His Perfect Game

by Jenn Langston

  “Yes?” He slid the sheet back and lowered himself beside his warm wife.

  “I . . . I wasn’t sure you were going to come.” Her words came out muffled, as if she held the sheets over her head.

  His heart sank. She thought him a villain. He wished an easier way existed, but as her main objection was him, he could do nothing to assuage her discomfort.

  “You didn’t have to wait for me. I would have awakened you if you fell asleep.” He heard her sharp intake of breath.

  Greyson paused. Although he sat beside her, she had not moved from her original position, and with the sheets pulling across his lap, he could picture her with her face under them. How could he initiate anything with her hiding from him?

  Turning his body toward her, he grasped the sheets and drew them from her and slowly down her body. She didn’t make a sound. In their current positions, he could easily get this over with, but he wanted to ease her. He didn’t want her to fear him.

  “Why don’t you sit up?” he suggested. After a brief hesitation, he heard the rustling of sheets, indicating she’d complied.

  He reached out and found her shoulder and although he felt her wince, he didn’t retreat. Instead, he slowly slid his hand upward to cup her face. As he encouraged her forward, he leaned down to press his lips to hers. She jumped, but he held her firm. Within a few seconds, she kissed him back.

  Without any coaxing, she opened her mouth to him and put her hands on his shoulders. Her hesitant exuberance shocked and excited him. This kiss wasn’t given in obedience to her father. This kiss she offered as a gift to him. Slipping his arm around her waist, he dragged her across the bed to settle against his body. He groaned as she fit against him perfectly.

  Her warmth assaulted him and made him want more. His hands gingerly caressed her back as he held her close. She stiffened, but didn’t pull back. Something was different. Ignoring the thought, he allowed himself to give in to the sensations. Her lips were frantic on his as her fingers dug into his shoulders. As her honey scent flooded him, his body grew hard with longing.

  Abruptly, he jerked back and looked down in horror. This woman wasn’t his wife. Not only was she too petite, but her scent lacked the earthiness he had grown accustomed to.

  Rage boiled within him. All this time he worried about sparing her and easing her way, and she schemed to get away from him. Everything, from the darkness to her eagerness had been a setup intended to lure him to the wrong woman. He would not stand for it. “Who are you, and where is my wife?” he demanded.

  “Wh-What do you mean? I am your wife.”

  He frowned then blew out a breath. Her voice sounded too similar to be fabricated. Frustrated, he shifted away, determined to get a candle and see for himself.

  “Wait” She tugged on his arm to stop him. “I can explain.”

  Interested, he turned back to her. “I’m listening.”

  He heard her swallow and the sounds of her moving on the sheets. His earlier decision to forgo the light had not been well thought out, although he had no way of knowing his wife would change into someone else that night.

  “I never intended to get married, as you know. The padding in my clothing aided me to that end, as I was often overlooked. In the years following my debut into Society, it had offered me protection in its familiarity. I think of it as my armor.”

  Greyson’s mouth dropped open. Why would a woman go through such lengths to avoid a husband? These past months, he never suspected she was anything other than she appeared. He wanted to question her further, but realized later would be a better time. If he pressed and she claimed her objection stemmed from the wedding night, what would he do?

  Unsure of how to respond to her admission, he climbed over to her and brought her back into his arms. Still perplexed by the difference, he wanted to take it slow and relearn about the woman who was now his wife. Pressing his lips to her neck, he teased and nipped at the sensitive flesh until a moan tore from her lips.

  The sound shot through him, instantly exciting him. Forgetting about moving slow, his hand cupped her breast. She gasped but didn’t pull back. Encouraged by her response, he caressed her through the soft fabric of her nightdress.

  Moving his lips to her mouth, he wanted to proclaim his satisfaction as she met him and thrust her fingers into his hair. She gripped him so fiercely, he wondered if she intended this as a way to discourage him from trying to leave again.

  His need built too quickly. Her willingness only served to create a burning inside him only she could relieve. He had to move swiftly, or he would be too far gone.

  Removing his hand, he laid her back against the bed, following her down. She stiffened for a second, but as he massaged down the side of her body, she relaxed. Her hands clutched his back as every warm inch of her pressed against his hot body. It was too much . . . way too much . . . but not enough.

  Very slowly, he tugged her nightdress until the fabric bunched around her waist. Using his knees, he tried to spread her legs, but her body froze as she turned away from his kiss. Breathing heavily, he waited until she gave in. Easing against her, his member pressed up to her core with only a thin layer of cloth separating them. He groaned, too overcome.

  “It will hurt, but I promise to be quick,” he ground out.

  Not able to wait another second, he unfastened his trousers and freed himself. After taking a moment to apply the cream, he waited, poised at her entrance. This was it. The final piece to join them in marriage.

  As he pushed himself inside, his heart pounded so swiftly he thought it would explode. She was so tight, she surrounded him, beckoned him, urged him further. As he met with her resistance, he broke through the barrier in one swift motion, filling her fully as her cry shattered the silence of the night.

  “I’m sorry,” he breathed while trying to keep a tight grip on his control. He needed to allow her to become accustomed to him or pull out and leave the room. Unfortunately, the latter proved beyond him.

  She began to squirm beneath him, bringing spikes of pleasure as his desire built for the ultimate release. He could hold on no longer. He withdrew completely, then filled her once again, feeling lost from the world. Nothing existed beyond this moment.

  He thrust inside her until the end became within reach. Then color burst through the darkness. Pleasure consumed. He cried out as he welcomed the release. Heavy breathing rocked his body as his vision cleared.

  Afraid he was crushing her, he flipped onto his back. Even as satisfaction relaxed him, his mind didn’t drift into the usual aftermath of languor. He knew he’d hurt her, and he hated himself for lacking the strength to leave before taking his pleasure.

  As the bed shifted, he knew she withdrew herself from him. Unsure of what to do, he kept still until her quiet sobbing pushed him over the edge. After fastening his trousers, he rolled over onto his side and touched her shoulder. She stiffened.

  Realizing she would not welcome his comfort or his touch, he yanked his arm back. He didn’t belong here. This room was intended to be a sanctuary for her. Swinging his legs over the bed, he vaulted himself up and exited the room.

  He knew his marriage wouldn’t resemble that of his friend’s, but he just destroyed any chance he had of it evolving into something similar.

  Abigail felt the warm morning sun touching her cheeks. As she opened her eyes, she became disoriented and couldn’t place where she was. Sitting up, her memories returned, and she winced. She was a married woman now. Her husband had come to her last night and taken her innocence. The last thing that belonged to her.

  Brushing her curls off her face, she yawned. She needed to get up and prepare herself before anyone entered, but her body felt too sore to move. The weight from the wedding dress combined with the late-night visit from her husband had left her muscles stiff and aching.

  She stretched, feeling the pain from her bruises burning. Considering what she’d suffered yesterday and last night, she knew it would take longer than usual to heal from her
father’s beating. She held on to the pride she felt for managing to keep her suffering silent when her husband touched her.

  As she pushed the coverlet off her legs, she gasped. Brown blood stained her nightdress and streaked down her legs. The pain from last night made more sense now. Her mother had been right. The damage from a husband far exceeded anything her father had done to her.

  Ignoring the throbbing between her legs, she shuffled over to the water basin. After dampening a cloth, she did her best to clean herself before donning her armor. With her muslin gown settled around her shoulders, she began to work on her hair. She would fasten the dress later.

  After tucking the powder safely away in the back of a drawer, she took a moment to breathe. She had no idea what the day would bring, and the thought frightened her. Would she be forced to keep in her husband’s company? Etiquette required friends and family to give them private time, so surely she would not be allowed to visit Julia or check on her mother.

  A knock sounded at the door, forcing her heart into her throat. What if Lord Merrick had returned? Realizing she had not completed dressing, she fumbled with her dressing gown until it was secured then she granted entrance.

  “Good morning, my lady,” a young girl greeted as she bowed. “I’m Sandra. I trust Mrs. Boart told you I am to assist you.”

  “She informed me last night.” Relieved it wasn’t her husband, Abigail removed her dressing gown.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, my lady. I didn’t know you had arisen. If you would have called for me, I would have been pleased to aid you.”

  “I managed sufficiently. If you could just fasten my gown.” Turning around, she allowed Sandra to help her.

  “Since I’m here, there is no reason for you to settle with this chignon. I can just—”

  “That is quite all right.” Abigail moved away quickly, but not before Sandra touched her hair. Looking down at the black powder on the maid’s fingers, Abigail wanted to groan. This wasn’t the way she’d intended to approach her with the deception.

  Sandra moved her stunned eyes from her hand to Abigail, but didn’t comment or question.

  “It’s hair powder,” Abigail explained with a sigh. “My hair color is . . . unacceptable, so I conceal it.”

  “Not acceptable? By whom?”

  Abigail brought her shoulders back and stared at the girl, stunned by her audacity. As a daughter of a duke, she wasn’t accustomed to being questioned by a servant.

  “I’m sorry, my lady.” Sandra dropped her gaze, blushing. “I should not have spoken.”

  “That’s all right,” Abigail assured, not wanting to ruin her chances of gaining the girl’s trust. “I would appreciate you keeping the knowledge to yourself.”

  “Of course. You will find I’m trustworthy and although this is my first time serving as a lady’s maid, I’m excellent with hair.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Perhaps tomorrow you can show me.”

  Sandra smiled brightly as she chattered on about her talents. Abigail listened with half an ear, feeling grateful for the girl’s eagerness. A seasoned maid would be quick to inform the other servants, but Sandra’s concerns appeared to be on keeping her mistress happy.

  When her maid set off to unpack the trunks, Abigail made her way downstairs for breakfast. Unfortunately she realized she had no idea where to go. Hearing someone moving about, she turned into a room and came into contact with a solid male chest. Speech failed her as she took in his masculine scent. A pleasant mix of soap and sandalwood.

  Hands settled on her shoulders and pulled her back. Her husband’s emotionless gaze fixed upon her. She could not tell if he was angered or amused by her sudden appearance, and she felt surprised to realize that not knowing bothered her.

  “I’m sorry, my lord. I was looking for the dining room.”

  “Ah, then follow me. That is the direction I am going as well.”

  Releasing her shoulders, he exited the room. After a stunned second, she followed him. Watching the direction they took, she realized her previous error and felt confident she could find the room unaided in the future.

  “Thank you,” she said, entering the dining room.

  “I’ll speak with Holland about having someone give you a proper tour sometime today.”

  She felt a stab of disappointment since he would not be guiding her tour, but she quickly remembered she didn’t want to be in his presence.

  While they sat and ate their breakfast, not another word was uttered. She would not have minded the silence if her husband wasn’t constantly watching her. The attention made her self-conscious with her every move scrutinized. However, she refused to ask him about his preoccupation since she didn’t want to know his reasons.

  “How are you feeling today?” he asked at last.

  “Very well, my lord. And you?”

  “I hope you are not overly sore from last night.”

  She dropped her fork at the mention of their wedding night. Putting her hands in her lap, she stared down at her plate. She was still sore, but would not admit it to him. All her years with her father told her men didn’t really want to know.

  “I’m fine, my lord.”

  Slightly moving her eyes, she peered at him, but, as usual, could not read his expression. Unlike yesterday, she didn’t see the images of him unclothed and leaning over her. She felt relief in the small concession.

  Last night had not gone as she had expected. From her mother’s description, she anticipated being more detached than she had been. When Lord Merrick had kissed her, she’d lost every thought and at that time, the idea of him on top of her was welcoming. Until it happened, at least. Suddenly, her appetite dwindled at the thought of the pain she had suffered.

  “I know it was unpleasant, and I’m sorry. I should have handled myself better, but . . . I did not.”

  Her face rose, and she looked at him, incredulous. Her father had never apologized. Watching Lord Merrick closely, he didn’t appear to be mocking her, but she could not understand what he hoped to gain from the confession. Perhaps he wished to go back on his word. The thought didn’t surprise her, but why did he feel the need to pacify her first?

  “I also wanted to let you know you will be on your own today,” he continued. “I have some matters I must attend to, and I don’t foresee returning until late this evening. As this is now your home, please feel free to do as you please. Holland has also been notified to have the carriage available if you wish it.”

  “Thank you.” She could hear her astonishment and knew her face portrayed the same emotion.

  Then she felt her smile fade. He didn’t want to be around her. The thought saddened her, but also brought relief. He’d received what he wanted from this marriage, and now he wanted her gone. This was a perfect marriage. Exactly what she wanted but had never dared to hope for. The only problem in the arrangement came from her. So why did she feel so hurt, so dejected?

  Dropping her head, she closed her eyes, not wishing to watch him leave the room. She was alone. A feeling she would have to get used to as it would be how she would spend the rest of her life.

  Greyson slammed the door to his study and locked himself in. Today was his first day of matrimony, and already he ruined it. His wife couldn’t stand being in the same room with him for more than a few seconds. He should exile himself. Unfortunately, there was nowhere to go.

  He could only see her frightened eyes as she looked at him. She didn’t eat, and he wondered if she worried he would attack her as he did last night. She should not be concerned, as he already assured her he would not touch her again until he wished for heirs. Her lack of faith in his promises angered him.

  Out of the insults she’d offered today, the most telling, the one with the most sting, had been her appearance. She’d worn her protective padding as if she needed a safeguard against him. She’d admitted the outfit originated to ward against potential suitors, but as a married woman, her “armor” was no longer necessary.

  Dropping hims
elf into his chair, he pressed his fingers to his temples. Why could nothing be simple? The only hope he felt stemmed from the knowledge she soon would be at Merrick. Then he could create his respectable living without having an infuriating female to worry over. Once she left, he would forget about her and how much last night didn’t begin to satisfy his ache for her.

  He remained locked in his study until the hour proclaimed an acceptable time to visit Ravenhurst. His mood would not welcome anything with the exception of a mentally stimulating game of cards. He hoped to find someone who would present a challenge as he had no desire to disillusion any dimwitted lords today.

  As he entered the club and surveyed the sparsely seated tables, he was surprised to see Jonathan sitting in the back. Not caring what his friend would say about his escape from Lady Merrick, he made his way to the table.

  “Greyson, I didn’t expect to see you out of your wife’s bedchamber today. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Are you not the one who said he enjoyed surprises?” Greyson asked, taking an empty seat.

  “I see. You exhausted your wife, so you have decided to spread your bad mood around. I’m disappointed. You should have known better than to devour her in one bite. The key to unlimited pleasure is savoring.”

  “Thank you for your constant stream of unbidden advice.” Sarcasm dripped from Greyson’s words.

  “What can I say?” Jonathan grinned. “I’m here to please.”

  Greyson studied his friend’s relaxed expression and realized Jonathan would never find himself in an unpleasant marriage. He always had an uncanny knack with the opposite sex, enabling him to have any woman he chose. Maybe he could help.

  “I’m not at home, because my wife prefers it that way.”

  “How can you be so certain when you have been married for barely a day?”

  “Our marriage didn’t arise out of affection but for want of connections.”

  “Then I don’t see the problem. If there is no fondness between you, why do you care what she prefers?” Jonathan tilted his head to the side.

  “I don’t know.” Greyson already regretted his hasty decision to talk to Jonathan.