by Adele Clee
“What are you doing?” Good Lord. For the first time in his life, his heart fluttered in his chest.
“I see little point in waiting,” she said, placing the pins on the dressing table. “If it is to be an exercise simply to satisfy legalities then I would rather get it over with.”
Bloody hell. He scratched his head. “Priscilla—”
“Help me out of this gown.”
Matthew stood dumbstruck while Priscilla fiddled with the tiny pearl buttons.
Things were not going to plan.
To begin with, he wanted to bed his wife. Not for the pathetic reason he’d given but because he found her attractive. The lady was a constant source of amazement. At their first meeting in the Holbrooks’ garden, he’d believed her to be timid, shy, easily persuaded.
How wrong could a man be?
Priscilla stepped out of her slippers and placed her foot on the stool. With delicate fingers she rolled her silk stocking down slowly over her knee, over a slim calf and trim ankle. From the sensual curve of her mouth, she must have gleaned some pleasure from the feel of the fabric gliding over her skin. Liquid fire pumped through his veins.
Heaven help him, he’d married a temptress.
“Allow me,” he said hoarsely when she raised her leg to remove the other stocking.
Priscilla caught his gaze, stopped her ministrations by way of silent permission. “Then lock the door.”
Matthew did not need to be told twice.
After granting her wish, he closed the gap between them with some haste. He knelt down, placed her foot on his knee and slid his hand under her gown, up to her thigh.
The nerves in the tips of his fingers tingled as he tugged the delicate ribbon garter holding the stocking in place. The temptation to touch her more intimately took hold. With the pad of his thumb, he brushed the smooth skin above the top of her hosiery.
Priscilla gasped but did not pull away.
Matthew suppressed the grin threatening to form. Witnessing the arrogance of a seasoned seducer would only frighten her away. He captured her gaze, revelled in the sudden flash of desire he saw there when his hand edged higher.
“You’re supposed to be removing my stocking,” she said, the pitch of her voice strained.
Good. She wanted him.
“You cannot expect me to touch you and not give in to temptation.” Nimble fingers crept higher, traced a sensual path to the intimate place between her thighs. He stroked her. Once. Twice. The third time he applied a little more pressure, continued rubbing in a slow, soothing rhythm. “Do you like that, Priscilla?”
With half-closed eyes, she whispered, “You know I do.”
“Have I told you I find your honesty highly stimulating?”
“I … I am grateful you find—” she sucked in a breath, “you find my manner pleasing.”
With skilled precision, his fingers continued to massage her sensitive spot. Already slick and moist, he knew she could take him. “Do you want me to continue?” he asked merely to tease a reaction.
“Continue? Oh, yes … don’t … don’t stop.” Firm fingers grasped his shoulders as she struggled to keep her balance. She rocked her hips and pressed against his hand. The measured movements conveyed a hint of embarrassment, but he could feel her growing passion fighting for freedom.
As he rubbed back and forth with longer strokes, his fingers found her entrance and dipped deeper inside as he continued to build momentum.
“Do you want to feel me moving inside you, Priscilla?” Hell, his cock was as solid as a steel rod. Innocence was so bloody arousing. “Do you want everything I have to give?”
The muscles in her core hugged his fingers tight. “Yes.”
One hand slipped from his shoulder. She rubbed her neck, arched her back as her body jerked in erratic spasms. Then devil take him, his temptress let her delicate fingers drift down her neck to massage her own breast.
Bloody hell! He was about to spill himself in his breeches.
The need to thrust home almost overwhelmed him. Forcing himself to focus, he continued to pluck her strings until the sweetest moan he’d ever heard burst from her lips. Her body shook, pulsed against his damp fingers.
“There’s no time to undress.” The urgency in his voice was undeniable. He stood abruptly, scooped his wife into his arms and carried her to the bed. “Forgive me if this is over in a matter of minutes.”
She did not reply but just stared at him with a look of glazed desire as he undid the fall of his breeches. Even when his throbbing erection sprang free, she simply lay there, the rapid rise and fall of her chest alerting him to the mounds of creamy flesh encased in silk.
The urge to see her naked took hold, to feast upon the glorious sight as he pumped hard. But to experience a deeper sense of intimacy at this stage would be a mistake.
Standing at the foot of the four-poster bed, he hooked his arms under her knees and pulled her closer to the edge. Never had he experienced the fire of anticipation flowing through his veins.
“Are you certain you want to continue?” he panted, easing her garments up to her waist. If she said no, it would be the most painful disappointment of his life.
A playful smile touched the corners of her mouth. “There is nothing I want more.” Her seductive tone soothed his senses.
Heaven help him. His wife was irresistible.
With a slight tremble in his fingers as he took his cock in hand, he nudged at her entrance. When he pushed deeper, she accepted the intrusion gladly, and he could not fail to notice the look of admiration swimming in her bright blue eyes.
With her tight muscles clamped around his cock, he moved. The first few measured thrusts stoked the fire of lust burning in his veins. God, being inside his wife was so deliciously sweet he almost forgot she was a virgin.
“I can’t promise it won’t hurt when I push through your maidenhead,” he said, “but I can promise the discomfort won’t last long.”
Priscilla clutched the coverlet in her fists. “Do it now then.”
“I’ll take it slow.” He leant down, devoured her mouth as though he’d not eaten for months. He could taste berries, a hint of sweet sherry, the intoxicating essence that made every kiss they’d shared so memorable.
“You know that won’t be possible,” she said as they broke for breath.
Matthew angled his hips and rubbed against her as he delved deeper. He held back until she writhed beneath him — until it became difficult for her to catch her breath.
With one long hard thrust, he drove past her innocence. Sank deep.
A sudden gasp left her lips. There were no tears, no cries of anguish, nothing but a look of wonder gracing her flushed face.
He stilled, grasped her hips and held her there. The intention was to give her a moment to grow accustomed to the feel of him buried inside. But he was the one shaken.
Their gazes locked.
“I think that means I am legally your wife.”
“You belong to me now.” The comment was supposed to be amusing. But a strange emotion surfaced, gripped him by the throat and refused to let go. The sensation was stifling, suffocating, too difficult to define.
Damn it all. He needed to breathe. He needed to focus on the task.
She’s just another woman. Forget she’s your wife.
Matthew swallowed. Even in this hurried claiming, he had given too much of himself. It did not bode well for the future.
Pushing aside the chaotic thoughts filling his head, he concentrated on mastering the perfect stroke. This was simply a case of fulfilling a moment of lustful desire. He moved slowly at first, but each slide into the realms of heaven only sought to chip away at the iron casing surrounding his heart. And so he pumped in short fast thrusts. With her sweet moans, full sensual lips, her damn arms spread out in wanton abandon, Priscilla was determined to capture him and keep him as her slave.
“Let me show you another position,” he said abruptly. “Flip over onto your stomach and then
come up onto your knees.” This way it was easier to close his eyes, easier to ignore all the things that made her utterly beguiling.
She did as he asked without question.
With some irritation, he pushed her garments back up to her waist, ignored the deliciously round buttocks he wanted to kiss and nip. He entered her in one long deep motion, leant over and rubbed her sweet spot again until she cried, shuddered and called out his name. Then he closed his eyes and pounded hard. The loud slapping of skin against skin was highly arousing and brought matters to a quick conclusion.
In all of his conquests, he’d never spilt his seed inside a woman. And he had no intention of doing so now. At the point of release, he withdrew from his wife’s warm body and finished the job with his hand.
As the sound of ragged breathing filled the room, two things became abundantly clear. The depth of satisfaction he’d experienced with this woman was unique. And if he didn’t bolster his defences, his life would be nought but torture and pain.
Chapter 6
Parties were always rowdy affairs.
Priscilla lay in bed staring up at the small chandelier. The glass pendants shook from the constant thrum of activity in the ballroom below. The incessant hum of the orchestra as it swept through a range of lively pieces proved distracting.
How on earth was she supposed to sleep with the continual racket?
But the commotion downstairs was not what disturbed her most. The image of her husband playing flirtatious host to a group of scantily clad women continually plagued her thoughts. Was he laughing at their salacious banter? Did they fawn over him, caress his arm in the hope they could massage another part of his anatomy? Did they twirl their fingers in his ebony hair and whisper endearments?
Would he be strong enough to fight temptation?
For the last three nights, Priscilla had waited for Matthew to come to her room. But after consummating their marriage, he’d not visited her again. On the second night, he'd opened the adjoining door in the dressing room. He’d paced back and forth for what seemed like an hour before his steps receded and the door slammed shut.
She understood his dilemma.
From her perspective, their wedding night — or afternoon to be more precise — had been spectacular. She’d given everything of herself, surrendered to the beauty of the moment. The intimate act connected them in a way she’d not believed possible. It astounded her how anyone could share their body and not feel a deep stirring of emotion.
It was all rather baffling.
When she’d joined him for dinner, he was his usual amusing self. They laughed; he tried to explain the rules of whist. When she’d leant forward to feed him her last spoonful of raspberry cake, she recognised desire in his heated gaze. And yet not once had he attempted to touch her intimately.
In one way, his reluctance to join her in bed gave her hope. Had the experience satisfied nothing but a physical hunger, he would have taken her again. He would have indulged his carnal cravings safe in the knowledge his heart was still a solid lump of stone.
So what was she to do? How was she—
A feminine shriek pierced the air.
Priscilla shot up. She clutched the coverlet to her chest, her frantic gaze locked on the door. Another loud squeal drew her attention to the window. A gentleman’s gruff command to stop and wait accompanied high-pitched wails of laughter. Shuffling out of bed, she crept to the window and peered through the gap in the drapes.
Numerous couples strolled around the perimeter of the garden, the paths lit by braziers and lanterns hanging from metal crooks. At first glance, the scene was what one would expect from a society ball. But it soon became apparent that the couples were simply looking for a secluded spot to indulge their whims.
Movement near the topiary hedge to her left caught her attention. The lady’s shrill cries were no more. Her gentleman had finally caught up with her but looked far from cross. With his breeches wrapped around his ankles and his bare behind jerking back and forth, he performed his wild mating ritual. The cries were now grunts of pleasure although the man’s frustration radiated for a different reason entirely.
Physical release was all they craved. After her experience with Matthew, she could understand how one would yearn for the heavenly feeling. But when the sensation had subsided, what then? The level of satisfaction could not sustain a person for long.
Love, on the other hand, had the potential to last a lifetime.
Pushing away from the window, she climbed back into bed. After another thirty minutes spent tossing and turning, relief came when she heard a commotion in the hall. The front door opened and closed numerous times. The slurred farewells of the revellers were so loud it was as though they were standing outside her door.
Curious as to the identity of the men courting their mistresses, Priscilla prised the bedchamber door from the jamb and crept out onto the landing. Hidden in the shadows, she peered over the balustrade and watched the guests leave. Gentlemen ambled out into the night, some with more than one lady — though Priscilla used the term loosely — clutching their arms. A few couples lingered in the hall, their reluctance to abandon the party and return to a life of respectability causing distress.
Priscilla heard Matthew’s confident voice barking orders to his footmen before he appeared in the hallway, supporting the weight of a drunken scoundrel who struggled to place one foot in front of the other.
“Help Lord Frostram to his carriage, Hopkins. Inform his coachman that he’s likely to empty the contents of his stomach on the journey home.”
“Shall I send a footman with him, sir?”
“No. From now on all the staff are to remain here.”
Hopkins hurried forward, unhooked the lord’s arm from around Matthew’s neck and draped it across his own chunky shoulders. “Come with me, my lord. You’ll be home and in your bed in no time.” With no hint of his eloquent accent, Hopkins truly did sound like a man from Whitechapel.
Matthew brushed his hand through his hair and straightened the sleeves of his coat. “There are a few stragglers out in the garden, but that’s most of them rounded up.”
“As soon as I’ve settled his lordship here, I’ll arrange for a thorough search of the premises.”
“You’re certain no one went upstairs.”
Upstairs? Priscilla put her hand to her throat. Was that why Matthew insisted she lock the door?
Hopkins nodded. “John stood guard for most of the evening. A few tried to push past to use the bedchamber, but were quickly informed of the new rules.”
“Then I’d best employ another footman. We can’t expect John to hold them off on his own. There’s always one sneaky blighter intent on causing mischief. When in their cups, these lords will do anything to get their way.” Matthew sighed. “Mrs Chandler suggested I convert the summerhouse into a room I could hire for the evening. Under the circumstances the idea has merit.”
So, her husband had listened to her advice. Pride swelled in her chest.
Hopkins inclined his head, but a snigger burst from his lips. “It would solve the problem.”
“Is there something you find amusing, Hopkins?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“You’re free to speak your mind. I’d not be able to run this debacle without your help and input.”
“It’s just few wives would allow such a carry on in their home, let alone suggest ways to improve the guests’ experience. Mrs Chandler is a true original, sir.”
“Indeed.”
The drunken lord burped, heaved, and hung his head. Hopkins hoisted the man to his feet. “Well, I’d best get the lord here into the carriage before he soils the floor.”
Matthew watched Hopkins drag the inebriated sot through the open doorway. From her husband’s rigid stance and weary sighs, it was evident something troubled him. In her presence, he appeared so confident, so self-assured, as though there was not a problem in the world he couldn’t handle.
She’d assumed he enjo
yed hosting his parties. Did they not provide a constant source of amusement? Perhaps having a wife complicated matters. Separating the two different parts of his life probably proved challenging.
Well, the evening had certainly given her much to contemplate.
Priscilla was about to return to her room when a lady approached her husband from behind. The woman placed her ungloved hand on his shoulder, flexed her fingers in such a way as to suggest familiarity.
“You seem rather agitated this evening,” the vixen said. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Jealousy exploded in Priscilla’s chest like a firework at Vauxhall. She swallowed down the hard lump in her throat, tried to ignore the thumping of her heart as it echoed in her ears.
Matthew turned to face the fiery-haired woman. “It has been a long night.”
Her hand came to rest on his chest. “You need to relax. You need to let someone soothe away your woes.”
“By someone, I assume you’re offering your services.” Matthew stepped back, and the woman’s hand fell to her side.
Priscilla pursed her lips. The muscles in her windpipe continued to contract until she could hardly breathe.
“We’ve enjoyed each other in the past,” the leech said trailing her fingers across the exposed curve of her breast, “and it seems we find ourselves alone this evening. I know just the thing to occupy your mind and body.”
A host of unladylike curses threatened to fall from Priscilla’s lips. She had a good mind to race downstairs and shove the harlot out of the door. But she would only court ridicule dressed in her prim cotton nightgown with buttons fastened up to her throat. The wife of a gentleman known for scandalous behaviour would have poise, an exotic elegance that made others gape in awe. She certainly wouldn’t behave like an envious harpy and dress like a vestal virgin.
“It may have conveniently slipped your mind, Lucinda,” Matthew said calmly, “but my wife is waiting for me upstairs.” Did his tone carry a hint of disdain for this woman or was it wishful thinking?
The husband stealer chuckled. “The gossips say you married a mouse, not a tiger. She’s not likely to make a scene if you're away from home for a few hours. Besides, she can’t be a complete fool. She must know what she’s let herself in for.”
