He grabbed her flailing hands, twisted her about as gently as possible, always mindful of her delicate condition, until she was on her back, pinned beneath his weight, her arms held in place above her head, one of his hands wrapped around both her wrists. They breathed in tandem, each harsh breath causing her breasts and his chest to touch.
“I’m sorry, Kitty. I know I shouldn’t have laughed. Your circumstance isn’t funny, and I need”—he cleared his throat and swallowed back the laughter that wanted freedom—“to treat this matter with the seriousness it deserves.” With his thumb, he gathered the tears that rolled along her cheeks. “That night in Farthingham’s garden, you said that I terrified you. Was it because of the way you felt when I touched you?”
She nodded, then shook her head as more tears surfaced. “Not only that. You have but to look at me…or be in the same room with me.” She shook her head more vigorously. “No, not even that. When I’m alone in my room, I think of you constantly. As you were that first morning.”
Wasn’t that interesting?
He trailed his finger along her jaw.
“Don’t do that!” she ordered.
“Does it make you want to scream?”
“Yes!”
“Farthingham never made you want to scream, did he?”
“Of course not. Nicky was safe. He was always safe.”
Speaking of barbarism, he suddenly felt like some tribal lord who’d gained a kingdom. And for the first time since the afternoon of the storm, he felt a lifting of the oppressive guilt. He’d been right all along. She did belong to him. She might not like it, she might not want to admit it, but her body knew what her heart refused to acknowledge.
“I’m not going to gag you, Kitty,” he said quietly, before pressing a kiss against the sensitive spot beneath her ear. He heard her sharp intake of breath. “And I’m not going to bind you.” He moved his mouth to the other side and kissed her there. Another gasp. “Do you know why?”
She shook her head.
He lifted his own and looked down on her. She’d turned her face to the side, but he could still see that she was miserable. “Look at me, Kitty.”
“No.”
“Kitty.”
She finally looked back at him. He released his hold on her wrists, framed her face with his hands, and caressed her cheeks with his fingertips. “I’m not going to do anything that you’ve asked, because I so enjoy hearing you scream.”
“But it’s barbaric.”
“Ah, yes. So it is.” He kissed her chin. “Sometime I want you to tell me all the things you thought when you were alone in your room.”
“No.”
“Yes. Meanwhile I intend to make you scream again.”
He lowered his head. She grabbed his hair and jerked his head back up. “Please don’t. It’s embarrassing.”
“There’s no shame in it. Do you have any idea how many men go through their lives with docile wives who lie beneath them out of duty and think about the latest dress patterns while their husbands are getting about their business?”
Her eyes suddenly widened. “Dress patterns. I could think about dress patterns as a distraction. Or better yet, I could recite Shakespeare within my mind. I memorized Romeo and Juliet when I was younger. I’ll have to refresh my memory. Do you have an edition in your library?”
“Yes, but I’m not going to lend it to you. I don’t want you distracted. I want you screaming and writhing and bursting with pleasure.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to enjoy having me in your bed as much as I enjoy being there.”
“You don’t scream.”
“I grunt.” A kiss on her lips. “Groan.” A kiss on her throat. “Moan.”
“What’s it feel like for you?”
He grinned at her. “Glorious. My body burns, stretches, tightens, reaches for deliverance.”
“You fell asleep afterward,” she said as though to chastise him.
His grin grew. “Yes. That’s how you know it’s been very, very good. When I can’t move if my life depended on it.”
She licked her lips. “But what I feel seems so wicked.”
“Nothing wrong with wicked, my darling.”
“I always thought there was something wrong with it.”
He began to loosen her buttons. “Well, there isn’t. Most men have mistresses because they need a bit of wickedness now and then, and their wives are too busy thinking about dress patterns or reciting Shakespeare. How fortunate I am that all my needs will be met by my wife. I shall never have to stray.” He lifted his gaze and held hers. “And I shall work diligently to ensure that you never feel a need to stray either.”
He lowered his mouth to hers, and her fingers pressed against his scalp. The fire between them blazed as though the embers of their desire had been in need of only the tiniest spark to set it alight. He could take her here on the floor, in the chair, on the way to the bed. Drawing back, he saw the doubts cloud her eyes. He still couldn’t believe the irony in that the very thing that drew them together was what had threatened to keep them apart. “Let’s go back to bed.”
“To sleep?”
He grinned. “To scream. Then to sleep.” He stood and helped her to her feet. Holding her hand, he walked her to the bed.
“Remove your clothing,” he ordered as he went about removing his much more quickly. He sat on the bed and basked in the sight of her nightgown rippling along the length of her body to the floor.
“Aren’t you going to get into bed?” she asked.
“Not this time. Come sit on my lap.”
“That sounds indecent.”
“Only if you don’t want to, and I force you. But I’ll never force you, Kitty. I will, however, urge you to try.”
She gnawed on her lip and furrowed her brow before moving to stand before him. Reaching out, he grabbed her hips and urged her forward. “Come on, straddle my lap, knees on the bed.”
She did as he bid, her stomach to his chest, her breasts in his face.
“Mmm, lovely,” he purred, before taking a pink nipple into his mouth.
She moaned, her fingers dug into his shoulders, and her head dropped back. He slid his hand between her thighs, testing her readiness. She was hot and moist. He guided her down until she enveloped him completely in her heavenly heat. He could only hope that it didn’t take her long to scream because he was near to screaming himself.
“You see?” he asked. “Now I have access to all of you. Your back, your stomach, your breasts—which by the way, I greatly adore.”
He thought if the light were brighter that he might see her blushing. With one hand cupped at the back of her head, he guided her mouth down to his. He gloried in her sweet sigh of capitulation. He cupped her bottom and began guiding her through the movements, and when she caught the rhythm, he turned his attention to other pleasures: skimming his fingers along her spine, her back, her sides, her stomach. Up and over. Down and around while her hands were just as frantically touching every aspect of him that she could reach. As he’d pointed out only moments before, he groaned, grunted, moaned, tensed…
She began to release tiny mewling sounds that rose in crescendo as her body tightened around his, and she began to piston faster and faster and faster. She cried out, and he held her tightly in place, pumping his seed into her, as his own release came swift and hard. He wrapped his arms more firmly around her and lowered himself to the bed, bringing her with him until her limp body was sprawled over his.
Right before he drifted off to sleep, it occurred to him that if they continued making love with this intensity that he’d live a very short life, but it would certainly be a glorious one.
Chapter 24
Kitty awoke to find a bit of sunshine peering through a parting in the draperies, her husband’s arm across her stomach, his hand cradling her breast. He’d not drawn the draperies around the bed closed, and so she was able to see him a little clearer in the morning light.
Her hus
band. Gingerly she skimmed her fingers over his hair—which was in dire need of a brushing. Then she touched her palm to his bristly cheek. Lethargically he opened his eyes, and a slow smile eased over his face.
“How are you this morning, Duchess?”
“Nauseous.”
His smile instantly disappeared and his brow furrowed. “You’re not feeling well?”
“I usually don’t in the mornings these days.”
His gaze dipped down her stomach. “Ah.” He lifted his eyes to hers. “What do you need?”
“Some tea and toast.”
Rolling slightly, he reached up and tugged the bell pull. She made a motion to get out of bed and found his arm snaking around her and bringing her back down to the bed.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
“To get dressed.”
“Not yet.”
There was a sharp rap on the door, and Kitty brought the blankets up to her chin. The door opened, and Nancy peered into the room. “You called for me, Your Grace?”
“Yes,” Richard said. “Please bring up some tea and toast for Her Grace.”
“Yes, sir.”
The door closed.
“I’m not ill,” Kitty told him. “I don’t need to stay abed.”
He gave her a devilish grin. “Oh, you need to stay abed. I’m not yet finished with you, Duchess.”
“It’s daylight,” she whispered harshly.
“The better to see you with, my darling.”
She knew her eyes had widened considerably, and she snuggled down into the bed. “You can’t be serious.”
He wiggled his eyebrows.
“During the day?” she asked.
“Why not?”
“You’re insatiable.”
Grinning, he trailed his finger along her arm. “Let’s hope, shall we?”
Laughing lightly, Kitty watched him. “Is this all you think about?”
He nodded. “A good bit of the time, yes. Don’t you?”
She turned her head toward the window. “How can you be so comfortable with it?”
“How can you not?”
She looked back at him. His eyes held compassion and understanding.
“I shall keep you here until you are comfortable with it,” he said quietly.
“And if I never am?”
“Then I shall die well sated.” He lowered his head and kissed her bare shoulder. “What do you require of me to become at ease with passion?”
“Practice, I suppose.”
His head came up and grinned. “You’re more comfortable with it now?”
“More so than I was last night. I feel so silly. All the things I worried over—”
“Only makes me adore you that much more.”
A brisk knock on the door, and Nancy walked in with a bed tray. Richard helped Kitty sit up, placing pillows behind her back and ensuring that she was modestly covered with the blankets. Nancy set the tray over her lap. “Thank you, Nancy.”
“You’re welcome, Your Grace. I’ve had a tray brought up for His Grace as well.”
Nancy retrieved it from someone standing in the hallway. Richard’s tray held almost ten times as much food as Kitty’s. As soon as Nancy left, they both began to eat.
“How long does your nausea last?” Richard asked.
Sipping her tea, Kitty was grateful for the way it seemed to calm her stomach. “It comes and goes throughout the morning. I’ve found dry toast and plain crackers help.”
“Do you suffer in other ways?”
“I wouldn’t call it suffering.” She took a small bite of toast, watching as he ate an omelet.
He suddenly stopped. “Do the aromas from my tray bother you?” he asked.
“No.”
“Good. I’ve never been around a woman with child. What other discomforts do you have?”
“A little soreness,” she admitted.
He furrowed his brow deeply, his chewing slowed. “Where?”
She wiggled her finger over her chest.
“Your breasts?”
She rolled her eyes. “How can you simply blurt it out?”
He shook his head. “Before this day is done, I intend to make you comfortable with your body and mine.”
She nearly choked on her toast. “I am comfortable with your body,” she said indignantly.
“No, you are comfortable with my back and shoulders, occasionally my buttocks, but there is more to me than that.”
She stared at him, fighting to hold his gaze. “You don’t mean…”
He arched a brow and nodded.
She took another bite of toast. “What am I supposed to do with it?”
“Touch it, would be nice. Wrap your fingers around it would be better. Stroke it, caress it. Kiss it.”
She stopped chewing and everything within her stilled. “Kiss?” She shook her head. “I would never”—she shook her head again—“No. I can’t even imagine it.”
“Not even during the time when you were alone in your room?”
“Of course not!”
“What did you think about?”
“Certainly not that.” Kissing…it. How utterly…intriguing. She cursed him for planting the notion in her mind.
No, she would never do it. Never.
Still, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Richard was in heaven. He was in hell.
Following breakfast, he’d made love to his wife once more. Then he’d gone downstairs to the bathing room and bathed. While he’d been soaking in the hot water, a marvelous idea had come to him—how best to make her comfortable with their lovemaking.
Once she was lost in the midst of their passion, she seemed quite comfortable with it. Although he enjoyed seducing her, he certainly wouldn’t mind if she occasionally instigated their lovemaking.
So in an attempt to secure that end, he was now stretched out on the bed, his hands behind his head, his fingers pressing into his skull, while he’d given her leave to explore his body.
He’d promised to keep his eyes closed and his hands off her. While she had permission to touch him wherever she wanted, however she wanted.
And he was quickly discovering that his little wife was skilled at torture. She’d run her hands over his chest, his stomach, his thighs. She’d trailed her mouth over his chest, his stomach, his thighs.
With every caress, she’d deliberately avoided touching the one part of him that was standing at attention, begging to be touched. Every time her hands got near enough that he thought she would finally offer him relief, she retreated.
“This doesn’t tickle?” she asked, her fingers fluttering over his quivering stomach.
“No,” he ground out through clenched teeth.
She pressed her mouth against his chest, took his hardened nipple between her teeth and tugged gently. He groaned low.
She released her hold. “When you groan, you like what I’m doing?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t sound as though you like it.”
“I do. Very much.”
Her mouth and hands roamed over him with exquisite slowness. Lower. Lower. His breathing became harsh with anticipation.
Then she was gone and her lips were near his ear. “You sound as though you’re in pain.”
“I am in agony.”
He felt a featherlike touch along the length of his shaft, and he thought he may very well come up off the bed. She wrapped her hand around him, and a shudder traveled through his body, and a groan rumbled up through his chest.
He rolled her onto her back, plunged himself into her, and welcomed immediate release.
“I wasn’t finished touching you,” she said plaintively.
Chuckling low, he kissed her neck. “I’m more than willing to let you touch me again.”
“But everything happens far too quickly when I do.”
“Only because you drove me to madness with anticipation.”
“What will the servants think ab
out us still being abed when it is close to being after noon?”
“They’ll think that their duke is a very fortunate gentleman, a very fortunate gentleman indeed.”
It wasn’t until they’d finished eating lunch in bed that Richard had finally left Kitty alone, with a promise not to return to her bedchamber before nightfall.
Lunch in bed. It had been absolutely decadent. And fun. Richard was fun. He truly was. Teasing her, tickling her, kissing her. Spoiling her. Yes, she had to admit that he did indeed spoil her.
It hadn’t taken long after he’d gone to his bedchamber for her to hear him in the hallway. It was very unfair that men did not have to wear corsets and petticoats and all the trappings that a lady did. It had been an hour, and she was still not ready to go out.
Nancy had only recently finished putting up Kitty’s hair, and now she was helping her into the dress she’d chosen to wear for the day. Not black. But a pale green, because it enhanced her eyes, and she thought it might please her husband if she didn’t wear mourning.
And she suddenly wished to please him very much.
When Nancy was finished with the last of the buttons, Kitty walked to the window and gazed out on the garden. She saw Richard strolling along the path, using his walking stick, the puppy bounding along beside him as though he were already a faithful friend.
“Will there be anything else, Your Grace?” Nancy asked.
“I didn’t give him a gift.”
“Pardon?”
Kitty shook her head. “In the rush to get married, I didn’t think to purchase a wedding gift for my husband.”
“I’m certain the duke wasn’t expecting anything.”
“I’m quite certain you’re right, which is the very reason that I should have given him something. I don’t even know what he might like.”
“Most lords are pleased to receive an heir as soon as possible.”
Kitty wondered if everyone was going to constantly make references to the duke’s need for an heir. The way she and the duke had gotten along—or not gotten along—for so long, she suspected she was carrying a daughter. Somehow, she did not think he would be disappointed. He wanted no apologies from her, and yet, she suddenly felt as though she had much to apologize for.
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