The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 5

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  But he had said she would never have any pleasure in the marriage. So what did he think he was doing to her now? Every time he touched her, her flesh went on fire. She was just learning to control the sensation, try to keep the thrilling feelings at bay, to not make a sound. But the blush of her skin, the budding moisture, gave her away every time.

  "Tell me what you're thinking? Do you believe that you can escape me through adultery? I shall ensure that all the servants have as little to do with you as possible. I am master in our house. They shall not take any orders that do not come expressly from me. So if you see a chance to escape by swiving the servants, think again. Unless of course I order you to, and would like to watch. I'm sure it wouldn’t have been the first time."

  She met his gaze unflinchingly. "I'm thinking how appallingly you must have been treated by some woman in the past to think so ill of every woman now."

  "Not every woman. But certainly you."

  "Then why did you marry me? It seems pointless to-"

  "I didn't fancy getting my brains blown out or having to flee the country just when everything was starting to fall into place for me. Not to mention the fact that I still have to do something about my brother's two sons."

  "You have nephews?"

  "Yes. They're at boarding school at the moment. But I need to try to provide some sort of home for them as their guardian at some point. Once I'm more settled. But that is not for you to worry about."

  "I like children."

  Lawrence gave her a withering look of scorn. "I'm not interested in your perversions. You'll stay away from them. I shall undertake their upbringing and education, their training for the tea trade."

  "And what of any children we may have together?" she questioned softly.

  "I pray God that it has not happened yet, and will be taking every precaution to make sure it does not."

  His hands gave the lie to his words, for he was by now caressing her most intimately.

  Juliet's head lolled back into the corner as she tried to contain the miraculous excitement building within her. Thus far he had not shown any caution. And did not appear to wish to now as he grasped her left leg and bent it, freed himself from his trousers, and pulled her onto him.

  "Tell me what you're thinking right now," he demanded.

  "Now?" she gasped, already glazing over with passion as he moved under her and the coach vibrated over the ruts and fissures in the road.

  "Tell me."

  "That I've never known how such pleasure could exist. Oh my." They had hit a deep pothole and he surged into her. She felt forward onto his neck, but he pushed her upright with his palms on her breasts.

  "Look at me. No, don't close your eyes, look at me."

  She obeyed, fearful of the consequences, that he would pinch or twist the way some men had at soirees or assembly balls. Or worse still, that he would stop the compelling rhythm within her.

  "Tell me what it feels like."

  "Like my soul is being torn from me."

  His eyes narrowed. "A woman like you doesn't have a soul. Try again."

  "Like we're blending and fusing into a single entity. I can feel your heart beating with mine," she panted.

  "You haven't got a heart. Try again."

  "Like I want to take all of you inside me and never let go. Yet even as I do, you possess me utterly."

  He gave her a long slow thrust at those words. "Yes, indeed I do. Then I'm just going to have to keep reminding you of that fact, aren't I? You're nothing and no one without me. Give up any notion of your family helping you, or you having been anything other than what you are now, what I choose to make you. Or not, as the case were. You're Juliet Howard now. Forget you ever heard the name Dane."

  "But I was never-"

  At her unwitting words which appeared to be of protest, he rose with her on his lap and flattened her onto the opposite seat. His body was still upon, within her. "Tell me who you are."

  "Juliet Howard."

  "What are you?"

  "Your wife."

  "What else?"

  He could feel his climax building as he awaited her answer, and pressed into her until she saw stars. But mindless though she was with need, she was not going to say what he wanted her to. She was not.

  She looked straight into his eyes, and clamped her hands down on his buttocks, cupping the tight orbs as she arched up against him. "Whatever you think you want me to be."

  He opened his mouth to protest. But one last surge within her as she pulled tightly had him losing all control. He glided out and back into her with one final long stroke which he didn't even try to halt. All five of his senses collided and exploded in an instant as his mouth covered hers and silenced her uncontrollable cry of passion.

  The kiss set off another series of explosions for them both. As his hips ground against hers, his angle of penetration massaged her outwardly until she could only yank his shirt upwards out of the waistband of his trousers in an effort to touch some of his glorious bare flesh.

  She nearly sobbed in relief as she ran her hands up his back and then left one at his shoulder, while the other worked its way down to the small of his back, and began to insinuate itself into his drawers.

  Then she was cupping his warm smooth curves. An arousal so powerful yet so peaceful washed over her that she opened to him even further, all tension at an end. They did nothing but fight and quarrel when they talked, but this, this sumptuous feast of the senses, was how it was meant to be between them.

  Feast was the correct word, for as they both soared to a second pinnacle and descended, he began to kiss her all over as though ravenous. Her face, neck, throat and breasts were laved and nibbled, and finally he suckled each rosy nipple in turn. He rasped his chin over them, sending shivers of delight right down to her toes.

  Juliet's hands were never still on his warm flesh, until she impatiently brought them around to the front and started to unfasten his shirt. A jolt of the carriage sent the lower half of her body sliding off the seat, but he caught her to him more tightly. She moved so that she was back in his lap with her knees astride him. She slid up and down with slow, intent purpose, kissing him wherever she bared his chest. She teased his male nipples to attention, and desperate to touch all of him, moved her hand behind herself to cup him.

  Lawrence had fully intended to stop her, remind her who was in control, but her feather-light yet purposeful touch and heated kisses were enough to set him reeling back nervelessly against the squabs of the seat as she drove them both on to even higher peaks of delight.

  His heady cries filled the coach, and Juliet was sure she was going to collapse and sleep for hours. If he let her.

  But Lawrence wasn't finished yet. Delighted though he was, he still wanted more.

  "Oh, Juliet, you're driving me wild."

  She kissed him, but he pulled his mouth from hers and whispered it in a long wet caress over to her ear. "Turn around."

  She looked at him uncertainly.

  Lawrence gave a slow, lazy grin, and reassured her, "It'll be all right. I promise. Just turn around. I'll help you."

  He untied her cloak and flung it on the opposite seat, then helped steady her as Juliet raised herself off the seat by her knees and stood with her back to him. She gasped as he ran his hands down her possessively, covering the whole length of her back and down to her bottom. "So lovely. So very elegant. Come here, sweetheart. Sit on me, and I'll guide it in."

  She kept herself steady with the aid of his hand on her waist. She soon felt herself gliding onto the huge length of him once more. The depth of the penetration and the different angle set her on fire in an instant. But even worse was to come. Or better. For one hand came up to caress both of her breasts, while his other disappeared into her silky nest of curls.

  "Just sit back against my chest, let the coach take us where we want to go."

  His hands were certainly driving her forward fast and furiously. She reached to his sides and tugged as hard as she could on hi
s trousers, dragging them far enough down for her to caress all of the most tender flesh between his thighs.

  "Oh, no, please, just let us both go-" He gasped and pulled her head sideways for a ravishing kiss. She brought her hand up to his cheek and they soared and soared, and finally wafted back down to earth.

  Lawrence bent his knees and moved sideways, tucking himself into the space between the seat and its back, and pulled her close. He reached out one long arm to grasp her cloak, and threw it over her. Tucking it around her still quivering naked body, he threw the rest over himself, and fell asleep in an instant. Juliet snuggled backwards into his huge frame, and gave herself up to slumber with a contented sigh.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Lawrence awoke some hours later as the last rays of the sun were disappearing below the horizon. For a moment he tried to recall where he was. The small movement of Juliet against his madly aroused flesh, and the jolting of the carriage, told him in an instant. He blinked and shook his head slightly. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept so well.

  The sight of her bare neck, so tender and exposed, moved him to kiss it. Her nipples crested and her lips parted in a sigh. He raised himself up on his elbow, and saw she was still asleep. He had never seen such an arresting sight. In repose she was even more glorious, so fresh and innocent-looking, like a dew-dappled morning glory. Her long lashes swept down over her lightly blushed cheekbones. Her face was unlined, and for once she looked as though she were without a care in the world.

  The sight of her gorgeous mouth was just too tempting. He scooped her knees around and over his legs so that she was sideways in his lap. Lawrence took one tentative slow thrust and kissed her softly. As his kiss deepened, she came awake slightly, and for a moment wondered what on earth was happening.

  Then she guessed, and relaxed. His hands, still so foreign to her in many ways, were familiar, both soothing and arousing. The question now was, did he want her awake or asleep?

  But as the kiss deepened Juliet had no choice but to kiss him back. She raised her hand to his face and curved her other arm around his shoulder as the carriage continued to rock them like a huge cradle.

  Now his lovemaking was so delicate and tender she felt herself floating on a cloud of euphoria as she climaxed. His hand slipped down to the delicate nub between her legs and she realised he was going to continue pleasuring her.

  She took a deep breath and allowed the sensations to wash over her. What was the point in struggling against him when he was so determined to have his own way?

  But Juliet could have her own way as well, for her legs locked around his and one hand upon his thigh gave her purchase and control. She sped up their rhythm until they both gasped their passion into each other's mouths, and lay panting, his head against her breast as he listened to the tumultuous beating of her heart, which echoed his own.

  She stroked his hair back from his face and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you. For everything."

  He stiffened, unused to the tenderness, uneasy, on edge. She wasn't supposed to be thanking him, enjoying herself. He jerked his head up and flung his legs over the bench, standing up so abruptly he had to catch her by the arm as she nearly tumbled to the coach floor.

  His hard hand grabbing her caused her to hiss with pain. He pulled her to him to comfort her for a moment, her breasts pressing against his chest making him want her all over again. He nudged her backwards into the seat and flung her cloak over her ripe body with a furious gesture.

  "God, what a hot little whore it is to be sure."

  She stared at him incredulously. "You're blaming me for all, well, all this?" she asked with a wave of her hand.

  "There's no one else to blame. Not that blame is a very good word. It's your job, after all."

  She gazed at him levelly, barely managing to keep her tears at bay. "Aren't you going to feel the biggest fool and blackguard in the world when you find out that you've made a mistake about all this?"

  "I already do. What man is happy in the knowledge that he's married a woman that half the Town has had."

  She threw up her hands in exasperation. "I give up. Fine. Whatever you say, oh lord and master. I'm the most low, vicious, conniving whore that's ever strode the streets of the city. I've swived swathes through the bucks of the Ton and ridden them like Derby winners. I have more tricks for parting you from your money than you've had hot dinners, and the only reason I haven't died of the clap is because I have every cock scrutinised at the door before it enters."

  His stomach lurched into his mouth and for a brief second he was sure he was going to toss his guts onto the floor. He swallowed hard, chasing back the bitter bile.

  "Ah, at last we understand each other."

  "Only too well," she said with a long look at him which was one of pity and something more. No, not dismay. Triumph. Determination. And the lift of her chin told her that she was anything but submissive, for all her previous words.

  It gave him pause. Lawrence hated being so uncertain of himself. He was used to being buffeted by the winds of fortune and change. But this woman was a hurricane blowing through his life, sweeping away all rational thought.

  He hurled himself into the corner of his seat and glared out the window at the darkness beyond. He wondered how she always managed to make him feel so awful about his life. He had been so happy until….

  Had he?

  Lawrence quashed that thought immediately, and lit the lamp over his head. He fetched his valise, and immersed himself in his papers. Though he was damned if he understood a word he read.

  Juliet was relieved to have been forgotten about for the time being. She could avoid the piercing scrutiny of his gaze and not have to worry about his hands making her mindless with need. She needed to be rational about this. She was an intellectual woman, after all.

  The trouble was that Lawrence was not a rational man. He was convinced she was a fallen woman and little better than a criminal. He couldn't bring himself to trust her, and she couldn't seem to change his mind. Anything she said or did was twisted in such a way as to seem proof of guilt.

  So perhaps the solution was to do nothing. The harder she fought, the more she had coals heaped on her head. The more she tried to take control of the fierce passion between them, the more she was held in contempt.

  Juliet was not accustomed to being passive, but in this case she had little choice. She knew she was intelligent, well-connected. That she would find a way out of this predicament one way or the other given time. But it shocked her to think how many women really did have husbands who were far worse, and who were far less able to defend themselves.

  He had hurt her arm before by accident, and stung her pride, but he had not taken a fist to her. He shouted and screamed, but it was because he seemed to have no other way of expressing his emotions.

  When he had awakened her, he had been tender, and he had said things to her on occasion which were warm and appreciative. She had no idea what devil was sitting on his shoulder driving him to such excesses, but she recalled a conversation she had had once with a friend who had married an especially violent man.

  It was true that some men did thrive on violence. She had seen and heard enough about it first-hand helping nurse the sick in her district. But her friend had said her husband didn't know any better because his own parents had constantly been at odds with each other. Once her husband had seen that she was gentle and kind and didn't want to fight all the time, they had settled down.

  She knew some women could be violent too. She thought with a shudder of Matthew's former mistress Matilda. He had told her the story about their first night together and the riding crop. Not that he had ever allowed her to… or used it himself. But it showed how excessive she could be. Was Lawrence that way as well? Was that why he had wanted to marry her? Had they shared those proclivities and he now expected her to give in too?

  She was determined not to give in. If he raised his hand to her once she would walk back to London in naught but h
er cloak if need be, and get her friends to hide her. Or go to one of the Rakehells for help. Matthew would not be far away once he returned to the country, and his friend Randall would conceal her in the meantime, she was sure.

  On the other hand, if she was going to separate from her husband's bed and board, she was going to have to do something to earn her own living. She couldn't possibly live on charity forever. She could just go back down to Dorset, but she was fearful of the Lyonses getting into the line of fire. They were most excellent people, but getting on in years now. Not to mention her poor little sister. The last thing she wanted was Lawrence storming into their snug country cottage in a towering rage.