by Louise Allen
Chapter Fourteen
Rafe had taken her virginity in the hayloft of the parish tithe barn. It had been shadowed, the gloom pierced by shafts of sunlight where roof tiles had slipped, the light full of floating dust motes. Bella had hardly been able to see his face, or the details of his body as he stripped her, undid his breeches and pushed her on to his coat spread on the pile of loose hay. He had kissed her, ravished her mouth, handled her breasts with avid hands, pressed her legs apart and taken her with the unsubtle urgency of need.
She had not seen then, not really understood his body, but now, in the warm glow of a dozen candles, she could see very clearly the anatomy of a fully aroused man. It took her breath away with a mixture of fear and desire and shock at just how beautiful Elliott was. How hard and lean, how fit. How did he get those muscles, that flat belly, those calloused hands?
He knelt on the bed beside her, his hands skimming down over her body, making her catch her breath. Then he placed his hands on her thighs and eased them apart and she shut her eyes, shamed by the heat and dampness that betrayed her arousal.
‘Arabella, look at me.’ She felt his weight coming down over her and shifted her hips instinctively to cradle him. Of their own accord her hands curved over his shoulders, and she made herself open her eyes. She thought she was a little more relaxed this time—did Elliott notice? His face was shadowed as it hung over her, the candle flame sharpening the cheekbones, sending blue sparks from his eyes. The image of Rafe slid over his features like a mask and she closed her eyes again to shut it out. She would not let that spectre ruin this, not now. ‘Bend your knees up to try and relax,’ he urged and she struggled to obey, feeling him nudging closer into her slick, hot folds. ‘We have as much time as you need.’
Now. I must not cry out however much it hurts. I must try to forget that, caress him, discover what he likes, stop being so passive…
‘Arabella!’ Elliott’s voice was so sharp that her eyes flew open. She found his intense gaze locked on her face. ‘Why are you crying? What is it?’
‘I…I’m not.’ He rolled off her and she rubbed her hand across her eyes. It came away smeared with moisture. ‘Oh. I am sorry, I did not mean to. I was trying so hard not to—’
‘Hell and damnation.’ Elliott sat up. ‘No, I’m sorry. I did not mean to shout at you, let alone swear. Arabella, I thought you were responding to me.’
She felt her face flame. ‘Yes. I was. I was determined. It is just…’ How could she explain her cowardice? It was her duty to lie with her husband. And she wanted to. She could not allow the fear and the pain to prevent her. Every other wife managed it. Perhaps they allowed themselves to be swept up in that turmoil of feeling before it happened. If only that was all there was to it, that heat and desire and longing.
But she owed Elliott an explanation and then, no doubt, he would do as his brother had done and ignore the cries she tried to stifle and take her.
‘Arabella?’ He reached out and touched her face, his big hand gentle as the fingertips caressed her cheek. ‘Tell me.’
It was so difficult. His tender gesture made it worse, somehow. She did not deserve that he touch her like that, reach out for her when she was rejecting him. ‘I can’t explain,’ she blurted out. ‘I cannot…’
The soft light faded from his eyes. ‘You must try, Arabella.’
‘I am trying so hard,’ she protested. ‘You don’t understand. Let me—’
‘I understand perfectly well that you are not ready to be my wife, despite what you say,’ he said harshly, getting off the bed and scooping up his robe. ‘When you are, then perhaps we will have a marriage. Until then, Lady Hadleigh, I will not trouble you.’
The door to his dressing room clicked shut with controlled care. He was angry, she realised. Very, very angry. She had made him think she was ready and she had not had the courage or the self-control to convince him when it came to it or the words to explain what had happened before.
It hurt, apparently, when a man was very aroused and then denied satisfaction, so she had gathered from Polly the vicarage laundry maid’s cheerfully robust chatter. So there was physical discomfort for Elliott to add to the realisation that he had married a woman who could not even be relied upon to do her marital duty.
I cannot bear this, Bella thought. She sat up and looked at the closed door. Sooner or later we must talk. After all, he knows now how useless I am in bed. I must get it over now.
‘Damn and blast and bloody hell!’ Elliott belted his robe, stalked across his bedchamber and splashed brandy into a glass. Arabella had been ready for him, her body had shown that. She had finally responded to his lovemaking with a sensuality that had surprised and delighted him—and then she had become stiff as a board and started weeping. He added a few more choice epitaphs and swallowed a mouthful of fine French spirit as though it were cheap ale.
She was trying so hard. Her words jabbed into his brain like hot pins. He had almost forced himself on her. And he had been angry with her. Called her Lady Hadleigh in that cold, hard voice. Damn. He had made a mull of this and it was not going to be easy to make it better, restore her confidence in him. Why couldn’t he have married a trusting little virgin who would be easy to tutor, or a widow who knew what she was doing? Because this is your duty, his conscience told him. He had not chosen this wife, but she was the one he had and he must make the best of it.
Elliott went back to the door and leaned against it, listening for the sound of sobs. But it was too well made for sound to carry. And what if she was in there, weeping her heart out? She would not welcome attempts at comfort from him, of all people.
Against his shoulder the panels moved. Startled, he looked down and saw the handle turn. He stepped back as the door swung open. ‘Please, Elliott,’ Arabella said, standing shivering in her flimsy scrap of a négligé. ‘Please do it.’
‘Do it?’ He must be gaping like an idiot. Elliott took her hand and drew her into the room, closed the door and snatched up a blanket that was draped over the back of a chair. ‘Here, you are cold.’ He tried to wrap it around her shoulders, but she wriggled free, walked to his bed, threw off the négligé then climbed on to the wide expanse of green satin and lay down.
‘Elliott, I am determined. I must accustom myself and learn. Please—’ She gave a gasp as her head met the pillow and she looked up at the mirrored underside of the canopy. ‘That is indecent!’
‘I didn’t put it there,’ Elliott said, goaded. ‘Arabella, I am not going to do it with you on the verge of tears and lying on the bed like a virgin sacrifice in some pagan temple.’
‘It is my duty,’ she said. And—’
‘Well, you certainly know how to reduce a man to the state where he couldn’t if he wanted to,’ he interjected bitterly, aware of his aching erection subsiding in discouragement.
‘Please, Elliott, let me say this,’ Arabella said with a desperate earnestness that cut through his own preoccupations and silenced him. ‘I know I am a coward. It will hurt, I expect that, but it was a little better last time. And the more I think about it, the worse it is going to be. So, really, I would much rather you just did it again now. I will get accustomed, honestly I will.’
‘Hurt?’ He stared at her, then picked up the blanket and laid it over her cold white body. The brandy was still on the nightstand. He took another swallow, handed her the glass and sat down on the end of the bed. ‘Drink. Arabella, were you so stiff because you expected it to be very painful? Is that why you were crying? Did I hurt you on our wedding night?’
‘Yes, but it was not your fault.’ She sat up, dragging the blanket to cover her breasts. ‘I am such a coward. I knew it would hurt. It was just that the first time…I hadn’t expected it to be so bad, you see. And so much blood was frightening.’
Dear God. Elliott closed his eyes. You selfish, randy, thoughtless swine, Rafe. A notch on your bedpost, that is all this girl was to you. A virgin and you brutalised her for sport as though she was a hardened who
re, left her torn and pregnant. Had he damaged her permanently?
‘Have you healed?’ he asked gently when he managed to open his eyes with some confidence that the blazing anger would not show in them.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I did. I am fine now, truly, Elliott.’ The wide hazel eyes fixed on him, determined, and, through the fear, trusting. ‘It really was not so bad the other night.’
If Rafe had come back to life and walked through the door at that moment, Elliott realised, he would have punched him on the jaw. ‘Not tonight,’ he said, making up his mind. ‘You are cold and upset. I am…tired. But I promise you that next time it will not hurt. Not at all. And you will enjoy it.’
‘Enjoy it?’ She looked so bemused by the concept that he almost laughed.
‘You have my word.’
‘But you do not understand.’ She bit her lip, then took a deep breath. ‘You see, even before he…before I was expecting it to hurt, I was no good. I am clumsy, you see. Inept. Probably frigid.’
‘What?’
‘I am very sorry. I am trying, but it is difficult, knowing that whatever I do you will be disappointed. I expect you had a mistress who was very skilled and beautiful—that’s why I wouldn’t mind if you went back to her.’ He saw her throat move convulsively as she swallowed. ‘Well, no, I would mind, but I know it is my fault so I would never reproach you.’
‘Who told you that about yourself? Rafe, of course.’ The anger became a red haze, then he saw the look in her eyes and made himself be calm.
Bella saw the fury in Elliott’s eyes subside and drew in a shuddering breath. She must not cry, that would only make him angry again. She had told him, confessed to her failure as a wife and now he had the worst confirmed. No, not quite that—soon she would be as big as a whale, even clumsier. He had been kind about her looks, but then he was a kind man and had been trying to put her at her ease.
‘Arabella,’ Elliott said, ‘Rafe was selfish, grasping and insensitive. He set out to seduce you with every intention of abandoning you, right from the first. He did not care about you, not one iota. When he had what he wanted, the last thing he needed was a woman who thought herself in love, who expected things from him, who clung. And the easiest way to prevent that was to be as cruel as possible, to hurt your heart and your mind as he had already hurt your body by his heedlessness.’
‘He was lying?’ But Rafe had lost his temper with her—could that have been feigned?
‘Yes. That is what Rafe did. I do not. I will not lie to you, Arabella. You are not a classical beauty, but I think you lovely, graceful and charming. I desire you. When I tell you that you must believe me or call me a liar.’
‘Oh.’ Lovely? ‘I believe you, Elliott.’ The truth was in his eyes. ‘But—’
‘You were a virgin. Of course you had no idea what to do, how it would be—how it should have been. It was up to him to be gentle, to be thoughtful, to show you with patience what your body needed and how you could please him too.’
‘I should not have known instinctively, then?’
‘No, of course not. Your body knows some things, but your mind does not. Can you swim?’
‘Yes. Mama taught us in the millpond, long ago.’ When Papa had been away one long hot summer. Mama and Meg and little Lina…
‘Did it take a little while to learn?’
‘Of course.’
‘And what would have happened if she had grabbed you and thrown you into deep water?’
‘I would have panicked, flailed around and drowned, I suppose. Elliott, do you mean that making love is the same?’
‘Yes.’ He leaned back against the bedpost, careful not to touch her, she realised. ‘Just the same.’
The relief was incredible. It had not been her at all. The concept that she might be able to please her husband, that making love was something that might give her pleasure, was breathtaking. ‘So, kissing is like paddling close to the shore?’
‘It can be. It can be like diving into deep water, too. Arabella, we can take all the time you need to learn. All I ask is that you are honest with me and tell me how you feel.’
‘Could we start now?’ she asked, greatly daring. ‘Can I try to make love to you?’
‘Yes.’ It sounded as though he was having trouble breathing.
Before she could think about it too much Bella wriggled out of her nest of blankets and down to the end of the bed. ‘Then you must take off your dressing gown.’
‘You do it.’ That was daunting. Bella tugged at the knot, then pushed the robe back over his broad shoulders. ‘Would you like me to lie down?’ Elliott enquired, the corner of his mouth twitching.
‘Yes, please.’ He was teasing her a little, but he was not laughing at her. Confronted by six foot and several inches of large naked man, Bella wondered where she was supposed to start. The top seemed safest and she knew that kissing was something she could do.
She lay down along Elliott’s right side, put a tentative hand on his shoulder and leaned across to kiss him on the mouth. It was disconcerting to be on top and to feel the heat of his body below hers, the spring of hair tickling her breasts, but it also felt safe not to be trapped under a man’s weight. Elliott had kissed her neck, her shoulder; perhaps he would like it if she did the same to him.
Bella let her mouth roam and discovered that he tasted good, smelt better and that there was a pleasure to be had in the feel of satin skin over hard muscle. Elliott appeared to like what she was doing too, until her hand carelessly brushed his nipple. Instantly it hardened under the palm. ‘Oh. I’m sorry—’
‘Don’t be,’ he said, touching her in the same way. ‘You see? You could use your mouth,’ he suggested.
Breathless, she slid lower, licking and kissing. How odd that to pleasure him—and the way his body tensed told her that she was doing that—gave her pleasure too. Her breasts felt swollen and acutely sensitive as they moved against Elliott’s body and she felt a growing ache of pleasurable need low in her belly.
Now she was lower down his body her left hand, the one that was not pressed against his heart, was lower too. It brushed coarse hair, then hot hard flesh and Bella froze. Elliott simply took her hand in his and curled it around his erection. ‘Hold tight,’ he said, the lightness in his tone suddenly changing as she took him at his word. ‘Ah, yes. Arabella…’
She looked up. His eyes were closed, his head thrown back on the pillow as if he was in pain, but the low growl that came from his throat was one of pleasure and when she let him show her how to move her hand it became a gasp.
I am touching my husband and he is enjoying it. I am not inept, not clumsy. It felt so good, so right, but she had no idea what to do next. ‘Elliott?’
He opened his eyes and looked at her, the deep blue almost black, the lids hooded, his lips slightly parted. For a long moment they looked into each other’s eyes and then he rolled, taking her with him until she lay beneath him. ‘Slowly, this time,’ Elliott murmured and began to enter her.
It was slow, and for the first time Bella discovered that there was pleasure, that her body would open to caress his and that she could move to find the right angle to cradle him. And then, mysteriously, it was too slow and she wanted him, wanted that hard, possessive thrust. ‘Elliott, please?’
The dark eyes smiled into hers as he moved, took her fully, and set up a rhythm that rocked her up, up into a place that was full of sensation, tension, aching need. She felt his hand slide between their bodies and touch her and the tight knot unravelled into sensation so acute that everything went black, she lost herself and fell.
And Elliott caught her and she felt him cry out and go rigid and then there was peace.
Bella found herself again, tucked against Elliott’s side, her cheek on his shoulder, his arm around her.
‘Arabella?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Do you need me to tell you that you have pleased your husband?’ She could not see his face, but she could hear he was smiling.
‘Would you like to go back to your own room?’
Oh. No, I would not. I want to stay here with you and perhaps… But it was not fashionable for wives and husbands to share a bedchamber and no doubt Elliott wanted his privacy and his rest now. After all, what had been a miracle for her was simply what he would expect as the minimum from a lover. He had been very patient with her.
‘Thank you, I think I would.’ Bella made her voice as polite and distant as she could. She must not spoil all that had been gained tonight by seeming needy or clinging.
Elliott was still for a moment, then he got up, lifted her in his arms and carried her through to her own bed.
‘Goodnight, my dear,’ he said as he bent and kissed her, and was gone.
Chapter Fifteen
Elliott built on the lessons of that revelatory night during the next week. There were kisses when he came upon her alone, on the mouth, the hand, the nape of her neck if he surprised her, and at night long, passionate kisses when he came to her room and showed her how to listen to her own body and to read his. But he left her afterwards alone in her bed. She wished he would stay so that perhaps they could talk, relaxed and intimate together. She could tell him her feelings and perhaps he would reveal more about his hopes and fears and plans. But viscountesses did not hang upon their husbands’ sleeves and expect to behave as though they were partners in a love match.
And it was wrong and ungrateful to expect more than Elliott had already given her.
‘My lady?’ Gwen asked, her hand with the hair-brush suspended as she saw the expression on Bella’s face in the glass.
‘Oh, nothing. Just a foolish thought about something I have no courage to do. I will go out and visit tenants today again, so my walking dress, if you please.’
The visiting was going well, she thought as she sat in the gig, one of the grooms at the reins and Gwen beside her. She would like to learn to drive, but Elliott would not hear of it, not while she was pregnant. And even on the estate she must take Gwen as well as the groom.
