by Olivia Drake
Clenching his teeth, he willed away a tide of tenderness. He tried and failed to summon satisfaction that he’d bested Emmett Carleton at last. No longer did Kent know which motive pulsed stronger inside him: revenge or passion.
She’s only a woman, he told himself. In the darkness he could pretend she was not the daughter of his enemy but an anonymous female. Shadows would hide her wide eyed innocence and his own self loathing. He could forget the past and the future; he could sink into her warmth and lose himself, shed the suffocating blanket of shame and regret.
“Turn around,” he muttered, even as his hands rotated her.
With unsteady fingers he plucked at her corset laces, but the complicated pattern baffled him. Christ, he should have had the foresight to unlace her in the light. A flash of memory blinded him. He’d never undressed Emily like this... she had always waited timidly in bed with the covers drawn to her chin...
Juliet’s breathy laugh floated over her shoulder. “It might be simpler if I undid the front hooks,” she said.
Through the shadows he saw the dark blur of her head; through the silence he heard the brush of her fingers on the fastenings. Feeling foolish and remorseful, he said stiffly, “You should have a lady’s maid. It wasn’t fair of me to ask you to leave with so little.”
“So little? Kent, I have more than I’d ever dreamed of.”
Though darkness veiled her expression, the fervor of her words made his chest ache with self disgust. “Juliet, I wish—”
He stopped, unsure of himself. What did he wish? To shower her with the riches she’d relinquished for him? To be at liberty to promise her a lifetime of happiness? To rinse away his guilt and begin their marriage with truths instead of lies?
Like a kitten seeking affection, she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “I don’t need wealth,” she whispered. “We agreed that money didn’t matter so long as we have each other.”
The feel of her submissive body fueled the flame of his passion. Physical love, at least, he could offer her. “I want you,” he muttered. “God help me, I want you so much.”
Stepping behind her, he drew off the corset, leaving her clad in chemise and under drawers. He put his hands beneath the froth of lace, splaying his fingers over the warmth of her abdomen and giving her a moment to accustom herself to the intimacy of his touch. Recalling her earlier alarm, he prayed that desire accounted for the swift rise and fall of her chest.
“Afraid?” he murmured.
“No... I want everything you can give me.”
He was swamped by a need so fierce, he shook from it. In that moment he no longer knew or cared who he desired more, his wife or Emmett Carleton’s daughter. Slowly he slid his palms upward until he cradled her bare breasts. He passed his thumbs over her nipples; both were pebble taut. Her sharp intake of breath pierced the darkness. Angling her head, she cuddled her cheek on his chest and arched her spine, the action thrusting her breasts more fully into his hands.
Her ardent response shot fire through him. He wanted to toss her down, rip open his trousers, and plunge inside her. The fantasy enveloped him so thoroughly that he pulled her to the bed before reality penetrated. She was a virgin; he mustn’t frighten her by unleashing the raw power of his lust.
Forcing a deep breath to clear his mind, he gently drew the chemise over her head. Moonlight filtered over the curves of her body, the full breasts, the narrow waist, the womanly hips. Under his scrutiny, Juliet held herself proudly, the earlier shyness gone. Before he could even reach for her, she pressed herself to him, tilting into the back to chest position he’d abandoned.
“Hold me, Kent... hold me as you did a moment ago.”
He could no more resist her request than he could stop the blood from blistering his loins. His hands massaged her breasts again, but only for a moment. Lured by secrets beyond her realm of knowledge, he glided his palms downward, over her drawers, to trace the open seam between her legs. She flinched and gasped, her hands catching at his arms.
“Kent, what are you—?”
“Shush, darling... trust me... trust me.”
Her muscles relaxed. Half turning her in his arms, he tipped up her chin and subjected her to a deep and drowning kiss. His fingers found her center, already hot and slick, and her sigh gusted against his mouth, her hips moving against his hand. Her passion startled and delighted him. He’d meant only to caress her a little, to help prepare her for his entry, yet her unrestrained response made him greedy for more.
“Kent, I’ve never felt so strange... so full of need... ”
“Give in to your feelings,” he whispered. “Give yourself to me, darling.”
Suppressing his own urgency, he stroked her in a slow, seductive rhythm. She twisted her face to his chest and moaned his name, her fingers clutching restively at his shirt. He sensed her need swelling in tempo with the savage pounding of his own blood. Somehow he found his back against the bedpost, his arms supporting her weight, his fingers coaxing her until she cried out, her body convulsing against his.
Her fulfillment infused him with primal exultation. Holding her tight, he gritted his teeth and strove for control. Wait, he commanded himself. Wait a moment for her to recover. By God, you owe her that much and more.
Her breathing gradually eased. “Kent... that was... I never imagined anything could be so glorious.”
Gazing down at the pale oval shadow of her face, he grinned, seized by the impulse to strut. “We’re not through yet.”
“No?”
He rolled his hips against hers, the movement stinging him with a pleasure that verged on pain. “I’ve yet to plant my seed, Lady Botanist.”
“How?”
“Don’t ask so many questions,” he chided gently, reaching around to untie her drawers. “Some things don’t translate well into words.”
He peeled away the wisp of cloth, then sat her on the bed and knelt to remove her shoes and stockings. The feel of her silken skin threatened his grip on himself. Keenly aware of her watching him, he shed his own clothing and then pressed her down onto the mattress. He adjusted her lush body against his so that she could not fail to feel the hard heat of his arousal.
A shiver passed through her; his belly clenched and he lifted a hand to touch her cheek. “We’ll go slow, until you’re ready.”
She sighed, her hair a dark halo against the white linen pillow. “I’m ready now,” she said, and guided his hand to the soft, sweet curve of her breasts.
Emily had never been so uninhibited. The memory fled his mind as swiftly as it had entered. “Juliet... this could hurt you the first time. I’ll try to be gentle.”
“You will be. I trust you.”
Her certainty curled around his heart. She made him feel like a youth again, unfettered by twisted secrets. Bending his head, he kissed her long and slow, his hands caressing her. He turned his mouth to her breasts and suckled her until she arched her spine and sighed his name. Instead of causing him to forget her identity, the darkness seemed to enhance his awareness.
No other woman tasted like Juliet; no other woman possessed her ripe curves. Each breath seduced him with her scent; each murmur of delight tempted his self control. He stroked her moistness, and her thighs opened in instinctive invitation. Determined to hear her moan again with the ultimate pleasure, he held back his raging impulses until he sensed her readiness.
No longer able to contain himself, he pressed into her, breaching the barrier of her maidenhead. She cried out, clutching at his shoulders, and he paused, torn between remorse over hurting her and elation at her perfect satin sheath.
Limbs trembling, loins aching, he nuzzled her hair. “Darling Juliet... I didn’t mean to be rough... You’re so small and I’m so—”
“Perfect... you feel perfect.”
Her breath came hot and uneven against his throat. She moved her hips and he teetered on the brink of exploding. Sucking in a deep breath to temper his hot blood, he commenced the measured, unbearably magical rhythm. H
er legs gripped him in a honeyed vise. Only when she uttered his name in a sobbing cry, her body racked by tremors, did he succumb to the lure of his own release, and reality fell away beneath a wild pulse beat of ecstasy.
For a time he lay saturated in sweat and peace. Her body curved into his, her cheek nestled against his neck. Tenderness flowed through him, a tenderness that both stunned and scared him, a tenderness so powerful he wanted to weep. In consummating their marriage, he’d found an uncommon closeness, a rare rapport.
He’d found only extraordinary satisfaction, he corrected himself, because Juliet was such a responsive woman.
Yet he wanted to hold her like this forever, cloaked in dark anonymity, hearing her heart beat in rhythm with his, inhaling the jasmine aroma of her skin. And if their lovemaking bore fruit? The thought stunned him. Perhaps someday he would feel their baby kick within her womb—
As his child had moved inside Emily.
The vow of vengeance sucked all the joy from him.
His muscles tensed with the need to escape the quicksand of memory. He started to lift himself from the bed. At the same instant Juliet stirred. Her soft arms encircled him, her gentle hands trapping him in a bond stronger than steel.
“Now I see what you meant,” she said in sleepy surprise. “That wasn’t in the least like pollinating a flower.”
The declaration caught him unawares. Humor invaded his panic. He couldn’t stop the chuckle that swelled deep within himself and somehow that awful pressure eased.
She swatted his chest. “Don’t you laugh at me again.”
He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “It’s all right to laugh in bed. Don’t take this too seriously.”
‘‘Mmmm,” she murmured in contentment. “I like this side of you, Kent. Not so serious and bitter. I love you.”
She pressed a kiss to his neck. His throat went taut, but she didn’t seem to notice. She yawned and stretched, and he found himself turning onto his side, fitting her back to his chest and weaving his fingers through the silken spill of her hair.
What I love most about you is that you’ve been honest with me.
He tried to shake the disquieting feeling that he’d cheated her. He’d given her a title and the freedom to follow her own inclinations. Many marriages survived on less.
What would happen when she found out the truth?
He ought to tell her himself, but he couldn’t force out the words that would lay bare his deceit. Yet once they reached Radcliffe, someone, sometime, was bound to let slip a telling fact. And when that happened...
He drew a heavy breath. Christ, she’d despise him. She’d run straight back to Emmett Carleton.
Opposing emotions raged inside Kent. His arms tightened around her. He didn’t know if he wanted her to stay because of this powerful physical passion, or because he couldn’t bear to surrender her back into his enemy’s hands.
A baby would bind her to him forever. Suddenly the notion possessed a perfect, pleasing appeal. He wanted a second chance at becoming a father. He wanted a daughter with Juliet’s brilliant smile or a son who’d tag along with him in the fields.
He shaped his fingers to the fertile curve of her hip. If she were ever to leave him, the courts would award him custody of his heir. The child would act as a magnet, luring her back to Radcliffe and her husband.
She snuggled against him, her breathing soft and even in slumber. The action was so trusting that a wave of self loathing inundated him. He had no right to plot the direction of her life without offering her love. Yet he could not let her go.
A tide of exhaustion swept away his guilt. He pressed his chin to her fragrant hair and closed his eyes. Tomorrow was soon enough for regrets.
Tomorrow...
Chapter 7
She awoke to a lonely bed. Lifting onto an elbow, the counterpane falling from her bare breasts, Juliet blinked groggily around the room. Sunshine poured through the window to bathe the simple furnishings with the golden radiance of midmorning. Only a depression in the adjoining pillow gave testimony that Kent had slept beside her.
Where had he gone?
Missing him already, she stretched, her limbs awash with luxurious laziness. The dishes had been cleared from the table, the clothing folded neatly on the chair. The forget-me-nots and orchids in the water glass reminded her of their intimate meal.
The innkeeper’s wife must have crept inside to tidy the place.
Juliet blushed. No sound had penetrated her exhausted slumber ... no clink of china, no creak of the floorboards, no click of the closing door. For the first time she had slept without a nightdress... for the first time she’d learned the wanton joy a woman experienced in the arms of the man she loved.
Swinging her naked legs over the side of the bed, she drew the counterpane around herself. Last night she hadn’t been so modest. Last night she had burned with the fever of physical need. The memory brought an echo of that exquisite ache deep within her. Now she understood why an unchaperoned girl was forbidden to visit a man. Once seduced, she’d never again be content to live without that special intimacy.
A grin shaped her lips. She liked being married... yes, she did. Her steps quick and eager, she walked to the window and peered through the opening in the curtains. Sunlight washed the yard with the hazy hues of summer and glinted off the slate roof of an outbuilding. A pair of wrens flew busily in and out of the rustling leaves of the walnut tree. Tending their nest, Juliet thought, just as she and Kent would build a life together.
The fanciful comparison deepened her smile. Yet, silly or not, she looked forward to sharing every part of herself with him.
Abruptly Ravi and Hatchett walked out the doors of the stone stable. Ravi spoke to the coachman, who shrugged, scratching his salt and pepper hair. With a suddenness that startled her, the Indian tilted his turbaned head and looked up at her window. Even at a distance the malevolence in those dark eyes pierced her. Though the draperies concealed her, Juliet found herself shrinking back, her happiness shriveling.
She lifted her chin. His prejudice against the Carletons shouldn’t disturb her. After all, she was a Deverell now, the Duchess of Radcliffe.
The thought infused her with trembly excitement, roused the urge to find her duke. Swiftly she drew on her undergarments, then the freshly ironed green gown, which hung from a hook near the door. After pinning up her hair, she hastened out the door.
Flashes of memory held her enthralled as she headed down the narrow staircase. Kent kissing her, Kent caressing her, Kent murmuring tender encouragement until that radiant pleasure had burst inside her. Trust me...
She had, and he’d made her his woman. Even the odors of sour ale and lamp smoke smelled wonderful as she passed through the deserted taproom and went into the cool morning. She paused to inhale the exhilarating sweetness or the air, to relish the warmth of the sun. Alongside the country road, a blackbird tugged at a clump of chickweed, shaking loose the seeds and eating them.
Her shoes kicked up the hem of her skirt as she wandered toward the side yard. A fat bumblebee zoomed past, aiming straight at a patch of silverweed, the flowers bright yellow against the pale leaves. Rounding the corner of the inn, she saw the landau now parked outside the stable. His brawny back to her, Hatchett stood polishing one of the brass lamps.
At the opposite end of the yard, beneath the dappled shade of an oak, Ravi sat on a wrought iron bench, the breeze stirring his gray robe. His spine was straight, his attention focused on the small book in his hands.
A reluctance to confront his malice kept Juliet rooted to the spot. Like a botanist guarding a new hybrid, she held fast to her happiness. Then she buried her reluctance. She must make a place for herself in Kent’s life; she must nurture an amiable relation with his most trusted servant.
Head held high, she marched toward the Indian. He looked up, his muddy brown eyes studying her, but he made no move to rise.
She ignored the slight. “Good morning, Ravi.”
He inclin
ed his head, but said nothing.
“Would you know where my husband went?”
“Fishing.”
She blinked at the river. “Fishing?”
“It is an amusement of his.” He paused, one dark eyebrow cocked. “His Grace did not tell you of his passion for the sport?”
His disdain conveyed the message that she knew little of her husband’s habits. Despite her determination to remain unruffled, Juliet felt embarrassment sting her cheeks.
“Which direction did he go?” she asked.
“He wishes to be left alone.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t include me in such an order.”
Ravi shrugged. “I tell you only his words, that no one must disturb him. No one.”
The firm ground of her contentment quaked beneath a shock of doubt. What if Kent truly didn’t want to see her? What if last night had meant no more to him than the gratification of physical desire, the securing of her as his wife? What if he’d found her too bold in comparison to his shy Emily?
Thrusting the book into a pocket of his robe, Ravi stood, his turbaned head towering over her. “Perhaps while you await the master’s return, I might fetch you some breakfast?”
Triumph gleamed in his murky eyes. A sudden fury swept her, a fury that he dared to sow mistrust in her heart. “No, thank you,” she snapped. “I intend to find my husband.”
She started toward a copse of wych elms beyond the yard, but the bite of fingers on her arm brought her to an unceremonious halt. Stunned by Ravi’s insolence, she jerked her eyes to his face and summoned all the hauteur she had seen her mother direct at a recalcitrant servant.
“Kindly remove your hand.”
He made no move to comply. “You mean to go, after what I have told you?”
“Yes. I’ll not tolerate your interference between my husband and me.” Despite a thickening in her throat, Juliet kept her voice steady.
Eyes narrowed, he regarded her; she matched him stare for stare. A grasshopper hummed into the heavy silence and a breeze struck her hot cheeks. His grip slackened and Juliet stepped away.
