by Anna Gracie
chest and shimmered deliciously outward. And downward. She lay there,
entranced, staring up at her husband's dark visage, lost in the
sensations his caresses were producing.
"And what if he'd done this?" muttered her husband thickly, and
pressed his mouth hard over hers.
Tallie closed her eyes. Her husband's mouth crushed hers for a moment,
then softened. His lips explored hers slowly, gently, and she gave
herself up to the sensations. His mouth was so tender and warm as it
moved cares singly over hers. And he wasn't merely pressing his lips
against hers; he seemed to be nibbling and sucking and. licking. She
shivered pleasurably and pressed closer to him.
Even his body pressing so heavily on top of hers felt interestingly.
Gracious! His tongue was pushing between her lips! Running along
between her teeth and her lips. very peculiar. yet. utterly.
thrilling. Sensation vibrated through her body from his, and she felt
her body softening and melting with the pleasure of it. and yet an odd
sort of tension seemed to be rising within her.
His tongue plunged again into her mouth, sweeping in slow, sensual
arcs, stroking the roof of her mouth, curling around her own tongue.
Tallie shuddered rapturously as wondrous sensations flooded her. His
powerful thighs imprisoned her, and he pressed against her, in
deliberate, rhythmic movements, his body moving in time with his
tongue. Tallie felt languid, thrilled and apprehensive--all at the
same time.
His hand had left her breasts, she realised suddenly. It was sliding
up her legs, over her stockings. It was past her knee and touching
bare flesh! The hand moved higher and she tried to wriggle away from
it, at the same time straining to press herself more closely against
him. He moaned, caressing her eyelids with his mouth and tongue,
nuzzling her throat and stroking the skin of her thighs with warm,
strong fingers. Tallie's legs quivered in response, then fell apart,
trembling. His hand moved higher, circling, stroking, pressing.
Suddenly the coach lurched, and Tallie abruptly became aware of what
she was doing. And where his hands were! She stiffened in shock.
These were indeed liberties! And Tallie knew her duty.
"Ohhhh," she gasped loudly, and collapsed dramatically back against the
seat cushions, her body loose and boneless.
"Tallie? What is it?" Magnus pulled his mouth from hers and blinked
dazedly down at his bride. Oh, Lord! He'd let himself get carried
away. The slightest touch of his lips to hers and the passion he'd
tried so hard to repress had flared uncontrollably. Lord help him,
he'd been about to ravish his innocent virgin bride in a carriage in
the middle of the countryside! And frightened her half to death by the
look of things!
"Tallie, are you all right?" He picked up one hand and began to chafe
it frenziedly. He patted her cheeks and took her chin in his hand,
searching in vain for signs of animation. Her head lolled in his
hands. Oh, Lord, what if she were ill?
Thoroughly alarmed, Magnus sat up and ran his hands through his hair,
wondering what the devil one did with swooning females. A vinaigrette,
that was what he needed. He searched every cranny of the coach, as if
one would magically be found to contain a bottle of smelling salts, but
no.
What else? Burnt feathers? He'd seen women revived when burnt
feathers were held under their noses--but he had no feathers to burn.
What else? he thought in desperation. Cold water? Yes, there was
bound to be some lying around outside--a stream or a pond or even a
puddle. He shouted at the coachman to stop the coach, and as it slowed
he flung open the door.
A noise from his beloved bride halted him in his tracks. He could not
believe his ears. The sound came again. Magnus turned in dark
suspicion and looked at her. Sure enough, her body was convulsed--in
not quite silent giggles.
"You little witch!" Magnus exclaimed wrathfully.
"You were faking it!"
Tallie sat up, groping for her reticule to find a handkerchief to wipe
her streaming eyes.
Magnus stared, outraged, incredulous! She was laughing? At him! He
had been lost in the heights of passion . and she'd faked a swoon. and
was laughing! He opened his mouth to deliver a blistering tirade to
end all blistering tirades.
"You see, my lord, I was in no danger." Her voice was a little shaky,
but she seemed in full control of her faculties.
No danger? Magnus's eyes narrowed into glacial slits.
"Danger of what?" Right now the little baggage was in danger of being
throttled!
By her brand-new husband!
"From that sailor, of course," Tallie responded as brightly as she
could, given the fact that her body still trembled with the aftermath
of his passion. She had reacted automatically, feigning the swoon, but
all the time she had lain there with her eyes closed she had been
reliving his caresses. She'd felt like bursting into tears when he had
sat up, releasing her from his embrace, and begun chafing her hands.
She'd been shaken, in turmoil, wondering what to do, but then laughter
had bubbled up from nowhere, and she'd let it come. She continued, "If
he had done what you said he might-what you did to me just now--I would
have pretended to swoon, just like I did.
Then, while he was wondering what to do, I would have escaped. "
She smiled triumphantly at him and straightened her skirts, hoping he
would not notice her trembling hands. She had never known a kiss could
be like that, but she could never let him see how strongly it had
affected her. She did not wish to disgust him, after all.
She felt quite proud of herself, of her apparent selfpossession, as she
said, "Now, shall we return to town?"
He was still looking murderous, so she said earnestly, "You really have
no need to worry about my safety, my lord, for truly there is no need,
as you saw. I learned how to deal with unwanted liberties when I was
at school, you know. Miss Fisher considered it very important." She
added confidingly, "Of course, this is the first time I have ever
actually needed to do so, but I think it worked splendidly, don't you
agree?"
"Splendidly." Lord d'Arenville glared balefully at his bride of only a
few days. Unwanted liberties? Hell and the devil roast it, but he'd
teach her to want those liberties from him-if he died in the attempt!
Chapter Eight
The handsome pirate bent over her, and a lock of crisp dark hair fell
over his brow. His sea-grey eyes darkened with passion as he lowered
his mouth to hers. "Ohhhh," Tallie moaned. his arms drew her closer
and she felt as if there was no other place on earth she wished to be.
He smiled, the long, vertical grooves in his cheeks deepening, and
kissed her again.
Tallie groaned.
"Fear not, my love," the pirate murmured.
"No one can catch us. No one will ever take you away from me. For the
wind is blowing swift and strong..."
> Tallie moaned again. It wasn't fair. She loved the sea.
'...and my ship is fleet and sure. "
"Ohhhh!" Tallie whimpered. She loved ships, too.
'and she rides the waves like a dolphin. up and down. "
"Oh, no, no--no more..." Tallie muttered woefully. She was
betrayed--by the ship, by the seal "Here, take this." Lord
d'Arenville's eyes were sea-dark with concern as he leaned over her. He
held out a basin and Tallie clutched it gratefully, closing her eyes
again to shut out the sight of the lantern swinging with the motion of
the ship.
She bent over the basin for a long, painful interval, then felt it
removed from her grasp. A cool, damp cloth gently wiped her mouth and
she felt hands tucking the blanket more se's Knight curely around her
shivering body. Warm, strong arms gathered her close and she sighed in
relief. She felt herself lifted up and her eyes flew open again in
alarm.
"It's all right. I'm taking you up on deck," Magnus murmured as she
clutched his neck in distress.
"No, no."
"Trust me, you will feel better in the fresh air," he said, and carried
her out of the small, gloomy cabin.
Tallie was certain she would die if she had to go up to the pitching,
rolling deck, but she was too miserable and exhausted to argue. She
would die soon in any case. Why had no one told her sailing was like
this? She felt the ship lurch and shudder, heard the frightful creak
and groan of straining timber, and clutched her husband tighter,
finding comfort in his warmth and strength. And courage. For he
seemed not the least distressed by this dreadful storm which would
surely kill them all.
On deck the wind was brisk and cold. Magnus carried her over to the
railings and found a place to sit, still holding her in his arms.
Splashes of sea spray cooled her clammy skin. Magnus wiped it with his
handkerchief. Wind whipped at her hair and tugged at her skirts. He
smoothed her hair back and tucked the blanket more securely around
her.
"Feeling better?" he said after a while.
Tallie shivered and leaned against his chest. She did feel a little
better. The fresh sea air was helping her head to clear-if not her
stomach, which was aching dreadfully from all that she had lost from
it. She would never eat kippers again.
"It's perfect weather for sailing," he said.
She stared at him incredulously. Perfect weather? Surely it was a
storm! Those white-capped waves were enormous, and the way they dipped
and swelled and crashed against the sides of the ship was terrifying.
"According to the captain, this wind will have us in France in under
five hours," he continued. He glanced down at her and smiled
slightly.
"That's a little under two hours from now."
"Two hours," Tallie groaned.
He laughed--rather heartlessly, Tallie thought.
"Here, this will help settle your stomach." He pulled out a flat
silver flask, unscrewed the top and held it to her lips.
"No," she muttered, turning her lips away. She couldn't bear to eat or
drink anything, knowing she would only lose it in a few minutes.
"Trust me." He grasped her chin in his hand and tipped what seemed
like half the contents of the flask down her throat.
Tallie shuddered as it burnt its way down her throat, then coughed as
it hit the pit of her empty stomach, depriving her of all ability to
breathe for a moment or two.
"What?" -she spluttered indignantly.
"Brandy."
She subsided, gasping against his chest, and closed her eyes, waiting
to die, but after a few minutes she found a warmth stealing into her
body which seemed to banish the dreadful queasiness. Wearily she laid
her face against his throat, taking comfort in the scent of his cologne
water and his skin. She felt the faint prickle of whiskers against her
cheek and rubbed against them, enjoying the sensation.
He had been so very kind to her, she thought drowsily. The last thing
she would have expected of Lord d'Arenville was that he would prove so
gentle and sympathetic in the sickroom. He was such a fastidious
person. She would have expected him to be revolted by her illness.
gentlemen were, she'd understood.
But instead he had cared for her with a quiet competence that, now she
thought about it, made her almost want to weep. She could not remember
when anyone had cared whether Tallie Robinson was well or ill, if she
lived or died. And now, this--this so-called Icicle had tended to her
needs with a careful tenderness that nearly broke her heart. It was
wicked for people to call him The Icicle. He wasn't at all. He was.
"You're so kind," she mumbled into his skin, feeling tears prickling,
hot against her eyelids.
Kind? Had she said he was kindl Magnus was stunned. He must have
misheard her. No one had ever called him kind before. Any one of his
acquaintances would laugh at the notion. He shifted his hold on her
slightly, tucking her more securely into the curve of his body,
savouring the relaxed weight of her, the feel of her soft cheek against
his skin. Errant tendrils of her hair tickled his chin, and he inhaled
the scent of it, soap and sea and the faint sour remnants of her recent
illness.
Poor little mite. Her seasickness had come as such a shock to her. A
blind man would have seen how thrilled she'd been when they had finally
embarked, her eyes sparkling with excitement. And not a half hour
later she had been drooping, green and wan, over a basin, retching her
little heart out, a picture of misery.
And she thought him kind. It wasn't kindness that caused him to look
after her, he reflected ruefully. He'd had no choice--there was no one
else. And besides, she belonged to him now. He had a duty to her. He
was her husband.
He felt her body relax against him, felt her breathing slow to an even
rhythm. She was asleep. In his arms. His wife.
Magnus watched the waves, enjoying the brisk salt spray which blew
occasionally against his face. He pulled the blanket up to protect her
from the wet. It had been nothing like he'd expected, this business of
marriage. Lord, what a simpleton he'd been, thinking to get himself a
wife in order to get children. He'd thought about the children only;
he'd barely considered the wife, except to find a healthy woman who
would disturb his life as little as possible. He laughed silently.
What a gudgeon, to think a woman would not disturb his life.
Perhaps if he'd married one of Laetitia's candidates. Ironic to think
he'd picked Tallie because she'd have so few expectations. She was
simply bursting with expectations; that was the trouble. She had a
thirst for life that amazed him.
If he'd chosen one of Laetitia's girls he'd have had a conventional
bride trip--to Brighton or Bath, perhaps, or even to his country
home.
Then a season in London, by which time she'd have been pregnant and
would have retired gracefully to the country to give birth. And when
she'd been ill s
he would have had her mama and a dozen attendants to
care for her. And after the birth she would have returned to London
and they would have resumed their separate lives in the normal
civilised fashion of the ton.
But instead of a cool sophisticate who understood her duty he'd chosen
this naive little creature, who'd thrown his life into chaos. He'd not
realised just how alone in the world she was-Lord, she didn't even have
a maid. He hadn't even arranged to get one for her--he'd just assumed
one of Laetitia's maids would accompany her. His cousin had refused,
of course.
And so, because of Laetitia's spite and his own lack of forethought,
he'd had to be maid, groom, sickroom attendant and protector to his
wife. Everything except husband. And because of crowded inns,
stinking waterfronts, vulgar cits-not to mention his delayed wedding
night--he'd been bad- tempered and unpleasant a good deal of the
time.
And yet she called him kind. He wasn't, of course. Magnus knew that.
Along with the knowledge of his duty to his lineage, his lands, and his
family name, his father had drummed into him a rigid sense of
responsibility for those who were dependent on him. And there was no
doubt in Magnus's mind that his bride was more dependent on him than
anyone had ever been in his life. Kind? She just didn't understand
