by Julia London
A flood of heat invaded her face, and Ava glanced down at her lap, feeling butterflies at the mere mention of a child in her womb. All the anxiety she had managed to push down suddenly rose up again. “Thank you. It would be good to have her with me.”
He paused in his dining and looked at her. “Is something wrong?”
She shook her head.
He reached for her hand, covered it with his and held it for a moment. “Rest east, Lady Middleton,” he said at last. “There are greater things in life to fear.”
“I hardly fear children, my lord.”
He smiled a little lopsidedly. “I was hardly referring to children.”
Dear God. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest as he gazed at her, his eyes roaming her face, dipping to her décolletage, which she knew very well to be quite revealing, and then up again, lingering on her lips before giving her a roguish smile and letting go of her hand.
Ava’s insides churned with anticipation and fear all at once. Yet somehow, she made herself pick up her fork. “And what of your childhood, sir?” she asked. “Where was it spent?”
He answered vaguely. His childhood, he said, was rather dull, spent in boarding schools and in Europe. His house in London was bought from his uncle, who was now deceased. Broderick Abbey was his seat, and while he didn’t spend as much time here, he rather liked it here, and was trying to institute some agricultural changes that would earn a better yield from the land.
“And your father?”
He glanced up from his plate and regarded her suspiciously. “What of him?”
The chill in his voice startled her. “You haven’t mentioned him.”
“Why would I?”
Why? After the interview in his father’s study, and the obvious animosity between father and son, he would ask why? Ava blinked. “I don’t know…he just seemed so…displeased…about us,” she reminded him.
Middleton looked at his plate. “I wouldn’t bore you with the unpleasant history of my relationship with my father. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Of course I would,” she retorted, ruffled by his dismissive response.
But Middleton sighed and gave her a stern look she’d never seen from him before now. “All right, then, here you are, Lady Middleton. He is generally displeased because I am not, nor have I ever been, the son he wanted. He considers me feckless and undeserving, for we are not cut of the same cloth, he and I.”
“But how is that—”
“If you wouldn’t mind, it is really neither here nor there,” he said, cutting her off. “I’ve little enough to do with him as it is and I’d rather not discuss it.” With that, he looked at Dawson. “You may clear these things away. Lady Middleton and I would retire now.”
Dawson and the footmen instantly began moving. But Ava, startled by his quick decision and his black look, didn’t move. Jared came to his feet and walked around to Ava’s chair. He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned down, so that his lips were against her ear. “You look as if you are expected in the gallows, madam.” He straightened up, pulled her chair back, and helped Ava to her feet. Then he took up the wine and the two glasses they had drunk from and nodded to the door. “To the gallows, then.”
Ava stumbled slightly, but he caught her with his hand. “Relax,” he said low and put a steadying hand on her back. Out they went, walking silently down the carpeted corridor, then up the stairs. Jared paused at the landing as she gathered her skirts in one hand. He took her hand in his and led her purposefully to the end of the hallway, past beeswax candles casting eerie light on silk-covered walls, past consoles boasting hothouse flowers, past closed doors and two chambermaids standing politely with their backs to the wall as the master and his wife passed.
When they reached a certain door, Jared’s hand dropped from her waist and he turned the crystal knob, throwing it open, and then, standing behind Ava, he gave her a gentle push inside.
The room was similar to hers, only larger. It was painted the blue color of a spring sky, the carpet Oriental and plush and the furniture thickly padded and covered in leather. There was a dresser, atop which were the accoutrements of a man—a pair of gloves, a discarded neckcloth, a small purse, and a heavy silver candelabrum. She could see into the dressing room, too, where there was a basin, with a leather strop and razor hanging nearby.
And then, of course, there was the canopied bed. It was draped in dark green velvet, the bed covering brocade and embroidered with dark green and gold leaves. The canopy was hand painted, rising tall on mahogany posters at the four corners, topped with gold pineapples. A fire burned brightly at the hearth, and someone had turned down the bed for his lordship.
The boots he’d worn to his wedding were at the hearth, a silk dressing gown was draped over the back of a wingback chair. At the windows, gold and dark green drapes had been pulled to keep out the morning light.
Ava clasped her hands to her belly and glanced up at the ceiling frieze—papier-mâché ropes slung from urn to urn, a circle of pineapples in the middle.
She heard the door close and the snap of the lock and turned around. Middleton had put down the wine and the glasses and was pulling the pin free of his neckcloth, which he placed on the dresser. She felt panicked, watching him.
He regarded her warily as he yanked the neckcloth free and tossed it aside, followed by his collar. “I agreed to marry a woman who laughed easily,” he said as he shrugged out of his coat. “But, madam, since our vows were taken, you have turned into a nervous little ninny.”
He pulled open his shirt, and Ava caught a glimpse of the crisp hair that covered his chest. His dark hair was almost to his shoulder, his hazel eyes glinting dangerously, his face impossibly handsome. She watched as he unbuttoned his waistcoat, big hands moving lithely down the row of buttons, and she suddenly had a vision of those hands on her body.
“I must amend my earlier statement,” he said casually, as if he were quite accustomed to disrobing before a woman. “Now you look rather appalled.”
“No, I—I…” She glanced at his hands again as he dropped the waistcoat on a chair. She wasn’t the least bit appalled, she was overwhelmed—completely and utterly overwhelmed by the sight of him. She felt almost light-headed with it, and the burn in her cheeks spread to her neck. Ashamed at her lack of fortitude on her wedding night, she dropped her gaze to the carpet.
She was uncertain what to say or do, her mind unavoidably on the moment she would become his wife in more than name. It was something she had long wanted to experience, in truth, but now that the hour was upon her, she did feel a little as if she were marching off to the gallows.
She wished for her mother, who often laughed about the master’s bedroom. “I let him do what he wants, as long as he promises not to frighten the staff or the children,” she’d laughingly said to her friend one day. Later, when Ava asked her what she’d meant by it, her mother had smiled and kissed her cheek. “When the time comes, I shall tell you what you must know. But for now, darling, I shall tell you this: Never fear it, never give it away, but never say no.”
She didn’t know Middleton moved until he was upon her, taking her in his arms. He put his hand to her chin and pushed her head back so that she could look into his hazel eyes. “I once escorted a woman in a coach who had no fear of me,” he said, his gaze drifting to her lips. “I would have that woman back, if you please,” he said, and buried his face in her neck, kissing the hollow at her throat.
“That woman,” Ava breathed as his hand slid down to her hip, pressing her into him, “was a ridiculous, silly thing who knew of only kisses, but I…I—”
He raised up, took her jaw in hand, and kissed her mouth firmly before suddenly sweeping her off her feet and carrying her to his bed and depositing her in a heap on it. Ava bounced, caught herself, and tried to move off the bed. “I should—”
“You should lie there and stop building shadows in your mind,” he said, and with a practiced sweep of hand, he pulled the pin
that held her hair and watched it fall. “Fear will make the experience intolerable,” he murmured, his breath tickling her skin, his eyes darkening. “Just relax, Lady Middleton, and allow me to ravish you properly.”
Seventeen
A va gasped and laughed with surprise all at once, stammering her reply, but Jared would hear none of it. This would be done—the gravity of what he’d done had finally sunk in. He’d gone to the trouble of marrying her for it, and he would take what he’d given his freedom to have.
“My lord—” she started, pushing lightly against him.
He covered her hand on his chest and shook his head. “No, madam, you will allow me this. I am your husband and you will allow me this.” He moved over her, trapping her beneath him as he put his mouth to her bosom, his lips and tongue sliding over her flesh, into the crevice between her breasts.
She gasped again, but this time, it was the sound of pleasure, not fear. He could feel the heat of her body through her dress, the blood rising to the surface. He felt her hand timidly touch his hair, her body slowly rise up to his mouth, and suddenly, any anger or confusion or emptiness he had felt was gone. He felt nothing but his own need rising up, pushing at him, at his limbs and his cock and his brain.
He moved his hands up and down her body, over her shoulders and the swell of her breasts, down her ribs and waist to her hips, to her feet. He flipped off one of her slippers. And the other. And then his hand was beneath the hem of her gown, sliding underneath, running up her leg, to the top of her stocking, to the smooth skin of her bare thigh, to the slit in her drawers.
She sucked in a sharp breath when he touched her there; her hands gripped his shoulders, her fingers digging through the fabric of his shirt.
He grinned, moved his fingers deeper into her damp folds. “This is the woman I have known,” he said huskily, moving his fingers against her, feeling her body heat. “A woman full of passion and desire for a man.”
Ava closed her eyes, releasing a sigh of pleasure, and her head rolled to one side as his hand moved against her. The pleasure that her response evoked in him spiraled down to his groin. “A woman who is bold enough to want pleasure for herself,” he whispered as he stroked her.
There were too many articles of clothing, too much between him and her flesh, and he sat up, yanking her up with him, his arms going around behind her back as he kissed her mouth, unhooking the buttons, loosening her gown. When he had at last unfastened the garment, he stopped kissing her and leaned back, looking at her green eyes.
She was smiling a little but her eyes were big as moons. He took some pity on her—here was a woman who’d never revealed her body to a man. He pushed her hair behind her ear, stroked her chin, and, holding her gaze, he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed the gown from them, down her arms, until it bunched at her waist.
Ava’s gaze did not waver from his. She did not blink, she did not look down, just kept looking at his eyes.
But Jared couldn’t help but look at her body, and the desire began to percolate. “My God,” he whispered. “You are beautiful…so beautiful,” he repeated reverently, taking her in. Her breasts were full and straining against the fabric of the thin chemise, rising rapidly with each frenzied breath. Her waist was slender, tapering into shapely hips. He smiled appreciatively and pressed his lips to her smooth cheek. Her skin was baby soft and warm beneath his mouth, and she smelled so sweet, so feminine and sweet.
He moved his lips to her ear. “Stand up,” he whispered.
Ava didn’t move right away, but Jared did, reaching for her hand and pulling her up. She stood beside the bed uncertainly as her gown and chemise slid down her body. He went down on his haunches, slipped his hand beneath her foot and lifted it. She wobbled, but put her hand to his shoulder and allowed him to move first one foot, then the other, and remove the gown.
He rose up, pulled his fingers through her hair, so that the honey blond tresses spilled around her shoulders. She was beautiful, this wife of his; he could not deny it, and his body was raging for her. “Beautiful,” he murmured, and leaned down, touching his mouth to hers.
“I feel a bit scarce of breath,” she whispered.
“So do I,” he responded honestly.
Her lips began to move beneath his, nipping back at him, shaping around his lips. The sensation of her response began to flow through Jared like molten rock. He straddled her legs and began to coax her into his body by caressing her spine. But something was missing. He abruptly lifted his head and groped for her hands, which were hanging at her sides, and put them on his chest.
“There you are,” he said, and returned to her lips, slipping his tongue between them, into her mouth.
Ava surprised him then. Her hands went from his chest to around his waist, pulling him closer, as she rose on her toes to kiss him. Her breasts were pressed against him, her mouth open beneath his, and as he kissed her, his hand on her breast, Ava moved her hand to the front of his trousers, brushing his erection.
Her virginal boldness excited him. He lifted his head and meant to say something, but then Ava opened her eyes and smiled with such seductive innocence that if she touched him again—just touched him—he feared how he might react, how swiftly he might put her on the bed and take her without regard for her ignorance.
“Jared,” she whispered.
Few women had ever dared to use his given name in such intimate circumstances, and he was astounded by his response to it. It made it all seem real—it was real—and the dam burst, flooding every part of him, hardening his cock to the point of aching.
Ava dropped her head back, exposing the creamy white skin of her neck to him. He put his mouth to her neck at the same moment he slipped his arms behind her back and crushed her to him. “I want you,” he said against her skin. “I want to make you my wife.” And with that, he twisted around, falling onto the bed with her, instantly moving down her body. He could feel her body pulse with his touch. His mind, his eyes, every fiber of him was filled with the scent and the feel of her. He was dangerously aroused and piteously desperate for her body, ravenous for a taste of her.
When he took her nipple into his mouth, Ava made a guttural sound, dragged her fingers through his hair, and pushed her body up to meet him.
Something primal and deep kicked Jared hard; blood was raging through him like a river, ripping through his veins. He had never desired anyone or anything so badly in his life. The need to fill her was so overpowering that he couldn’t stop.
Ava was panting, her hands roaming his body. When her fingers flitted across the fabric that covered his nipple, he suddenly rose above her, ripped the shirt from his body, and pushed the boots from his feet.
Lying beneath him, her breasts rising with each furious breath, her maiden’s innocence apparently gone, Ava gazed at him, brazenly taking in all of his naked chest.
Jared ran his hand down her shoulder, over her collarbone, her breast, down the smooth plane of her belly, and over the fabric of her drawers. He caressed her thigh, and as he looked into her eyes, he slipped a finger into the slit of her drawers, and Ava squirmed.
He slipped his finger between the wet folds of her sex.
“Oh God,” she moaned, tossing her head back, baring her long neck to him. Jared withdrew his hand, took hold of her drawers and pushed them down her body. When he’d discarded them, he kissed her belly, then moved farther down, his mouth brushing the spring of honey curls, inhaling her feral scent.
Ava was panting harder now, the bedding in her fists. Jared pushed her legs apart and put his hand on her.
Ava came up on her elbows and looked down at him as she drew long breaths into her lungs. “What are you doing?” she asked.
Jared smiled and slipped his tongue inside her. Ava squealed and tried to close her legs, but he pushed them open with his hands. “No,” he said. “You will allow me.”
He put his tongue against her again, and Ava slid down, her fingers groping for his shoulders. As he began to lick her,
she bucked and made sounds of pleasure that sent the blood pounding through Jared, engorging him. But he held on and explored her thoroughly.
Ava’s response was explosive; she was moving against him, panting for breath, the little cries of pleasure coming quicker and quicker as she neared her release. He stroked her, sucked her, nibbled as if she were a delicacy until she found it, crying up to the canopy, her hands clasping at his head, her body moving uncontrollably against him and away, then against him again. Her response was so explosive, and her demeanor so unrepentant that he came dangerously close to finding his release with her.
He rose above her, steadying himself with one hand as he unfastened his belt, shoved his trousers down his legs and kicked them off. Ava never opened her eyes. She just lay there, breathing hard, one hand draped over her naked breast, the other tangled in her hair.
“Are you all right?” he asked as he moved between her thighs.
She smiled dreamily without opening her eyes. “Mmm…”
He laughed, pressed the tip of his cock against her. Ava’s eyes fluttered open as he began to move slowly back and forth. Her body was so warm, so wet—he strained for patience; he wanted to be inside her. He lowered himself to one arm, smoothed her hair back from her damp brow, then kissed her gently.
“Give me your hand,” he said softly, and guided her to feel him.
Her fingers closed around him; he covered her hand with his and showed her how to move her hand on him.
“Oh my,” she whispered. “It feels a bit like silk on marble.”
Jared thought it felt like something else entirely and closed his eyes, clenching his jaw against the pleasures she was giving him.
With her other hand, Ava began to explore the rest of his body. She was conscious of the feel of his spine, the corded muscles in his back, the ripple of flesh in his shoulders. At the same time, he caressed her shoulders, her arms, and the curve of her waist into her hips and lower, slipping between her legs again, touching the very tender core of her. Ava strangled on her breath and pushed deep into the feather mattress, but Jared shamelessly stroked her, urging her thighs open with little effort. He buried his face in her breasts, suckling them while his shaft brushed her abdomen and thigh, its heat burning her skin.
