The Sleeping Beauty

by Jacqueline Navin

  She didn’t move.

  Adam didn’t, either.

  “Maybe it would help matters along if we rid you of this.” He touched his fingers to the collar of her gown. “Generally, the preamble to the act helps the woman ready herself to take the man.”

  She wanted to melt into the mattress and never draw breath again. “My mother said I shouldn’t. Just…just lift the h-h-hem.”

  “Ah, hell,” he muttered. He seemed uncertain and, to her horror, utterly disgusted. She understood men generally enjoyed the act. When they found the woman desirable, that is.

  That last thought was crushing.

  His hand grabbed a fistful of her night rail and began drawing it up. The moment her legs were exposed, she gave a small cry and yanked it back down.

  “No. I’m not ready yet.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Adam muttered, and flopped onto his back.

  There was a long silence.

  “I’m sorry.” Helena’s voice sounded so childlike to her own ears that she winced. “You can try again now. I’m all right.”

  “Helena, I can’t do this. Not like this.” He rolled over and propped himself up on his elbow. “It isn’t fair to you, I know, but I’ve got to kiss you.”

  Her heart lurched. “You do?”

  “If you’ll permit it.”

  She shouldn’t like the idea, but she did. And if it was what he needed to get the act accomplished…For the child they were to have, and that sake alone, perhaps it would be all right to participate just this little bit.

  She gave a little nod of acquiescence, figuring that he might or might not see it in the stingy light, so in a way she was leaving the decision to break proper form up to chance.

  Fate decreed a kiss. He leaned over her and brushed his lips against hers.

  The reaction that shot through her body was immediate, intense, galvanizing her from head to toe. Her fingers dug into the mattress and she stiffened, but otherwise didn’t move.

  He brushed again, as if testing her readiness. The third time, she could wait no more and she lifted her chin to join her mouth fully with his.

  She kept her hands at her sides, a concession to the propriety she’d been taught. There would be no wanton groping tonight. She knew precisely what it was she was to do—lie still and let him do what he must.

  Think of the child, she told herself.

  Think of the…oh, God, the feel of his mouth was so very delicious. Soft, yet firm, and now he was demanding more from her. She heard small noises, like gentle whimpers, and realized they came from her. Then he touched his tongue to her lips and she groaned before she could stop herself.

  Misreading the noise, he jerked back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

  She wanted to scream. Her hands came up off the mattress and began to reach for him, but she stopped herself just in time. Fists hovered, wanting to touch and not daring.

  “Helena, please.” The sound of his voice heavy with passion drove the last vestiges of thought from her mind. “Let me touch you.” His arms went around her, one behind, one across the front of her, holding her loosely as he gazed down with heavy-lidded eyes. “I’ve got to…I need to hold you.”

  “All right,” she said faintly, her head swimming. She waited, proud that she didn’t shout “Yes!” Her heart beat so violently, she feared it would tear a hole in her chest. He pulled her up tight against him and she felt the steely hardness of him all along her body.

  He swallowed hard and his lips tried a smile. “There. That feels…so good. You feel good.”

  Her insides clenched and her palms itched to touch him. She wanted to feel, too.

  Running his tongue over his lips, he seemed to be out of breath. His broad chest rose and fell as his eyes burned her. “I want…to…”

  She found she was panting, as well, her breathing quick and ragged, catching sharply when his head lowered and he took up playing his mouth against hers again. This time she couldn’t keep her arms from circling his neck, nor her back from arching to press herself into him.

  The noise he made, the way his hands splayed across her back, tightening, digging into her flesh, tilted her world into wild abandon. She ran her fingers along the hairline at the nape of his neck, feeling the silky curls that twined there. Venturing down his back, she felt the firmness of muscle as it shifted under her questing hands. The robe whispered tauntingly, the exotic feel of silk crisp and smooth beneath her fingertips.

  His hand moved, sliding up her side, and before she could utter a protest, cupped her breast. The air rushed into her lungs, then out in stuttering degrees as he squeezed slightly, the pressure stealing any thoughts of protest at this unthinkable liberty. It wasn’t at all necessary for him to touch her there, but it felt wonderful and she couldn’t think of a reason why she should object. His thumb began a rhythmic stroking over the sensitive peak, sending her body into a complete convulsion of shock, of pleasure that rapidly transformed into yearning. Straining against the caress, she reveled in the mounting delight as his hot mouth took possession of hers, this time quite differently. Hungry and demanding and…oh, and wonderful.

  She was dying, she thought, dying a death so sweet she had no care of it. He moved to the other breast, shifting himself to touch the quivering flesh. That nipple was already hard beneath the demure night rail, throbbing, aching with need. He pulled on it gently, and darts of exquisite pleasure shot from his fingers to the farthest points of her body. Their kiss deepened, and when his tongue again invaded her mouth, she eagerly opened to allow it. He thrust boldly, a titillating promise of what was to come, before he ripped his mouth away.

  He removed his hand from her breast. “Can I take this off?”

  She could barely speak for lack of breath. “My nightgown? You want to take it completely off?”

  “It will get all bunched up between us. It may be uncomfortable.”

  Naked? Lie naked together. Suddenly, doubts assaulted her. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to do that.” To lie with him, nude and fully exposed. It was appalling. Wasn’t it? Yes, definitely horrifying in the extreme, and absolutely exciting, as well.

  “Sweet Helena—” He cut off his gruff epithet and drew in a heavy breath. “Okay, then. I’ll just lift the hem.”

  “No. No, I suppose we could try.”

  His fingers moved to the buttons at her neck, his darkly handsome face intense. Her body quivered at the light brush of his agile fingers. In no time, he had three of them undone, and Helena lost her courage.

  Pushing aside his hands, she did up the buttons again. “I think we shouldn’t.”

  “You must be joking.” He undid them again.

  “It’s not proper. It’s not done this way.”

  “Blast how it’s done. I’m not embalmed. I’m a man and I can’t make love to a woman I desire without feeling her against me. If that makes me a cretin, then so be it. I tried, Helena, I did. I’m sorry if this offends you, but I can’t just shove your gown up and hump you like a dog on a bitch. This is the cruelest madness I’ve ever known!” He rolled onto his back again and covered his eyes with the back of his hand.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Helena waited, her brain sluggishly registering what he had said.

  He desired her. Adam desired her.

  But she had ruined it now. He wasn’t going to touch her or do it to her. He wasn’t going to give her a child—

  He desired her?

  He thought she was scrawny. He had his plump mistress with the burgeoning bosom and fleshy curves. How could he actually feel desire for her?

  Slowly, Helena looked over and saw him, face covered and lying flat on his back. The dressing gown had come undone and there was absolutely nothing hidden in the faint candle glow.

  She had seen his chest before and had been mesmerized by the complex weave of muscle and sinew, and had glimpsed the flat, hard abdomen. She could look her fill now. He wasn’t watching. Her gaze lingered, long enough for h
er to feel a little whirl of something edgy inside her. In the low-riding drawers he had worn last night, she had glimpsed the lean hips. Now she could see them fully exposed. And his manhood was nestled in a bed of dark curls right at the apex of his legs. It looked…hard, like a bone. How did he fit it in his trousers?

  The sight of it was shocking, and still a tight band of excitement gripped her. She forced her gaze to move on. His legs were long, fitted with muscle and finely shaped. His feet were broad and strong looking, like the rest of him.

  Her gaze returned to his sex and she swallowed hard.

  She was not going to let this night go by without him putting…that into her. She knew enough to understand that it was that part of him that held the child.

  But there was more than just the desire to conceive that spurred her on. She wanted to feel that part. A ripple of pleasure ravaged her as she considered doing a very unladylike thing. She knew he wanted to touch her. Kiss her. See her and feel her against him, he has said.

  The thought of it left her weak and tingling.

  Sitting up, she said, “Adam, please don’t be upset.”

  He slid his hand down and looked at her.

  With shaking hands, she undid all the buttons of her night rail and slipped it off her shoulders.

  Naked to the waist, she closed her eyes and waited. She fervently hoped he would take over from here, because it had taken everything in her to push herself this far. To disgrace herself, most probably.

  It was for the sake of her child, she told herself, but she wasn’t thinking too much about babies just now. She was thinking of the way he had touched her breasts and that they were now naked, exposed and tight and ready for him to take into his hands again.

  He did nothing. Appalled, she opened her eyes.

  He lay immobile, gazing at her. She began to wonder if she’d made a terrible mistake. Perhaps she’d misunderstood. Perhaps she should pull her nightgown back up—

  “Oh. Helena,” he said, then he reared up and took her in his arms in one smooth motion, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss that sent her whirling into delirious delight.

  He wanted her and she wanted him, and every other consideration vanished.

  He shrugged out of the silk garment and stripped her quickly of her gown. He ran his hands up her legs, his palms skimming over the exposed flesh hungrily. She moaned when his kisses trailed a path to her breasts, convulsed when he suckled and tongued her nipples. When he slipped his hands down to the juncture of her legs to part her and test the moist heat hidden there, she whimpered. Clamping her legs shut, she tried to pull him away, until he gently explained that he had to ready her. Then he muttered an expletive and groaned, saying something about how she was already hot and wet.

  Blushing furiously, she turned her face into the pillow. His mouth teased her earlobe, coaxing her to relax. His fingers entered her, slipping inside easily. “You’re tight,” he said, and her heart soared because he said it in a low, guttural voice that seemed heavy with pleasure.

  He withdrew his fingers, then stroked outside her opening, brushing against something incredibly sensitive, teasing maddeningly with the lightest of touches until she moaned again. Clutching his shoulders, she found herself muttering incoherent pleas. Her hips surged, rising against the teasing of his fingertips, and he continued, driving her higher, pleasuring her, taunting her, fulfilling her until she exploded in a wicked shattering ecstasy.

  Floating, falling, traveling through leagues of blissful sensation, she heard his voice. He murmured comforting words to ease her, to tell her what he would do next. There was a bolt of joy that went through her, for she understood this was the mating. Unable to move, she let him part her legs and lean over her.

  His shaft was hard and hot against the tender flesh he had just caressed. In a flash, she was afraid again, remembering about the pain. Her mother had warned her about the horrible pain.

  She braced herself, the lassitude gone. He sank into her, slowly. It…it felt good. He eased his hips down, kissing her all the while. The long, careful stroke built quickly into the pain she was expecting. She froze, steeling herself. She knew it was the most horrible agony to be born; she’d been told.

  He said something, but the blood was roaring in her ears and she couldn’t hear. He moved deeper. She felt her body rip as he pressed himself fully into her, and she tried to push him off in a moment of panic because she knew the torment would only get worse.

  To her surprise, he stayed very still. All sense of pleasure gone, she lay under him, trembling and immobile. He pressed sweet kisses along her jaw, across the swell of her cheekbone and the bridge of her nose. His strong teeth nibbled at her ear, sending a ripple of reaction through her. His breath fanned across prickled skin and she shivered with pleasure.

  As he moved out of her slowly, she was aware of a sharp pain that dimmed rapidly after his next stroke. An ache replaced it when he entered her again. Then his hands set to work touching her all over, and when he came into her the next time, she began to like the feeling.

  He moved harder, quicker, his breath tearing out of him, and with it came broken words as he tried to tell her it was all right and how beautiful she was and how sorry he was he had hurt her but he was so glad she was his.

  Love words that would mean nothing later, but were wonderful to hear now. She could let them take her up and away on their wings, but she couldn’t let herself believe them.

  Well. She would let herself believe them for a little while.

  He rode her, hard and sweet, until his body jerked and surged against hers. His manhood stretched her, filled her so wondrously that she cried out with joy. The sound that came from her blended with his, a groan that was a virile growl of pleasure. Slick with sweat, he braced himself over her as his hips moved, and he arched, head back, teeth clenched, and she knew he had found release.

  He relaxed, still moving but slower now. His mouth descended, claiming hers, and his kisses, too, grew gentler as his body ceased its motion. Rolling onto his side, he kept his legs twined with hers and wrapped her up in his arms, tucking her head under his chin.

  They didn’t say anything. She couldn’t think, yet her mind seemed filled with so much—thoughts, feelings, bits of recollection of what had just transpired.

  Contentment lulled them to sleep.

  Adam awakened her when he crept out of her room just before dawn. He didn’t know she had felt his lingering kiss, his smooth caress on her supersensitive skin, or heard the reluctance in his voice as he wished her good-night. She fell back asleep, content and peaceful, to wake with the blissful knowledge that she would be a mother.

  With naivete that came from misinformation, she was under the impression that the wonderful act was a fail-safe method of impregnating a woman. It didn’t occur to her that conception might take more than one occurrence. She had been taught that the act was for procreation. They had done the act. Now she would procreate.

  The knowledge that a new life would begin to grow inside her intensified her pleasure. She could hardly wait until the child was born and weened so that Adam and she could set out to make another one.

  The thrill of that thought raised gooseflesh on her naked arms as she pulled on her wrapper and sat at her dressing table.

  A slight sound brought her out of her reverie. Kimberly stood in the doorway.

  “I am dressing,” Helena said, meaning for the Irish-woman to shut the door.

  “He is leaving.”

  “Who?”

  The corner of her mouth quirked up. “Yer husband, Helena.”

  “Leaving?”

  “His duty’s been done. He was tellin’ yer father of it. I heard him meself. He wants to go back to his home. London. Where he belongs, he says.”

  Pain blossomed crisply. It coursed through Helena, soaking her in an instant. “Of course he is going home,” she said, trying desperately to hide her crushing disappointment. She would not for the world let Kimberly see that she hadn’t kn
own of Adam’s plans.

  “Ye knew?”

  “I know exactly what my place in my husband’s life is, and what this marriage means to both of us.”

  That was so wrong Helena thought for certain the sly old servant would see through it. Kimberly narrowed her eyes and nodded. “That’s good, ye see, because ye can’t be thinkin’ it’s more than it is. He’s here to purge ye of yer sin, ye know that. Ye must focus on yer redemption, my lady, an’ not be lookin’ for somethin’ ye have no right to.”

  Like happiness.

  The thought jarred her, and she had to look away. Sometimes Helena thought the old witch had the ability to read her mind. She had used her knowledge of the map of Helena’s soul to manipulate and control for five years.

  “Leave me,” Helena said.

  “Yer mother wants ye to know she’s watching ye.” Helena’s head came up sharply. Kimberly gave a sage nod. “Oh, yes, girl. She sees into yer heart. She knows that ye want to forget her.”

  Helena shivered. “I’ll never forget her,” she said sotto voce. “Now go. Please.”

  She was surprised when Kimberly obeyed, and intensely relieved. Helena was sick to death of her cryptic “messages” from beyond the grave. She didn’t believe for a moment that her mother haunted her. It was Kimberly tormenting her, with her crafty skills at plucking a tormented conscience.

  Yet today the disturbance within Helena died down quickly. She had a far more important dilemma to consider. Adam was leaving.

  She admonished herself for not having anticipated it. He loved London, having come here only to finance that city way of life. He would return in a few months for his obligatory visit, just as the contract stipulated. Her father had told her this much of the arrangement. She found it humiliating knowing Rathford was forcing her husband to visit her.

  It was a good thing she didn’t know about the other stipulations of the agreement, or the new bonus her father had tacked on, which Adam was collecting at that very moment.

  Tucking the banknotes in his inside coat pocket with a terrible sense of guilt, Adam executed the slightest of bows and left Rathford, going out to the stables. He sat with Cain, trying to explain to the soulful-eyed hound why he had to leave.