He gazed at her in silence. She flushed red and wished she’d kept her mouth shut. She could never figure out his expressions, what was in his thoughts when he made those half-smiles.
“Gwen. I like that. Perhaps I’ll call you Gwen instead of Guinevere when the situation warrants.”
“Yes, if you wish.” She fidgeted at her skirts and then forced herself to meet his gaze. “You have a very beautiful residence, Your Grace. I mean...Aidan. I will try...try not to bring ridicule upon it.”
“Why don’t you try to be comfortable in it? That would please me more.” His fingers brushed her cheek, and then the fleeting touch was gone, replaced by his more familiar authoritative stare.
“We must head to London in a fortnight or so,” he said, lifting the lamp and leading her back out to the bedroom. “It will be a push to have you ready by then, but the king and queen are eager to meet you.”
Gwen could hardly imagine this. “Why would the king and queen be eager to meet me?”
“Because you’re the new Duchess of Arlington. Ah, there is your lady’s maid, right on time. We take dinner at eight o’clock in the country, if you will come down five minutes prior.” With those words of dismissal, he made a slight bow and walked out the door.
* * * * *
Aidan thought their first day at Arlington Hall had gone rather well. It had been a risk, disciplining his wife so harshly the night before, but it had notably improved her behavior. Guinevere still spoke too quickly, and too boldly, and still exhibited rustic manners, but she didn’t defy him the way she had before. She showed respect, which was exactly what he’d wanted. Now that they’d come to an understanding, he was certain things would proceed more smoothly from here on out.
He readied himself to visit her bed, thinking there was a certain coziness to married life. A convenient availability. There was no longer any need to slink out after dinner to the theater or opera, or Pearl’s parlor of ill repute. Aidan had only to walk across the hallway and avail himself of his wife’s charms. He might not have felt so content if she was prudish, or wilting, or horse-faced, but Guinevere was none of those things. No, she was beautiful, and more erotically sensitive than any woman he’d ever known—including his companions at Pearl’s.
He was glad, for he was a man of voracious sexual appetites, and eager to tutor his wife in his tastes. Now that they were home, he wished to keep her naked all day in her rooms, so he might visit at any time and make use of her in any way he wanted, only to come back an hour later and do everything all over again.
But I would have liked to marry for love... Poor thing, when she had married into lust.
When Aidan felt he’d given her adequate time to prepare for his arrival, he tapped at her bedroom door. He waited a moment but received no answer. When he cracked open the door, he found her chambers dark, with only moonlight streaming through the windows. She lay in bed but she could not be asleep. Dinner had only ended half an hour ago.
He moved closer and gazed down at her. She was trying very hard to appear asleep. How innocent she looked in her rumpled linen shift. He would buy her silk and satin ones, scandalous, lewd garments, and tear them off her. Or perhaps he would buy her silk and satin shifts exactly like the one she wore, innocent, ruffled confections she could leave on while he did outrageous things to her body.
He reached to brush back a lock of her dark hair, then shrugged out of his dressing gown and slid into bed beside her. She lay so rigidly. Silly girl, it gave her game away. He drew her shift up to her waist, tracing lovely curves and velvet-soft skin. She was so delicious he wanted to eat her. Mine, mine, mine.
He kissed the base of her neck, a soft brush of his lips, and then kissed a trail down to her girlish neckline. He kissed between her breasts, sinking lower into the sheets. She still feigned sleep, although her breath came faster now. He licked her nipples right through the gauzy fabric, tracing them with his tongue until both were hard as little pebbles. Her hips jerked, a small thrust. He pressed his lips to her belly, which trembled now with the effort to stay still.
“I know you’re awake,” he said against her skin. “But play Sleeping Beauty if you wish.”
He ducked lower and pushed her thighs apart. Funny, how a sleeping woman could struggle so firmly to keep them closed. At last she gave up and let him hold her open. In the dark beneath the covers, he bent his head and worshipped her sex, stroking, kissing, nibbling, exploring her hot slickness with his lips and tongue. She tasted like heaven, fragrant and female, and blatantly aroused. “Wake up,” he murmured against her little pearl. “I have something to give you. Something you didn’t get last night.”
She deserved pleasure tonight, for learning her lesson. He grasped her sore bottom as he laved her, eliciting a strained gasp. A gasp of dismay, or excitement? He remembered her behavior in the meadow, her flustered reaction to being spanked. He wondered if she was sexually aroused by pain. He pinched one of her nipples, and was rewarded with another jerk of her hips. He gazed at her from between her legs. “Do you like when I hurt you?”
“No,” she said. “Of course not.”
Of course not. There must be some other reason she was making noises he’d never heard before.
After that exchange, he nibbled and pinched her as much as he licked her, and noted that each burst of pain made her go hotter still. His arousal grew in concert with hers. A masochistic wife? It was too wonderful to be believed.
“Yes, darling,” he urged. “Show me how good it feels when I kiss your pussy.”
Her thighs clamped against his face as she arched and shuddered. She was no longer feigning sleep. He explored her, discovering what excited her most, which rhythms and pressures pushed her nearer to the point of climax. His efforts were finally rewarded with a groaning gasp. He slipped a finger inside to feel her body’s undulations of pleasure. Her hips twitched as she gave a few last squeezes. It must have been a powerful release.
He slid back up in the bed and gave her a long, lingering kiss. “You see,” he said, “how good wives are rewarded.”
She gazed back at him, her eyes glistening in the moonlight. He frowned. “Are you crying?”
“No. It only felt so... I can’t explain.”
“Try.”
Finally she said, in a small voice, “I don’t understand my feelings toward you.”
He thought a moment, stroking her arm as she stared into the darkness. “I suppose that’s because we’ve only recently met. I think marriage takes some getting used to, in just about every case. The intimacy part, especially. Speaking of which...” He gave her a reproachful look. “It would be better if you didn’t feign sleep in order to shirk your marital duties.”
“Are you going to punish me?” She looked very afraid that he would.
“Not punish you, no. But you’re going to make it up to me.”
“How?”
“By doing for me what I just did for you. Sit up please, with your back against the pillows.”
“But—”
He tugged her up and arranged her as he wished, and knelt with his knees on either side of her, so his cock was on a level with her face. “You remember how I licked and caressed your quim?” he asked.
She stared at him. “I can’t...possibly...”
“Of course you can.” He’d gone prodigiously hard just from kneeling over her. He took her hand and placed it against his rigid length, and moved it up and down. “It feels good when you stroke me like this, but it would feel even better with the warmth and wetness of your mouth. Open for me, darling. I promise I won’t hurt you.”
“But...” She held him off with a questioning gaze. “I don’t think you ought to put it inside my mouth.”
“It’s a common enough activity in love play. Didn’t it feel good when I used my mouth on you?”
“I’m not...” She swallowed hard. “I’m not made like you. I don’t understand...what you expect.”
“I’ll show you.” He tried to be matter-of-fa
ct about it. Yes, he had a big cock, and yes, even the ladies at Pearl’s sometimes balked about fellating him, but he would be gentle with an innocent like her. He trailed a thumb along her chin and nudged her lips apart. “Just lick the tip of it to begin. Get it nice and wet, so your tongue can slip around the crown.”
She balked, until he pressed himself to her lips and took away her choice. He held the bedframe with one hand and her face with the other, so she couldn’t shrink away. She gave a tentative lick or two. Ah, God. Rapture.
“That’s right,” he said, pressing deeper. “It’s not so hard, is it? No, be careful not to use your teeth. Wrap your lips around me as I push into your mouth.”
Through some innate skill, or some miracle, she provided the perfect degree of suction as he eased between her lips. Her tongue teased along the underside of his cock. Exquisite. Heavenly. Marvelous. “You have no idea how wonderful that feels,” he said.
He pressed deeper still. He shouldn’t have, but she looked so tantalizing peering up at him with her lips stretched around his cock. She choked at the intrusion, and her eyes watered. He withdrew at once and stroked her cheek. “That was too much for a beginner. I apologize. Why don’t you lick it some more, and cup my balls in your palm?” He showed her what he meant, placing her hand at the base of his cock. His fingers covered hers, guiding her when she was too tentative.
“Do you remember how I moved my tongue over your pussy, over your sensitive little pearl? How I sucked it and flicked it? Even though my cock is bigger, you can do those sorts of things too.”
His wife complied, her technique sloppy and disorganized. It thrilled him all the same. Pleasure settled in his balls, a tensing urgency born of her submission. “Open for me again, love. You’re doing so well. I’m so close to coming off.”
She screwed her eyes shut and opened her mouth, and again treated him to that perfect suction. He eased his cock between her lips, being careful not to push too deep. He would not be that husband, even if every last nerve screamed at him to thrust into her throat to the hilt. He stroked himself as she sucked him, and sighed as her tongue teased the tip. In his rising excitement, his fingers curled into her hair and tightened against her scalp.
“Oh. God. Yes.” He couldn’t utter more than one word at a time. With a growl, he withdrew from her mouth and pumped his shaft, spilling his seed onto the front of her shift. He couldn’t imagine what she thought of this, but it had seemed a better idea than spending without warning in her mouth.
“Good girl,” he said. “You made me come.”
“Oh.” She sat frozen, staring up at him.
“You did that very well, especially for a beginner. Or...” He feigned suspicion. “Have you done that before?”
“No, never,” she insisted primly.
He leaned to kiss her mouth, which he was certain had never sucked another cock. “I’m teasing. I know it was your first time, and you did beautifully. It felt very pleasurable.”
“Oh,” she said again, looking down at the sticky mess on her bodice.
“I suppose you will want another shift. Why don’t we take that one off?”
She agreed that would be a good idea, although she seemed reluctant to touch it. He helped lift the now not-so-innocent garment over her head, taking care not to get any of the musky fluid in her hair. He threw it aside and wiped his hands on his thighs.
“It’s better if my seed goes inside you,” he said. “You can’t make babies any other way. I suppose we must have relations again in a while, so I can come inside you as I ought to.”
“I’m not sure we ought to indulge in so many carnal activities in one night.”
“Don’t you enjoy our carnal activities?”
“I... Well...” She shook her head. “No, I don’t enjoy them very much, if you wish to know the truth.”
He laughed and hauled her over his lap, and laid a couple good wallops over the birch marks from the night before. “A lie like that deserves a sound spanking.”
“Ow!” She squirmed to look up at him. “Please, it wasn’t a lie.”
“Wasn’t it?” He squeezed her bottom and slid his palm between her legs. His fingers came away wet. “I think it was a lie.” He spanked her a few more times, playful smacks as she fidgeted across his thighs. “Lying is a very bad habit, and certainly a punishable offense. You remember what I told you.” He paused to molest her again, drawing some of the moisture from her quim up between her bottom cheeks. “Bad wives earn bad consequences.” He pressed a fingertip against the tight, pink bud of her arsehole to drive his point home. She tried to wiggle off his lap, but he held her fast. “Apologize for me now, very prettily. ‘I’m sorry I lied to you, husband.’”
“I didn’t lie,” she insisted. “I told you my feelings were very confused.”
“Why confused? Don’t you like to feel pleasure? Tell the truth, Guinevere.” He nudged her off his lap and onto her back, and laid over her. The spanking and this intimate contact had him going rigid all over again. “Say it to me. I love to be fucked.”
“I can’t say that.” The poor woman was scandalized. “That is a terribly coarse word.”
“Say it, or I won’t let you come for the rest of the week. In fact, I won’t let you have your pleasure for the next six months.” That was a bluff. He enjoyed her abandoned reactions too much to deny her. He was playing with her, or trying to. He wished she would smile instead of looking on the verge of tears.
“All right then,” he said. “If it’s too difficult for you to admit it, give me a kiss instead. None of those reluctant ones either. Kiss me the way you kissed me in the meadow, like a wanton fairy queen.”
He waited. He didn’t pucker his lips or bow his head to her, or do anything but gaze at her expectantly, forcing her to take the first step.
She shifted beneath him. “If I kiss you, then what will you do?”
He pressed his thickening cock against her quim. “Surely you know the answer to that. Do you want me to make you feel good, Gwen? Very, very warm and aroused and good?” She bit her lip and turned away. “Answer me,” he prompted. “Or kiss me. Either one.”
He waited. After a moment, she turned back and reached to trace a tendril of his hair, a tentative gesture that seemed deeply erotic. Her fingers trailed along his neck. She kissed him, whispery-soft, at the side of his lips.
“A promising start,” he murmured. “Give me more.”
She blinked at him, then tilted her head to kiss him on the mouth.
Let her lead. For once. It was hard to stay still, to not to push her arms back and drive inside her the way he wished. The way she wished, whether she could admit it or not.
“Show me what you want,” he said. “If you can’t say it, show me. Arch your hips and let me come inside you. Marital intimacy is not a shameful or repulsive thing, and there is nothing wrong with you for enjoying it.”
“But I don’t enjoy—”
“You do. I’ve felt you coming, Guinevere. Don’t tell lies.”
He pressed into her pussy, kissing her lips and chin and neck and shoulders, all the lovely, compelling features that comprised his wife. He went gently this time. Sometimes he liked sex raw and roughshod, but sometimes he liked it sweet.
“You’re so sweet,” he whispered. “Let me hold you.”
He gathered her close, sinking inside her warmth. She was so tight and hot, so wet. He loved the way she squeezed his cock, loved the maddeningly erotic way she moved her hips, but he also loved the way she clung to him. Beautiful, sweet girl. He didn’t want her to suffer, not when they could make one another so happy.
He toyed with her, maneuvered and manipulated her until she climaxed in a trembling heat, and then chuckled when she refused to meet his gaze. “You love to be fucked,” he taunted softly. “You little liar. You naughty girl.”
Chapter Seven: The Letter
Gwen’s hand hovered over the paper, the pen trembling in her fingers as she searched for the right words. Mama,
she prayed silently. Help me, please. Help me know what to say so Father will let me come home.
She’d been at Arlington Hall nearly a week, submitting to the duke’s endless scrutiny, her French maid’s harassment, and finishing lessons with Lady Langton, a doddering old scold who made Gwen want to die.
No matter how hard she tried, Gwen could do nothing right. The walls of her husband’s palatial estate seemed to squeeze in around her until she couldn’t breathe. She snuck to her private garden whenever she could, only to be pulled back inside for lessons, or styling, or a change of clothes, or luncheon, or tea, or formal dinner, or some other pointless activity.
Then night would come and the duke would visit her bed, and stroke her and bedevil her until she lost all sense and participated in the most scandalous activities. She only realized her embarrassment afterward, when he was slumbering beside her in blissful repletion. It was an awful feeling, that lonely, shameful aftermath. It was not her fault the duke knew the precise ways to stimulate her sensual humors. And every time he lay with her, there was more chance she would fall pregnant with his child.
Gwen had never thought it possible to miss her home so much. She missed her privacy and peace of mind. She missed wearing comfortable clothes and being who she was, a simple baron’s daughter. She missed having control of her own body. She missed her afternoons with Effie, feeding her apples and brushing her patchy coat. She prayed every day in her garden for fortitude, and for deliverance, but it didn’t help.
It was time to take matters into her own hands, now, before it was too late.
Dear Papa, she wrote in Welsh.
I know it was important to you that I wed the Duke of Arlington. I would not write this letter if I was not in desperate circumstances.
I’m afraid our marriage is a failure. The duke regards me as little better than a savage, and treats me as such. He fears I will humiliate him before his friends, and so he is trying to remake me into a completely different person.
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