Love with the Proper Husband

by Victoria Alexander

  Now all she needed was the gentleman in question.

  She struggled to sit up but seemed to sink rather than rise, the feather bed an omnipotent beast threatening to pull her back into its depths like the sea sucking down a drowning man. She huffed with annoyance. Apparently this bed meant to keep its victims as long as possible. Getting out was as difficult as getting in. She managed to scoot to the edge of the mattress and dangled her slipper-shod feet over the side. As much as she knew the drop to the floor was probably no more than a foot, she was not eager to take the plunge.

  “Well, this is an unexpected pleasure.” Marcus’s voice sounded from the door.

  Gwen started at the sound and promptly slid off the side of the bed. She grabbed at the covers to stop her fall but succeeded in nothing more than pulling everything down with her. She landed with a soft thud. The silken coverlet drifted over her head.

  “Are you all right?” Marcus’s voice drew closer.

  “Quite.” She wasn’t the least bit all right. Her bottom stung a little. Worse, she was mortified. What must he think, finding her in his room? In his bed?

  “Would you like some assistance?” His tone was casual, as if he were offering to do nothing more than help her from a carriage, but she could hear the smile in his voice.

  “No,” she said in her haughtiest manner. “It is most kind of you to offer, though.”

  She didn’t want his help, and she had no desire to pull the cover off her head and face him. She’d rather sit there pretending nothing was wrong than see the amusement in his green eyes. Besides, he was probably thinking all sorts of dreadful things about her character and her lapses in judgment, and beyond that, he’d ask why she was in his room in the first place. An excellent question for which she had no particular answer.

  She pulled her hand free of the fabric and waved at him. “Do not feel obligated to remain here on my account. Feel free to go about your business. You may leave if you wish.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” He chuckled. “This is, after all, my room.”

  A moment later she felt him settle onto the floor beside her. This was getting more absurd by the moment. She would have to do something.

  There were only two choices. She could pull off the cover and make some sort of inept excuse as to why she was on his bed. Or she could pretend she was not sitting on the floor, under a coverlet, with only her arm visible.

  “So,” she said brightly, deciding delusion was better than honesty. Now that her arm was exposed, she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it except wave it casually. She must look like a complete lunatic. This whole thing was so annoyingly awkward. And humiliating. “How is Lord Berkley tonight?”

  “Excellent. May I ask you a question?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “I see.” He paused, and she could well envision the grin on his face. “Well, that does pose a bit of a dilemma, then, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t see why.”

  “You’re right.” He laughed. “This is delightful. I never thought I’d be spending my wedding night sitting on the floor beside a heap of bedclothes and a disembodied arm. It will be an excellent story to tell our children one day.”

  “You shall not tell a single soul about this, Marcus,” she snapped. “Or I shall—”

  “You shall what?” He caught her hand and pressed his lips against it. A thrill of excitement shot up her arm.

  She heaved a resigned sigh. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

  “That would not be nearly as much fun.” He paused, no doubt trying to hold back laughter. “Not like, say, watching you succumb to the effects of brandy.”

  “I shall never drink brandy again.” She pulled off the cover and grimaced. “And I should be most grateful if you took it upon yourself to make certain I don’t.”

  “Perhaps we should have included it in the wedding vows.”

  She cast him a grudging smile. “That would have been most appreciated.”

  He laughed, leaned close, and brushed his lips against hers. Then he got to his feet, grabbed her hands, and pulled her up to join him. The coverlet fell to the floor. Marcus’s gaze slipped over her in a slow, deliberate manner, as much a caress as if he’d touched her. Her gown covered her from neck to toe but she had not realized before quite how sheer the material was. And well appreciated, judging by the look in her husband’s eye. She shivered with anticipation.

  “Are you cold?” His hands slipped from hers, and his fingers trailed lightly, absently over her forearms. His touch was warm through the light fabric.

  “No. I am really rather warm.” She met his gaze and held her breath. Would he kiss her now? There was no doubt in her mind that he wanted to. She could see it in his eyes and wondered what he saw in hers. And what she wanted him to see.

  He stared down at her for a long moment, then swiftly twirled her around and drew her back against his chest.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Call it an experiment of a scientific nature.” He wrapped his arms around her. “The essence of scientific experimentation is repetition. I am repeating an experiment begun today. The continuation of the one we started this afternoon.”

  “I had no idea you had an interest in science.”

  “I have an interest in all sorts of things,” he said loftily. He rested his chin on the top of her head and tightened his embrace. It was quite, quite lovely.

  “I’m trying to determine if indeed it is easier, at times, to talk to someone without facing them. Do you mind?”

  “No,” she said cautiously. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Reggie thinks I’m in love.”

  Her breath caught. “Oh?”

  “I have never been in love although I have come exceedingly close on two occasions. Both times, the ladies involved developed interests elsewhere.”

  “I see.” She drew a deep breath. If he could be honest, so could she. At least about this. “Everyone I’ve ever cared for has left, through death or their own pursuits. Except Madames Freneau and de Chabot, of course.”

  He was silent for a long moment. “You have not had an easy time of it.”

  “I could have had a much easier time of it had I been, I don’t know, wiser, I suppose.” She relaxed against him. It was indeed remarkably easy to talk freely when one was not face-to-face. Especially with the comfort of a man’s arms around you. “I have a horrid tendency to believe I can solve my problems by running from them.”

  “Can you?”

  She shook her head. “No. If I have learned nothing else, I have learned that.”

  “Am I a problem?” His voice was low, intense.

  “I haven’t decided,” she said lightly.

  He spun her around and pulled her into his arms. “And when will you make that decision, Miss Townsend?”

  “I’m not sure.” She raised her chin and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Perhaps you can help me decide, Lord Pennington.”

  He raised a brow. “And how will I do that?”

  She reached upward and touched her lips to his. He didn’t move, and she pressed her lips harder against his. He didn’t so much as twitch. This was pleasant, but she knew full well there should be a great deal more happening beyond the simple touching of lips. Certainly there was a great deal more happening when he had kissed her. Of course, brandy had been involved then. Was she doing this wrong? She remembered something Colette had mentioned, and while it had sounded distasteful at the time, it seemed rather exciting now. She opened her mouth and flicked her tongue over his lips.

  “What was that?” He grabbed her shoulders and thrust her away from him.

  She winced. “You didn’t like it.”

  “Oh no, I liked it. I liked it quite lot,” he said quickly. “I just didn’t expect it, that’s all.

  “I knew this was a mistake.” She pulled out of his grasp and moved out of reach. “Do you
think I’m a tart now?”

  He smiled wryly. “I very much fear you aren’t.”

  “Would you prefer I was a tart, then?”

  “It would certainly make this easier,” he murmured.

  “For both of us.” She wrapped her arms around herself and drew her brows together. “I have never done this before, you know, and you could be a little more understanding.”

  His mouth dropped open and he stared. “I was being understanding. For God’s sakes, I was being bloody restrained. I didn’t want to scare you. I didn’t want to go too quickly or—”

  “There’s no fear of that now, is there?” She cast her gaze toward the ceiling. “I’m not a child, Marcus, I do know what to expect.”

  “Do you?” His brows drew together skeptically.

  “I’ve been thoroughly instructed on precisely what will happen,” she said in a haughty manner. “And how to respond.”

  “Have you indeed.” His voice was choked as if he was struggling to keep back anger. Or laughter. “And what”—he could barely get out the words—“do you expect? Precisely.”

  She thought for a moment. “First, you are supposed to kiss me, quite a lot really, and not just on the mouth, until my knees are weak and I melt against you.”

  “Until your knees are weak, you say?” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the bedpost. “I think I can manage that. Then what?”

  “Well…” She paused to gather her courage and forced an unconcerned note to her voice. “Then you should sweep me into your arms and carry me to your bed.”

  “Seems a bit premature to me.” He shook his head thoughtfully. “Are you certain you haven’t left something out?”

  “I don’t think—”

  “I know.” He aimed his finger at her. “Your clothes. You’ve forgotten all about them. At some point we need to take them off, and mine as well.”

  “I don’t think Madame de Chabot ever mentioned clothes. Perhaps she assumed we would already be disrobed?”

  “Of course.” He smacked his forehead with his palm. “That’s the answer. I should have thought of that myself.”

  She narrowed her eyes and studied him. “You’re making fun of me.”

  “Never.” His voice was solemn, and she didn’t trust him for a moment. “Please, do go on. After I carry you to the bed?”

  “Then there is more kissing and a great deal of…well…you know…whatever.” She glared and planted her hands on her hips. “I don’t know why I am telling you this. No doubt you know far more than I what happens next.”

  “No doubt.” He studied her with ill-concealed amusement. “You have given this a great deal of thought, haven’t you?”

  She sighed. “I have thought of little else.”

  “As have I.” His voice was low and echoed deep inside her. “But”—he shook his head—“while the steps you have detailed are adequate, I’m not certain they’re entirely to my liking.”

  She stared in astonishment. “Why not?”

  He shrugged. “Far too cut-and-dried for my taste. I prefer things a bit more…spontaneous.”

  “Spontaneous?” She huffed. “How can things be spontaneous? You and I both know what’s going to happen here. It’s not entirely a surprise.”

  “You never know,” he said under his breath and started toward her.

  Without thinking, she backed up. “What are you doing?”

  He grinned and walked past her, loosening his cravat.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I am getting ready for bed.” He pulled his cravat free and stepped into the dressing room.

  Good Lord, was he taking off his clothes? Now? With the lights on? No matter how prepared she was, she was certainly not prepared for the sight of a naked man. Mercifully, he was hidden behind the half-open door. For a moment she considered escaping back to her own room. Of course, that would entail going through the dressing room.

  Besides, that would never do. She was resigned to this. No. She wanted this. Wanted him. She wasn’t sure why or when it had happened, but at some moment between their first brandy-laden kiss and now, something inside her had changed from mere resignation to an odd, aching need. She wanted to have him kiss her again and again and altogether more thoroughly than he had thus far. She wanted to lie in his arms and wanted her knees to grow weak beneath his touch and wanted to feel all the things Colette said he would make her feel.

  She wanted her husband.

  The door to the dressing room swung slowly open, and she clapped her hand over her eyes.

  Marcus’s laugh echoed in the room. “What are you doing now?”

  “Nothing. Not a thing.” She waved her free hand. “Do go about your business.”

  “That’s the second time you’ve told me to go about my business. Very well, I will.”

  She heard the soft footfall of bare feet circle past her and couldn’t help but peek from between her fingers. She gasped and dropped her hand. “You’re wearing a dressing gown.”

  He raised an amused brow. “Indeed I am. What were you expecting me to be wearing?”

  “I expected you…” Her gaze reluctantly roamed over him and her mouth went dry. His shoulders were broader than she’d realized, indeed he was taller and handsomer in a decidedly roguish sort of way than she noticed before. In truth, he was much more male than she’d imagined and quite impressive. The robe was open nearly to the waist, revealing his throat and a significant portion of his chest, his naked chest, to close at the tie at his waist. Her gaze quickly skipped that portion below his waist—she wasn’t quite ready for that—to the hem hitting at his calves and the bare legs below. “You’re naked under that, aren’t you?”

  “Indeed I am.” His tone was casual, as if they were involved in nothing more than lighthearted conversation in a parlor somewhere and not in his room with little more than a few scraps of lace and silk separating his body from hers. “I find the wearing of clothing, particularly during warm weather, as annoying to my pursuit of a good night’s sleep as you find the wearing of hats. Now then.” He nodded toward the bed. “I warn you, I am going about my business as per your request. I am taking my robe off now and getting into my bed. You might want to cover your eyes again to avoid my offending your maidenly sensibilities.”

  “You haven’t offended my sensibilities,” she scoffed. “I was simply giving you some privacy.”

  “Really?” He worked at the knot at his waist. “And here I assumed you were apprehensive at the sight of a naked man.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” she said stoutly. “I have seen naked men before.”

  “Oh?”

  “Statues and sculptures and the like. Greeks and Romans primarily.” She tried to look anywhere but at him. “Museums, you know. Full of statues.”

  “Indeed. Plenty of naked men there.” He chuckled and turned his back to her. “Last warning, Miss Townsend.”

  Her chin jerked upward. “Lady Pennington, if you please.”

  “As you wish, Lady Pennington.” His robe slipped off his shoulders to fall in a puddle of silk at his feet.

  She bit her lip and stared.

  He was exceedingly well sculpted.

  The muscles of his back and buttocks were firmly defined, and his skin seemed to glow in the dim light. She had the immediate urge to run her fingers over those muscles, warm herself on his heated flesh. He climbed into bed as if she weren’t there.

  “What are you doing?” Indignation sounded in her voice, and she stepped toward the bed.

  He rolled onto his back, clasped his hands behind his neck, and studied her. “I am going to sleep. It’s been a long and rather tiring day,” he said, reaching for the bedcovers.

  “You’re going to sleep? Just like that?” She moved closer. “No kissing? No melting of my knees? No…whatever?”

  He thought for a moment. “I don’t believe so.”

  “Don’t you want me?” She stared in disbelief.

  “Indeed I do. Quite a l
ot, actually.” His voice was wry. “I’m rather proud of myself for my restraint thus far.”

  “Then”—she flung her arms wide—“take me!”

  He shook his head. “I think not.”

  “Marcus!” She scrambled up onto the bed to kneel beside him, noting in the back of her mind how indignation and, indeed, impatience swept aside any trepidation. “Why not?”

  “You’ve taken all the fun out of it. As if making love involves nothing more than following a step-by-step instruction booklet.” He considered her thoughtfully. “I don’t want you in my bed because you have no other choice. Because this is your duty.”

  “That’s not why I’m here. I want this.” She laid her hand on his chest. “I want you.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes. And I shall prove it.” Before she could think better of it, she threw her leg over his to sit straddling his hips. She cast him a wicked smile. “If you shall not take me, I shall be compelled to take you.”

  “Really?” He gazed at her in amusement. “And how precisely do you plan on doing that?”

  “With the help of my step-by-step instructions you made fun of.” She drew a breath for courage and stretched out on top of him, ignoring the feel of his delightfully hard body beneath hers and grateful that, for now, they were separated by layers of bedclothes. Her face was inches from his. He watched her, his hands still laced behind his neck, a slight smile playing over his lips. “First…” She brushed her lips across the hollow of his throat and was gratified to feel his body tense under her.

  “This is the kissing part?”

  “Um-hm.” She kissed his throat and ran a trail of light kisses up his neck to the line of his jaw. It was rather nice kissing him like this. Indeed, with every touch of her lips to his warm skin, she wanted to kiss him more. The curious fluttering she’d noted the last time they’d kissed started again within her. Delicious and demanding.

  She reached the corner of his jaw and moved her mouth to nibble at the lobe of his ear. He sucked in a hard breath. She murmured against him. “Madame de Chabot says men quite like this sort of thing.”

  “Does she?” His voice was slightly strangled, as if he couldn’t quite get the words out. “What else does she say men like?”