“Henry…”
He lifted his head at her soft whisper and blinked; then he lowered his head again, his mouth almost touching her breast while his breath cooled the moisture on her skin, tightening it once more.
The longing grew unbearable, and she arched her back, offering her breast to him, willing him to ease the ache inside her.
He sat up, and a low chuckle bubbled in his throat.
“Not as reluctant as we said, are we?”
He raised his arms, stretching them with an air of nonchalance, then unfastened his breeches. He brushed his hand across the growing bulge at his groin and closed his eyes, jaw tightening as he inhaled sharply.
“I can smell your need for me…”
He stepped out of his breeches and crawled toward her. She had never seen a man completely naked before. His thick, hard member jutted toward her, shifting with each movement of his body. His size and confidence intimidated her.
“Open for me,” he urged gently.
“Henry, please, you’re so—so…”
“Big?” A dark smile crossed his lips. “Many women have said as much, but a woman’s body is made to accommodate a man’s, even one of my size. You’ll soon learn, particularly with your mathematical brain, that the size of the man inside you bears a direct proportion to the pleasure you’ll experience.”
He dipped his head to claim her breast again and delivered hungry kisses across her skin, insistent little nips to brand her as his own. The pulsing between her thighs grew stronger, and a wicked heat radiated through her limbs. Soft, expert fingers caressed her stomach, massaging her flesh in slow, sweeping circles before moving lower, toward the center of her need.
“Let me show you,” he whispered, his throat rumbling against her chest, “let me show you the pleasures I can give you.”
“Henry…” She reached up to him.
“No,” he growled. “Hands by your sides.”
Her body obeyed, compelled into submission, and she surrendered to his exquisite touch.
A slow heartbeat of need grew stronger with each movement of his fingers. She gave a low mewing cry as he dipped a finger between her thighs.
“So wet for me.”
He eased the tip of his finger inside her, and a rush of air filled her lungs as her body contracted.
“Only for me…”
A second finger joined the first, and a jolt of pleasure shuddered inside her.
His nostrils flared. “Ah, the sweet scent of a woman’s need.”
He withdrew his fingers, and the sensation of pleasure diminished. She pushed her hips toward him, and a low chuckle of triumph rumbled in his chest.
“I said you would beg for me. Shall I satisfy that greedy body of yours?”
How could he have known the craving inside her body which had lain dormant until he touched her?
Something hard and hot nudged insistently where her sensitive flesh quivered with need. He placed his hands on either side of her and straightened his arms, lifting his body while he looked down, his face framed by his dark hair.
He moved against her, his manhood rubbing against her in a slick, smooth motion. Pleasure reignited inside her.
“Are you ready, Jeanette?”
“Yes.”
In a swift, forceful movement, he thrust inside her. The sharp sting of pain she’d expected did not come, only a feeling of fullness as her body stretched around him. A wave of heat pulsed inside her but faded. Opening her legs to chase the heat, she moved against him, and he whispered her name before withdrawing and plunging inside her once more. The wave surged higher before receding, but before it disappeared completely, he thrust into her again, increasing in speed until the wave swelled to a crest and spilled over.
She screamed as ripple after ripple of pure sensation shattered her body. Her mind burst with color until she dissolved onto the bed, her bones melting into the heat.
“Jeanette…” a soft whisper rumbled in her mind, and she floated back to consciousness, muted aftershocks trembling through her sated body. A delicious weight pressed against her, claiming her as they fused into a single creature.
Still inside her, Henry continued to move, his soft undulating motion a pale echo of the earlier frenzied thrusts which had sealed his ownership of her.
His head moved against her chest, lips searching until they found their prize. His tongue teased her nipple until it hardened once more, then he covered her breast with his mouth and sighed.
“Jeanette…”
The soft whisper ignited a memory, blue eyes dark with concern, strong yet gentle arms lifting her up from the mud-ridden field, carrying her to safety before placing her in a bed as delicately as if she were a bird’s egg. A deep voice of concern berating the surgeon for his harsh words while he bandaged her wound.
He could have abandoned her after Oakville had shot her. But he didn’t. He’d taken her from the brink of death when everyone else had forsaken her.
“Henry.”
She drew her arms around him and his body relaxed. His breathing steadied and his heartbeat slowed to a deep pulse which echoed in her chest.
Take care never to give him your heart.
Jeanette squeezed her eyes shut to force Mama’s warning from her mind. However badly Henry had treated her today, she’d caught glimpses of compassion in the man who now lay content in her arms. The law dictated that he owned her body, and she’d given it to him as willingly as he’d said she would. But tonight, he’d unconsciously taken a piece of her heart. She would have to take care to prevent the rest from following.
A rush of cold air pricked her skin and the bed moved beneath her. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Her nightgown landed on her legs, and she looked up to see her husband pulling his breeches back on.
“Where are you going?”
“That’s no concern of yours.”
“Are you not staying here tonight?”
His eyes turned to glaciers. “That’s not a question a wife should ask her husband.”
“Why? Because you intend to visit your mistress or a bawdy house?”
His cheek twitched and he glanced sideways. Her remark, meant to insult, must be close to the truth.
“May I remind you, my dear, this is a marriage of convenience. Though perhaps more your convenience than mine.”
“How can you say that?”
“When you offered yourself to me, you rendered me in danger of having another illegitimate child. You gambled your reputation to secure a marquis and entered this marriage knowing what you were about. So, you of all people should understand society marriages are never built on love.”
“Aye,” she said bitterly. “Men of the ton breed with their wives but love their mistresses.”
“And I, madam,” he said, his voice rising with anger, “can most certainly be described as a man of the ton.”
After the door shut behind him, she sank onto the bed, releasing the tears which stung her eyes.
Not once had he kissed her on the lips.
Chapter Fourteen
Henry leaned against the bedchamber door. How would she react? Would she throw the tantrum of a scorned woman?
At length, a small sound penetrated the quiet. Muffled sobs, the kind uttered in desolation, kept quiet to prevent discovery rather than exaggerated to incite sympathy.
Each cry sent a needle of guilt through his heart. But she was the one at fault. She still brandished that bandage on her arm though the bullet wound must have healed. Did she think to fool him into feeling sorry for her?
But in one aspect, she’d guessed the truth. He was going to Betty’s. The woman had been living in fear this past fortnight. Another one of her girls had disappeared, and nobody gave a damn about their welfare.
Or the welfare of their children. It was time Henry sent Edward to Sussex; removed the boy from the bawdy house he’d been raised in. Sanderson could take care of it. A sense of duty to his son pricked Henry’s conscience; or was it compassion for
the boy who’d never known his mother?
Edward would soon have another mother, the grasping woman Henry had married. He smiled at the idea of the look on Jeanette’s face when she learned of her new duty. It would do her good to know he’d fathered a child with another, and to think he visited other women. The best way to control a shrewish wife was to convince her she had rivals.
“Sir.”
Henry turned and drew a sharp breath. Sanderson stood before him, his features distorted, a split lip, scratches across his cheeks, dark where the blood had dried, one eye so swollen it was almost closed. A purple bruise adorned one side of his face.
“Good Lord, Sanderson!”
“Shh!” The servant lifted a finger to his lips, inclining his head to the chamber door. Grazes covered his knuckles, the skin missing in places.
“Where have you been?” Henry hissed.
“Betty’s. I was on my way back from the docks. My contact had further news of this mysterious woman who’d been sighted in the area. But he never showed.” He gestured to his injuries. “Someone must have made him a better offer.”
“Betty’s isn’t on the way back.”
“I know,” Sanderson said, “but Hyde Park is. That’s where I saw her body.”
“Good God, not Betty?”
“No. Lydia.”
Lydia. The woman Sanderson had tasked to care for Edward. An unremarkable creature, but willing to take the child under her wing for a regular stipend.
Sanderson’s eyes glistened. Lydia had been his favorite, and she’d often admitted him for the night at no extra cost.
“Sanderson, I’m sorry,” Henry said, the inadequacy of his words thinning his voice. “I know you were fond of her.”
The servant shook his head. “There are whores enough.” His expression belied his words and he wiped his eyes. “What concerns me is that she offered to help me, to make inquiries among her clients and the girls she knew from other houses. I don’t think she was killed at random.”
“You think she found something?”
“Or someone,” Sanderson said. “You must be careful, sir. If Lydia was killed because of you, then you may also be in danger.”
He gestured toward Jeanette’s chamber.
“And those close to you.”
*
The carriage drew to a halt, and Jeanette’s skin tightened with apprehension. Tonight was her first ball as Lady Ravenwell, and the weight of expectation, her husband’s and society’s, bore down on her.
Henry, who had spent the journey brooding, broke the silence.
“It’s best I say this before we go inside.”
Her heart withered under his ice-cold stare. A week had passed since her marriage, and he’d grown colder with each day. He had visited her every night and made her body sing with pleasure, only to leave as soon as he’d finished.
Her cheeks burned with shame every morning she joined him for breakfast while the servants attended them in silence. Did they hear her cries at night, when she begged him to take her, then screamed his name as he burst with life inside her willing body?
Did they whisper ‘harlot’ behind her back?
Henry cleared his throat. “I expect you not to disgrace the Ravenwell name tonight.”
She gritted her teeth and smoothed her face into a bland expression. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her distress.
He leaned forward. “Have I made myself clear?”
“Perfectly,” she said. “But as you’re ashamed of my very existence, I’m likely to fail before I set foot in the house.”
After leading her inside, he introduced her to one or two people, then escorted her to a seat. After bringing her a glass of punch, he crossed the floor to join Oakville. The two immediately engaged in conversation. Oakville glanced in her direction and frowned.
The chatter of the guests merged into a cacophony, low murmurings of the men topped by the shrill notes of women. Harsh, glacial whispers joined the chorus.
There she is…
The Holmestead Harlot…
Strains of music cut across the voices as the violinists tuned their instruments. Henry walked past her, Felicia Long on his arm, as the couples formed a line. Oakville joined the dancers, his partner all vapid smiles while his face glowered with ill humor.
“Would you care to partner me for the next dance?
Jeanette looked up. A thick-set man in his thirties held a fleshy hand out to her.
“Forgive me, but no. My husband…”
“…is neglecting his delectable wife.”
As if on cue, Henry’s laugh filtered across the room. If he intended to torture her by flaunting his attentions to others, why shouldn’t she do likewise?
“Very well.”
The man bowed. “Viscount De Blanchard at your service.”
*
The satisfaction Jeanette gained from the sour look on Henry’s face couldn’t offset her disgust at her dance partner. De Blanchard stepped on her foot twice. His breath, which reeked of sour brandy and stale cigar smoke, made her stomach churn each time he drew her close. He was only able to wheeze out a few words, his face growing a deeper shade of puce with each step. At least it spared her from his conversation.
The dance concluded, and a wave of nausea overcame her. She bent forward as the room began to swirl around her.
“Are you all right, Lady Ravenwell?”
“I need air.”
He took her elbow and propelled her across the room and out onto the terrace where she drew in a lungful of cool, night air.
“Is that better?”
“Yes, thank you, it’s…”
A hand grasped her shoulder and he thrust his face close. Greasy lips parted with greedy anticipation as red-rimmed eyes glittered with drunken lust.
“My lord, I must protest!”
“Come, come,” he slurred, “isn’t that why you asked me to take you outside? To let the stallion service the mare?”
“No! I was unwell.”
His hand grasped at her breast, and she pushed him away. “Get off me!”
“Don’t be coy, my dear. We all know what a harlot you are. You need a real man between your legs while your husband’s busy bedding every woman in town.”
“How dare you!”
Balling her free hand, she swung at him and connected with his nose.
He lifted his hands to his face and staggered back. Red liquid oozed between his fingers.
“You’ve broken my nose!”
He advanced on her, hands outstretched. Grasping his wrists, she thrust her knee into his groin. A strangled cry burst from his lips as he doubled up and fell to his knees.
“You’re no lady!” he spluttered.
“I’m the daughter of a farmer, Lord De Blanchard. Consider yourself fortunate I’m not in possession of two bricks or the stallion might have turned into a gelding.”
She slipped back inside. The next dance had already begun. Couples moved across the floor, the ladies’ headdresses nodding in unison with the music. All simpering smiles and petty conversation, the couples had eyes only for each other.
Except one. Two cold blue sapphires followed her progress, lowering the temperature of the room. Waving aside a gentleman offering to partner her for the next dance, she took a seat apart from the rest. Solitude was infinitely preferable over the company of these people.
“My dear Lady Ravenwell.” The familiar nasal voice grated on her senses as a woman sat beside her. “What an unexpected pleasure to see you here! Of course, we all expected Henry, but I’d have thought you’d find the society here rather unexciting for your taste.”
Elizabeth De Witt wafted her fan from side to side in an exaggeratedly elegant fashion. “It is a little hot this evening. You were right to venture outside, though perhaps you had motives other than temperature?”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
Elizabeth tutted. “Your husband is no fool, my dear. Ah!
Here he comes now.”
She closed her fan with a snap and held out her hand to the man approaching them. The anger in his stance seemed to absorb the light in the room. He cast a swift, cold glance at Jeanette before turning his attention to Elizabeth.
“Lady Elizabeth, I believe you’re mine. For the next dance, at least.”
Elizabeth rose and took Henry’s hand, and he led her into the center of the room.
Fury boiled in Jeanette’s gut, mixed with despair. Did he intend to humiliate her publicly as well as at home? Pain throbbed behind her eyes. She pinched the bridge of her nose to ease the headache. The floor tilted beneath her. On no account must she attract further attention by fainting.
“You look like you need this.”
A hand held a glass of punch in front of her. She lifted her head.
Oakville.
She pushed the glass away. “I want nothing from you.”
He took the seat Elizabeth had vacated. “Would you honor me with the next dance?”
“Why do you persist in forcing your company on me, Lord Oakville?”
“There was a time when you took pleasure from my company.”
“Not a day goes by when I don’t regret setting eyes on you.”
He leaned back and smiled. “You came off rather well though, didn’t you?”
“Only a half-wit would say that,” she snarled. “What woman in possession of her senses would scheme to place herself in such a miserable position?”
“Many society women would snare a marquis if they could.”
Arrogant, ignorant fool! Jeanette didn’t know who was worse, the man who’d ruined her, or the one who’d married her.
“Might I remind you, as everyone is so fond of telling me, I don’t belong in your society. I possess none of the qualities, and my values are diametrically opposed to yours.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but she leapt to her feet.
“Leave me alone. You’re my husband’s friend, but that doesn’t give you the right to plague me with your presence.”
He caught her hand, and she squealed as pain shot through her fingers. Dark spots stained her glove above the knuckles, and his eyes widened. She snatched her hand free and strode to the main doors.
Barons, Brides, and Spies: Regency Series Starter Collection Volume Two Page 107
