by Lauren Smith
“You mean the war, don’t you?” she asked.
He nodded, his gaze meeting hers. “When you’ve tasted blood and taken lives, it leaves scars that never heal. I haven’t gone a single night without nightmares since I came home and it’s been years.”
There was such hurt in his eyes that Milly reached across the small table to rest her hand on his before she even realized what she was doing. He stared at their connection for a long moment and before she could pull away, he turned his hand over, so his palm touched hers and curled his fingers around hers, squeezing gently. The touch, so affectionate, tender, and genuinely unexpected from a man like him sent ripples of shock through her.
“Have you had enough to eat?” He nodded at her mostly empty plate.
“Yes,” she said. At this, she withdrew her hand from his and set her dishes back on the tray.
“Let me prepare a few foot warmers while you change.”
“Change?” For a second she didn’t comprehend his words. “Oh, you mean…” She flushed when he smiled that dazzling smile at her, the one that cost too many ladies their reputations.
“I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable tonight.”
Milly sucked in a breath. “Are you going to…Are we…” How was she supposed to ask him if he would make love to her?
Owen stood and walked over to her, placing one palm on the back of the chair beside her head and he leaned over to cup her chin with his free hand. The pad of his thumb brushed over her lips, caressing them, his hypnotic gaze focused on her mouth.
“Whatever you think of me, Milly, know this: I am not a villain. I would never force you. One day, I hope we’ll like each other enough to try, but I know you still have reservations.”
Reservations? She didn’t think that was the right word at all. She was terrified of the idea of him pinning her down on the bed so he could take his pleasure. Her mother had whispered a little conspiratorially that sometimes if a man was skilled, he could give a woman pleasure, but most men did not. It was often uncomfortable and occasionally painful. It didn’t sound at all like something she’d like to do, even if Owen’s mere touch and sinful gaze did strange things to her heart and her body.
“I…am not ready.” She hated her own cowardice, but the idea of that intimacy frightened her. It was impossible to miss the disappointment shadowing his eyes as he swallowed hard and then nodded.
“Then you are safe tonight. We must share the bed, but I will not touch you.” He turned away and something inside her felt as though it had shriveled and died.
Why can’t I be brave? She was so strong in everything else…but when it came to a man, a man she hated to admit she desired, she was lost, insecure.
“Why don’t you change?” He rested one hand on the mantel of the fireplace as he stoked the logs with a black poker. He cut such a fine figure, with tall straight legs and narrow hips, a contrast to his broad shoulders. He was like a powerful ancient god trapped in mortal flesh. Beautiful in the way some men could be.
Milly forced herself to get up from the chair and go to her travel valise. She unlocked the clasps and dug through the contents until she found her nightdress. It was a beautiful lace creation with ribbon insertions, but was thick enough to keep her warm. She looked over her shoulder at Owen. He was still focused on the fire. There was nowhere to hide, no changing room or dressing gown. Milly stared down at her clothes and then with a silent curse, she pulled her blouse out from her skirt and lifted it over her head. Then she unbuttoned the tweed skirt and let it drop. She still wore a corset and her chemise, but she needed help getting out of them.
“Owen, could you…help me?” She clutched the thick nightgown to her breasts, concealing them as much as she could while she waited. When he turned around, his gaze darkened as he took in her appearance.
“My corset…” Offering her back to him, she held her breath, listening to the sound of his booted steps on the floor behind her.
His fingers touched the laces, tugging, then sliding as he loosened and pulled them. The rasping of the laces against his skin and the crackle of the fire were the only sounds in the room, save for the faint panting breaths that escaped her lips.
“There, all done,” he whispered, but didn’t move away. One hand settled on her bare shoulder and toyed with the strap of her chemise in gentle, little strokes. That single point of contact sent ripples of fire across her skin down to her toes, and the secret spot between her legs zinged with a sharp, strange pang.
“Would you let me have one good night kiss?” His voice was rough and low. The sound of it scraped deliciously against her skin.
A kiss? One kiss wouldn’t hurt.
Before she could second-guess her judgment, she turned to face him, her nightdress still clutched to her breasts like a shield. The angular line of his strong jaw was outlined by shadows from the firelight. His lips were slightly parted and his dark lashes fanned down to half-mast. She licked her lips, recalling the way he’d tasted the last time they’d kissed. How exquisite it felt to be in his arms, surrendering to waves of passion. Would it feel that way again?
“God how you tempt me,” he growled. It was her only warning before he dragged her into his embrace and slanted his mouth over hers.
Milly dropped the nightgown in shock and then clasped her hands on Owen’s shoulders as he coaxed her lips apart. His tongue thrust boldly between her lips and she moaned when it playfully danced against her own. The way he moved his lips, the way their breaths were shared in that small space between them seemed to bind them together in a dream. It was a hazy, warm dream that made desire and hunger for dark wicked things coil heatedly in her belly. She stood up on tiptoe, trying to get closer to him, to taste more of him, devour him in any way she could.
His large, strong hands explored her shoulders, traced her shoulder blades, and then tangled in the loosened laces of her corset. He was nearly ready to rip it off her, but he suddenly halted, his mouth leaving hers as he forced himself back a step. The action felt like a slap. Milly bit her kiss-swollen lips, hating that she wanted him to keep kissing her and despising that she missed his touch after only seconds. It wasn’t right to want him like this, to want the things her body seemed to crave after only a few kisses. She now understood why men like Owen were fatal to a woman’s reputation. She would do just about anything to stay in his arms.
“You should finish undressing.” He cleared his throat again and then without looking her way he went over to his own suitcase and stared digging around in its contents.
Milly watched for a few moments as he stripped out of his coat and started to unbutton his shirt. The sight of his bare chest through the partially open shirt was so distracting that she continued to stare until Owen chuckled.
“If you want to see me undress, you need only ask.” He grinned wickedly. “It is your right as my wife.”
Milly blinked and came back to herself. His ability to burn hot and then cold was so confusing. One minute he was asking to kiss her and the next he was pulling away.
She hastily turned her back on him and finished removing her corset. The filmy chemise was next. She tried not to think about the fact that Owen could see her entirely nude backside as she lifted the chemise up and off her body.
“Ready for bed, wife?” Owen’s voice was rich, seductive, and pure temptation.
Lord help me, how will I survive this night?
Chapter 6
Owen couldn’t get the sight of Milly’s bare backside out of his mind. She was, in a word, stunning. The flare of her hips, the hourglass figure, the curve of her buttocks. He was hard from the single glimpse of her before the nightdress dropped down, covering her. The edge of his control was fraying at the ends. That kiss had been explosive, and his hands still trembled with the need to touch her, to explore every inch of her. It was going to be a miracle if he survived sleeping in bed beside her. The idea that Milly, of all the ladies in England, would tempt him should have been laughable and yet he couldn�
�t deny that he was fascinated by her.
Since the moment he’d taken her away from her home, she’d seemed a different woman, one so alone, scared, yet she was holding her chin up bravely. He’d seen the glimmer of tears in her eyes when they’d driven away from Pepperwirth Vale and his heart had gone out to her. It brought back too many memories of how he’d felt when he and Jack had departed England. When he’d left Wesden Heath and sat beneath an African sun fighting a war that blackened his heart, it had nearly destroyed him. After he’d returned home to find both his parents dead and his home in shambles, he’d been unable to recover a part of himself that seemed to have died too. His father’s debts had crippled the estate and he’d barely been able to keep it afloat these last few years. He’d heard it once said that when a woman married, it was like she was going off to war. With him, it was certainly war, since she didn’t like him at all…except when they were kissing, that is. When they kissed, she seemed to like him quite well. He bit his lip to hide a grin.
“Owen.” Milly’s soft, husky voice pulled him from his thoughts.
She was standing by the fire now, lifting the hot foot warmers and carrying them carefully to the bed. She nodded at him to draw the blankets back and he hastily did so. She tucked the warmers into the foot of the bed and then crawled in under the covers. Her eyes, so rich in color and so wide with appreciation, tore at his heart. She was brave to be here with him, to agree to go with him by herself. Marriage did not equal trust or intimacy. No, those things had to come more slowly, more gently with time spent together. The shrewish nature she’d displayed was not who she truly was. He was figuring her out now, bit by bit, and he was seeing the real Milly underneath her bluster and standoffishness.
Her hair was still bound up in a pile on her head and he knew she’d forgotten it. He couldn’t help but admire the way it showed the graceful slope of her neck and how a few stray curls fell down to touch her throat. As beautiful as the hairstyle was, though, he knew the pins would be uncomfortable to sleep in.
He finished stripping out of his shirt and trousers while she turned her head away discreetly. After he’d donned his sleeping pants, he approached the bed.
“Milly, your hair is still—”
She reached up to touch it, instantly wincing. “Oh yes, I forgot.” She began to feel about blindly for the pins.
“Allow me.” He climbed onto the bed and reached for her hair. She stared at him; then after a long moment, she scooted forward in the bed and gave him her back. He knelt behind her, his knees sliding around her hips as he got close enough to see her hair. The rich chestnut locks were coiled on her head and he started pulling pins out. With each pin removed, a lock of hair tumbled down her back. The silken tresses tickled her skin as he threaded his fingers through them, searching for more pins.
A sigh escaped Milly’s lips as he massaged her scalp with little strokes.
“That feels nice,” she admitted in a whisper.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.
A pause, then, “No, at least not yet.” She shifted, sitting in a more comfortable position, and one of her hands brushed over his thigh. He tensed as his body responded, hunger for her coiling inside him. Lord, he wanted Milly on her back beneath him so he could—
Owen gave a little shake and forced all the wicked thoughts of bedding his wife out of his head. It wasn’t easy. Not when her hand still touched him, so close to where he wanted her to really touch him, with her hands, her mouth…With a silent growl at himself, he resumed the light massage of her head, rubbing her temples, then her neck and shoulders before he finally let his hands drop.
“Feel better?”
“Much.” She looked over her shoulder at him, the movement sending her hair in a ripple down her back.
“Good. I’ll turn out the lamps and check the fire once more before I turn in.”
She cuddled down beneath the blankets, her eyes hunting him as he moved about the room. He turned the little knobs on the lamps, dousing them, then added a few more logs to the fire before climbing into bed. The space between him and Milly wasn’t much, but he liked being close to her when she wasn’t acting as prickly as a hedgehog. Owen pulled the blankets up around them and settled in on his pillow. She turned her head enough that the moonlight illuminated the curve of her cheek and the shape of her lips. He’d thought Rowena would have suited him as a wife. But after being around Milly, kissing her, listening to her talk about literature, he’d realized that a woman who was closer to him in age, and not just coming out in society, was a better match. She had lived more, understood more than a young lady like Milly’s little sister would. In a way, she was more suited to him than he ever could have imagined.
There was so much he wanted to say, to tell her, but fear kept him silent. Would she despise him for admitting that he was glad he’d compromised her and not Rowena? She would likely hate him for it. He couldn’t let her know how much she affected him. Unable to resist one little touch, he stroked her arm with his fingertips. She was tense, almost rigid, and he didn’t want her to be. He wanted her to feel at ease.
“Get some rest. We will have to rise early tomorrow to reach Wesden Heath.”
She exhaled softly and turned her head deeper into the pillow, depriving him of the tempting sight of her cheek, the flutter of her long lashes.
“Good night…husband,” she said. He continued to stroke her and she didn’t pull away.
“Good night, wife.” He was still smiling in the dark as he closed his eyes.
* * *
I slept with my husband.
It was the first thought Milly had upon waking to find herself locked in the warm embrace of Owen’s arms. Sometime in the night she had rolled over to face him and he’d wrapped his arms around her. His chest was bare and her cheek was pressed to his hot skin. Her hands were tucked up between her body and his and she was able to lightly touch his chest. Giving it a featherlight stroke, she glanced up, hoping he wouldn’t wake.
In that moment, his large body enveloped hers in a warm bed surrounded by faint morning sunlight. She was safe and content. The dream she’d been afraid to hope for seemed to be within reach. She knew logically that this man was not someone who would treat her equally or love her, not in the way she’d secretly hoped her future husband would. Fortune hunters saw women only for the value of money they brought to a man. She knew enough of those sort of men from her past seasons in London, including the rumors she’d heard about Owen, to be sure that they cared little for the rights of women and certainly never fell in love with them. But for just a short while, she was going to pretend it was possible that Owen might care about her, that he might love her and value her as a person.
“Did you sleep well?” His question startled her out of her thoughts and she jolted away from him. He was awake, had been awake for who knew how long. Shame at being caught stroking his chest, cuddling with him, filled her like a handful of heavy stones.
“Milly, don’t do that.” His little sigh of exasperation made her bristle with frustration.
“Do what? I’m not doing anything.” She scooted back a foot, but the blankets tangled around her legs and his. They were trapped in together, which moments ago had been delightful, but now she saw the potential problem. She couldn’t get free if he didn’t help her.
Owen propped his head in his hand against the pillow and stared down at her, his lips twitching as though he was fighting the urge not to laugh.
“You act as though touching me is something to be ashamed of.” He sobered and toyed with a lock of her hair by her cheek. As he did so, he moved his leg, just enough that it shifted between her own. His knee bumped hers, nudging her legs farther apart. Her nightdress was bunched up around her thighs. She’d always kicked up the dress in her sleep and last night was no different, except a man was sharing her bed, had easier access to her…
“It isn’t, you know,” he continued, “bad for you to touch me.” He released the curl of her hair and c
overed one of her hands with his. He stroked a fingertip over the back of her hand, tracing the fine veins there before he raised his gaze to hers. When he did, she forgot to breathe. There was so much in his eyes that she was afraid of. If she fell for this darkly handsome man with laughing eyes, it would destroy her. He didn’t love her, nor would he likely ever love her in the way she’d secretly dreamed of. She didn’t want to play a servant to a man’s whims and be his property; she wanted a man to love her for her mind and heart and see her as something more…She was terrified Owen would never be that man for her.
Heat, passion, lust, a hint of something hot, and a flicker of darkness, too, left her heart beating wildly and her body shaking. He made her feel so much of that fire with only a gaze. She wasn’t ready to experience what he was offering, because if she gave in to temptation and let herself go with him, she would be that much closer to falling in love.
He turned her hand over, baring her palm; then he continued to touch her, creating little swirl lines on her skin. A moment later, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. It singed her skin and a trembling of longing rolled through her, shortly followed by a sharp stab of arousal between her thighs. She clenched her knees together instinctively, which only clamped his leg between hers, keeping them locked together.
“You may touch me anytime you wish,” Owen said. “Anywhere, anytime. I’m your husband. It’s not something you need ever be afraid or ashamed of.” There was such an earnest feeling to his words that her resolve to avoid him began to quake and crumble. With a delicate slowness, she curled her hand up so her fingers clasped his.
Her lips parted and the words were there, on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t get them out.
Please don’t hurt me. Don’t make me regret trusting you. She silently begged him not to crush her spirit; it would be so easy to fall for him. And it wasn’t just because he made her feel good physically. It was the small things, like warming a blanket for her by the fire and asking her questions about books over dinner. As much as she wanted to paint him a blackguard and a fortune hunter, she couldn’t deny that his actions spoke against her poor opinion of him.
