by Deborah Hale
“That was not what I meant.” Ford wished he’d held his tongue after subtly caressing Laura’s foot. A spiteful exchange now would not put them in a favorable mood for their wedding night.
“But you do blame me for the choices I made and the consequences they had for you?” Laura’s gloved hands clenched in her lap. “Perhaps you ought to consider the possible consequences if I’d acted as you believe I should. What if I had written to you after my father died, begging for help instead of giving you your freedom?”
Her question dealt his righteous indignation a bewildering blow, but it rallied to his defence. “I would have returned to England at once, of course, married you and done everything in my power to assist your family.”
Laura’s gaze searched his and for once Ford was not afraid of the scrutiny. After a highly charged moment, the tension eased from her face. “Yes, I believe you would. But think what a burden that would have placed upon you. Your accomplishments in the Indies prove you had the cleverness and ambition to succeed. But your situation there was not what it would have been if you’d stayed in England. There you started with nothing, but at least your creditors were half a world away, with no means to harass you and seize every scrap of capital you accumulated. And you only had one mouth to feed instead of five…or more.”
Ford’s righteous indignation collapsed, battered and bloody. Leaning forwards, he reached across the carriage and took one of her hands in his. Then he voiced an idea he had never dared consider. “You were trying to spare me?”
When Ford asked that question in a hesitant, hopeful murmur, his green eyes shone with a light quite different from any Laura had seen in them before. Not the merry sparkle of sunrise on a dew-kissed meadow. Not the emerald glitter of jealous rage. Not even the cool impenetrable patina of a jade carving. It was the quiet radiance of fresh moss growing over old stonework.
She longed to respond to that light, and to the firm warmth of his touch, with a nod or a whispered yes. But that would simplify the truth beyond recognition. Besides, it was the eager expectancy of his question that unnerved her. Despite all Ford’s declarations to the contrary, she feared if she gave him that response, it might encourage him to want something she might not be able to give.
Beginning tonight…in their marriage bed.
Her fear of suffering any physical harm at Ford’s hands had eased. But other kinds of hurt ran far deeper and left scars that remained long after cuts and bruises healed. Ford had inflicted one just now by pointing out a painful truth about the events of seven years ago. Her actions were to blame for what they’d suffered then and since.
“I wish I could claim I acted out of kindness. But the truth is I thought you were eager to be free of me. I was hurt and angry, grieving for my father and the life I’d hoped to have with you. If my letter sounded unfeeling, even cruel, that is why.”
A shadow of disappointment dimmed the faint stirring of hope in Ford’s eyes, but he was quick to conceal both. “Enough talk of the past. On their wedding day, a couple should look to the future—even when they are not giddy with rose-colored romantic dreams. I am looking forward to a pleasant stay in Brighton, with no estate improvements or Vindicara business to occupy my energies.”
Relieved as she was not to dwell on the painful memories, Laura could not look to the immediate future with any eagerness either. With no estate or company matters to distract him, all Ford’s attention would be focused upon her, as it was at this moment.
He had not released her hand but cradled it in his. Memories of every time he’d touched her flooded Laura’s mind, igniting a fierce blaze in her cheeks. That blaze grew hotter still when Ford pressed the pad of his thumb against the palm of her glove and began to move it in a slow, rhythmic caress. There could be no mistaking what part of their stay in Brighton he was looking forward to.
How would he react when he discovered her deficiencies as a wife? He’d been quite frank that passion was one thing he wanted from marriage. She had spoiled so many things for him in the past. Could she bear to spoil that too?
Both her forebodings and her physical awareness of her new husband intensified as the day wore on. When Ford helped her out of their carriage in front of the Old Ship Inn, she was more conscious than ever of his size and air of overpowering masculinity. Yet, while they were eating dinner in the inn’s elegant dining room, she could not fail to notice his deft touch with the cutlery and glassware.
After dinner, they took a stroll on the Steyne where Brighton’s fashionable visitors gathered to promenade.
“As bad as Rotten Row,” Ford muttered to her out of the corner of his mouth, “only without the horses.”
Laura could not help noticing how many female gazes followed Ford’s every move with predatory stares. It was not much wonder, she supposed after looking about, for he was by far the most attractive gentleman she spied. Would he soon consider those attractions wasted on a wife so ill equipped to appreciate them?
When Ford suggested they return to the inn, Laura gave a silent nod of agreement. She feared her voice would tremble if she tried to speak. As she climbed the wide, luxuriously carpeted stairs, her heart seemed to sink deeper with every step.
At last they entered their spacious, elegantly appointed room. A huge four-poster bed, hung with brown and gold curtains, dominated the chamber while a matching screen hid a dressing area in the far corner. Beside the screen stood a mirrored table, with Laura’s hairbrush and toiletries already arranged upon it
Ford closed the door behind them with solid finality. “I hope you will find everything to your satisfaction.”
He removed his coat, then set about untying his neckcloth. Did he intend to disrobe entirely, right there before her? When he began to unbutton his waistcoat, Laura dived behind the screen. There she removed her bonnet and pelisse, acutely aware of every sound as Ford dispatched the rest of his clothes and climbed into bed.
Slowly and deliberately she peeled off her gown, stockings and shift. Then she donned her white linen nightgown and dressing gown. Having no further excuse to delay, she slipped out from behind the screen and took a seat in front of the dressing table. As she pulled the pins from her hair, she could see the bed behind her reflected in the looking glass.
There sat Ford, propped up against the pillows. The sheets covered him below the waist, but his leanmuscled chest was bare to her startled gaze. His arms were raised, hands tucked behind his head in a pose of insolent power, the way she imagined some eastern emperor might look.
For an instant, their eyes met in the glass. He flashed her a wicked grin that set her pulse galloping. Laura seized her brush and began to rake it through her hair. Though she tried to avoid looking at Ford again, she could not keep herself from stealing repeated glances. Each one sent a billow of heat rippling through her.
A devilish chuckle rumbled from the bed. “If you are hoping I will fall asleep before you finish your toilette, I fear I must disappoint you.”
Once again Laura could not resist glancing toward his reflection.
Ford twitched down the covers beside him and patted the bottom sheet. “Come to bed, now. I have waited more than seven years for this night and I mean to savour it to the fullest.”
“As soon as I plait my hair.”
“To hell with plaits!” Ford surged out of bed, throwing on a dressing gown of rich wine-red. “I will only pull them out again.”
For a fleeting instant, Laura glimpsed him completely naked—hard muscled thighs shadowed by dark hair, a proudly rampant sceptre rising between. She gasped for air. She gasped again, when he strode up behind her chair and hoisted her into his arms. He buried his face in her hair, drawing in deep draughts of her scent.
“If you are only dallying to fuel my desire,” he suggested in a husky whisper, “it is working very well.”
Dallying to fuel his desire? Laura struggled to catch her breath again. Did he reckon she was some sort of wanton temptress? When he discovered she was quite the oppo
site, would he feel betrayed by her again, in the most intimate way?
Ford carried her to the bed and laid her upon it. Then he reclined beside her and leaned over to kiss her.
“We must not be derelict,” he whispered between exploratory applications of his lips, “in undertaking our marital duties.”
Anxious as she was, Laura could not resist the sensual invitation of his kiss. His lips moved over hers, the subtle friction striking sparks of delicious sensation through her whole body. Then he captured her lower lip between his and began a languorous, velvety suckle, fuelling those tentative sparks to burn hotter. Her nipples puckered against the fine linen of her nightgown and a dewy fever kindled between her thighs.
Lulled by the sweet, wanton urges that possessed her, she responded to Ford with some long-suppressed instinct. Her lips parted, releasing a tremulous sigh. As if it were a sign he’d been waiting for, Ford pressed his kiss deeper. His hand found the sash of her dressing gown and untied it with a single deft tug.
That first breach of her cover, flimsy as it might be, let loose a swarm of sordid, distressing memories that she had locked away deep in her mind. She froze, haunted by visions of Cyrus’s cold, possessive hands pillaging her unwilling body.
Ford pulled back. “Good Lord, you’re trembling. What is the matter?“
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, dreading the disappointment she might see in his. She could not admit the truth. “I f-felt a draught.”
“Nonsense.” Ford spoke in a tone of tender concern, which Laura saw reflected in his eyes. “This room is an inferno. Or perhaps that’s just me. If you are cold, it is my duty to warm you up. Wasn’t that one of our vows—for better for worse, for richer for poorer…for hotter for colder?”
Despite the bewildering whirl of emotions in her heart, Laura could not suppress a shaky smile at his jest.
Leaning in closer, Ford tilted his head until she could not avoid looking into his eyes. “If this is because of the way I behaved the other night, I swear you need have no fear of me. I cannot pretend it will be an easy task to curb the passion you provoke, but you have my word I will do everything in my power to bring you pleasure.”
Ford sealed his pledge with an insistent but tender kiss that somehow banished thoughts of Cyrus and held them at bay. Instinctively Laura sought refuge in that kiss and found it. The fires in her flesh rekindled, raising a protective barrier of flame between her and those skulking memories. When Ford’s hand closed over her bosom, she did not shrink from his touch.
It was not the first time a man had touched her breast, not even the first time Ford had. Yet it seemed that way, for his present attentions provoked very different sensations in her. Always before, it had felt as if something was being taken from her. This leisurely, stimulating caress seemed intent upon giving. It offered reassurance, bestowed admiration and lavished sweet, unexpected pleasure. When Ford lifted his hand away, Laura arched her body in an effort to maintain contact. A soft but urgent note of protest droned deep in her throat.
But Ford’s hand strayed only as far as her shoulder to ease down the sleeves of her nightgown. As soon as her breasts were bare, he disengaged his lips from hers to strew tantalising, feathery kisses over her chin and throat. Once again he began to grace her breasts with his most ardent favors.
He grazed his cheek back and forth over them several times, a provocative variation of smooth and rough textures. Then he dusted kisses over them, working inward toward her straining nipples. Just when she could scarcely bear the sweet torment an instant longer, Ford rewarded her patience with a long slow stroke of his tongue. Laura let out a gasp of pleasure at the sensation of hot, liquid velvet. Then his lips closed over the exquisitely sensitive flesh to provide the offering she craved instinctively.
As he continued to suckle her breasts so pleasurably, Ford stretched his hand down and caught the lace hem of her nightgown. He tugged it up over her knees, then slid his fingers beneath to caress her thighs.
Deeply ensnared in this delectable labyrinth of sensation, Laura found a welcome escape from all her old fears and failures. The past and all its regrets were lost to her as if they had never been. The future stretched no further than the fulfilment of her body’s escalating desire. Within passion’s crucible, the shards of her shattered trust melted and reformed, forging a sweet certainty that Ford would sate this baffling hunger he had stirred in her.
He continued to rouse it hotter and deeper with every touch of his hand. The enticing patter of his fingertips. The deliciously wicked friction of his nails. The firm, masterful stroke of his palm. Higher and higher they ventured, tormenting her with the captivating promise of bliss. Hardly conscious of what she was doing, Laura parted her legs in a beseeching invitation, her hips straining toward the irresistible lure of his touch.
At last came the searing bliss of contact. Ford cupped his palm over the crest of her thighs, then his wanton fingers delved into the slick, sultry crevice below. At the same instant he raised his mouth from her breast to press a kiss of thrilling intensity upon her lips. As his tongue flicked in and out of her mouth, his fingers slipped and glided, fluttered and stroked below. He roused her to a perilous pinnacle of sensation, then launched her over the edge into a bottomless cauldron of molten delight. She writhed beneath him, keening her rapture in cries his ravenous mouth devoured with greedy zest.
While she was still drowning in pleasure, he eased himself over her, kneeling between her splayed legs. With one reckless, rending thrust, he plunged deep into her. A cry of mingled pain and rapture rose in her throat to collide with a growl of predatory passion from Ford’s.
Before she could entirely take in what was happening, he began to move inside her. Slow at first, the rhythmic thrusting of his hips rapidly gathered momentum to a wild gallop. His hot, ragged breath hissed against her cheek. At last, a fierce frenzy jolted his body and a hoarse, exultant roar broke from his lips. Panting and spent, he crashed down upon her
As Laura lay beneath him, a sense of warm, weightless peace flowed through her. So this was what it meant to be a proper wife to her husband. And she had done nothing different…except to want him. Could it be the burden of failure she’d borne so long was not hers alone?
“I’m sorry,” Ford whispered, his lips pressed against her ear. “I didn’t mean to coax you over the edge too soon and for it all to be over so quickly. Give me a little while to recover and I promise you better the next time.”
Laura’s lips spread into a slow-blooming smile of long-denied fulfilment. Her husband must be well satisfied to propose having her again so soon. And to think he had begged her pardon for his fancied failings.
She reached up to stroke his hair, the first time she had touched him that night. “I cannot imagine any better.”
They made love twice more before morning.
After the most restful sleep Laura had enjoyed in a very long time, she woke to find Ford watching her with an expression of tender curiosity.
“You look like an angel when you’re sleeping.” He pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Now tell me, what shall we do today? Take a tour of his Majesty’s Pavilion? Go for a donkey ride along the cliffs?”
“Sea bathing?” suggested Laura. Her body was feeling deliciously tender after last night. The prospect of soaking in cold, salty water appealed to her.
“Sea bathing it shall be.” Ford rolled out of bed, giving his bride a splendid view of his firm, lean body. “But the first order of the day must be an enormous breakfast. I am famished!”
“No wonder.” Laura reached for her dressing gown, which had found its way to the floor along with her nightgown. “After all your exertions.”
Ford turned to answer her quip, but no words came out. Instead he stood frozen with his mouth half-open, staring at the bed. Laura followed his gaze to a smear of blood upon the sheets.
A bright blushed seared her cheeks. “Please, Ford, I can explain…”
She could explain, but would
he understand? The shocked expression on his face made her fear he would not.
Chapter Twelve
The sight of those bloodstained sheets made Ford’s stomach twist.
He waved away Laura’s efforts to explain. “You should have told me you were having your courses. I would have waited.”
With a sharp pang of shame, he recalled her reluctance to come to bed and his insistence. Had he given her cause to believe he would brook no delay in consummating their marriage? Reflecting on his behaviour the past few weeks, Ford feared so.
Before he could heap any more blame upon himself, Laura shook her head. “I am not having my courses.”
An even worse possibility clouted him. “Did I use you too roughly? I swear I did not mean—”
“No,” Laura snapped, as if angry to deny it.
“Then what…?” An impossible explanation knocked the legs out from under him. He sank on to the bed. “Do you mean to tell me you are still…were still a…?”
“A virgin? Yes.” Laura clutched her dressing gown around her. “I know I should have told you, but I wasn’t sure you’d believe me. Now I suppose you must for there is the proof.”
A virgin and he hadn’t taken the least care, certain she was well used to the attentions of a husband. Not once, but three times—it was a wonder the poor woman could move after such handling.
“How?” Ford raked his fingers through his hair. All his old certainties turned on their heads again. “Why?”
“Does it matter now?” Laura gnawed her lower lip. “We are married. Our marriage is consummated. Can we not forget the past seven years? Yesterday in the carriage, you said we should look to the future.”
“Can we forget?” Ford slid back on to the bed and beckoned her to join him.
It was a seductive thought, but there was a world of difference between forgetting and not knowing. The latter he could not bear. What a man did not know could very well hurt him, and probably would. There were so many things he wished he’d known seven years ago.
