by Adele Clee
They stared into each other’s eyes, and the warmth she saw stole her breath.
“I cannot promise it will be comfortable, not here, not without the luxury of a bed.”
“It will be perfect.” She trusted that fate would make it so.
Holding her securely, Devlin swung her around, and after a moment’s pause carried her to the piano. “Lift the prop stick and lower the lid.”
“Is it heavy?”
“On second thought, hold on to my neck and I shall do it.”
It was heavy. The dull thud reverberated through the instrument. But Juliet had no time to consider the matter further. Devlin lifted her up on top of the piano.
He kept his heated gaze fixed on hers as he stepped back, tugged on the knot in his ivory cravat, unravelled the material and threw it to the floor. His burgundy waistcoat followed. And then he gathered the hem of his shirt and dragged the garment up over his head.
Juliet watched, awestruck. All the air left her lungs.
She tried to take in the full magnificence of the man she’d married. A dry mouth left her licking her lips. Lord, no doubt she held the same ravenous look that lingered in his eyes. Her gaze flicked frantically back and forth, drinking in the glorious sight. Devlin Drake was like a living monument to the gods of Olympus. Every muscle, every sculpted contour screamed of power, of strength, of an ability to command anyone, anything. And yet there was something graceful, something sleek about the way the muscles worked together, about the way his bronzed skin contained such raw masculinity.
Her fingers thrummed with the need to touch him, to push through the dark hair on his chest, to follow the teasing trail that led down beyond the waistband of his breeches.
“Judging by your wide eyes and open mouth, am I to assume this is the first time you have laid eyes on a man’s bare chest?”
“I have only ever seen a man in his shirtsleeves, though nothing could have prepared me for the sight of you, Devlin.”
“Is that a compliment?” He sounded unsure.
“Of course it’s a compliment. Look at you. I have never seen a more breathtaking sight in my life.”
The corners of his mouth curled up into a sinful grin. “Does that mean you’d like to see the rest of me?”
“The rest of— Oh, you’re referring to …” She couldn’t say the words and so pointed to his breeches. “Do you think an innocent might handle the shock?”
“Juliet, innocent or not, I think you can handle anything.”
Yet more praise. The comment forced her to straighten her back, gave her the confidence to say, “Then, by all means, let me see you in all your naked glory.”
The bulge in his breeches told her he was aroused, and she wondered if her mother had made another mistake when she described a gentleman’s manhood as the rod of Satan.
The thought was fleeting. Devlin unbuttoned his breeches and pushed the garment down past his hips and over his thick thighs. Oh, heavens. He was aroused, highly so, and though she wondered how on earth she could join with a man so large, it wasn’t at all as grotesque as her mother had made out.
It took three attempts before her eyes accepted that she could look at his manhood for longer than a second. He stood proudly, no longer bore the countenance of a man who thought himself large and beastly. Did that have something to do with her hum of approval?
To tease her, Devlin ran his hand down the solid length. “Now you have seen everything I have to offer it is only fair you reciprocate.”
“But I am seated on top of a piano.” It was more than a plausible excuse.
He closed the gap between them. Stepped so close she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “I’m a man who knows how to turn a situation to my advantage.” Taking hold of her foot, he removed her shoe and threw it onto the pile of clothes on the floor.
“Do you mean to undress me, Mr Drake?” she said with a giggle.
“I mean to undress you, pleasure you, thrust inside you until you’re panting my name.” He moistened his lips. “Do you think you might bear that, Mrs Drake?”
Juliet swallowed down the hard lump in her throat. “Yes, I think I might bear it very well.”
“Then let us begin. You’ll need to lie down.”
A host of questions flitted through her mind, but she placed her trust in him and did as he asked. Her other shoe joined the pile, but he did not roll down her stockings. Instead, he pushed her skirts up to her waist and bent her knees.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered as he lowered his head.
Hot lips seared her thigh, leaving a blazing trail as he moved higher. Juliet batted at her skirts for the position left her exposed. “Devlin, wait.”
The first flick of his tongue sent her heart shooting up to her throat. Her mother mentioned nothing about a man performing— Oh, Lord! The erotic rhythm sent waves of pleasure rippling through her body. Devlin licked her, sucked and teased. She couldn’t help but thrust her hips to meet his greedy mouth. The smooth surface of the piano lid gave her nothing to grab. But then Devlin wrapped his arms under her knees and drew her to the edge. She could touch him then, could feel the scorching heat of his skin, the bulging muscles in his arms.
Juliet held on to her husband as the coil of pleasure inside wound so tight she feared she might explode. And explode she did. Her body spasmed and shuddered and shook.
“Devlin, oh …”
The slick sound of Devlin’s fingers entering her slowly was enough to start the pulsing all over again. The muscles in her core clamped around him. But she needed something more. Her breasts were heavy, aching for his attention. And oh, how she wanted to press herself against his muscled chest.
“As much as I have a newfound fondness for the piano, making love to you like this will not be without problems.” He captured her hand and brought her to a sitting position. “Let’s move to the floor.”
Juliet’s cheeks burned from embarrassment, but the sight of Devlin’s jutting manhood distracted her mind from all thoughts of awkwardness.
With his strong hands on her waist, he lifted her down to the floor.
“Should I lie down?” Her heartbeat still pounded in her throat.
“Let’s divest you of this ugly dress first. The modiste assures me she shall have your wardrobe completed by the end of the week.”
Juliet didn’t want to think of anything other than this magical moment. Many times, she had watched her mother rehearse for various roles. A good actress had a way of appearing confident, could tease and torment the audience. But Devlin wanted honesty, and that is what she would give him.
“I don’t know how to do this in such a way as you might take pleasure from it.” Juliet bit down on her bottom lip as she stood before the majestic figure that would put Hercules to shame.
Devlin’s gaze softened. “Tell me how I can make this easier for you.”
Her heart melted a little at those words. “Don’t give me time to think, time to panic.”
A sensual smile crept up his face as his eyes journeyed over her. “Then come here.”
He took her hand and drew her to his chest. His wicked mouth came crashing down on hers, so hot and wet. The thick evidence of his arousal pressed against her. Tongues tangled. The mood grew urgent. She ran her hands over his back, dared to grip his firm buttocks. The feel of his skin ignited a fire deep in her core.
And then he whipped her around, fiddled with buttons and stripped her of her dress. Her petticoat, stays and chemise soon followed. He reached up, his fingers delving into her hair, pulling out the pins until red ringlets came cascading over her shoulders and down her back.
“Good God,” he said as he stepped back to survey the sight. “I knew you were beautiful, but you take my breath away. I shall make my apologies now. Visiting your bed will be a regular occurrence.”
The thought of being like this with him every night flooded her body with a rush of euphoria. “Make love to me, Devlin.” She loved the way he had described the
prospect of their union. “Make me your wife.”
He took her hand and brought her down to the hard floor. “Sit astride me.”
Astride him? Her mother had only mentioned the crushing sensation when a man—spent and exhausted—collapsed on top.
Sensing her hesitation, Devlin smiled. “Your fear of horses has no place here.”
Juliet peeked at his jutting erection. “It is not horses I fear.” But then she saw the brightness in his eyes fade, saw the dark veil fall. She had said the wrong thing, the only thing that caused him to withdraw into himself.
Without further thought she straddled his hips, lay on top of him, her breasts crushed against his chest, and kissed him with every fibre of her being. She wanted the amusing and carefree Devlin, not the brooding man who called himself a beast.
Juliet tore her lips from his, placed a hand on his cheek and whispered, “I’m just a little nervous, that is all. But I want you, and so I ask that you excuse my trembling fingers.”
“Then let me touch you in the hope of banishing any anxiety.”
Hot hands settled on her waist, explored the soft lines of her hips, moved up to cup her breasts. Despite her short stature, she had been fortunate enough to be endowed with breasts ample enough to hold this man’s attention. Indeed, Devlin held her in place as he sat up to suck her nipples to peak.
The jolt of pleasure was wild, explosive. All thoughts abandoned her as she writhed in his lap, as she curled her fingers around his neck and urged him to continue. The hard evidence of his arousal pulsed beneath her sex and the desperate urge to mate with him made it impossible to keep still.
“Take me now, Devlin. Don’t wait.”
She did not need to say it twice.
His fingers slicked over her sex. She came up on her knees as he took himself in hand, watched him intently as the head of his manhood eased inside her. For a few seconds, her body resisted the intrusion, but he was patient, surprisingly gentle for a man so large.
“God, Juliet, you’re so wet, so tight.”
Juliet swallowed. “Is that a good thing?”
A chuckle escaped his lips, and the solid length inside her pulsed with amusement, too. “It means I’m struggling to keep control of my desire.”
“Oh.” He pushed a little deeper. “Oh.” The word meant something entirely different this time.
“Hold on to me. I need to thrust harder.”
She clung to the rippling muscles in his arms as she welcomed the whole length of him into her eager body. The sudden stab of discomfort tore a gasp from her lips while he moaned with pleasure.
Devlin stilled and held her close. “You must be the one to move. You must be the one to gauge how best to proceed.”
After taking a moment to catch her breath, she nodded. “Then you must guide me.”
He clasped her buttocks, lifted her slightly and lowered her down. “Move like this.”
The more times she rose and fell to sheath his manhood, the easier it became. With her discomfort soon forgotten she found a rhythm that left them both groaning and panting.
Their damp bodies moved together in exquisite harmony. There was no pain, no anguish, no wishing she might be somewhere else instead. For all her mother’s experience, it seemed she knew nothing about relations between a husband and wife.
But it was not the shudders of ecstasy that stole Juliet’s breath when she came apart in Devlin’s arms. It was not the rush of possessiveness when he cried her name and spilt his seed inside her. It was the sudden realisation that she had not lied before God. She had given herself to her husband, cherished every moment they spent together. And her heart swelled in the knowledge that she fancied herself a little in love with Devlin Drake.
Chapter Eleven
“I think we should begin our search for the letters in your bedchamber.” Juliet offered Devlin a beaming smile before biting into her toast. Fixated by the way her mouth moved, he watched and waited for her to swallow. “How fortunate that you did not think to remove your brother’s belongings when you claimed the master room.”
Devlin stared at her, wondering why the hell desire thrummed through his veins during something as simple as a conversation at breakfast. His rampant imagination saw him swiping the crockery to the floor, lifting his wife onto the table, gripping her thighs and driving home, driving into the only place he’d ever felt a profound and lasting satiation.
“Mrs Barbary would not dispose of Ambrose’s belongings without permission,” he said, shifting in his seat to ease the throbbing erection pressing against his breeches. Damn. This would not do. He could not look at Juliet without recalling her passionate reaction to him the previous night. “And since my return, I’ve been too preoccupied with my wife to undertake the task.”
Juliet must have noted the sensual undertone in his voice for her porcelain cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink. After a failed attempt, she looked him in the eye. “Is that a complaint?”
“Most definitely not.”
Guilt stabbed his chest. The many letters he’d received over the last three years informing him of Miss Bromfield’s predilection for gossiping had fuelled the fire of vengeance. Now, the bubbling inferno was reduced to a simmer. Knowing that a woman was his weakness did not sit well with him.
Ambrose deserved better.
Ambrose deserved justice.
But that was not the only reason for his sudden pang of shame. His hypocrisy was laughable. Juliet’s honesty and loyalty to her husband—a man she had known for a week—roused a deep level of affection within. While he, on the other hand, had not been truthful about his reasons for marrying her and needed to address his failing as a matter of urgency.
“Besides, I doubt we’ll find the letters from your sister to Ambrose in my chamber,” Devlin said, pushing all thoughts of bedding his wife from his mind.
“And why is that?”
He told her about the baron’s unexpected visit to Blackwater, his demand to have the letters returned, Mrs Barbary’s refusal to grant him entrance and the consequent theft. “I suspect the baron hired a man to break into the house. The thug ransacked the room. Had he found the letters, your father would have had no need to hire a man to threaten his own daughter so violently.”
Juliet fell silent.
Devlin noted her distress: her eyes moist with unshed tears, the lines on her brow furrowed. The urge to make her smile took hold. But he could not bring her mother back from the grave, could not make her father love her as he ought.
“While my mother never gave me cause to question her judgement,” she said with an air of melancholy as she gazed out of the window, “I cannot see what possessed her to give herself to such a cruel and wicked man.”
“She was younger then, perhaps not as wise as she would have had you believe. Parents strive to ensure their children do not make the same mistakes.” Devlin caught himself. Dariell would be proud to hear such a thoughtful response.
Juliet turned to him, her eyes brighter than he expected. “It seems she was wrong about a few things when it came to intimate relations.” Those green gems flashed hot as they scanned the breadth of his chest and finally settled on his mouth.
Damnation.
Lust surged through his veins.
But he refused to behave like a wild beast.
Devlin shot out of the chair, threw his napkin onto the table and straightened his coat. “Let us search the room just to be certain.” He was about to offer his hand, but the bulge in his breeches forced him to skirt behind the chair and play footman. After helping to ease Juliet’s seat from the table, he gestured for her to walk ahead.
“Afterwards, we should move to the study and then the library,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder. “I can think of nowhere else one would attempt to keep private correspondence.”
“We don’t know if Ambrose kept the letters. But he was a stickler for propriety. If Miss Bromfield slandered him, I imagine he would seek to contest her opinion out of mor
al principle.”
“Perhaps he hired someone to deal with the matter,” Juliet said, sounding slightly breathless as they reached the top stair.
Talk of his brother dampened Devlin’s ardour. Which was just as well considering they were heading for his bedchamber. He placed his hand at the small of Juliet’s back and guided her along the corridor to the west wing.
“Is it not customary for a husband and wife to have adjoining apartments?” she asked as he opened the door to his room and motioned for her to enter. “How is it I am in the east wing while you sleep on the opposite side of the house?”
Devlin thought to lie, to make an excuse as to why he felt the need to maintain some distance but found he could not.
“There is a suite of rooms adjoining yours. I could have moved in there. But Ambrose preferred the west wing, and I thought by moving into his chambers it would afford you time to grow accustomed to your surroundings.”
Juliet raised her chin in acknowledgement as she came to a halt in the middle of the room. Hands braced on her hips, she studied the gold bed hangings, the chinoiserie furniture and the Chinese silk wallpaper depicting village scenes from a distant land.
“What a beautiful room. It’s so light and airy, not at all a place where I would expect you to feel comfortable sleeping.”
As always Juliet was right. He found the decor too feminine for his tastes, although that was not the reason he’d lain awake most nights since his wedding day—except for last night of course. Last night, he’d drifted into a peaceful slumber, the smell of lavender that clung to his wife’s skin still swirling about in his head.
“Is that because you assume beasts prefer caves?” Devlin teased.
She arched her brow by way of a reprimand. “I meant it isn’t nearly masculine enough.”
The veiled compliment only reignited his lust for his wife. “Ambrose found dark colours depressing.” Devlin felt the need to defend Ambrose’s tastes for his choices in no way defined his sexuality. “Dreams of the Orient inspired him, but commitments at home prevented him from venturing farther than town.”
