by Jenna Jaxon
“To the newly wed groom.” His host raised his glass. “May your days be sunny and your nights long.”
The tribute brought a roar of laughter from Lord Kittridge, Selham’s son-in-law. Flushed face, a reddened nose, and raucous laughter bespoke the man’s passion for drink. “You needn’t worry about cold nights either, Manning. Your bride looks to be a one to warm your bed properly.”
Smiling knowingly, Jack buried his face in his glass. He needed to change the topic and swiftly.
“You must take note of Manning’s choice of bride, Dalton,” Selham said to his son. “Beauty, spirit, and a fortune into the bargain. You would do well to take a page out of his book this next Season or two.”
Scarcely eighteen by the look of him, the young man’s cheeks flushed. “My congratulations, my lord. Lady Manning seems very kind from what little conversation we had at dinner.”
“My congratulations as well, Manning.” Kittridge tossed back his brandy and strode to the decanter. “You must be very proud of such a prize. We conversed about horses at dinner. She had some damned strong feelings about the Irish breeds. Talks as intelligently as a man on the subject.”
With a muted snigger, Jack moved to the sideboard and held out his glass. “I’m certain you got an earful, my lord. Lady Manning is indeed a staunch and very vocal advocate for the Irish Draught horse in particular. She sees no hope for English or colonial breeds and will bend your ear an hour or more expressing her views on the subject if she can.”
Kittridge poured Jack another libation and refreshed his own glass. “Most women will ride and nothing more. My lady has no idea about horses past what habit looks best when she sits upon one. I believe I would relish a wife who could converse on such a subject.”
“I had the opportunity to talk with Lady Kittridge. She seems conversant on many pleasing topics.” Although comely and more than a little flirtatious, Lady Kittridge had struck Jack as perhaps not the most intelligent of women. She had giggled quite a lot and talked of the most recent London gossip.
“She pleases me where it counts. Running the household well, and she is already increasing, hopefully with my heir. What more can a man hope for in a wife?” Kittridge raised his glass, though his mouth puckered in a dour knot.
“A lively conversation at the end of the day, perhaps?” Sipping his drink, Jack pondered this information. He’d never considered Alethea’s ability to talk about horses and things other than London fripperies an asset. He and Kat had had such conversations from the cradle. That most young women considered such topics distasteful or boring was a revelation. Had he been taking his wife’s charms for granted?
“Beauty is important,” Selham said, his frowning profile outlined in the flickering light of the fireplace. “A man wants his wife to do him credit. However, he may have to settle for a woman who has limitations in some areas.”
“Lady Kittridge has every grace one could hope for, save her tendency to speak on trivial subjects.” Eyes slitted, Kittridge glared at his father-in-law.
“She was ever flighty as a girl,” Selham said. “I told you as much when you asked for her hand. Lady Selham has always been much the same, so I thought nothing of it.”
With a shrug, Kittridge made his way back to his chair and plopped into the seat. “It’s not a grave fault. And it might be deucedly odd to have to always watch what one is saying to a very clever wife.”
“That’s a thought,” Jack agreed. Alethea forced him to always be on his guard. Again like his sister. Perhaps he had more affection for his wife than he realized because she was like Kat. Not a brotherly feeling at all, but more passionate than he’d first expected. “I suppose it is my cross to bear for my lady’s company.”
“Dalton, I have just realized that one of my cousins, Lady Margaret Tate, will be out in the spring.” Kittridge took the boy aside. Even gentlemen could match make on occasion.
Selham sauntered over to Jack. “Haven’t seen you since Braeton’s Hunt Ball, Manning.”
“You’re right. I hadn’t realized it had been so long.” It had been a busy autumn and winter. Especially since Christmas.
“Will you be available for a shoot next weekend? Several of the gentlemen from the hunting party will be here.”
“No, we are for London at the end of the week.” Jack racked his brain for the right way to frame a question that might reveal the identity of Alethea’s cad. “But I say, Selham, I’ve just had a thought. Perhaps you can help me.”
“If I can.”
“Do you remember a man at the Hunt Ball, a tall, well-built chap.”
“That describes almost a third of the gentlemen there.” Selham snorted.
“I know. I only spoke to him for a few minutes, so I can’t describe him better than that.”
“Does he owe you money?”
“No.” Wildly improvising, Jack smiled and shook his head. “He told me of a pair of grays of his for sale. I told him my stable was full up, but now I find I could use another pair. Thought if I could get in touch with him, he might still have them. I hadn’t met him before that weekend. If you told me the name, though, I might remember if that was the chap.”
“Well, let’s see. Lord Carstairs was there, Kittridge, of course, Harrington, Trevor, Mr. George Hartwell, Sir Peter Fitch, a Mr. Larraby, Lords Cryr and Carmichael.” Selham rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “I believe I saw Mr. Alfred Tarpley there also. Of course, some of the local gentlemen came only for the ball, not for the weekend.”
“True.” Three of the names he didn’t know. Of the ones he did, four were married or engaged. Of course, he wouldn’t count Trevor who had been otherwise engaged with other women. But he had something to go on now. “I don’t recognize any of those names, but I’ll ask Braeton when we get back to Town.”
“He may likely know someone who had a pair for sale,” Selham offered.
“Very likely.”
“And you’re certain you can’t stay through the weekend?” Selham turned the conversation back to his shooting party and the other men rejoined them.
Jack’s thoughts, however, returned to championing Alethea. He’d find out who this anonymous scoundrel was and make him pay for his dishonoring his wife. If only he could find the man, challenge him, and rid the earth of him. No man deserved to live who preyed on innocents like his wife. His wife.
Her image rose before him, burnished hair, soft skin, the swell of her breasts as they filled out her gowns almost to overflowing. An ache began in his groin, one he’d tried to ignore whenever thoughts of his wife filled him with longing. Christ, but he’d lusted after her many times since their marriage. Still, he hadn’t wanted to simply use her luscious body. Rather, he wanted Alethea for herself, not to treat her as just any woman. The past week had showed him that perhaps he did. Sure as hell his body wanted her now, inconvenient though it might be.
“Shall we join the ladies, gentlemen?” Selham set his glass on the sideboard and headed to the door. The rest followed, Jack bringing up the end.
They entered the green and gold drawing room, where a cheerful fire crackled in the fireplace. A scattering of sofas, chairs, and tables completed the cozy room. Lady Selham, her daughter, and Alethea had their heads together on a bronze sofa before the fire. A ripple of laughter erupted from them as the gentlemen entered.
Gaze immediately riveted on Alethea, Jack drank in her beauty, her coppery hair, creamy skin, and animated face. Helpless to stop himself, he gravitated toward her until he stood beside her.
Perched on the end of the sofa, swaying back and forth in her gold gown that accentuated her breasts, she chatted and laughed, totally unaware of the agony she was causing him. She looked like an exotic bird between two drab pigeons.
Fascination with his wife growing, Jack stared down at her. Without a word he grasped her hand and raised it for a kiss. Soft, warm skin, scented of roses
set his cock to twitching. God, did she bathe in rose water? Thoughts of her naked in her bath, the blazing locks of her hair streaming down either side of her neck to cover the tips of her nipples…
Lord, he needed to stop these thoughts else they’d have to leave. Of course, that idea had some merit. He and Alethea were on their wedding trip. Perfectly reasonable for them to declare an early evening and head home. Why wouldn’t a man want to spend more time with his lovely bride?
“Alethea.”
Two blue pools of startled concern met his agonized gaze. “Is everything all right, my lord?”
Leaning down to whisper in her ear, he breathed in once again that scent of roses and gritted his teeth as his passion soared. “Yes, my dear, save I fear we must leave immediately. A bit of urgent business I had neglected calls to me. I must attend to it now.”
“Can it not wait until tomorrow, my lord?” Brows swooping upward in alarm, Alethea turned more fully toward him, her face now damnably close to his breeches at hip level. Her already wide eyes grew to the size of saucers.
Giving a strangled cough, Alethea spun around toward their hostess. “Lady Selham, I pray you will forgive me, but I fear I have overdone today. I’ve been struck with a sudden headache. I fear we must return home early.”
“But of course, my dear. The weather has been so unsettled. It often brings them on.” Lady Selham patted Alethea’s hand while Lady Kittridge clucked her tongue sympathetically. “I’m certain the best place for you is bed.”
With a strangled gasp, Alethea arose, still chatting, though rubbing her temple from time to time as they made ready to go. Her every movement now seemed to set him aflame. Why had he not seen her this way before?
Amid their goodbyes, he forced himself to concentrate on something besides the siren next to him and bid his host a polite adieu. He’d thought himself under control until he grasped his wife’s arm to assist her into the carriage. The touch of her, even through layers of clothing, sent a change of heart straight to his groin so urgent he had to clamp his teeth together to stifle a groan of pure lust. His tight restraint, so easy for so many years, seemed about to desert him. Damn, but this long ride home would be pure agony.
* * * *
Jack climbed into the carriage as Alethea settled herself, hope once more filling her with excitement. With the lustful looks her husband had been darting at her, and the rather obvious bulge in his breeches, their abrupt departure from the Selhams must mean Jack had resolved his doubts about her and wanted to indulge in the intimacies of marriage. At last. A pleasant shiver coursed down her spine and she wished with all her heart they were already home.
He waved briefly to their host, then leaned back in the seat, his gaze on her, his every muscle tense.
“Jack?” Her voice sounded hushed in the small dark space. She grasped his hand as it lay on his knee. “Are you all right, my dear?”
The next moment he seized her head and pulled her toward him so quickly their heads bumped.
“Ouch.” The sudden pain surprised the yelp out of her.
He mashed his lips against hers, grinding them together.
She tensed and grunted, then relaxed into the kiss. It wasn’t what she’d dreamed of, but it was their first time. It would get better. Sliding her arms around his neck, she drew him closer to her, kissing him back with an intensity meant to show him just how she felt about him.
He thrust his tongue into her mouth.
The lover’s kiss, Eithne had told her. It had certainly sounded pleasanter when her cousin described it.
He wiggled his tongue around in her mouth, then thrust in and out rapidly.
In all her dreams of this moment, she’d never imagined the reality would be so…disappointing. Kisses were supposed to make one tingle, or so she’d always thought. She gently disengaged from him.
Letting her go, he sat up and blinked in the faint moonlight that streamed in through the carriage window. “Is something wrong, my dear?” His eager eyes searched her face.
“No, not wrong.” Not really wrong, just strange. She’d wanted his kisses so much and still did. She’d just have to get used to it. “I guess I was a little overcome with your zeal.”
Speechless for a moment, he glanced away then back, his brow furrowed. “I am sorry, my dear. Please forgive my fervor.” He cupped her cheek. “You looked so beautiful, tonight, so vibrant and…and, well irresistible, that you overwhelmed my senses. I couldn’t resist.”
She smiled against his hand. “Yes, I could see how overwhelmed you were in the drawing room.” Pressing his hand tighter, she whispered, “Would you like to try again?”
“Yes, oh, yes.” His eyes alight, he leaned into her until he found her lips once more. First, a soft touch that grew harder.
And yes, the tingles were there, all along her neck and arms. This, this was what she had craved from him. A moan of delight rumbled in her throat.
A tentative exploration with the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips suggested he wanted more. Desperate to please him, she opened her mouth and he slipped his tongue inside her, rewarding her with a deep groan as he pulled her against him.
Sensing his eagerness, she grasped his hand and brought it to her breast, fierce heat stabbing through her at his touch. “Ummm.” The guttural moan deepened her voice.
He cupped the other breast as well as he could, but her gown prevented complete access. Dratted fashion.
Carefully, he slid his hands into her bodice, his roughened fingers tightening on her soft flesh, making her breath come faster. He continued kissing her, his tongue tangling with hers in a mock battle that excited her to no end. A brush of his thumb against her nipple brought it instantly to a hard peak, and she moaned into his mouth. This was what she had longed for ever since she had met this wonderful man.
With bold strokes, he caressed her breasts, making them swell and firm. He grazed the very tips of her nipples with a scrape of his fingernail, a stab of need racing to her core. Alethea groaned louder and sucked harder on his tongue.
Jack clamped down on her nipples and squeezed.
Alethea’s high-pitched screech filled the carriage as pain rippled through her breasts. She pushed him away so hard he thumped against the carriage door. His fingers remained fastened to her nipples for some seconds longer, pulling them fiercely until he finally let go.
“That hurt, Jack.” Instinctively, she cradled her sore flesh. What did he think he was doing? Blinking back tears, she coaxed her throbbing nipples back into her bodice.
“I am very sorry, Alethea.” His voice sounded more formal, distant. “I promise you I did not intend to hurt you.”
“I’m sure you didn’t, my dear. But my breasts are already swollen and sore. Now they ache all over.” What had happened to cause him to lose control like that? Had the carriage hit a rut? She hadn’t been paying attention to anything but him.
“I am truly sorry, Alethea.” Again, that cold formality in his voice.
“Perhaps we should wait until we are back at the Keep, in a warm, soft bed.” That thought more than compensated for the ache in her flesh that had already faded.
“No, my dear, I think it best if we sleep apart tonight as usual. I would not wish to injure you further.” A caring sentiment to be sure if it had a shred of warmth in it.
“Jack, I didn’t mean to imply…” Damnation, had she offended him? He had retreated to the opposite side of the carriage, as far from her as he could get. With no light to show his face, she couldn’t be sure, but the ice in his voice was unmistakable. She’d wager if she tried to slide over next to him he’d move to the back-facing seat.
Without another word, he settled against the door and turned his face to stare out the window at the dark landscape.
Tears sprang to her eyes as she prepared herself for a miserable ride home. Why, oh, why was any intimacy
between them so hard to come by?
Chapter 14
Dawn’s light brushed the sky a delicate pink as Jack and Alethea took their seats in the roomy carriage, bound for London. Swathed in layers of a blue woolen gown, woolen stockings and half-boots, and a black fur-lined cloak with matching muff and hat, his wife had apparently dressed for the chilly day, rather as though she expected to deal with the cold both inside and outside the carriage.
In the three days since that disastrous carriage ride home from the Selhams’ dinner, they had spoken perhaps a handful of times. His humiliation and the utter failure of that night still stung. And quite cowardly, he’d not sought Alethea out to explain. Even now he sat immobile, staring out the window, avoiding her. With a curt word, he gave the order to start the team.
He dreaded the coming day, alone with her for hours and hours and nothing to say. What could he say? The thought of telling her of his plight was abhorrent. How could he confess to his wife that he was a virgin? Men should come to the marriage bed with more experience than their wives. She’d even had another lover to compare him to. What if she found him wanting?
No. He couldn’t risk her contempt. Better her think him a brute for the time being. If only there was some way to apologize for his fumbling ineptness the other night without disclosing the reason for it.
Damnation. He should have thought more clearly about his lack of experience before he married. However, he’d been so sure he’d have no desire for the woman he never believed his feelings toward her might change. What could he do? If things had worked out differently at the House of Pleasure, he’d have at least had some experience to draw on as to how to treat her. When they arrived in London he’d swallow his pride and consult his brother-in-law. Dalbury had had hundreds of affairs and mistresses, so he’d heard. Surely he’d take pity on him and explain how he could please Alethea without hurting her. Her piteous cry the other night still echoed in his mind, an effective damper on his ardor to be sure. Pray God they reached the townhouse in London and did not have to spend an awkward night on the road.
