The Offer

by Catherine Coulter

  She stiffened suddenly and whipped her hand back. She smelled brandy. She wondered how much he’d drunk. Probably a lot. Maybe he had passed out and really hadn’t just fallen asleep. She sniffed again. She smelled the rose scent this time and she strongly doubted that he’d splashed himself with it to smell more manly. No, it was his mistress’s perfume. He’d been with her again this evening.

  To spare his virgin bride.

  Enough was enough. It didn’t matter if he was drunk enough to float away. She was still going to seduce him.

  Very slowly, she slipped the soft nightgown from her shoulders. It fell in a gentle pool at her feet. Now that she was naked, she realized that he wasn’t. What to do?

  She wouldn’t worry about it. She eased down beside him. She lightly stroked her fingers over his face—the length of his nose, his jaw, the outline of his mouth. How she loved his mouth. She leaned over and kissed him.

  He stopped snoring. His eyes opened and he stared up at her. “Martine?”

  “No, Phillip. It’s your wife. It’s Sabrina.”

  “No, that’s not possible. Sabrina is terrified of men. She wouldn’t be here, kissing me.” His eyes fell to her breasts, pressed against him. “She wouldn’t be here naked unless she was too sick to care, like before. I remember that I tried not to look at her breasts, but they were so white and soft. It was difficult, but most of the time I didn’t look.”

  His voice was slurred and soft. She lightly shook his shoulder. “Please look at me now. I’m naked so I can seduce you.” She kissed him again.

  “No, it’s you, Martine. You’re playing a game with me. Very well, let’s play.”

  His hands came down on her bare back. “You’ve lost flesh, Martine, but by God you’re soft, I love the feel of you. Kiss me some more.”

  Phillip realized it was his wife the very instant he eased into her. From one moment to the next, he became instantly and completely full-witted, the brandy gone from his brain. She was very small and he had to push hard. Then he butted against her maidenhead. He raised his head and saw that her eyes were tightly closed. He tried, but he couldn’t pull out of her, he just couldn’t.

  “Sabrina?”

  She opened her eyes. “Phillip, I’m sorry, but it hurts. It hurts a whole lot.”

  “I know, I know. Hold still and I’ll try to hold still as well. Maybe the pain will lessen, I don’t know. I’ve never taken a virgin before. Do you know how you feel to me? Do you have any idea at all what it’s like to be inside you?”

  She wanted to laugh but he was pressing harder against her now and the burning increased. “I’m inside me all the time.”

  “I want to be also,” he said, kissed her hard, then shoved through her maidenhead.

  She screamed, unable to keep her mouth shut.

  So did he, after but a few moments of pounding into her, his head thrown back, his back arched, so wild were the roaring feelings deep inside him and he was deep inside her, so surely she must feel all that he was feeling too.

  She was crying, tears seeping from beneath her closed eyelids.

  He began kissing her again when he could move, when he could function, barely.

  “You weren’t afraid of me?”

  “No. Well, just a bit, but only when you were looking at me. It wasn’t the same way you looked at me when I was ill.”

  “I hope not. You’re beautiful, Sabrina. I’m sorry I hurt you. It won’t hurt next time. Thank you for coming to me.”

  “You’re welcome, Phillip.”

  He rolled off her, brought her against his side, pressed her cheek down against his chest and in three minutes, he was lightly snoring.

  Sabrina lay there, her palm on his chest, over his heart, and she said, “I love you, Phillip. I realized I loved you when I was lying in bed at Moreland and woke up to find you there with me, just watching me in that soft candlelight. I loved you then.”

  “If you loved me then why didn’t you accept my proposal?”

  She went stiff as a board, then tried to rear up, but his arm held her against him. “Don’t fight me. Why didn’t you accept my proposal then? All this would have been avoided, well, probably not, but Teresa would have had to take both of us on, not just you.”

  “You’re asleep. I heard you snoring.”

  “I’m a light sleeper. The snoring is the way I relax myself.”

  “You’re lying.” She sighed. He said nothing, not that she expected him to. Then, suddenly, he turned to face her. He began kissing her, his hands on every patch of her, kneading her flesh, caressing her, saying sex words into her mouth, words she didn’t understand. When he raised her in his hands and brought her to his mouth, she pulled on his hair and said, “Phillip, isn’t this a very strange thing for you to do to me? It’s very embarrassing.”

  “Shut up. Try to enjoy this, Sabrina. I’d like for you to have pleasure this time.”

  But she was locked into such embarrassment all she could do was bite her mouth and keep her eyes tightly closed. Finally, she heard him sigh. He opened her legs and slowly, gently, came into her. She was sore, but it didn’t hurt too badly. He was moving inside her now and she knew that this was why she’d been ostracized. Everyone had believed that this is what they’d done at Charles’s hunting box. Why would any woman believe that? She lay there, feeling him deep inside her body. She loved him but this was only something she’d do if he wanted it. She sighed. It seemed to be very important to him.

  She hurt deep inside. He kept moving, kissing her mouth, her breasts, fondling every part of her he could reach. She was skinny. Why would he want to do that?

  When he moaned his release, she braced herself for the torrent of stiffening muscles, the tightening of his body against hers, the wet of him inside her. Finally it was over.

  “I will sleep now, Sabrina. I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry about what?”

  He laughed. “I swear to you that I’ll teach you soon enough. You’re just not ready yet to be a woman, but you will.”

  His light snoring was real this time. Slowly she pulled away from him and rose. She washed herself in the basin of water on the bedside table. In the dim light of the single candle, she saw that there was blood and his seed on the cloth.

  This was what everyone had believed she’d done. It was amazing. She rinsed out the cloth as best she could, then climbed back into bed beside her husband. She leaned up and blew out the candle.

  She fell asleep with the pounding of his heart beneath her hand and the sound of his snoring in her ear.

  Dawn light softened the blackness when she felt him again inside her, moving slowly, deeply. She hurt, but he was her husband. She loved him and if he wanted to do this a dozen times to her, then she’d not argue. Well, maybe she’d say something about it on the eighth time, but not yet. He was only to three. She could still bear it. She kissed him back, taking his moans into her mouth, and stroking her hands over his back. It wasn’t long before she felt the stiffening in him, heard the sharp intake of breath, then his yell of release.

  Yet again he was instantly asleep. Yet again she was washing herself in the basin, wondering what woman would ever agree to do this unless she was married and had to. Or unless she loved a man and wanted desperately to please him.

  Sabrina supposed she fell into both categories.

  At least now he was hers. She would let him do this whenever he wished to. He wouldn’t have the time or the energy to go back to Martine. She fell asleep wondering if men wanted to do this during the day. If so, she would have to be close to him so he could use her whenever he wanted to. She thought of him touching her down there, kissing her down there. She shuddered with embarrassment. What if he wanted to do that during the day, when he could see her?

  34

  “My secretary, Paul Blackador, has many times told me that the devil was in the details. What do you think, Sabrina?”

  “I don’t know what that means.” It was a bright winter morning, sun flooding into the br
eakfast room. He was smiling and eating and talking nonsense. Sabrina was tired and very sore, but she loved him, curse him for not asking her how she felt. He’d been the one to hurt her yet now all he could talk about was the devil and his damned details.

  Couldn’t he at least tell her that he was just a bit fond of her?

  “It means that if a man isn’t careful, it’s the little things, the details, that will rise up and bite him. Do him in.”

  “I still don’t know in what direction your mind is going.”

  “It’s really very simple. I don’t want you to love me, Sabrina.” He was chewing a piece of bacon as he said that. She wasn’t worth enough for him to even stop eating for a moment.

  “I really can’t help it.”

  “You said last night you realized it at Moreland when you woke up and I was sitting there watching you. I’m sorry for it. Don’t get me wrong. I’m fond of you, very fond, but things won’t change.” He thought of his hands on her soft flesh. She’d felt to him like no other woman had in his life. And being inside her, the smallness of her, the tightening of her muscles, no, he wouldn’t think about that. It was just sex. He looked at her. He realized he wanted to touch all of her, all at the same time, right now. He closed his eyes a moment.

  “What things?”

  He merely shrugged. “I enjoyed last night. Thank you for coming to me. I hope you’re not too sore this morning?” He remembered how difficult it was to come into her. She’d been so small, her flesh so resistant to him, all his fault, of course. He should have taken more time, been more patient. Damn the surfeit of brandy and his own lust.

  “Yes, I am. I had no idea that men did those sorts of things so much.”

  His eyes nearly crossed. Actually, he wanted to toss his breakfast plate to the floor, pull her up against him, and lay her onto her back on the table. He wanted to push her this morning, push her to pleasure, teach her. He wanted to hear her yell, and not in pain.

  But he wasn’t about to accept this girl’s love offering. “Men like to do all sorts of things. Women do too.”

  She said absolutely nothing.

  “You’ll believe me soon enough. Now, get rid of this little girl’s infatuation. That’s all it is, you know. I’m your hero and thus you feel that you must love me. It’s the stuff of novels, Sabrina, not real life.” He tossed down his napkin and rose.

  He stopped beside her chair, leaned down, and lightly kissed her mouth. “You’re lovely, Sabrina. I very much enjoyed you last night; well, at least a bit since I’m a man and can enjoy a woman even if she’s as still as a fallen tree. That will change, I promise you. Yes, you and I will do very well together, each in our own way.” Then he was gone from the breakfast room, whistling.

  She threw her plate at the closed door.

  Phillip heard that plate. He paused a moment, then shook his head. No, let her hurl plates if it helped her realize what was real and what wasn’t. He would bring her to pleasure and that would improve her opinion of him. A woman always liked a man who brought her to pleasure, always was more ready to excuse him, always was more ready to forgive him. He began whistling again, out the door and onto Tasha’s back for a gallop on Heathrow common.

  “Is her ladyship about, Greybar?”

  It was late afternoon. Phillip had enjoyed a full day and was ready to see the slip of a girl who was his wife, the slip of a girl he’d teach pleasure to this very evening. Then he frowned. Perhaps that would be spoiling her. Perhaps he should be gone this evening. He didn’t want her to think he was some sort of panting dog to sit at her feet.

  “I believe her ladyship is with Mr. Blackador, my lord, planning the menu for the dinner party.”

  “Well hell, I’d forgotten all about that.”

  “It would be wise for you to refresh your brain, my lord. It’s three evenings from now. If you don’t mind my saying so, her ladyship is one who knows just how things should be done. Mr. Blackador has already sent out the invitations. Don’t you recall? You scrutinized the list yourself yesterday.”

  “Oh yes, I did. This party will be just the thing to make her ladyship shine.” He rubbed his hands together. “Ah, yes, Greybar, trust me to ensure that she’s smiling, quite a lot.”

  Greybar looked as if he’d swallow his teeth. He knew, of course, that the bride was no longer a virgin, the maid having informed Mrs. Hawley of the blood in the basin, and Mrs. Hawley having duly informed him, over tea in her rooms, as was proper. His lordship was being fatuous. Greybar, not for the first time in the past week, wanted to hit his master. Instead, he stared fixedly at the wainscoting.

  “I’ve decided I want her in the bedchamber adjoining mine. It will be much easier that way. Do have the carpenter and all those folk to help select furnishings and wallpaper come and talk to me. Or rather, perhaps it would be better for them to see her ladyship. Yes, there’s no reason why she couldn’t see to this. She’s young but I don’t think she’s particularly incompetent.”

  “My lord, she’s your wife.”

  “She certainly is now,” Phillip said, and went off to find his wife.

  He found both Sabrina and Paul Blackador in the library, Paul sitting near her, a tablet on his lap and a pen in his hand.

  “Hello, Paul, Sabrina,” he said easily as he strolled into the room. “I see the two of you are planning our orgy. Is everything all right?” Even as he spoke, Phillip saw that even though Sabrina was wearing a very pretty pale yellow gown that did incredibly wonderful things to that glorious auburn hair of hers, her face was pale and there were dark smudges under her violet eyes. Damn, he shouldn’t have indulged himself with her so much the previous night. Three times was excessive, particularly for a new wife and a virgin. But he’d wanted her, very much and she’d given herself to him. She’d told him she loved him, had loved him since that long-ago evening at Moreland. It was nonsense.

  Her voice sounded equal parts anger and defeat, surely an odd combination. “Good afternoon, my lord. It’s such a pleasure to see you again. One would hardly imagine that this is your home, given the small number of hours you spend here, but whose business is that?”

  “Certainly not yours, madam,” he said, then softened it because Paul was there, and he looked so nervous he just might faint. “I see you’re working on our party.”

  “Yes, we’re planning the menu. Paul has excellent advice.”

  Paul Blackador had seldom ever given Phillip advice. He usually just nodded and kept his head down. Was she making fun of his secretary? Phillip looked at Paul, whose pleasant, sensitive face was undergoing a series of contortions. “Shall we discuss this over tea, Sabrina?”

  “I’m not thirsty, my lord. There is a lot still to be done. Paul and I are quite busy, as you can surely see.”

  “Then you will eat some of Cook’s lemon cakes. Come, Sabrina. I won’t ask you again.”

  She wanted to tell him to hie himself to the devil along with all the details, but she saw that Paul was in agony. “Very well, my lord. Paul, can you carry on without me?”

  “Certainly. I have many other matters to attend to, my lady.” He looked first at his master, then at his mistress, who had two spots of color high on her cheekbones. Then he dropped his tablet. Phillip arched an eyebrow. He could have sworn he heard his very mild-tempered secretary curse. He had to grin, but he did manage to keep his mouth shut.

  When she was pouring him tea, strong and dark, as he liked it, he said, “I hope you’re still not angry with me about my misplaced gallantry regarding your inheritance.”

  “No,” she said as she handed him the teacup. “I’ve decided I want it all. I want to be financially independent. I don’t want to be pulled about on your string. Thank you for offering it back to me. I accept. If you would like to reconsider giving me back my dowry, why I’ll take that too, gladly.”

  “No, not the dowry. You may have the other. That’s fine. It’s what I wanted.” He frowned at her. He didn’t like the way she’d changed her mind. The mann
er of it wasn’t particularly as he would envision it should be, and it was obvious to even a blockhead that she was goading him, her sarcasm slamming him right between the eyes. Of course she didn’t need to be financially independent. It was the grand gesture, merely an affirmation of his beneficence. She was his wife. Did she believe he’d throw her in a ditch and let her starve?

  “Is there anything else I’ve done to offend you? After all, in the short time I’ve known you, you’ve pointed out a large number of flaws in my character. Do you wish to continue pointing now?”

  “No, I have no more for the moment. I trust you enjoyed yourself all day today wherever you went, whatever you did, and with whomever you did it.”

  “Yes, thank you.” He sipped his tea. It was China black tea, his favorite. “Now, tell me about the arrangements for your first dinner party.”

  “My dinner party? Aren’t you going to attend? Oh, I see, you have more important activities planned for that evening. Perhaps you’re escorting Martine to Vauxhall?”

  “Eat a lemon cake.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You’re supposed to be flourishing now that you’re safe with me.”

  “Flourishing?”

  “Yes, in the manner of a beautiful tight flower bud gradually opening to the brilliant sunlight.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.”

  “Well, yes, but at least you’re smiling a bit now. Now, tell me what you’ve planned so I can either approve or disapprove of your schemes. No, don’t throw anything at me. Yes, just sit there and eat something. If you must, throw the cup at me, at least it’s nearly empty.”

  She set the cup in its saucer. She folded her hands in her lap and looked down at the yellow toes of her slippers. “I never threw anything in my life before I met you.”

  “Perhaps you’ve just never suffered from excess bile before.”