Seducing Mr. Sykes

by Maggie Robinson

  “Teach? How very odd that sounds. ‘Put your hand there, my dear...Move this way or that.’ Like some puppet master.”

  Tristan raked a hand through his disordered hair. “Perhaps teach is not the right word. One would hope the couple would discover their pleasure together. As I told you earlier, I want you to be happy. Satisfied. I would not want you to do something you didn’t like.”

  “Like what?”

  He could think of quite a few things she might object to, and his cock twitched hopefully. “Really, Sadie. Now is not the time to discuss all this. Aren’t you tired?”

  “Not after you woke me up doing whatever you were doing.”

  Tristan’s ears were hot, therefore they must be turning red as they always did when he was embarrassed. Good thing they were having this hideous discussion in the dark. “Have you never touched yourself?”

  “As you did to me down there? No. If I’d known it was possible, I believe I would have. But no one ever said—”

  “Maybe Miss Mac should have added that to the curriculum,” he joked. He conjured up Sadie on her bed, long legs parted, russet hair tangled on the pillow, and the topic became very serious indeed.

  “I can’t imagine her even knowing such a thing. This is what I’m talking about. I just feel so stupid.”

  He drew her closer. “You are very young still. And perfect just as you are.”

  Sadie laughed. “Liar. I thought you always wanted to tell the truth.”

  “Perhaps not perfect, then. But mine.”

  She grew still. “Yours? I belong to no one but myself.”

  He remembered her words in the chapel. “Of course you belong to yourself. Just as I belong to myself. I shall never seek to have dominion over you.” Fat chance of accomplishing that anyhow.

  “So I don’t have to obey.”

  He saw where this was heading. “Look, Sadie. I’ll phrase this the way your new friend Ham might. We are yoked together now. If you lunge too far to the side, you will drag me right along with you. Likewise, if I pull away, you’ll have nothing to do but follow me, kicking up your heels, no doubt. We have to find a path that will be mutually beneficial so that neither of us will strangle to death.”

  “So we’re a team of horses. Or oxen.”

  “Let’s just say a team.”

  She was quiet. Tristan had grown to understand that her histrionics were planned out to shock—there was a great deal of mischief tumbling about in her pretty red head. What was she thinking of now?

  Chapter 29

  Sadie had never slept next to another person. If she’d ever been tucked against a nurse or her mother when she was an infant, she had no recollection of it. And lying beside Tristan Sykes for the second night in a row was unnerving.

  She couldn’t believe she had fallen asleep after he had...kissed her so. But her body had been limp, and she was utterly worn out from fighting against her fate all day. She wasn’t sure what had woken her, but she’d lain still as a mouse as he—

  Well, what precisely had he done? Stroked his member? The room had a scent she was totally unfamiliar with, not unpleasant, but very specific.

  She had a right to see her husband, didn’t she? The words Reverend Fitzmartin mangled must have included some vaguely couched terms to that effect. She was Tristan’s wife.

  More or less. Sadie supposed until the register was signed, the issue was not entirely settled.

  She really should take advantage of this situation tonight, if only to expand her education. Who knew if he’d ever spend the night in her bedchamber again once her father and Roddy were gone? Perhaps she could bend Tristan to her will after all. Thus far, she was the one who had been twisted into a willow branch chair.

  “If we are to be yoked for eternity, as you so crudely put it, I think you should light that candle.”

  Tristan sighed. “Very well. I warn you, I’m not at my best.”

  “I wouldn’t know the difference now, would I? That’s what this is all about.”

  He rose and fumbled with the tinderbox, finally lighting one smallish candle. The light it threw would not go very far to aid in her observation. His dark form was limned with its pale glow, and then he turned, holding the candle near his chest.

  His smalls were low on his hips, and he tugged the drawstring with his free hand to prevent them from slipping further. He seemed amusingly modest all of a sudden.

  “I’ve seen most of you before,” she reminded him. “When you were in the bath.” It seemed like years ago. How discomfited he’d been, and how much had changed in that short space of time.

  He almost smiled. “I remember. You are the first woman to ever invade my bathing chamber apart from my nanny.”

  Had his first wife not ever peeked? How odd.

  She didn’t want to pry, and Tristan had seemed reluctant to discuss her. But at some point, she would need to know something about her predecessor—she didn’t even know her name!

  “Come closer so I can see you properly.” Her voice had taken on an unexpected husky quality, and she cleared her throat.

  He took a few steps forward. Tristan really was rather lovely, tall with broad brown shoulders, hair lightly dusting down his torso to the waistband of his smalls. His nipples, she noticed, were not flat. Was he aroused by her gaze? Her own breasts were responding to his, peaking with an odd ache. He was staring right back at her, his shadowed face serious.

  “Aren’t you going to disrobe for me?” she reminded him.

  “I will. If you will.”

  That was not part of her bargain. But why shouldn’t she? It was only fair. Her skin flared with heat, making her nightgown feel irrelevant.

  “You first.”

  He shook his head. “Uh-uh. I don’t trust you to follow suit.”

  “Fine. We’ll do it together. On the count of three.”

  “Let me put the candle down.” He set it on the bedside table, where it sputtered gloomily. “One.”

  Sadie fingered the hem of her white nightgown, inching it up over her thighs. Tristan released the loose knot on his drawers. “Two,” she whispered.

  Tristan shut his eyes, his fierce eyebrows meeting as if he was in pain. “Three.”

  His smalls dropped, and Sadie forgot to pull the nightgown over her head. Oh my.

  She must have spoken out loud. “See? I knew you would cheat.” He stepped out of the puddle of linen at his feet.

  “I—” she croaked. She felt light-headed all of a sudden. His member was not as beautiful as the rest of him, but was compelling nonetheless, growing larger the longer she looked at it. How very fascinating.

  “Your turn, Mrs. Sykes.”

  “Oh. All right.” Her hands shook, but she managed to take off the nightgown after getting it tangled in her hair and toss it to the floor.

  She had never felt so naked in her life. Exposed. Vulnerable. Cold, but strangely hot, too. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. He never came any closer to where she sat on the bed, but his eyes swept over her, raising gooseflesh on her skin. He seemed unperturbed by her shy visual exploration, holding his arms behind his back so she could look her fill. Sadie wished he’d get back into the bed so she could touch him.

  Touch it. There was no marble fig leaf to constrain her.

  Sadie wanted, well, she wasn’t sure she knew quite what. Maybe some touching. A kiss or two or three. But they weren’t ready to become man and wife in truth. They had an agreement about that, didn’t they? She hardly knew this man, and some of what she did know she didn’t much care for.

  His familiarity with handcuffs, for example.

  “Thank you. You may dress now,” she said, hoping she sounded steady enough.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I rarely say things I do not mean.”

  He stepped back into his smalls and tidied himself. “Is that so? I was under the impression you said a great deal of nonsense to trick people.”


  She was famous for it. Up until a few days ago, it had worked like a charm. But Sadie discovered she didn’t want to trick Tristan Sykes. She really didn’t know precisely what she wanted to do with him.

  For once in her life she was stumped. She had an unwanted husband who nonetheless was a very fine figure of a man. Intriguing. She could have stared at him all night long, and only wished for more candlelight to do so. But he was blowing out the candle stub at this very moment, and she still had to find her night rail.

  She scrambled off the bed, dragging her fingers across the floor until she came to the rough cotton. She couldn’t make heads or tails of the garment in the dark.

  “Here. Allow me.” He took it away from her and shook it.

  “How can you see?”

  “I’ve always been blessed to be able to see pretty well in the dark. It comes in handy on occasion.”

  Sadie pictured Tristan tiptoeing out of women’s boudoirs like some large cat, avoiding slippers and husbands. He slid the nightgown over her head as she stood still, gently pulling her hair out over the fabric. It must be a mare’s nest by now, her braids history.

  “You can do the rest, right?”

  She batted about, found the sleeves and stuck her arms through. There. She was proper again.

  Unfortunately.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “I believe we should try to go to sleep.”

  “Is it still raining?”

  He moved across the room and opened one window. “No. Excellent. That means our wedding guests may go home, barring any other unforeseen disaster.”

  “It was an odd sort of wedding,” Sadie said as she sat back down on the bed. He probably thought that it had been a disaster.

  “I’m sorry if it didn’t measure up to your girlhood dreams.”

  “I didn’t have any! I knew I was not meant to marry.”

  “Indeed? How wise a child you must have been, and how disappointed you must be as an adult. Move over.”

  “Can’t you go to your house now? We’ve been together for hours.” Sadie didn’t really want him to leave, but he had that tone back in his voice that set her teeth on edge.

  “I don’t want to take the chance. We shall emerge from our honeymoon suite arm in arm tomorrow, just in time to say goodbye to your father and Charlton before they depart.”

  Sadie didn’t want to see either of them. “Do you think we will really fool them about our marriage?”

  “You have a large freckle over your left breast, rather like a bird in flight. If I have to describe it, I’m prepared to.”

  She wanted to throttle him. “You are a beast!”

  “Calm down. I won’t do anything to embarrass you. Many married couples never even disrobe during the act of coupling.”

  That seemed strange. Sadie had longed to feel Tristan’s skin against hers. Was she somehow unnatural?

  She rolled to her side of the bed and tried to lie still. Tried not to ask the questions banging away in her brain.

  It was hopeless.

  “Your wife—did she keep her nightgown on?”

  “What?”

  “Your w-wife. I don’t know what she was called. I don’t know anything about her.”

  “And there’s no reason to,” he growled. “The past is the past. She has nothing to do with us.”

  “But you loved her.”

  “Damn it, Sadie! I am not going to talk about Li—her with you. Ever. Now go to sleep.”

  Li. Linda or Lisbeth. Lysistrata. Sadie didn’t dare say one more thing. But she would find out somehow.

  Chapter 30

  Tristan had been married less than twenty-four hours and he was ready to strangle his wife. Or himself. But that wouldn’t work now, would it? Once he began to lose consciousness, his hands would fall away and the deed would never get done.

  He had jumped through various hoops all day trying to please the uncommon cast of characters that were currently occupying Sykes House. He was tired. Frustrated. And had the bluest of blue balls, despite masturbating less than three-quarters of an hour ago.

  What in hell was he going to do with his wife?

  This one. He had no interest in discussing Linnet with her. His first marriage had been a disaster, and most of the time he pretended to himself that it had never happened. His friends and family were usually too polite to bring the subject up.

  Did he owe Sadie the truth? She would think less of him, knowing he’d been a cuckold. A man who hadn’t satisfied his wife—

  Ha. He’d pledged to satisfy Sadie. Had touted his ability. Just words, when it had yet to be proved that he could.

  Perhaps it was for the best that they would live apart.

  But at the moment she was scarcely a foot away. Now that he’d seen her body—and its charming freckles—he was in a state of lustful agony.

  He waited to hear her light snores, but the wait was in vain. He could practically feel how awake she was, vibrating with energy. If he told her just enough, they might put his past to rest, and then get some rest.

  Tristan cleared his throat of gruffness. Best to make this simple. Unemotional. “Her name was Linnet. Her father was a viscount. We married much too young. She was hardly seventeen and not at all ready to settle down.”

  “What happened to not talking about it ever?” Sadie asked, moving closer.

  “You’re like a terrier with a rat. I might as well tell you some of it before you wear me down with your chewing. It’s not something I particularly relish doing.” An understatement if there ever was one.

  “Thank you. If I had a husband, I’d tell you about him.”

  And I wouldn’t want to know. “Men and women are different dealing with such things. You ladies like to chatter until our ears fall off.”

  “And you men keep everything to yourselves until you explode.”

  “Maybe you are right. At any rate, Linnet and I were unhappy almost from the beginning. She preferred the gaiety of London. I like a quieter life.”

  “But you said you wanted to marry her. Why could you not make the sacrifice to stay in the city?”

  “I did. For a time. Then things became too painful for both of us, and we divorced.”

  “And then she died.”

  “Yes.”

  “And that’s all?”

  “Yes.”

  She paused, and he hoped she was done. No such luck. “It’s very sad, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that the only word you can say about it?”

  “Yes. Now, if you please, can we try to go to sleep? I shall try to answer any other questions you might have at a reasonable hour, but there’s not much left to tell.” Nothing more he wished to divulge at any rate.

  “Was she beautiful?”

  Tristan knew whatever he said would be wrong. “That’s enough, Sadie.”

  “But—”

  She needed distracting, and a kiss was a good way to do it. But this time, he was going to mark her, so there would be little doubt of the consequences of their wedding night. He grasped her shoulders, drawing her to him. “Enough, I said.”

  He covered her mouth with his and felt a tremor. His or hers, he wasn’t sure which. He thrust his tongue deep, deliberately giving her no chance to stop him.

  She didn’t seem to want to, which was gratifying. Sadie was pliant in his arms, making those soft noises that drove him mad with desire. She returned his kiss with equal fervor, and Tristan knew he would be lost in seconds. Abruptly he turned his head and nipped her long white throat, causing her to shriek and torture his eardrum.

  Hearing was overrated anyway, wasn’t it? He continued to bite and suckle and stroke her breasts until she was frantic, clawing through his hair, scratching his bare back. They were marking each other, and let Roderick Charlton try to prove they had not consummated their hasty marriage.

  She was writhing and sobbing, straining against him. She w
anted to finish this, or at least he thought she did. He knew what he wanted, had never wanted anything so much.

  But he’d made a promise.

  “Enough,” he whispered.

  “Damn you.”

  He felt damned. Doomed. His cock was definitely cursed.

  “Have you been reading Polidori’s The Vampyre? What on earth was that?” Her voice shook as she buttoned her nightgown up to her chin.

  “Love bites. I don’t believe I drew any blood, though.” He’d been careful, but her throat would be covered with rosy welts for all the world to see.

  “It was b-barbaric.”

  “Forgive me.” Better to ask forgiveness than permission. He tucked her head on his shoulder and smoothed her hair. “Go to sleep. It’s very late. Or very early, depending upon your perspective.”

  No more questions about Linnet. No more talking about anything. A cool rain-scented breeze wafted in the open window, and Tristan began to plan the day ahead as he lay cradling his wife. His number one priority—to say goodbye and good riddance to Charlton and Islesford.

  He would have to meet with the Puddling Rehabilitation Foundation governors and explain their Guest’s newly altered state. Altared state. He smiled in the dark at his pun. Check on the progress of the renovations of Stonecrop Cottage. Propose new construction somewhere in the village to expand the program.

  And sign the parish register. One mustn’t overlook that. Really, that was the first order of business. He’d go to the parsonage and bring back old Fitzmartin. The rest could wait.

  He felt Sadie’s lips buzz against his skin. “May I finally go shopping for clothes?”

  He’d really prefer she never wear anything again. How delightful it would be if he confined her to the Red House bedroom where he could feast his eyes on her all the day long.

  Except he didn’t have time for that indulgence. “Can I trust you not to run off?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you should come with me to make sure I behave.”

  “Not if you’re wearing my old suit. Tell you what. I have several things to take care of tomorrow—no, this morning. I’ll take you into Stroud in the afternoon. All right?”