Her lashes fluttered open and she looked up with a thick haze of passion clouding her eyes. “What is it?” she whispered. She cupped her hand to his cheek. “Are you all right?”
At her gentle concern, a surge of tenderness mixed with an incontrollable yearning to know Genevieve in this way. In an act he’d taken part in so many times, the intimacy of that joining had ceased to matter. Until now. Until her. Terror licked at the edge of his lust. “I am fine,” he whispered, even as his tumultuous thoughts proved anything but that. To keep from thinking about the implications of his body’s need for her and to silence any questions he didn’t have an answer to, Cedric claimed her lips in a long, deep kiss, so that all she was capable of was more of her breathless whimpers and moans.
At the evidence of her longing, blood surged to his shaft and he continued to push deeper into her, slower. He pressed his eyes closed and relished the sensation of their bodies joining as one. What was it about this woman that was so different from all others before? He withdrew and she cried out, scrabbling at his back. Moisture beaded on his forehead as he again found her with his fingers. He delved his fingers inside her slick passageway, preparing her further for his entry until her movements grew jerky and then he slid inside her once more, inch by agonizing inch.
A broken groan spilled from his lips as a hungering unlike any he’d ever known gripped him, to possess her as no one ever had. Blood pounding loudly in his ears, Cedric layered his brow to hers. “Forgive me,” he groaned and then he pushed past the thin barrier of her virginity.
The room echoed with her cry and he stilled, giving her time to accustom herself to his length filling her. A lone crystalline tear slipped down her cheek and the sight of it ravaged him, momentarily dulling his desire. But he found her again with his fingers and caressed her center again until she slowly undulated into his touch, once more. Shifting his weight forward on his elbow, Cedric claimed her lips under his and then began to move. He drew his shaft out and then pushed forward, repeating the motion with slow, determined strokes until a little keening moan was bubbling from Genevieve’s lips.
“Cedric,” she gasped. Folding her arms about him, she lightly raked her fingers over his back. At that unrestrained hint of her need, he increased his rhythm. A strand fell over his sweaty brow as he continued to thrust. With tremulous fingers, she brushed it back and met his expert strokes as their bodies became lost in a dance that only they two knew.
Her movements grew frantic, even as her body went taut. He plunged deeper and then bent his head to draw the tip of her breast in his mouth, once more. It sent her careening over the precipice. Her hungry wail filtered throughout the room and it pulled him forward as he went hurtling with her. He stiffened and with a low groan, poured himself deep inside. The walls of her womanhood clenched and unclenched about him, draining all of him, until he collapsed atop her, replete.
Their breaths came hard and fast. As reality intruded, Cedric rolled off his wife’s sated, limp form. Heart pounding out of control, he laid there and stared with panicked eyes up at the mural at the center of the room. Never had he spent himself inside a woman. French letters had been his constant companion when with a woman. It had been the one masterful control he’d exhibited over his life; the assurance that for all the ways he was like his father, he would never be like the current Duke of Ravenscourt in that one essential and very important way. And even as this woman was his wife and certainly getting a child with her was expected, it was something he’d vowed never to do: to spread his blood, to give his father that coveted future duke, to allow that intimacy with any woman. In desperate need of some distance, he swung his legs over the edge of his bed and fetched a kerchief to gently wipe the stains of their lovemaking.
Her cheeks awash with color, Genevieve lay silent through his ministrations and then, when he’d finished, she flipped onto her side.
Cedric cleaned himself and then made to stand. His new bride looked over her shoulder, a tender invitation in her eyes. Leave… there is no reason for you to stay…
Except, ignoring that voice in his head, he reluctantly claimed the spot beside her.
Genevieve swiftly turned in his arms and curled her warm, slender frame against him. He stiffened, as she snuggled against him like a contented cat that had just supped on the cream. She layered her palm to his chest and his rapidly beating heart kicked up another frantic pattern. He did not sleep with women. After finding his release, he’d always taken his leave or his partner had gone back to the miserable blighter she’d been unfaithful to. Sex was just a meaningless exchange, with two people taking their base pleasures and nothing more. Genevieve at his side challenged that long-held belief. Her breath fell into a smooth, settled, even cadence.
Cedric waited several moments to make sure she slumbered and then when a little snore escaped her lips, he made to ease away from her. Except… Another snore filled the quiet. He angled onto his side to study her in sleep.
With her mouth slightly parted, there was a peace to her. It was the same one that followed her in her waking days. In her sleep, the ghost of a smile played on her lips so that he ached to know what thoughts slipped in and out of her dream. Cedric went still and then blinked several times in rapid succession. What madness plagued him that he would…moon over his own wife? He gave his head a disgusted shake. He’d never been, nor would he ever be, one of those romantic, lovesick fools. Yet here he sat, appreciating his new wife’s smile, of all things. No, theirs was strictly a formal arrangement between two strangers, with the additional benefit of mutual passion. He grimaced and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
A little bleating snore filled the quiet and he whipped his head back around.
She…snored and then in her sleep, she shifted about. Did she search for him in her slumber? Tenderness unfurled inside him and Cedric swiped a hand over his face. He was tired, was all. It was the only reason he even now stared at the place she occupied on the feather mattress. And it was the only reason he reclaimed a place beside her.
And with the ticking clock atop the mantel and the wispy puffs of air escaping her lips, it was the only reason Cedric closed his eyes. Except, as sleep pulled at him, he couldn’t help but feel he lied to himself.
Chapter 18
The sun shone high in the early afternoon sky, beating down on Genevieve’s neck. Seated on the ground of the overrun, ill-tended gardens of her husband’s townhouse, she picked her head up toward the sky and let the warm rays caress her face.
Open sketchpad forgotten on her lap, she closed her eyes and a smile played on her lips. She had a husband. And a garden. And a husband who sketched and enjoyed artwork, and… Her skin went ten shades hotter in an act that had nothing to do with the warm spring day and everything to do with the pleasures Cedric had awakened in her body.
Abandoning her sketchpad, she drew her knees close to her chest and assessed the overgrown space. Thick ivy climbed up the high brick walls. Weeds choked the tangled rose bushes and forsythia. In its neglect, this sheltered, artificial homage to the country spoke to Cedric’s disinterest and disdain for the countryside. By his own admission and everything she knew of him, he was a man most comfortable in the world beyond these walls. He’d not take the time to see spaces of nature cared for. Unease churned inside her.
It really should not matter. They needn’t have everything in common as a husband and wife. In fact, given their hasty marriage of convenience, they needn’t have anything in common. It should be enough that he had his funds and she had her freedom, and then anything else shared between them was a bonus she’d no right to expect or demand.
The wind stirred overhead and pulled at the loosened strands of her bonnet. So why did it feel like a lie? Why did it feel like she wanted so much more from the man who even now still slumbered? Chewing at her lower lip, she cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Or she expected he still slept. When she’d left him several hours ago to take her breakfast and set about exploring her home, he
’d been silently slumbering in her new chambers. A smile played about her lips as she recalled him as he’d been. Sprawled on his back, with his hand flung over his eyes, it was as though, even in slumber, he’d sought to keep the day at bay.
He was a man who slept late. And yet that same man had also sought her out in the gardens of Hyde Park a week ago…to apologize. Returning her attention to her sketchpad, Genevieve picked up her book and charcoal. Cedric’s art lesson still resonating around her head, her body thrilled with the heated memory of his touch. She proceeded to sketch his devilish visage. Scrunching her brow, she muted all sounds and concentrated on her efforts.
Everything melted away—time, questions about just what she was to Cedric, the Marquess of St. Albans, if anything, what tomorrow meant for them. She fixed her gaze on bringing his tall, powerful form to life on a page, when all attempts before had proven futile.
Of their own volition, her fingers flew over the sheet as his form materialized before her. Her bonnet dipped over her forehead and she hastily shoved it back, before returning to her task.
No gentleman had a right to be so beautiful.
Or outrageously charming.
Or…
“You are a determined young woman, aren’t you, my lady?” Cedric’s amused voice sounded from beyond her shoulder.
She screeched and her finger slid across the page, scratching a black mark along the outside form of her husband. Heart pounding, she hurriedly climbed to her feet. She wheeled around and found him at the entrance of the gardens. Arms folded at his broad chest, he lounged negligently against the ivy-covered wall. How long had he been there? And more…had she uttered anything aloud while he’d been secretly observing? “You are awake,” she blurted and snapped the book closed. It dangled at her side. Her entire body blazed as last night came rushing forth. The feel of his touch. Her own wanton moans, blended with his gruff words of encouragement.
“I am,” he said, his grin widening as he shoved away from the frame and took slow, languid steps closer.
She pulled her sketchpad close to her chest. “That is, of course, you are awake.” Stop talking. “It was just I did not expect you’d be here.” He continued coming. “Not that I really gave a thought as to where you would be at this hour.” She lied. She had wondered. Wondered if even now he was at his wicked clubs and doing…whatever it is wicked gentlemen did at those halls. Amusement flickered to life in his eyes as he came to a stop before her. Genevieve sighed. “What I meant to say is, good morning.”
Why could she not be the same artful flirt she’d been all those years ago? Not that she wanted to be a flirt with other gentlemen. It would, however, prove valuable to have equally witty and clever words for her endlessly charming husband.
“You’ve been awake long?” he asked.
Five hours now. She nodded slightly. “I am an early riser.” A pit formed in her belly as she was reminded once more of how little they truly knew of each other.
“Ah, yes,” he murmured. Capturing a loose curl, he tucked it behind her ear. “The masterful skies; that canvas of purples and pinks.” Yet for her reservations, Cedric so easily spouted words she’d shared with him from one of their first meetings. What was she to make of that?
“There is that,” she admitted. “There is also the quiet of the day.” Before the world intruded, it was just her with her thoughts and Society with its judgmental opinions abed.
“And what do you have planned on your first day as marchioness and master of your freedom?”
Master of her freedom. An excited little thrill gripped her; it blotted out all earlier, whimsical musings. For in a world where she’d had so little, with the name he’d conferred to her, she was no longer under the oppressive thumb of her parents or polite Society. “I thought to go to the museum. But today, after seeing the gardens, I thought I might have gardening equipment found by the servants so I might set to work clearing this space.” She gestured animatedly as she spoke.
Cedric scanned the grounds and grimaced. “Rather a mess, aren’t they?”
She nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes,” she agreed. Then, one who didn’t garden couldn’t truly understand. “But not unlike a blank canvas, in a way.” Genevieve motioned to the space. “There is so much to craft and so much character to this space.”
He returned his gaze to hers and her heart skittered a beat under the intensity of his scrutiny. “You are a true artist,” he said more to himself. He slipped her book from her fingers and proceeded to skim through those pages, until he reached the recent likeness she’d completed of him.
She shuffled on her feet. “I do believe I’ve done—”
“A magnificent job,” he said quietly. “You’ve done a magnificent job.”
And looking at it beside him, she could admit with an honesty to herself that she’d expertly captured his half-grin as he stood at the entrance of Kensington Gardens; his jacket rumpled, his hair haphazard.
Suddenly uneasy with this window into her world, a window that showed his influence on her life, Genevieve cleared her throat. She held out her fingers and he returned to the book, but then swiftly captured her other wrist in his hand.
A breathless gasp slipped from her as he drew her close. “You are well today, Genevieve?” he whispered his question against her ear.
His gentle kiss brought her lashes fluttering and the book tumbled forgotten to the ground. “I a-am,” she managed, not pretending to know what he referenced.
Cedric swiftly loosened the strings of her bonnet and tossed the article aside. It caught a gentle breeze and sailed several feet away. He found her lips with his and devoured her mouth as though he sought to burn the taste of her upon his tongue. She twined her arms about his neck and leaned into his embrace. Her husband swiftly moved his questing lips lower, to her neck, downward to her modest décolletage.
She automatically clenched her fingers in the luxuriant strands of his hair. “I expect I should have a modicum of properness and point out that it is daylight,” she panted and tipped her head to the side to allow him better access to her neck.
Cedric guided them down so they knelt before one another. “Properness is wasted on your lips,” he rasped, taking her mouth under his, once more. She moaned as the heady taste of coffee and honey filled her senses. “This should be celebrated between us.” He dragged his lips over her neck, nipping at the flesh, and ringing a cry from her lips.
As he laid her upon the earth, her heart picked up its rhythm and she lifted her arms in invitation. The press of the door handle shattered the quiet, like a shot in the night, bringing them apart. Cedric jumped up and helped her to her feet in one fluid motion, so that as his butler stepped into the sun-filled gardens, his employer knelt with her sketchpad proffered in his extended hands.
He cast a bored look over his shoulder. “Avis,” he said in lazy tones.
How many times had he been discovered so, with other women, that he’d become such a master in prevarication? She hated that he had and hated even more that it should matter. In marrying him, she’d been so fixed on the idea of a formal match between them, that she hadn’t given true thought of what it meant being married to a rake; not truly. Those questions now whispered strong around her mind; where did he find his pleasures and how…? Her stomach muscles tightened involuntarily.
The young servant averted his eyes. Alas, too many times, if his flushed butler’s cheeks were any indication. “Lord Montfort has arrived, my lord. He said you were expecting him.”
Lord Montfort? The earl. Genevieve stared blankly past her husband’s shoulder.
“Tell him I’ll join him momentarily,” he assured the man.
For all the knowledge that hers was nothing more than an arranged marriage, there was a tug of disappointment in her breast that Cedric did not turn away his friend. What did you expect? That you’d sit in his gardens and sketch artwork together, discussing your hopes and dreams? Avis sketched a bow and as her husband returned his attention to her, Ge
nevieve pasted a smile on her lips until her cheeks ached. Her arms tightened hard about her book.
He worked an uncharacteristically solemn gaze over her face and then called out. “Avis?” The servant stopped with his hand on the door handle. “Tell Montfort, I am unable to join him today,” he said, not taking his eyes from her.
Her heart quickened. “Very well, my lord.” Avis sketched another bow to his employer’s back.
“Oh, and Avis, one more thing? Lady St. Albans requires gardening equipment. Will you see the footmen have it brought posthaste?”
Even with the space between them, Genevieve detected the flicker of surprise in the servant’s eyes. “Of course.” The young butler hurried off, leaving them alone, once more.
She searched her husband’s face, trying to make sense of this man and his deviation from his daily plans. Cedric Falcot was a man rumored to place his pleasure above all else. He was certainly not a man to enter into an arranged marriage and renege on plans he’d made with his equally rakish friends, all to be with his new, unwanted, but necessary wife. “…I have never seen him look at another person so…” His sister’s softly-spoken words trickled around her mind. A blackbird sang overhead and another gentle breeze tugged at Genevieve’s skirts.
Cedric loosened the buttons of his jacket and shrugged out of the sapphire blue garment. Her mouth went dry as he tossed it to a nearby rusted, metal bench. “What are you doing?” Her words emerged a faint squeak.
He flashed a grin. “I thought you said we were gardening, my lady?”
We. This man was no rake. This man was more than an even charming rogue. With his abandoning his previous bachelor’s plans and joining her today, he was very much a devoted husband. And even as this moment was nothing more than the fantasy of what could be between them. It felt so very real and she did not want to let the moment go—ever.
A Heart of a Duke Regency Collection : Volume 2--A Regency Bundle Page 49
