Two Wrongs Make a Marriage

by Christine Merrill

  ‘What else is there to do but this?’ he whispered and kissed her back.

  This was what she had hoped for, in the days before her marriage. And she had missed it more than she’d known. It had been a bitter disappointment to know that propriety would not allow it, but it might be even worse to enjoy it and then lose him for ever when he returned to his old life.

  Either choice could end in a mistake, but she was tired of fearing what might happen, if it denied her what she could have right now. She freed her hand from his and wrapped her arms about his neck, going up on tiptoes to make it easier to reach his lips. He put an arm about her waist, pulling her up to stand on the tops of his stockinged feet, pressing the length of her body against his so she could offer herself to him.

  He claimed to have wanted her from the first day. Perhaps it was true. Why else would he choose that particular quote to woo her now? For all his roguish talk, he was as gentle as he had promised, his kisses soft on hers, his tongue in her mouth, moving slowly so as not to frighten her.

  But she wasn’t frightened any more. She felt warmth flood into her body anywhere he touched her. Gradually, the kiss grew to something more than a kiss, hot and dark and wonderful, making her strong and weak at the same time. She could not seem to stand without his support, so she stepped away, leaning back, pulling him down with her to lie on the bed.

  He hesitated only a moment, then followed eagerly, stretching out to cover her body as she relaxed back into the pillows. Eventually, he leaned back so he could reach the ties on the front of her nightdress and undo them one at a time. She felt the evening air on the skin above her breasts, the warmth of his fingers and the gentle tickle of the fabric being spread wide.

  Why had she fought this? Hadn’t she known, from the first night, the first kiss, that they were meant for each other? His hands, which had been cupping her face, slid to her shoulders, pushing at the neckline of her gown, and she wiggled against him, feeling it slip down her arms. He viewed the newly exposed skin and with a reverent sigh dropped his lips to it, brushing his open mouth against her shoulder, tracing designs with his tongue and following the path of love bites he had made that afternoon. His kisses made her restless, she hardly knew for what. She wanted this. Needed it more than she had expected. She was married. She deserved to be complete and have the love of a man.

  Her mind offered vague warnings that none of this was real. He was no more her real husband than he was a real viscount. But it did not matter. He was Jack. And she liked to feel his lips on her breasts.

  He pulled away and looked up at her, his hand under her, playing along her spine, up and down the thin fabric of her nightdress, then both fists gathered between her shoulders and she felt the cloth rip and the force of his kiss as he claimed her mouth again as she gasped in shock. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, circling hers, holding her lower lip between his teeth and sucking upon it, as he peeled away the scraps of her gown, tossing it aside and leaving her naked. Then he knelt, fully dressed, between her legs and pushed them wide apart, staring down at the juncture and then up at the rest of her body, stopping at her breasts.

  She held her arms out to him in welcome, unable to pretend a modesty she did not feel.

  And he fell forwards onto her, nearly crushing the breath from her body as he settled his face between her breasts, kissing his way up to the nipples, licking and sucking, taking them deep into his mouth and making her squirm beneath him. His hands gripped her hips, pressing them into the mattress, holding them firm for his inevitable entry and her throat tightened in a gasp at the thought.

  He sensed the change and released her, slipping a finger between the folds of her body again and pressing until she released the held breath in another gasp, arched her back and cried out. She was falling to pieces again after one touch. If this was to be her undoing, she welcomed it, letting the feeling wash over her, taking her reason away.

  When she opened her eyes, he was smiling at her, smug at her satisfaction. But the pause made her worry that the interlude was ending and, delightful as it had been, it could not be over so soon. She reached up and tugged at the end of his cravat, smiling as the knot unravelled and the strip of linen fell free, brushing against the tips of her breasts.

  He watched it as she let it pool on her belly. Then he swept it away with one hand, undoing the buttons of his waistcoat with the other.

  ‘I swear, Cyn, by marrying you I did the world a service and saved other men from this madness.’ He struggled out of his coat and waistcoat, and pulled her tight against him again.

  Perhaps she was mad as well. The feel of his linen shirt against her skin was exquisite, as was the solid feeling of the man beneath the cloth. Her hand strayed to explore the angles and planes of his upper body, then lower to grasp his hips as she tried to pull him down into her. She could feel the bulge at the front of him, pressing down, and wondered why she had never bothered to steal a peek at him to prepare herself for what was to come.

  She had been too polite to notice such things before she met Jack, but now she was most assuredly interested.

  He untangled her hand from him and kissed the knuckles. ‘Soon enough, my dear. If that is what

  you want from me, you need not worry. But I am not ready yet.’

  What more could he possibly do to prepare, other than removing his trousers? She had been under the impression that such things took little time at all for the men involved. He lowered his head again to the place that the linen had touched her and dipped his tongue into her navel, making her laugh.

  Then he trapped her hips and slid lower, down her belly, until his face was buried between her legs and his tongue...

  She clutched at his hair, trying to pull him off of her, and then trying to draw him closer as he pulled on her with his teeth, just as he had done with her mouth while kissing her. Between them, his tongue was busy, driving her to distraction. His hands slid down the bare skin of her thighs, pushing them wide apart. She was breaking again, and again and again, sobbing out her passion, helpless in pleasure, barely aware of her surroundings. When he stopped to remove the rest of his clothing, the chill of the air on her skin as he left her brought fresh tremors of need. To warm herself she followed, rubbing her body against his, touching the perfect golden skin with her breasts, twining her arms about his athletic dancer’s body. She ran her fingertips down the muscled arms, which had cradled her close, and rested her head against his strong shoulder so that she might kiss it.

  ‘Cyn.’ He was using the strange nickname he had chosen for her as a command to misbehave. Sin. But how could something that felt so good be a crime against God?

  ‘Cyn,’ he called to her again as he pushed into her. His beautiful voice was raw and uncontrolled, though the stroke was slow and careful. The actor was utterly gone, leaving nothing but the man. He wanted her. Needed her so much that he was willing to reveal his true self.

  And she needed him as well. He was light and happiness, salvation and courage. And though she did not want him to be, he was her lover and had been from the first, winning her heart with a single smile in a darkened gazebo. She felt all control slipping, sank her fingers into his arms, her teeth into his shoulder, and pushed back to meet him, free. It was as if she was flying with him, riding the currents of the air like a hawk. Then, together, they fell in a burst of feeling, and her body shook where it held him, tight inside her.

  They settled to peace in each other’s arms. He was so quiet, she assumed he must have fallen asleep, but when she opened her eyes to look at him, he was admiring her, silent and smiling. He smoothed the hair away from her face and gave a shy shake of his head, as though he could not quite believe what had happened.

  And then they began again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jack stared at the ceiling above his wife’s bed, afraid to move. It was a shared bed, after all, and the least change would wake the woman sleeping in his arms. The warm weight of her was wonderful. Mouth open against hi
s shoulder, breasts crushed to his side and the damp centre of her pressed close to his hip by the way her leg stretched over his.

  He was used to feeling crowded after the act. He usually wanted to push the woman, whoever she was, away from him, roll to his side and sink into a satisfied sleep. He had slept with Cyn, of course. He’d slept well. But instead of moving away, he’d pulled her closer, settling her against his body with a sigh and a smile.

  And now that he was waking, he had to admit that he’d never in his life felt like this on a morning after. Of course, there had been damned few of those. Couplings tended to be hurried and done with, the girls as eager to be away as he was to have them gone. But on the times he’d seen dawn with a woman in his bed, he’d felt them to be awkward, uncomfortable and leading to quick partings and unmet gazes.

  But this...

  He glanced down at the head resting in the crook of his arm, at the coppery hair, the pale shoulder, felt the feathery touches of her breath against his skin and a desire to keep it just so for ever. The part of him that he thought of as Kenton was sighing in satisfaction, content and, dare he think it, deeply moved. The joining of the two of them had been more than a brief joy.

  It had been pleasurable, more so than any coupling he could remember, but the experience had marked a change in his life and his spirit. There was a logical explanation, he was sure. It was probably due to the delayed wedding night and the anticipation built by it. It was the softness of the bed, the softness of the lady, the general opulence of his surroundings and the fact that, other than trying to get the better of de Warde, he had fewer worries than at any other time in his life. Of course this would be better, more memorable, more enjoyable.

  And more profound, argued the imaginary Lord Kenton. Taking a wife was the first step in the founding of a dynasty. It meant the continuation of a line. It was also the beginning of a future with the woman he loved.

  Jack sat bolt upright in bed, dumping the sleeping woman off his shoulder and startling her awake. ‘What?’ she said, rubbing at her eyes.

  ‘Nothing. Nothing at all. I had a dream. Nothing more.’

  ‘A pleasant dream?’ she said with a smile. ‘I would hate to think that last night was the stuff of nightmares for you.’

  ‘It was nice,’ he admitted cautiously. ‘But the ending took a surprising turn. It woke me.’

  She was toying with the hair on his chest now and it tickled. Kenton was easing him back down to the mattress, preparing to let the woman do what she would with him. Jack was fine with that. Or rather, he ought to be fine. Hadn’t he wanted to lie with the wench from the first moment he saw her? And hadn’t it been as good as he’d hoped? He’d had her three times last night. He should take advantage of the situation and have her again before she remembered how much she hated him.

  Instead, he felt guilty.

  He caught her hand, which had begun a journey toward his privates. ‘If you keep on as you are going, you will wake me in other ways.’

  ‘Would that be such a bad thing?’ She was biting her lower lip in a way that made it almost impossible to refuse, looking up at him with naked emotion, her eyes wide green pools of expectation. Dear God, he knew that she was no actress, which meant the love he saw on her face was real. What was he to do with it? He did not want it. It was an unnecessary complication that would make it that much harder to get away when the time came to leave.

  And if there was any such answering emotion on his face...

  He wished he could look in a mirror to check. He could not afford to fall in love, not with the end so near. What would it mean for either of them but frustration and disappointment? He buried his emotions to the best of his ability, thinking hard, cold thoughts, smothering affection beneath a false front. ‘We have work to do, and cannot spend the day in bed. Tonight, perhaps, if you are still in the mood for a frolic, we will open another bottle and I will quote some more Shakespeare. That works every time with the ladies. And last night, it certainly worked on you.’

  Her hand dropped away from his body, and he felt the absence like a sudden cold shock. ‘Shakespeare does the trick, does it?’ Her face, which had been soft, blurred by passion, seemed to sharpen into something hard and distant.

  ‘Every time.’ He forced a randy smile and felt his stomach tighten. ‘Now that you have some experience, we need not waste time with romance. I can quote some passages that will put you in the mood right quick. Old Will is wicked when he has a mind to be.’

  ‘Then I will have to guard against Shakespeare and against you. Last night was interesting. But I see no need to repeat it, if it’s left you thinking I am as easily swayed as a Covent Garden whore.’ She turned from him and swung her legs towards the edge of the bed, presenting a nicely curved bottom as the sheet fell away.

  To add emphasis to his dismissal, he swatted her on it and saw her flinch. It was a crass gesture, especially for a gently bred woman who had been a virgin until he’d taken her maidenhead. He wanted to reach out, pull her back to him and assure her that it had been a mistake. Instead he said, ‘Oh, my dear, never think that you were easy to bed. It has taken me weeks to win you. But it was well worth the wait.’

  ‘If you think you flatter me by saying that, you are sorely mistaken.’ With each word, each breath, she was returning to the aloof beauty that he had seen since their wedding day.

  And the portion of him that should be relieved to be free of her was growing smaller, replaced by the Jack who wanted to apologise to his dear, sweet wife for hurting her and Kenton, who was both disgusted and appalled at the behaviour of this interloper in his life and his bed. And all Jack’s carefully memorised speeches failed him, the words sticking in his dry mouth.

  When she turned to face him, Thea’s facade was carefully back in place, the only sort of acting that was allowed to virtuous young ladies, he assumed. She had been taught to hide her hurt and to cut the attacker dead with impeccable manners. She was staring at him like some curiosity, displayed under glass for the amusement of an audience. ‘Well, don’t lie there gaping at me. If we mean to succeed against de Warde, I assume we will have to get out of bed to do it.’ She put a hand on her hip. ‘I could stay here, I suppose. Throw my skirts over my head and trap him myself, just as I caught you. But I have made it clear often enough how distasteful that would be.’ There was something about the way that she said it that implied lying down with de Warde was a slightly less unattractive prospect than another night with Jack.

  He swung his legs off the opposite side of the bed, turning away from her as he should have done from the first, and yanked on the bell pull to call her maid. ‘I think we can manage to spare you that. And if my company bothers you, I will keep my Shakespeare to myself as well.’

  But he did not want to. He wanted to butter her with the words, to make her sigh over them, melting in his arms. She had been everything he’d wanted in life and everything he’d dreamed of when he’d first seen her. Now it seemed that their only night together would be a lone culmination, against which all future nights would be measured.

  Until he could find someone better, of course. The lovely Cyn was not the only woman in the world. He had but to remind himself of the fact. Once he was away from here and back to being Jack Briggs, he would make a concerted effort to keep his bed full and his nights busy. He would forget her. There could be no good in remembering.

  He returned to his room, where his valet was waiting with a robe and a basin, ready to see him washed, shaved and refreshed for the day ahead.

  * * *

  When the butler came to tell him that de Warde was below and had once again asked specifically for Lady Kenton, he was hardly surprised. It would be far more difficult to make the man forget his lust for Thea than it was to inflame him by denying access to her.

  He went down to the morning room where the toad had been left to wait, preparing Kenton’s set downs as he walked. What had he said to Thea the previous evening about protecting her? It had been the on
ly true lie of the evening, for she would be forced into this man’s company at least once more before his plan was at an end.

  Let Kenton sorrow over it if he must. Jack Briggs reminded himself firmly that his first responsibility lay to the earl and that did not include keeping Thea Banester in a protective bubble, untouched and untroubled.

  When he entered the room, de Warde looked up, clearly annoyed that he was not seeing the person he’d expected.

  ‘Uncle de Warde,’ Jack said, equally annoyed.

  ‘Is your wife not at home?’ de Warde asked, not bothering with a greeting.

  ‘Not to you, she is not,’ Jack replied, staring at the man expectantly. ‘I will relay any message for you.’

  ‘I merely wished to discuss the scene I witnessed yesterday,’ de Warde responded.

  ‘Scene?’ Jack said, arching his eyebrow. ‘You intruded on personal family business, and now you wish to question her about it?’

  ‘I am family as well,’ de Warde reminded him.

  ‘But hardly close family,’ Jack said. ‘I am unsure of the reasons for it, but my father refuses to speak to you at all. And I do not appreciate your excessive interest in my wife.’

  ‘I am not interested in her, so much as the location of the statue that I sold to her father,’ de Warde said. Watching him now, Jack was unsure how he had managed to trick Banester. The man was not a particularly skilled liar, his eye fairly twitching at each mention of Thea. But he wanted the idol, as well, even if he thought it a worthless piece of stone.

  ‘If you wished to use it yourself, you never should have sold it to Banester,’ Jack said. ‘You could at least have taken the time to learn the way of it. The thing you had was quite useless. You extorted a great deal of money from my wife’s family and it is only through good luck and my timely arrival that things have come right for them again.’