His Unsuitable Viscountess

by Michelle Styles

Ben made a face. ‘I had asked for a quiet wedding breakfast. This is my mother’s idea of quiet. You are handling it well.’

  ‘It gives her pleasure,’ Eleanor said diplomatically.

  ‘Yes, she lives for playing the hostess. But you live for other things.’

  Eleanor peeked at him from under her lashes. Did he mean that he thought she wouldn’t be capable of organising something like this? She was not some shy wallflower, incapable of hosting a gathering. All it required was a modicum of attention to detail. Lady Whittonstall was correct. She could learn. ‘Is there some reason you need me out here?’

  ‘I have to do this. The need has grown in me until I can’t think of anything else.’ He reached forward and drew her into his arms. He lowered his mouth.

  This kiss was very different from the perfunctory brush of his mouth earlier. This one lingered and

  lazily explored. Eleanor opened her lips as the warmth within her built. His arms tightened about her, pulling her close.

  A discreet cough sounded behind her, making her recall where they were and what had nearly happened. He put her from him.

  ‘Viv, you are not required here,’ Ben said with fiercely burning eyes.

  ‘One of Aunt Violet’s Poms has escaped and I have been roped into the search.’ Viv gave an innocent whistle.

  ‘Poms?’ Eleanor asked, trying to get her heart-rate back to normal. Being discovered locked in Ben’s arm by Lady...no Mother Whittonstall did not bear thinking about.

  ‘My mother breeds Pomeranians. She brought three of them with her. Which one is it?’

  ‘A little white one.’ Viv gave a shrug. ‘I think the maid called him Romeo.’

  ‘My mother always names her Pomeranians after Shakespearian characters. Titania is the one who nips.’

  A small movement caught Eleanor’s eye. She bent down and saw a black nose and the tips of two white bat-like ears hiding at the back of the border. The escapee—Romeo. She held out her hand and the little dog came snuffling forward. She quickly reached out her other hand and captured the squirming body. The dog looked at her with big eyes and then licked her nose.

  ‘You’ve made a conquest, Eleanor,’ Ben said with a laugh.

  She handed the dog to Viv, and then looked at the smears of dirt on her gown. ‘Do you think Mother Whittonstall will forgive me? I am no longer the pristine bride.’

  ‘It is easily brushed off.’ Ben gave her his handkerchief. ‘Think of the riot that dog could have caused if he had raided the wedding breakfast. You are the heroine of the hour!’

  ‘I’ll take care of this miscreant.’ Viv adjusted his hold so that the dog was kept well away from his white dimity waistcoat. ‘However, Aunt Violet is searching for you both. Something about the wedding cake? It was better that I discovered you. All things considered.’

  ‘We are just married,’ Ben said. ‘My mother should know better.’

  ‘A word to the wise. Discretion is better.’ Viv gave a distinct wink.

  ‘That is rich, coming from you!’ Ben replied, rolling his eyes.

  ‘But very true.’ Viv’s infectious laugh rang out, quickly echoed by Ben’s. The dog joined in.

  Viv stopped, readjusted his hold on the dog once more, and clapped Ben on the back. ‘It is good to hear you laugh again, cousin.’

  ‘I am rediscovering laughter’s many pleasures.’

  Eleanor stood facing Ben, trying to get her breath and knowing her face flamed as she heard Viv’s footsteps retreat. How could she have given way to her passion in that fashion? She wanted to demonstrate what a good wife she could be and had simply shown that she had no sense.

  ‘And this was...?’ she asked, wrapping her arms about her waist.

  ‘A rescue. I wanted to make sure you were fine with our not having a wedding trip.’

  ‘With Mr Swaddle injured there is far too much for me to do,’ Eleanor said, knowing it was her pride talking. ‘And the kiss—was it supposed to be consolation for our not going away?’

  He rubbed the back of his thumb along her aching lips. ‘Because I wanted to. Because I could. To celebrate the start of our marriage. Do you object? Do you fear the physical side of marriage?’

  Her heart did an odd little flip. She tried to push away Lady Whittonstall’s earlier intelligence. But it niggled. She wanted to be more than a replacement wife, a wife who was needed to provide an heir. She wanted to be wanted for her own sake. She’d show him that she could play her part to perfection—even if her dress was now smudged with paw prints. ‘We still have guests.’

  ‘Yes, we do. My mother invited them.’

  ‘I can’t be rude.’ She slipped her hand from his. ‘You do understand?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  * * *

  ‘I believe this will meet requirements,’ Ben said, opening the door to the room he used when he visited Viv. He’d given in to Eleanor’s pleas for more time for long enough. The last thing he wanted was for Eleanor to be caught up in a social whirl. When he’d married Alice she had insisted on staying at the wedding breakfast until the last guest had departed.

  He noted with satisfaction that his valet Cartwright had followed his instructions. A decanter of port with two glasses and a chessboard sat on a small table in front of the fire. The bed was turned down, but that would come later if all went well. Right now he wanted to make Eleanor comfortable, ensure that she wanted to be with him.

  ‘Your bedroom?’

  ‘Privacy is best. I hardly want to spend my wedding night with my mother and cousin in attendance.’ He ushered her in. ‘When you are used to Broomhaugh you can decide on which suite you desire, but for now this one should meet requirements.’

  Her neat white teeth worried her bottom lip, turning it a deep rose-red. It remained slightly swollen from the kiss they’d shared earlier. The memory of that kiss had his body thrumming. He had nearly undressed her on the terrace and his fingers itched to start now. He took a deep breath and controlled the urge. Slowly. Without rushing in like some callow youth. It had been so long since he’d made love to a woman that he worried about his ability to control his passion. And with each passing breath that desire to possess her fully grew.

  He had no wish to have his passion frighten her. He wanted to get it right with Eleanor. He wanted to bury himself deep within her, but he also wanted her to enjoy the experience.

  Eleanor stood in front him, her gloved hands clasped together. She had not moved a muscle since she’d walked into the room.

  ‘I’ve not been in this sort of situation before. I am not sure what is expected of me.’

  ‘Do you want a drink?’ He gestured towards the port.

  She shook her head. ‘I’m fine. You have one if you like.’

  ‘Take off your gloves. Make yourself at home. We have all the time in the world.’

  She awkwardly removed her gloves, scrunched them in a ball, before she slid over to the chessboard and started to rearrange the pieces.

  He watched her every move as she bent over the set, seemingly absorbed in placing each piece squarely on the board, wondering if he had acted too soon in bringing her up here. Perhaps they should have waited until after supper.

  It had been such a long time since he’d even attempted to seduce a woman. Had he forgotten the knack? Where should he start with Eleanor?

  He poured himself a glass of port, tasted it, and knew it was not something he desired at that moment. He wanted to taste her again and see if her mouth was as sweet as before.

  Ever since the marriage ceremony she’d appeared nervous and on edge. Something had changed. He didn’t want her to fear the physical side of marriage. He wanted her to embrace it.

  ‘Do you play chess?’ he asked in desperation.

  ‘I have played a time or two.’ Her hand paused on the b
lack rook. With a hint of the bravado he remembered from their picnics, she continued, ‘Do you intend on teaching me the finer points of the game?’

  ‘I take it you are as good a chess-player as you are a fencer.’

  ‘I like to think so.’ She hurriedly dropped the piece and sent half a dozen other pieces skittering across the board. Her small cry of alarm filled the room and she dropped to her knees and started to pick them up. All the while she kept her face carefully from his.

  ‘We both know where this is going to end, Eleanor,’ he said. ‘If it is something you don’t want, then you can change your mind. We will leave this room and go back to the drawing room. But in order for a marriage to be unquestioned it needs to be consummated. You want to fulfil the terms of the will.’

  ‘At any time?’ She rocked back on her heels with the black rook still in her hand. Her eyes appeared troubled, and he was reminded how innocent she was, despite all her years of working in a man’s world. And, despite her declaration the other night, he knew she knew little of what was about to happen.

  His body ached with the need to bury himself deep within her, but that didn’t matter. She needed to understand that she was safe with him. Nothing would happen without her consent. He wanted an eager bed partner for the rest of their lives—not someone who shrank from his touch simply because he’d been fumble-fingered on their first night. He wanted Eleanor to enjoy the physical side of marriage.

  ‘Any time.’ He cupped her face with his hands. Their breath intertwined. It took all his self-control not to cover her mouth with his. He could take her now. It was what his body wanted, what he thought she’d wanted out on the terrace, but he could sense her slight hesitation. She needed to give her consent. Seeing her great grey eyes, he knew how innocent she truly was and how much he wanted to demonstrate how good it could be. ‘Is that what has been worrying you? Why you knocked the chessboard over?’

  He picked up one of the knights and set it on the board. Waited for her surrender.

  ‘Nothing is worrying me,’ she said, scrambling up to face him with her chin jutting upwards. Defiant and proud. ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘Trust me, Eleanor. Confide in me,’ he said softly, as if he was coaxing a reluctant horse to take a jump. ‘You enjoyed our kiss on the terrace. But something is bothering you. This is not the Eleanor who was on the terrace with me. Neither is this the Eleanor who went on picnics with me.’

  Eleanor gripped the black rook tighter. She could hardly confess about her conversation with Lady Whittonstall now. It seemed somehow wrong to bring up his tragic past. That was the last thing she wanted. But how could she not mention it?

  ‘Your mother spoke to me...about your past.’

  ‘She overstepped the mark.’ His eyes became hard, but he reached out his hands towards her. ‘The past doesn’t concern you. Don’t allow her to intimidate you into thinking it does, Eleanor.’

  She longed to walk into his arms and lay her head against his chest. But equally she needed to think straight.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me that your wife was pregnant when she died? That you lost two people that day?’ The last words came out in a rush.

  Instantly his hand fell to his side. He looked up at the ceiling for a long while. Eleanor knew that she had said precisely the wrong thing. He hadn’t intended telling her ever.

  ‘It is in the past, Eleanor,’ he said slowly. ‘She died and that is the end to it. That future never happened. There is no point in dwelling on that past. Have I asked about how your father died? Or what drove you to devote your life to Moles?’

  ‘If you must know, my father killed himself rather than face the debt he’d incurred. I couldn’t allow the employees to suffer.’

  ‘But that shame has nothing to do with the reason why you decided to marry me.’

  ‘You know why I did it—the will.’ Eleanor knew her words were too quick. The last thing she wanted to do was to start discussing those awful months. ‘The manner of my father’s death is not something I mention very often.’

  ‘Nor is the manner of my wife’s death.’

  ‘Your mother thought it important enough to tell me,’ she said in a faint tone.

  ‘My mother had her own reasons.’ He put his hands on her shoulders. His eyes turned blacker than midnight. ‘I want to assure you, Eleanor, that this marriage is between us—no one else. What went before is in the past. It is the future I am spending with you that is important.’

  ‘But—’ She gripped the rook so tightly that her knuckles shone white. The effect of the rook pressing against her palm kept her focused. She was not going to make demands or show her hurt, but she wasn’t going to be deterred. His past was important. It had made him who he was and she wanted to know everything about him.

  ‘Eleanor, this is our wedding night. Why would I want to talk about anything but you?’ He placed a kiss against her temple which did strange things to her insides. ‘What is important for us is this, right now, between us. Nothing else matters. You must trust me on this.’

  She made the mistake of glancing into his dark eyes. His gaze made her feel desirable and wanted. Her protestation died in her throat. She swallowed hard. She wanted to believe him.

  His mouth slanted down and covered hers. Firmly, coaxing rather than demanding a response. Unhurried, but full of promise and expectation.

  The feel of his lips moving over hers erased everything else from her mind. She forgot what she’d meant to say, how she’d planned to act, and to her amazement she discovered that she’d forgotten how to breathe properly. The world swung round and round and she had to grab onto his shoulders. The rook fell to the floor unheeded.

  The intensity of the kiss deepened and the white heat urgency she’d experienced on the terrace swamped her. She wanted him.

  His hands worked at the back of her gown and she heard several of the buttons ping off. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured against her temple. ‘I’m not a good ladies’ maid.’

  ‘Ben?’ she said as she realised that the candles still burnt. He was going to see her naked. She had planned to have all the light doused and slip into the bed. She should have thought and asked for her maid. Between demanding to know about his late wife’s death and neglecting to change she’d gone about this all wrong. ‘I thought...’

  ‘Hush, no more thinking. I have longed for this moment. Dreamt about it. I want to enjoy it.’

  ‘You have?’ Eleanor asked in wonder. ‘Shouldn’t we douse the lights?’

  ‘There is no need for false modesty.’ He put his finger under her chin and lifted it so that she stared directly into his eyes. ‘You and I don’t have to do the done thing.’

  ‘The candles can stay lit,’ she said, and hoped that he wouldn’t prove disappointed.

  He pushed the material of her dress down and it fell in a pool at her feet. She stepped out of it and stood only in her shift. Something flared in his eyes, making her feel desirable and even beautiful. His hand skimmed her shoulder.

  ‘You are not wearing stays.’

  ‘The dress was cleverly cut.’ Eleanor’s cheeks flamed. ‘I am too thin. My curves are few.’

  The dimple played in a corner of his mouth, giving him a devilish appearance. ‘No one would mistake you for a man, Eleanor.’

  He captured her hand and pulled her unresisting body to his. She crashed against his chest. A nervous excitement filled her.

  His mouth rained tiny kisses down her face until he reached hers. Her lips instantly parted and she tasted the slight tang of the port he’d drunk earlier, as well as the clean taste of him. She looped her arms about his neck and pulled him closer.

  His arms tightened, moulding her to him. Through the thin material of her shift she clearly felt his erection press into the apex of her thighs. She squirmed against him, enjoying the feeling—how the heat of
his skin radiated through her shift, how his hands moved down her back to cup her bottom and hold her there. She’d thought this would be a duty, something that she’d want over quickly, but it was an absolute pleasure. She wanted it to last.

  ‘This will be more enjoyable on the bed, Eleanor. Trust me,’ he whispered against her ear, before his tongue swirled her earlobe, sending a fresh shower of sparks coursing through her body.

  ‘I’m not sure I can make it.’ She clung on to his shoulders for balance. ‘My knees are like jelly.’

  ‘That is a problem easily solved.’ He bent and picked her up. ‘Hang on tight.’

  With a few strides he’d covered the distance to the bed. He placed her gently down and she sank into the feather tester’s embrace. Above her the bed curtains loomed.

  ‘I think we can remove the final article now,’ he said.

  Slowly he lifted the lawn shift over her head and then dropped it over the side of the bed. And she lay exposed, open to his view, in a way she’d never been exposed to anyone before. She started to cover herself but he caught her hands and held them above her head.

  ‘Allow me to feast. The exact contours of your body have been playing on my mind.’

  He bent his head and captured her nipple, swirling his tongue over the tightly furled bud.

  Eleanor gasped as her body bucked. He then proceeded to do the same with the next nipple. A raging storm swept through her, exhilarating her, making her feel more alive than she had considered possible.

  She glanced up and saw Ben looking at her with a very satisfied expression.

  ‘I take it you approve?’

  She nodded, but somehow, as good as his mouth had been, it had only served to inflame the hunger within her. She craved his touch. ‘There must be more.’

  He gave a very huge smile and she instantly knew she had said the right thing. Somehow that made everything seem possible. It didn’t matter that she had no idea what she was doing. It only mattered that somehow her body seemed to get it right. All the taunts and dire predictions she’d suffered over the years made not a jot of difference, Ben made her feel beautiful and wanted.