Bound to Be a Groom

by Megan Mulry

  She looked at him for a few moments, a mix of anxiety and calculation flashing across her face. He didn’t care if she was cunning, as long as she let him devour her the way she had devoured him.

  “What are you thinking?” he whispered. Her hand remained on his cheek. He stayed on his knees and tried to keep his hands still while he awaited her approval.

  “I really shouldn’t,” she whispered in reply, but he saw her waver. “I mean, I don’t think it appeals to me.”

  He had been reaching one hand slowly under her dress while she spoke. Now he looked at her with his best mischievous smile, and when his fingers touched the hot, wet mess between her legs, he said, “I think it appeals to you very much, my dear.” He began to move his fingers slowly up and down her seam. Her head tilted back, and she draped her forearm over her eyes. “Very much.”

  She moaned, and her hips bucked to meet his hand.

  “Please may I taste you?” he whispered even softer, in time with his stroking fingers.

  “Oh dear God, forgive me. Yes.”

  He moved quickly, lest she change her mind. He spread her legs wide and had her splayed out on the velvet sofa in seconds as he pushed aside the layers of her gown.

  “How lovely . . .” he said on a contented exhale as he kissed his way up her inner thigh. He was riled by the scent of her moist heat, too impatient to take the time to remove her underclothes. He found the slit in her linen and tore it wide. She gasped at the sound of ripping fabric. Then she began to murmur her encouragement—directions really. When his tongue lashed out and circled her clit, her hips bucked again and she nearly wailed, muffling the sound against her forearm.

  “Oh, dear. You are good, Sebastian . . . so good.”

  His. This woman was his. Meant for him. For him to spend his life pleasing. Being good for her. The sound of her breathy approval sent his already fast-beating heart into a mad race.

  He pushed her thighs even wider and spread her farther apart for his admiration and attention. He licked and taunted until she was panting hoarsely, ordering him to finish her off.

  Right before she came—her left hand tugging on his hair ferociously, driving him hard against her—her cries had been reduced to torn pieces of language, her voice nothing less than the primal sound of pure desire.

  She shoved his face away from her sensitized flesh and pulled him up the length of her body as she shuddered and quaked, her neck thrown back in satisfied abandon as she held him close. A flush of color suffused her chest and neck, her cheeks. How he could have ever mistaken her for a pale, wispy thing, he had no idea. She was hard steel and fire. Even the way she lounged beneath and alongside his body, as if he were there merely to cushion her. Which he supposed he was.

  After she had calmed and he could feel her straightening, putting her metaphorical disguise back in place as she adjusted her skirts, he asked, “So . . . who is Pia?”

  She looked confused, then pretended she hadn’t heard or didn’t know or wasn’t going to answer. When he kept looking, waiting for a reply, she said, “An old friend.”

  “Do you love her?”

  She didn’t falter that time. She nodded once. “I do.”

  Sebastian pulled her closer against him and let her weep into his handkerchief.

  Stupid, stupid woman! Anna must have cried out the only name she’d ever cried out in similar moments of self-forgetting and sensual oblivion. She wasn’t even sure. Why had she ever agreed to let Sebastian pleasure her in that way? That was never part of any plan.

  She had betrayed Pia unforgivably. Her mind was awash with guilt, a churning mess of missing Pia and wanting to rail at the injustice of it all—that something as seemingly simple as living a quiet life with the person she loved had forced her so far into this treachery. Still, even as she tasted the bitter guilt of having broken the single promise Pia had ever asked her to make, the residual pleasure of her climax confused her. Satisfaction and guilt. Indulgence and regret. She felt as if she were suffocating under the weight of it. Pia would despise her if she ever found out.

  “Did I say her name?” Anna asked between gulps, once the racking tears had begun to subside.

  Sebastian seemed almost amused, as if her torment were a mere trifle. “Yes. Quite lovely, really. Something for me to hope for one day.”

  “To hope for? Why?” Anna asked, wiping the damnable tears from her cheeks.

  “Why, to hear my name on your lips with the same delirious abandon and satisfaction, of course.”

  “You’re not angry?” She patted her face one last time with his handkerchief and then stared down at the beautiful needlework at the edge of the elegant linen, sewing with which she was so familiar. Hours and hours of her young life had been spent making perfect hems exactly like this one.

  “Angry?” He pulled her chin up so she was forced to look in his eyes. “I meant what I said earlier, you beautiful girl. It wasn’t only the physical acts . . .”

  Her face flushed in brief embarrassment. Had she really done all those things to him—with such fervor—and let him do all those things to her in return? Pia often said Anna took on a feverish intensity when they were making love, almost out of her head.

  He continued carefully. “I want to give myself to you, Anna. I want you.”

  She shivered at the seriousness of his tone. A lifetime of preparing to be subjected to men made it difficult to understand his words. When he said I want you, she heard I want to own you, as if he wanted to acquire her. Which could never happen, not if she were ever to be free of the shackles of all men. Without intending to, she stiffened in his arms. She was too confused. Everything was happening out of order. She needed to see Pia again. They needed to discuss their plans in more detail. She needed more time before she went to Madrid. These things were supposed to happen over time. She was supposed to become someone’s mistress, nothing more. She felt the panic spread like a creeping mold in a damp cellar. Sebastian had the look of someone who wanted far more.

  She spoke carefully, in an attempt to stem the slow, tormenting terror rising up from her gut. She had betrayed Pia. She had betrayed herself. “I know I was terribly wanton, but nothing can come of it—”

  He pressed one finger against her lips, and it stilled her thoughts as well as her words. He set her slightly away from him so she was sitting on the couch. He knelt down in front of her, on one knee. She was appalled but did not have any idea how to stop what was clearly about to happen. If there were some way to claw herself out of her own skin, she would have tried it. Surely the man was not willing to offer anything more than an arrangement. Which, some part of her rational mind scrambled, might be a workable solution. Her thoughts scurried around like little mice, frantic. Pia, what am I to do?

  He took her hand in his.

  Surely . . . not.

  “No,” she whispered, covering her mouth with the handkerchief clenched in her free hand and widening her eyes in anticipation.

  “My dearest Anna, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

  “Your wife?” she blurted. Even to her own ears she sounded shrill and shrewish.

  His face softened. “Yes, Anna. My wife. Or would you rather be my mistress?” His smile made it perfectly clear he considered that last bit an absurdity, as if any woman in all of Europe—or in all the world, for that matter—would rather be Sebastian de Montizon’s mistress instead of his lawfully wedded wife with all the wealth and prestige the title conferred.

  Her heart pounded. Think, think, think. “I need to think. It’s all so . . . unexpected.”

  “Really? Did you not expect to marry ever? Or did you not expect to marry me?”

  “We’ve only just met. We’re practically strangers. We are strangers.”

  Sebastian stood up from his kneeling position and pulled at the pristine white edge of his shirt cuff, where it peeked out from his expensive green coat. “Really, Anna,” he practically clucked. He looked down at her, letting his eyes slide over the
length of her body, then his tongue swept across his upper lip in greedy memory. “I can still taste you. We are far from strangers. In fact, I would venture to say we are intimately acquainted.”

  She jumped up from her inferior position on the couch and put her hands on her hips. She needed to collect herself. He kept smiling down at her. Why was he so damned tall? She spied a footrest near where he was standing and stepped onto it. Now they were at eye level, which only seemed to amuse Sebastian further. His smile widened as he rested one elbow on the mantelpiece with casual confidence.

  Anna almost growled at his arrogance. “Stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what? Like I adore you? I don’t think I’ll ever be able to wipe that expression from my face. And why should I?”

  “Oh! You are so entirely accustomed to getting your own way, aren’t you?”

  “Hmm. An attribute we have in common, perhaps?”

  She fisted her hands at her waist.

  “Are you going to take a swing at me for proposing matrimony?” he asked, that twinkle in his eye letting her know he wouldn’t be entirely opposed to the idea.

  “I should, you know. You’re so impertinent. You deserve a good spanking, is what you deserve.”

  His nostrils flared, and his eyes widened. “You cannot imagine how the thought delights me.”

  “Sebastian!” She tried to sound stern, but his fervor was contagious and her exasperation was tinged with humor.

  “Yes?” He was soft again, reaching out to touch a piece of the lacy fabric near her wrist.

  Anna sighed. He was entirely too adorable. Emboldened by her silence, he started tracing his finger along the sensitive skin of her wrist. If he was even half as smitten as he claimed to be, maybe she could negotiate after all. She had to think clearly. She had to think of Pia.

  “What do I stand to gain from this proposal?” she asked, as if she were haggling with the milliner in Burgos.

  He reared back his head and laughed in that all-encompassing way of his. “You are spectacular, you know that? Other than my splendid self, of course, there will be travels and adventures and riches beyond your imagining.”

  “Be careful what you promise,” she warned. “I suspect there’s not much beyond my imagining.”

  He smiled and held her hand tighter. “I will soon be a very wealthy man—I don’t mean it in a boastful or crass way. I only say it to let you know that whatever you wish for will be within my grasp to provide.”

  She contemplated his words in all their meaning. “But, sweet Sebastian, what if I wish for freedom?”

  “Then you shall have it,” he answered without hesitation. “As my wife, you may enjoy any liberty you wish.”

  She lowered her eyes and stared at their joined hands. “And what if I wish for Pia?”

  He leaned down with a gallant flourish to kiss the back of her hand, then stood up tall and proud. “If that is the case—”

  Before Sebastian had a chance to finish, the door to the library swung open under the weight of two entwined lovers. Anna nearly burst out laughing when the newlyweds tumbled into the room and the door slammed shut behind them.

  “At last—” Javi gasped before covering Isabella’s mouth with his own. She caught sight of Anna and Sebastian across the room and groaned, trying to push him away, but he pulled her harder against him, apparently mistaking her sounds of resistance for an attempt to stoke his passion.

  “Javi!” She finally wrenched herself away and slapped him across the face, presumably to douse his enthusiasm.

  His eyes gleamed dark and seductive at the provocation. “Ah, Isabella—” He put his hand on his cheek as if he wanted to relive the sting of her flesh against his. “My fiery wife, you will be punished for that—”

  She fisted her hands on her hips. “Javi, we are not alone!”

  He turned quickly, letting his hand drop from his face. “Sebastian. What the hell are you doing in here?”

  Anna admired the defiant set of Sebastian’s shoulders.

  “I am in the midst of proposing marriage to Anna Redondo, if you must know.” He stepped aside to reveal her—standing on the silly step stool next to the fireplace where she had been partially concealed behind his broad back.

  Anna stepped down and tried to repress a sigh at the incoming explosion that was Isabella. Her friend had grabbed bunches of her white lace wedding gown and was running across the library. She halted at the turn of the sofa to stare at Anna with a theatrical gasp.

  “Anna! What in the world— Where is Sister Elvira? Why are you unchaperoned? How long have you known Sebastian? Why did you not tell me of your affection?” Anna watched as Isabella turned her irritated confusion on Sebastian, stomping one foot for effect. “What have you done to her? She looks like she’s been crying!” Dramatically dropping the fabric of her gown, Isabella grabbed Anna’s hands in hers. “Are you unwell? Did he hurt you?”

  Anna’s face felt hot and mottled. She probably looked a fright. How to answer such a question . . . Had he raised her to the heights of physical pleasure? Had he made a mockery of her promises to Pia? And then, perhaps, offered her a chance at a new and beautiful future? Yes. And yes. And yes.

  But she could not get any words out. He had never—he would never—hurt her.

  “Anna!” Isabella pulled her into a protective one-armed hug and turned to glare at Sebastian, then barked, “How could you? I thought you were a gentleman!”

  Sebastian looked affronted. Justifiably so. She tried to wrest herself away from the temporary comfort of her friend’s embrace, but Isabella only tightened her grip.

  “I?” he cried, pointing at his chest. “I have offered for her! I am Sebastian de Montizon and she is a convent girl of questionable parentage—”

  “How dare you!” Isabella finally released Anna and took a step closer to Sebastian, her rigid posture mimicking his. She pulled her fist back to take a swing at him, but Javi’s strong fingers caught her wrist an instant before she made contact.

  Javi had kept quiet until now—always stealthy whether he was skulking around the forest or reposing in a ducal library. Perhaps unwisely, he tried to intercede. “Darling . . .”

  Isabella wrenched her hand from his. “Don’t call me darling! Call him out! He has insulted my dear friend.”

  Javi started laughing. “He has offered to marry her, my love. How can I possibly call him out for doing what is right and honorable?”

  “Honorable? Look at her.” Isabella pointed at Anna as if she were something battered and worn that had been tossed onto the docks in Aveiro. “She has obviously been . . . taken advantage of.”

  Javi’s face stormed. “Sebastian . . . did you—”

  Now it was Sebastian’s turn to become infuriated. “Javi. How dare you?” He pointed in Anna’s direction. “She—”

  Anna finally spoke up, resting one hand on Sebastian’s forearm to stay him. “Please, all of you.” She gave Isabella an exasperated look. “Do stop speaking about me as if I am a parcel.”

  The other three stood still and said nothing.

  “Very well,” Anna said on a sigh. It wasn’t how she had planned it, but it certainly wasn’t the worst possible outcome. Perhaps Sebastian would let her visit Pia occasionally. Perhaps in time, something could be arranged. Perhaps. It was a thin hope, but it was all Anna had.

  Sebastian smiled as if he were reading her thoughts. He wanted to please her, or so he’d said. She looked at him a moment longer, then nodded. “I accept.”

  Sebastian pulled her into a gleeful embrace, lifting her small frame off the ground and twirling her once around before setting her back in place. Javi and Isabella wore nearly identical expressions of complete shock.

  Isabella spoke first. “You? Anna— You what?”

  Anna looked away from Sebastian and those victorious, possessive eyes of his. His happiness was so exuberant as to be almost terrifying. “I accepted his offer.”

  “But,” Isabella said, “it’s onl
y Javi and myself. No one need know of your indiscretion if you do not wish it.”

  Sebastian growled at the implication.

  Isabella growled in return. “What? You cannot simply marry her because you’ve . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  He smirked and put his arm around Anna’s small waist, tucking her closer into him. “Because I’ve what, Isabella?” he challenged. “I’m sure you’re not about to imply anything improper about my fiancée, otherwise I’d have to call you out.”

  Javi was obviously torn between years of loyalty to his best friend and his newfound, but no less compelling, loyalty to his wife. He reached his arm around Isabella’s waist. Anna suspected he was not sure what else to do.

  “Y-y-you’ve . . .” Isabella stammered, then furrowed her brows and turned her gaze to Anna. She lowered her voice, and Anna recognized the familiar inner battle of Isabella attempting to master her temper. “Are you sure, Anna? Is this truly what you want?”

  Anna stood up straighter and realized this part, this new role, had to begin now. She pulled her shoulders back and leaned more easily into Sebastian. She looked up at him one last time. He would never hurt her, not intentionally. He was playful and kind. She would be the wife of an aristocrat, maybe one day able to wield enough power to reclaim the woman she loved. She smiled at the idea, and he smiled back, as if reading the direction of her thought and not finding it appalling.

  Sebastian had a way about him, a military efficiency beneath his amusement that led Anna to hope he, if anyone, could make that happen. Somehow.

  She turned back to Isabella. “Yes. This is what I want.”

  Isabella still was not convinced. She opened her mouth, but her husband interrupted before she could elaborate on her displeasure.

  “There. Everyone is happy.” Javi spoke quickly, as if he’d handily repaired a wheel on a carriage and now they would all make it to the ball in a timely fashion.