s arms.
When she came back to herself, Trent’s weight upon her was heavy but pleasant. And at this moment, she felt well and truly wed. As if it had taken this between them to make things real.
As she stroked the soft hair at the nape of his neck, she realized in surprise that she loved him.
Not because of what they’d just done. That was remarkable, but not something that moved her heart, wonderful though it had been.
Instead it was small things. The way he’d responded when she burst into his home unannounced. His attempts to help her find Maggie. His obvious jealousy over Lord Goring. Even the sweet way he’d set her at ease tonight when she was embarrassed at being underdressed.
His friendship.
There was much to be said for the affection of friendship in marriage. Add love into the mix, and it was very nearly perfect.
And she would own it.
To herself and to him if he ever asked.
* * *
When Trent came back to himself, he was startled to realize he’d collapsed like an inexperienced youth on his new wife.
“I am sorry,” he said, moving to lie on his back. Pulling her into the circle of his arm, he lay still, catching his breath for a moment while enjoying the feeling of her soft warm body tucked against his.
There had been nothing ordinary about that, he thought as he stroked lightly over her bare arm. He might have guessed that the unconventional Miss Dauntry would prove to be as fiery in bed as out of it. For an untutored virgin, she was as eager and fearless as he could have hoped. Her response had almost been enough to rob him of control.
Perhaps there was something to be said for marriage between friends. He very much doubted he would have ended the night as satisfied had he chosen to wed some title-hungry debutante.
Beside him, Ophelia stirred a little, and he glanced down to see her frowning.
“What is it?” he asked, wondering if he’d been foolish in thinking things were rosy when there was a storm brewing.
She lowered her lashes and he was reminded of just how lovely she was. What was wrong with the men of London that they’d failed to notice? He knew he was lucky to have gotten her before they did, but still.
Looking up at him, she blushed but spoke anyway. “Is it always that…?” She paused, clearly searching for a word to describe what they’d just done.
“Unbridled?” he asked with a raised brow. “Passionate?”
She pursed her lips. “I was going to say loud,” she said with her own raised brow. “I am quite glad we were here and not at my father’s house for I have no doubt they’d have heard me shrieking all the way in the servants’ quarters.”
“Wretch,” he teased, kissing her lightly. “You had me thinking I’d changed your life entirely and all you are concerned with is whether anyone heard us.”
She blushed. “You know very well just how good you are at…”—she gestured between them—“that.”
He grinned and pulled her against him again. “I must admit to accounting myself as something of an expert at the business,” he admitted. “But you acquitted yourself very well indeed. So much so that I almost forgot everything I know as soon as I had you in my arms.”
She hid her face in his shoulder. “None of what my friends told me prepared me for the real thing.”
“Some things have to be experienced to be believed,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Though one thing you may have noticed is that it can be quite exhausting.”
As if the words had reminded her, she yawned.
“Perhaps we should get a bit of rest now,” he said, resting his hand on her hip. “For I fear tomorrow will be quite busy.”
Neither of them spoke about Maggie but they both knew that now George had been found, it couldn’t be long before they discovered where his wife was too.
* * *
Ophelia awoke some hours later to the delicious sens
ation of Trent kissing his way down her stomach. She was still half asleep so she didn’t quite realize what he was doing until she felt his hands on her knees as he pulled them apart and wedged his shoulders between them.
Her eyes flying open, she sat up a little. “What are you doing?” she demanded, placing her hand over her sex in a flimsy attempt at modesty.
But when he looked up at her, the intensity in his gaze made her take in a shaky breath. “Let me taste you, Fee,” he said in a husky tone. Something about her nickname on his lips, coupled with the sincere passion in his eyes, made her swallow, then nod her acquiescence.
At her agreement, he returned to where he’d been, his hands on her knees as he gazed at the heart of her. Gently he removed her hand from where it hid her from view, and when he leaned forward to put his mouth where her hand had been, Ophelia couldn’t bear to watch.
Closing her eyes, she laid her head back and gasped as his warm breath whispered over her. She gripped the sheet as she felt his tongue slide over her already wet cleft. Once, twice, he licked over her, drawing a gasp. When he dipped his tongue inside, Ophelia couldn’t help but lift her hips. She’d never even imagined such a thing was possible, and when he stroked a finger inside her, she cried out.
As Trent licked at her and stroked with one hand, he used the other to find her breast, and thumbed over the sensitive skin of her nipple. “Easy, darling,” he whispered against her aching flesh. Then with his hand still at her breast, he sucked at her hard. She cried out at the sensation and could not have kept still if her life depended on it.
Moving in rhythm with his thrusting fingers, she still was desperate for something more. Something to fill her up. To make her whole. “Ah, Trent,” she gasped. “More, please. More.”
And in answer, he pressed another finger into her.
Under his hands, she was undone. All semblance of self-control was lost in a storm of want and need and unfulfilled desire. But what she really wanted. What she needed, was him.
As if he had seen into her thoughts, he gave one last kiss to her center and made his way up her body to kiss her mouth. He tasted strange and, she realized, like her. When he guided his body into hers, she gasped in relief.
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