The Viscount and I

by Stacy Reid

  The upstairs boasted seven bedrooms, and she had been pleased to see she had her private chamber. Though the connecting door had loomed threateningly. But the thing that had given her the most pleasure was the music room with a masterpiece of a grand piano. Though she loved to sing, her skill at the pianoforte was lackluster at best, and she was still glad for it. He had taken her up through the servant stairs, and down to the kitchens where she had met the cook, the housekeeper and another maid and a footman. Disconcertingly they all referred to him as mister.

  Now almost an hour later, Sebastian had bid her farewell, and Fanny reclined on her bed, her feelings bewildered. She truly had no notion what marriage to Sebastian Rutledge would be like. But she was now the lady of her own home, which, though beautiful, was understaffed, for she had no intention of opening her own front door whenever she was called upon by whomsoever should come calling. Everything about her marriage was strange and unfamiliar but being a lady of the house was a recognizable role, and one she would delve into as an aid to cope with her new situation. A situation whose greatest trial was just a few hours away. She was not prepared, knew not how to prepare. All Fanny could do was wait for the drumming of her racing heart to slow and for her new husband to show her what he expected of her...

  The feel of the piano keys under the tips of his fingers grounded Sebastian. Then his fingers glided over the smooth ivory, and it was as if he saw the music dancing in the air as the keys came alive. Dinner had been over for almost two hours, he had taken a bath and then succumbed to the lure of the music room and a glass of brandy in the hopes of stifling the uncertainty burning through his gut.

  It was laughable. He was uncertain. Why in God’s name? All he had to do was mount those damnable stairs, open the connecting door, and take his wife…his sweet, beautifully and utterly charming wife in his arms, kiss her, ravish her, and make her irrevocably his.

  Except he had never been with a virgin before, or a woman as delicate as Fanny Dash…Rutledge or was it, viscountess Shaw? With a soft grunt, he sat before the grand piano and played. He allowed the music to be the balm that soothed his soul, to temper his hunger, and to transport him away from the cruel demands pummeling his body.

  For two years he had resisted even thinking of her carnally, not wanting to dishonor her with his lurid imaginations, but now that she was his, wicked ideas of how he wanted to love her twisted through his mind.

  He pounded away at the keys, losing his finesse, closing his eyes, seeing her as he wanted, naked, splayed wantonly atop pristine white sheets, her golden hair splayed across the pillows, her pale complexion in stark contrast, and her legs parted in welcome.

  It was improbable that he should hear any noise above the music he made, but he stilled.

  “You play so beautifully,” his wife said, hovering in the doorway. There was an uncertainty in her voice he perceived to be uncommon for her. He couldn’t face her, didn’t want to. Dinner had been such torture, and more tension-filled than he’d expected. There had been a knowing in her gaze, and it had disconcerted him to see fright as well.

  And then awareness had settled in his gut. She anticipated their wedding night. It was his duty and his privilege to consummate their vows, yet there was an unexpected hesitation in his heart. His fingers trembled over the keys creating a discordant note. Sebastian quickly caught the note, and he played, pushing away the knowledge of how close she stood, losing himself in the music spilling from his fingertips. A few moments passed, then shock punched through him when the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard filtered on the air. It was then he turned around, unable to believe notes so powerful and pure could come from someone so delicate.

  Her song ended abruptly, and her color heightened.

  “That was amazing, Fanny.”

  She smiled tentatively. “I simply thought I ought to share a bit of me as well.”

  He hadn’t the heart to tell her he hadn’t been sharing with her when he played but had been ignoring her. Sebastian supposed one should never tell a wife or a woman they could be ignored, for as he had heard so often, ladies’ vanities should be flattered, and the prettiest of compliments should be paid.

  The few lovers he had taken hadn’t required sweet words or praises. They reveled in their sensuality and would have accosted him even before dinner. They would have reached for his cock before sucking him to completion, then moving onto the main course. In his wicked fantasies, his wife always appeared the temptress, seductive, but Fanny glowed with innocence and shyness. And he did not know how to seduce her. What if he couldn’t be gentle enough? If he had any decency, he would send her away this very moment.

  “Would you like a drink, Fanny?”

  “Oh yes please.” Her smile wobbled, and she glanced around the room, doing her utmost not to meet his gaze.

  Sebastian pushed from the bench, and moved over to the mantle, and grabbed the bottle of brandy he had taken in earlier. “Do you drink brandy?”

  Her eyes widened. “I’ve never had it.”

  “I confess I am uncertain if I will offend you by offering it.”

  She smiled. “It relieves my heart you could be unsure about anything, my lord.” Then she lowered herself onto the sofa closest to the warm fire. She was poised on the edge of the chair, her back straight, appearing as delicate as a rose in winter. Suddenly he felt like a hulking brute.

  “Fanny—”

  “Sebastian—”

  They laughed.

  She flushed becomingly. “Please Sebastian, you speak first.”

  He went over to her and handed her a glass of brandy and sat next to her. She took a tiny sip, her nose wrinkling.

  “I cannot say it is palatable.” She met his regard unflinchingly. “What were you saying?”

  “It is our wedding night.”

  Her fingers clutched the glass in a seemingly fierce grip. “That it is.”

  "I was desperate to marry you because I did not want to dally and let you slip from my grasp again. That lack of courtship makes me feel decidedly unsure how to proceed tonight." He cleared his throat, calling himself all sorts of name for what he would suggest. “Perhaps now that we are married, we should take the time to learn each other before we get to know each other carnally.”

  Her sweet lips froze in a small O. it took such discipline for him not to reach for her, tug her to his chest, and kiss her.

  Her eyes searched his intently. “You would do this, Sebastian?”

  “Yes.” He was the biggest fool alive, for his damn cock was aching something fiercely.

  “It seems a sensible proposition, but I do not want to wait,” she whispered.

  Everything in Sebastian stilled. “Are you certain?” he asked, his heart pounding.

  “I have no notion what to expect, and I fear if we wait, I will be consumed with the fevered imagining of something awful.”

  He couldn’t help smiling. “It isn’t awful. I daresay if it was, we’d already had a revolution on our hands."

  She laughed shakily. Instead of offering a reply, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Need quaked through him. He allowed her tentative exploration, taking the glass from her and resting it on the carpet. Then he tugged her to him slowly, until she was seated on his thighs, thankfully away from his already bulging erection.

  With a soft sigh, she deepened her kiss, slipping her hands around his neck. His wife tasted of brandy, strawberries, and heaven. Yes, he was certain there was nothing more divine than her flavor. He lifted his hand to her face, gently cupping her jaw, angling her for a more intimate kiss. Fanny relaxed, her lips parting, her tongue sliding against his. He groaned. She sighed. And their kiss burned.

  He kissed her repeatedly, sometimes ravishing, and other times savoring her sweet taste. She grew restless, sliding down his thighs until her delightfully rounded buttocks pressed into his cock. His wife stiffened momentarily, before sinking into the heat of their embrace.

  He lowered one of his hands to her
knee, tugging the nightgown up to her thighs. Sebastian almost smiled when she released his shoulder to push his hand away. He changed tactic, ignoring the wet heat he wanted to explore for now. Instead, he drifted his hands up to her slender throat, his strokes slow and arousing. He pulled the collar of her nightgown low and slipped his finger below the hem of her chemise. His body swelled, hardened, every muscle taut, hot, aching. It was the hardest thing he had ever done, restraining himself when his body cried out to tumble her quick and hard.

  She jerked, and he ruthlessly made his kiss wetter, deeper, and with a whimper, she surrendered, arching into his embrace. The tip of his finger touched her hardened nipple, and she squeaked into his kiss, pulling away. Her eyes were heavy-lidded with arousal, her lips red and swollen, her cheeks flushed.

  Holding her aroused gaze, Sebastian pulled down her nightgown and chemise to her waist, baring her firm yet heavy breasts to his ravenous eyes. Her entire body blushed pink, and he could see that she fought not to hide her charms. He placed a hand on the small of her back and arched her to him. Her eyes widened, and she bit her lower lip.

  Sebastian sucked a ripe berry nipple into his mouth. She screamed and pushed from his lap, stumbling into the sofa, yanking her nightgown over her quivering breast.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked gruffly.

  She looked fevered and a little shaken. A silence filled the music room, and she swallowed hard, keeping her gaze averted. With a soft curse, he pushed away and moved toward the door, annoyed with his lack of control.

  “No don’t go I…I was just startled that is all, you may continue,” she said primly, but there was a sheen of tears in the eyes she stared at him with in bewilderment.

  He went over to her and stooped, so she looked down into his face. “Listen to me, Fanny. I was not considering your sensibilities. I mean you are a lady, and I am a great brute. We will wait and—"

  A thoroughly horrified expression filled her eyes. “Sebastian,” she said with surprising firmness. “I am not a child. I am your wife. It was simply unexpected. I…perhaps if we go to your chambers and…and turn out the candles, I would be more comfortable in the dark.”

  Genteel ladies should be loved in the dark where we protect their sensibilities and delicacy.

  That long-ago admonition from Percy swirled through his mind. The refusal hovered on his lips for Sebastian was truly unable to imagine being so repressed with his wife. He'd always been a man of strong appetites, and he wanted Fanny more than he had ever craved anything in his entire life. What she asked was so simple, yet so frightfully complicated. What if she never became comfortable with him? He hungered for his wife in the most lurid fashion, and she was such a genteel creature. Perhaps she only needs time. And he would do anything to make her comfortable, even sacrificing his own needs. “If that is your wish.”

  Relief lit in her warm eyes. “It is, oh thank you, Sebastian.”

  He stood and held out his hand which she clasped. He tugged her up and made his way from the music room down the hallway and up the stairs to his chamber to have a proper wedding night.

  Chapter 7

  Fanny’s heart beat an agonizing rhythm, her sensitized skin tingled with every caress, her husband’s warm, masculine scent filled her lungs. The smell of him aroused a curious sensation within her, between her legs ached most strangely and wonderfully. And his kisses…she purred into the lips that seduced her with devastating expertise.

  He turned her around, pressing a hot but so soft kiss at the back of her neck. And then he started to undress her. No words had been spoken as they climbed the stairs, and no words had been uttered once they entered the chamber. He’d simple snuffed out the lamps and candles which had bathed the masculine and tastefully decorated room in a warm glow. Then he had taken her in his arms, and her entire world had caught fire at the exquisite sensations he roused in her heart.

  He pressed a kiss on her bared shoulder blade, and she trembled, a blush heating her skin. Though he had taken away most of the light, that roaring fireplace danced and flickered with enough light to make her decidedly anxious. Soon her nightgown was whisked from her body, and her chemise pushed to her waist.

  Fanny gripped the firm fingers on her waist. “My lord…”

  “Sebastian…wife.”

  Oh, the possessive tenderness in his voice stirred something sweet and achy low in her stomach.

  “What is it?” he asked, his breath fanning her ears.

  To stand before him naked would leave her with little dignity. Fanny's throat burned, and she felt uncertain. “Must…Must I be unclothed, my lord?”

  She was terribly conscious of those searing eyes upon her. The hands at her waist tugged, and she turned around into his arms, lifting her chin to meet his regard.

  “I must own that it does seem shocking to a lady with your fine sensibilities, but bedding is an act typically done without clothes on,” he murmured.

  She bit her lips, how mortifying. “I…I…”

  “You can leave on your chemise, wife.”

  A shock of deep awareness and recognition flashed through her. That admission cost him something. But what? Shadows danced in his eyes, and her heart trembled in reaction.

  “Sebastian—”

  He kissed her. Hot and deep and carnal. With a sigh she parted her lips to his questing tongue, returning his kiss with ardor.

  The room shifted, and with a muffled gasp she gripped his shoulder, delighted with the ease with which he lifted her into his arms. A few steps later, he placed her in the center of the large four poster bed, putting them in welcomed darkness.

  She lay there, nervous and expectant while he climbed off, and divested himself of his clothes. The room was dim, and shadows were deep, but there was enough illumination from the fireplace, and Fanny could not look away as her husband slowly revealed himself to be the finest specimen she'd ever seen. A flash of golden muscle, a hint of shadows here, powerful thighs, and then he was back on the bed, blanketing her with his body.

  Dear God. It was about to happen. Fanny felt faint. A desperate feeling of unreality crept through her. He braced above her on his elbows and pressed the softest of kiss to her lips and tears pricked behind her lids. Sebastian slowly deepened his embrace and the tension which had reclaimed her limbs gradually dispersed.

  Without releasing her lips, he pushed her nightgown to her hips, and nudged her legs wide, cradling his weight between her open thighs. The deeper he kissed her, the more profound the ache low in her stomach became. Fanny quaked in the cage of his arms when Sebastian’s wicked fingers delved between her splayed thighs, finding the hot, wet place between her legs and rubbing gently. The abrasion of a callus heightened the sensation into a fiery ache. Her breathing came harshly, and she swallowed, adjusting to the strangeness of his intimate caress.

  His fingers moved over her folds, and she arched her hips toward his questing fingers. Yes. Yes, this was what she had wanted, but she remained silent. Ladies should not be wanton or beg their husbands to touch firmer, to rub that aching spot harder.

  Their lips parted, and though her eyes were wide open in the dark, she could barely discern his features. A kiss brushed her lips, then her jaw. And dear god, he slipped a finger deep inside of her. There was a slight pinch, a brief flare of discomfort, and then Fanny felt a low, hot pressure inside. To her shame and delight, she wanted more.

  He moved his finger back and forth, and she gripped his shoulders, desperate for an anchor against the storm. She could feel it building, whipping through her blood, igniting deep with her body. The sensations became too much, and she slapped a hand over her mouth to control the wild cries that wanted to spill forth. A second finger entered her. A whimper escaped, and he paused.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “No,” she whispered hoarsely.

  “Are my fingers too callused?”

  A weird embarrassment touched her. His fingers were touching her there. “I…I…they are fine.”

&
nbsp; “You are too tight.”

  Now he sounded frustrated, almost uncertain.

  Mortification swallowed her, to be conversing while his fingers were in her most private of places. "Is that bad?"

  A soft grunt came from him, and his touch disappeared, leaving her empty.

  “I’m not a small man,” he said, sounding frustrated. “And you are small and tight. I need to prepare you more.”

  She had no answer for she did not know what he meant. Had she displeased him with her reaction? Oh, why hadn’t she questioned Darcy more?

  He shifted in the dark and pushed her legs wider. Her entire body burned with embarrassment and Fanny was so grateful he had cocooned them in the darkness of the curtained four-poster bed.

  A breath of heat wafted across her mound, and then Sebastian’s mouth settled between her legs. Fanny gasped, her entire body flushing with heat. He licked along the wet folds of her sex, and the pleasure that pierced low in her stomach pulled a guttural groan from deep within her. Her eyes widened in the dark. Dear God, what he must think of her. He licked along her sex again, and a wanton wail echoed in the chamber. “Please, stop,” she sobbed, gripping his hair and yanking.

  He froze. “Fanny, are you well?”

  She scrambled back, pushing the nightgown down her legs. It was all too wicked.

  “What you just did…it cannot be decent.”

  Darcy hadn’t mentioned anything this scandalous, and Fanny was certain it was…wrong. But it had felt so wonderful. A hot rush of mortification flamed through her.