by Anna Small
“Yes?”
She took a breath. “I think Lucinda told me about her.”
“Oh? What did she say?” He moved casually about the room, stoking the fire, arranging the drapes.
Jane gulped. “I don’t remember very much. Lucinda said she was…an old friend of yours.”
He snorted. “Old friend,” he muttered. He shook his head. “I am surprised she’s returned from the Continent. I hadn’t expected her back for a few more months. I do hope you and she will become fast friends. She’s closer to your age than Alice and seems a little lonely herself.”
She didn’t know how to respond. Had he been in touch with the woman all along? Lucinda had obviously been mistaken in her theory of Frederick’s broken heart and the woman who’d caused it.
“I hope so,” she murmured. He sat on the sofa to tug at his shoes. She threw back the velvet coverlet and padded barefooted to him. “I’ll help you,” she said in a quiet tone so the recent sob wouldn’t return.
“Thank you. I didn’t want to awaken Dixon, though the wretch should have attended me despite the late hour.”
His eyes twinkled, and she realized he’d purposely come straight to her rather than undressing in his own room. He stood and unbuttoned his waistcoat. As always, his height was impressive. She slipped his coat from his shoulders and draped it next to her gown on the sofa. His waistcoat was next, and his shirt. He remained still and silent, watching her as she ministered to him.
“You aren’t looking at me,” he said at last.
Her gaze darted up to his face and back to a button she pretended was more stubborn than it really was. “I’m sorry about your birthday, Frederick. I know you probably felt foolish before your friends, when your own wife…”
Unable to maintain her façade, she crumpled against him.
He chuckled softly and embraced her so tightly she almost lost her breath. “I don’t mind about birthdays, my darling.” His voice was muffled through her hair. “The last birthday I cared about was my tenth, when my father gave me the most beautiful matched ponies in England. After that, none of them mattered.” He tugged at a lock of her hair. “Until this birthday, when I received the most wonderful present of all. Tell me yours, and we shall have a grand party for you.”
“I don’t want a party. I don’t want anything at all, just you.”
“Just me, eh? Well, my accountant will be very pleased to know the new Countess of Falconbury will not be putting me in debt all over town. You’re all I ever wanted, Jane. As a wife, as a friend…” He gently stroked her chin and lifted her face. “God willing, as mother to my children.”
His dark eyes were as rich as coffee. She stared at the sweet curve of his lips and ached to kiss him. All thoughts of Susanna vanished.
He was hers now.
His chest was bare. She ran her fingers over his muscular torso, catching and pulling on the thick mat of black hair. He skimmed his lips across her neck, sending tingling shudders coursing through her.
“It would be a shame to let that bathwater go to waste,” he murmured, toying with the ribbon fastening her night rail.
She was glad he hadn’t lit any lamps, as the weak glow from the fire would hide her blush. Had it only been the day before they’d started life as man and wife?
“I can wash your back for you,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. Washing him meant he would be in the tub. He would undress in front of her, and…
“I’d rather wash yours for you.”
The ribbon unfurled in his hand. He trailed his thumb over her throat and collarbone. The light touch didn’t soothe but sparked a sweet, slow flame burning its way to her fingertips.
“I had a bath earlier.”
“Parliament has yet to pass a law dictating how many baths you may have in one day.”
He unbuttoned his breeches, which slid down his muscular legs to the floor. She quickly lifted her gaze to the vicinity of his chest and throat, her heart hammering.
The shyness she’d felt the night before flooded her senses. She wanted to shield her eyes from the splendor of his naked form but couldn’t tear away. The muscles in his right arm flexed as he removed her night rail, his skin tawny gold in the amber glow of the fire.
He got into the bath and held out his arms. Wisps of steam rose from the water, dissipating as she hastily got in, her back against the opposite side. The tub was small enough she had to fold her legs over his. He reached for her.
“Come to me.”
“There’s not enough room.”
Perhaps he would think her blush was merely from the hot bath. The playful grin reappeared on his carved lips.
“That is precisely the point.” He moved toward the middle of the tub and slid her toward him, lifting her squarely onto his lap. She folded her legs around his waist, her breath hitching at the impact of her soft body against his hard one. A tremor ran through his arms as they tightened around her. His lips dragged across her shoulder, and back toward her neck. His kisses were as hot as the water.
Desire rose inside her stronger than the night before. She was no longer anxious, but strangely restless, impatient. She arched against him reflexively. Their lovemaking had been a refuge, a haven for her lonely spirit. The joy and love it created had been almost too much to bear.
As her ardor increased, she slid against him, her breasts pressed into his chest. Her reward was his startled groan, deep and low.
“I’ve thought about you all day.” His kisses created tiny explosions wherever he touched. He sucked her earlobe between his teeth, stirring an awakening deep inside her. “Do you know what torture it was to listen to Buckingham prattle on about taxes while all I could think about was the taste of your lips?” His hand dipped below the water’s surface and settled on her upper thigh.
She’d lost the need for words and closed her eyes while delicious shivers tripped over her skin. Every inch of her body stirred at his touch. Every heartbeat thudded to the rhythm of his.
He kissed her deeply, absorbing her soul into his for one breath-holding second when his hand slipped beneath her. Gasping his name, she tightened her arms around him, unable to control her wild reaction to his touch. He pressed her against the hard ridge of his arousal. Where he moved slowly to a soundless rhythm, she counteracted with an ungainly thrust until he broke the kiss and lifted her slightly off his lap.
A moan of protest escaped her as the throbbing ache continued, even without the tantalizing pressure of his fingertips.
“Shh…” he murmured softly.
She waited, breathless, for what seemed an interminable moment until he lowered her, sweetly and slowly, onto him.
His deep sigh echoed hers. They stayed still, relishing the act of consummating their love. Finally, she could bear it no more.
“Frederick—please—”
She pressed her mouth to his. Water sloshed out of the tub and onto the carpet when he stood. A shiver raced through her when cool air hit her wet skin, but her torso and arms warmed from his heated body. Their lips still fastened together, he strode to the bed, carrying her as easily as if she weighed no more than a feather pillow.
She matched kiss for kiss, rising to meet each stroke that turned from tender to torment in seconds. Their coupling was demanding, insatiable. She wanted to whisper sweet words into his ear but forgot them all. She could only gasp his name between breaths and stare into his eyes, which wore a fierce look of desire.
The water droplets clinging to their skin mixed with the moisture their intimacy created. He pushed the quilt away and rose up onto his elbows so he could look down at her.
“No,” she murmured, trying to pull him close and hide herself against his chest.
“I want to look at you. My God, you are so beautiful.”
“The…the quilt…” She fumbled for it, and with a resigned sigh, he pulled it back over them. His movements had slowed; the fire storm died down. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
A soft laugh puff
ed from his tightened lips. “Don’t be. This is only our second time.”
“Actually, our fourth.”
“Yes, well…” He grimaced comically and rolled on his side, taking her with him. “I love to look at you, sweetheart.” His hand slid from her waist up to her breast. “You are so perfectly made for me.”
His palm rubbed over her nipple, and she bit her lip against a most unladylike moan of appreciation.
“I have no curves.”
He traced the contours of her breast, skimmed her ribs and down to her thigh. “I beg to differ with you, Mrs. Blakeney.”
His voice had deepened. Her heart began thudding again, and she wondered if he could feel the vibrations. She stroked his cheek with every part of her hand, turning her fingers over to feel the scratchy texture of his whiskers that would be a dark shadow in the morning.
“Do I…does it…is it better for you than last night?” She immediately pressed her face into his neck, tasting salty bathwater on his skin.
“Is what better?”
He teased her; he knew what she meant. She boldly slid her hand down his body and reached between them. He caught his breath, as if unsure of what she was doing. She circled the stiff muscular base with her finger and thumb. The rest of him was inside her, arousing a deliciously slow burning fire. “This.”
He gulped for air. “It feels like I’m tightly wrapped in a soft blanket made of heated silk.”
A sudden movement of his body sent her on her back again, and he hovered over her, their bodies touching only where they were still connected. She felt he was slipping out and clenched her muscles to keep him there. His eyes shot open, and he gaped at her in surprise.
“Don’t do that again, or this will be over too quickly.”
She laughed despite the rising blush that warmed her chest. “Do what?”
Her body reacted in a natural way to his tentative thrust, and he sank heavily onto her, shaking his head and murmuring into her ear, “You are toying with me, countess.”
The rough hairs on his thighs rasped her sensitive skin. Her muscles tightened and released around him, repeating until he held his breath, poised above her. His thrusts ceased. Neither of them moved. Only the exquisite force of her innermost muscles brought them both to the edge of completion.
She lost count of how many kisses he’d bestowed on her in the last moments. In the dark heat of their bed, she lay on his chest, cradled by his injured arm while he stroked the damp hair from her face. He whispered sweet promises and tender words of love, his voice blending with the melodious throbbing of his heart against her cheek. She almost laughed at her error in judgment. Susanna was merely a friend. A good friend. Dear Lucinda had made an error in judgment, or perhaps had heard the story wrong.
So why had she thrown herself into Frederick’s arms?
And why had he not pushed her away?
His body heat stifled. She broke away from him and turned on her side, moving quickly before tears slid through her hair and onto his hand.
She need not have bothered. He tucked his long legs beneath hers and draped his arm over her waist—comforting and possessive at the same time.
“Good night, Mrs. Blakeney,” he murmured into her hair.
His hand clasped hers, causing her ornate wedding ring to pinch her skin. She welcomed the discomfort, a distraction against the painful breaking of her heart.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Absolutely no hanging onto his arm when you’re in public. Gentlemen detest clinging wives. You must keep your distance.”
“Cultivate a little flirtatious behavior of your own. All eyes will be on you, and your husband will go raving mad with jealousy.”
Jane sipped her tea without tasting it. Alice had brought her to Lady Brewster’s home as promised, and the women had talked of nothing else but Jane’s marital status. The clock chimed the hour, and she glanced at the door, almost looking forward to Susanna’s arrival. She could bear even her company if it meant relief from Alice and Lady Brewster’s ridiculous advice.
“Surely, your mamma told you how you should behave around your husband.” Lady Brewster sipped tea from a delicate porcelain cup. Like everything else about her home, it spoke of the finest taste and wealth, which was ridiculous, as the woman herself was vulgar and garish.
“She taught me about love and respect for one’s mate,” Jane replied, astounded they were even having the conversation. “I never thought it wrong to want to actually see my husband.”
“Oh, la!” Lady Brewster tittered behind her hand. “My dear, the less time you spend in each other’s company the better. I know you are newly wed and probably fancy yourself in love with him.” The curve of her lips turned cynical. “Believe me, Lady Falconbury—it will pass. He will start making excuses as to why he cannot attend the opera with you, and then you’ll hear he attended with a paramour.” She nodded knowingly. “Mark my words. I do hope you have a strong temperament.”
Stiff with anxiety and an onset of nausea, Jane shifted to a more comfortable position on the plump brocade sofa. How had her life come to this? She’d only left Weston two days ago, and was now sitting in an elegant parlor learning how not to love her husband.
“And a slick back,” Alice interjected, giggling at her words. Lady Brewster looked quizzical, so Alice explained. “So that all the bad will slide right off.”
Both women laughed, but Jane didn’t even try to pretend she was interested in the conversation anymore. Mercifully, a butler announced Susanna’s arrival.
All three stood to greet her, Jane hanging back behind the others. Susanna entered, and Jane fought a new bout of envy, which mixed poorly with her already sensitive nerves. Susanna’s upswept hair was tucked beneath a cunning silk turban adorned with a gold brooch in the shape of a monkey. Her blue gown was streaked with ribbons of yellow and green, creating an almost startling effect that would look ridiculous on anyone else.
Jane smoothed a crease down the front of her own simple yet expensive afternoon dress. When she’d first put it on that morning, she’d been pleased with the delicate rows of ribbon along the hem and the scooped neckline that endowed her with more than what she was born with. But in comparison to Susanna’s attire, her dress seemed as dowdy and plain as the ones she’d owned before she was married.
“Good afternoon, ladies!” Susanna cried, immediately enfolding Jane in an embrace, which Jane returned stiffly. “And how are you, Lady Falconbury?”
Her painful memories of how she’d spent the night doubting Frederick’s love flooded her like a sudden downpour on a summer day. “Very well.”
“Splendid. Please forgive my lateness. You will never believe who I saw in the park on my way here.”
Alice and Lady Brewster spoke as one. “Who?”
“You know him, Jane. Jeremy Parker, from Shropshire. He sends you his compliments.”
“How very kind.” How did he have the audacity to send her any sort of message?
“Who is this Parker?” Lady Brewster asked.
“The son of a friend of Frederick’s,” Susanna replied.
It was strange to hear her husband’s name bandied about by a woman she hardly knew, but Jane declined to speak, allowing Susanna to acquaint the others. Susanna sank onto the sofa and indicated Jane should sit beside her.
“I know who it is,” Alice remarked, a faint sneer on her lips. “That ridiculous old colonel’s son.” She tapped Lady Brewster’s arm. “My dear, he is the most boorish man you could ever hope to meet! And the daughter…”
“Lucinda is my friend.” Jane stood abruptly. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I am going home now. Lady Brewster, thank you for your hospitality.”
Susanna stood beside her. “Allow me to take you. My aunt’s barouche is waiting outside.” She smiled gaily at Alice and Lady Brewster, who looked red-faced and a bit hostile. “I will see Freddie’s sweet bride home by way of the park. I’m afraid she must be tired from her long journey the other day, and all
the excitement of coming to town.”
Susanna ushered her out of the house to the courtyard. After they were tucked inside the vehicle, Susanna squeezed Jane’s hand and laughed uncontrollably.
“Good heavens, Jane! Did you see their faces? I’ll wager neither of those beasts have ever had anyone speak to them like that.” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her gloved fingertips. “But, oh dear, I hope Alice does not say anything to Freddie. He’s very protective of her since Henry died.”
“I do not think they are beasts.” Her peevishness made her defend the women even though she agreed with her.
“I did not mean to be rude,” Susanna said quickly. She released Jane’s hand, only to link her arm through hers a moment later. “I do not know Alice very well. But do not let them use your back to wipe their shoes on. With your title, you are above them in society, but they will make you feel as if you’ve just come from the country. That’s what they did to me, until I set them straight.”
“How did you do that?” Despite her animosity, she was intrigued by Susanna’s extroverted behavior, especially as it concerned standing up to Lady Brewster.
“I took Lady Brewster aside one night at a ball where she had ceaselessly insulted me. She has been the height of charitable goodness to me ever since.”
“What did you do?”
“Let me just say I told her I knew of certain trysts she’d had with certain spouses of her friends.” She winked and laughed again.
Jane almost admired Susanna’s audacity. “My goodness,” she murmured.
“The funny thing is,” Susanna added, “I do not know of any such trysts. However, her face turned as white as my gloves, so I assume it was true. She has not trifled with me since.” She must have taken Jane’s silence for disapproval and paled a little. “I do hope you will not tell Frederick about it. He will certainly scold me.”
Jane wished she could ask why Frederick would be concerned about a former love’s taking on the ton, but didn’t. Frederick and Susanna had some sort of connection, but of what, she was not sure. Furthermore, she was afraid to find out.
“I have an idea,” Susanna said, her face brightening. “Let us drive to Frederick’s offices and demand he take us for a stroll in the park. It will be tremendous fun, and I’m sure he could use some fresh air after being in that dreary House of Lords all day. What say you?”
