Diamond in the Rogue

by Wendy Lacapra

  As Sarah pointed out the new bedding he’d requested and paid for, Julia sent him a small, grateful smile. Not noble. His heart wrung tight, leeching moisture out of his throat. Just desperate. Robbed of every trick but wishing to dazzle just the same.

  Then, terrifyingly, Sarah left them alone.

  “Between Bromton and your brother”—he closed the door—“you may be able to have this marriage annulled. Unless we continue, that is.”

  “I gave my word.” Her voice washed through him, sultry and thick.

  She tugged the tip of the glove on each finger, slowly revealing one delicate, veined wrist. She tossed the glove on the table and then proceeded to uncover her other hand.

  Three days he’d stroked, licked, and savored every inch of her skin, and yet the sight quickened his breath. Desire, of course, but also fear.

  He’d never bedded a virgin before—but he’d heard stories. And he’d no idea which to believe nor what to expect. Any reaction seemed equally possible: stoic resistance to tears; from soaking bloody bedsheets to no drop of evidence at all.

  He’d lingered at Periwinkle Gate not only because Julia wished to be introduced to Theo, Annette, and the duchess, but because he’d wanted to exhaust his inner rutting bull.

  Gentle.

  Careful.

  Kind.

  Triangulated points—his only guide. “Shall I ring for a maid to help you undress?”

  “I’d rather…” She touched her tongue to her upper lip. “Well, don’t you wish to help me?”

  Sweet torture.

  Bloody dammed challenge.

  Hell, in fact, when all he wanted to do was strip her bare and plunder.

  “Of course.” He’d be good.

  As in all of this, when his other choices shriveled, Julia became his north.

  She unhooked her velvet spencer. He slid the tight sleeves off her arms and folded the garment over the chair. She removed a white shalloon petticoat by pulling the garment over her head. Only half-stays covered her whisper-thin chemise.

  Instead of the crisscross lacing he preferred, her stays wrapped fully around her ribs, tapering down to thin strips which knotted together in the front. Serviceable, as she’d described…but not entirely. Tiny bowed ribbons at each shoulder made a pretty, enticing touch.

  And the garment displayed, rather than hid, her breasts, exposing a tantalizing hint of her dark nipples. Now that he had a wife whose breasts watered his mouth, he had a mind to design a corset specifically for his gratification and delight.

  Finally…something to anticipate without reserve.

  Holding his gaze, she unlaced the gathered neckline of her chemise. He removed her hands and drew them down against her sides.

  “I’ll take things from here.” Holding her still, he kissed the spot beneath her ear that made her shiver. Then, he peeled down her bodice, reached beneath, and fully freed one puckered nipple.

  “There you are.”

  Her amused half-chuckle lifted her breasts as he indulged his first taste. He teased out one rosy nub, then the other, all while continuing to unwrap her like a prized gift.

  He cast aside the outer garment, leaving only her chemise.

  “Wait.” She trembled—a soft, pink petal in the wind. “Please understand. I’ve touched you. We’ve done…other things—but I’m not sure how…” She blushed. “How we are going to fit.”

  Still—after all the time they’d spent luxuriating in each other’s flesh?

  He could tell her…anything. His filthiest thoughts, and she would think them the way of things between a husband and wife.

  He could.

  But he wouldn’t.

  “We’ll fit. Trust me?”

  She nodded.

  Slowly, he removed his coat. She could trust him in this. Just as he could trust her wide-eyed wonder. Strange how trust could change a man.

  She warmed as he murmured soothing words—posies to her allure, oaths and covenants he had no right to speak.

  She raised her arms when he directed. He removed her chemise, then lifted her against his chest. Slight weight—but one he would carry from now until death both metaphorically and in fact.

  But now was not the time for such thoughts. Thoughts wouldn’t see him through this. Thoughts couldn’t help him survive the torture of making her bleed.

  How mutton-headed he’d been—boasting how he wished to rip her maidenhead. Games of dominance piqued and honed his lust, but to harm her in truth? Never.

  What she was giving—what he would take—both were essential parts of a deeper, growing bond. A bond he didn’t understand. However, with faith, he handed the reins to the one thing between them that never failed to guide—sensation.

  He set her against the pillows and then divested waistcoat, trousers, and stockings. Power rippled through his muscles as he pulled his shirt over his head. In contrast, her small chest rose and fell in quickening pants.

  She was like an expensive porcelain doll, too beautiful to touch. His unwieldy brawn felt useless, untrained, and inexperienced.

  He found and focused on the trust within her eyes. A trust his own body could answer, even though he couldn’t find words for everything welling up in his heart.

  He placed one knee on the bed. With reverent tenderness, he kissed her forehead. Her right cheek. Then, her left. He cupped her cheeks and brushed his lips across hers.

  “Please note”—he smiled—“this time, you didn’t need to ask.”

  She answered first with a tiny upward curve of her lips. “Obliged.”

  He ran his finger down her neck and then around the contour of her breast. “I shouldn’t be the one.”

  Her breath slowed, deepened. “You’ve always been the one.”

  “I wish I could say I waited for you.”

  “Well…” She smoothed her hand over his shoulder. “I’d rather one of us be experienced, else this would take a very long time.”

  “I want this to take a long time.” Heat shimmered in his blood. “A very long time. Just you and me.” For hours. Days.

  Long enough they’d never need depart.

  “Darling”—she caressed his back—“when will you understand? It’s you. It’s only you. You’re the only man I want. The only man I’ll ever kiss. The only man—”

  He claimed her lips less to silence than to imprint—a brand that would keep her words forever true…and not just—as his demons suggested—spoken from inexperience.

  The same inexperience that allowed her to open without guile, in full trust, intensifying her unintentional, seductive allure.

  His first sincere coupling.

  Wanting to give her something in return, he whispered a secret he’d held close. “I haven’t been with anyone else since we met.”

  “No one?”

  He nodded, concentrating on the way she stroked his hair.

  “Rayne.” She imbued his name with awe.

  He ran the pad of his thumb over her throat, following her jawline with his lips, burning with the need to claim.

  Gentle.

  Careful.

  Kind.

  He trailed his lips to her breasts. Patience. He placed a comforting hand on her hip as he enclosed her nipple again, a light but thorough swill. Her moans thrummed in his cock.

  At this rate, the tinder would be gone before they reached the flame.

  “My minx.” He stroked her quivering stomach. “Now, I’ve countless hours to study you.” He gripped her hip. “To cherish you.” He cupped her bottom. “To memorize your taste, your sounds.” He moved until she was hemmed in between his thighs. “I swear to seek out every touch that makes you shiver. To map you from head to toe.”

  She murmured an incoherent sound of assent. Grasping his cheeks, she yanked his lips to hers and kissed him until her
breath and his merged.

  She grew into his arms, lifting like a wave off the bed, answering his promises with hunger all her own. They were shadow and light, large and small, restraint and enthusiasm—but in this, they were one.

  His fingers dipped into her slick heat—she was ready. His body seized with a primal yes, draining his blood for one, essential purpose.

  A purpose he could no longer delay.

  “Look at me.” A supplication, not a demand. “Describe your sensations.”

  “I’m lightheaded.” Her brown eyes lifted, bold and sure. “And full of want.” She traced his ear as if she were molding. “But on edge—as if something were about to make me fall.”

  He wanted her on edge—teetering so perilously she’d fail to notice the pain.

  He stroked within her curls. Heat. Such heat. She burned, too…for him.

  “Julia.” He looked deep into her gaze. “This will hurt, but only at first.” He thought.

  “Tell me what to do.”

  “For this time”—good God, her first time—“don’t worry about doing anything at all.”

  “Just lie here?”

  He nodded, widening her legs with his knee. Every depraved thing he’d ever whispered hadn’t been as hard as a simple, technical description. He hardly deserved to be her guide.

  “Let me put my cock…” He moved his finger. “Here.”

  She moaned something that sounded like a yes.

  Her soft inner thighs pillowed his sides. He braced, positioned, closed his eyes, and he pressed his cheek against hers. He filled with her heady scent, promised himself he’d never take her for granted, and then, swiftly, he thrust into a heat so tight and wet he smoldered.

  And while he smoldered, she screamed.

  “Shh.” He winced, throat closing. Her pain ached in his limbs. “Shh. Loosen your grip.”

  “I can’t,” she gasped.

  His chest heaved with the strain of holding his hips perfectly still, his mind grasping for something that would bring her back to him, unbind her fear.

  “Kitten,” he said against her ear.

  She whimpered and gripped his shoulders.

  “Hold as tight as you wish, just let go…inside.”

  “I don’t understand.” Her nails bit into his back. “It hurts! Everywhere! How can I hurt in my heart?”

  “It’s all right.” Barbarian to continue when he knew her intricate perfection might fail to fully adjust. “We’ll stop.”

  Her nails dug deeper. “No.”

  Tangled together. Suspended between pleasure and pain. He stilled the primal urge to move. Too much. He could feel every muscle, wrecked and desperate. He closed his eyes, but he was too late. The wet seeped through his lids.

  They were frozen, panting. Then, miraculously, by the smallest of measures, her body slowly molded to him…a sensation so indescribable he bit back a sob.

  “Better,” she sighed.

  Her breath evened; she arched her hips. He responded with an instinctive thrust, excruciatingly slow. She bent her knees and pressed her legs into his sides as her death grip melded into a caress.

  Heaven.

  “Husband,” she sniffled. “My husband.”

  He was too large, too lumbering, and yet her body accepted him in. She was warmth and love and padded softness.

  She was his. Truly his.

  With a full-bodied shiver, he spent his seed, knowing he was truly hers, too.

  …

  Julia felt as if Rayne had sliced her straight up her middle. Exposed everything inside that was weak and hidden and then molded her into something entirely new. This wasn’t the raw lust they’d indulged in before.

  This—this was something she never could have imagined.

  For the first time today, she was certain she would no longer regret any of her choices. Not that first demand for a kiss in the library. Not agreeing to the impulsive plan to abduct him. And especially not the vows they’d spoken, nor the pain of the troth their bodies just pledged.

  She could have—as Farring pointed out—chosen a safe husband. Someone proper. A refined gentleman who’d have treated her with deference and temperate consideration. But no matter how genteel the man, he would have had to invade her body in the same way Rayne just had.

  Unthinkable to submit to something so painful, so raw, and, ultimately, so beautiful with someone she’d chosen through logic alone.

  Rayne was who he was—often rough, occasionally brooding, sometimes crude—but, when the time demanded, careful, protective, and kind.

  Again and again her heart had chosen him. And now, she was finally, fully united with him…and reunited with the part of her she’d given over to him the moment they’d first locked eyes.

  He withdrew, rolled onto his back, and pulled her against his side. She rocked with his breath, content. If she’d learned anything in those three blissful days at Periwinkle Gate, she’d learned that men—or, at least, this man—temporarily lost his mind once he spilled his seed.

  She needn’t any reassurance yet. Time would tell how he’d been affected. And she refused to ruin this moment with any more thought.

  She rested her palm against his stomach. Then, a wet sensation webbed between her fingers.

  She lifted her hand. “Oh, heavens!” Her fingers were stained with blood. “You are bleeding.”

  “How can you possibly be so innocent?” He stroked her back. “You who acted as if you knew everything from the start. You who—like such a thing was nothing—took my cock inside your mouth?”

  She frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  He brushed her hair from her face and rubbed his thumb between her brows until she ceased to scowl. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

  “I’m neither innocent nor experienced. Neither wise nor foolish.”

  “I know.” He sobered. “I apologize.”

  “Pardon?” She closed one eye. “Could you say that again?”

  “I apologize,” he repeated. “And you needn’t act as if I’ve never done so before.”

  “Rare, though. You have to admit.”

  Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, she was in trouble. One coupling had somehow imbued him with the power to dissipate her anger with a small, teasing smile.

  He covered her hand with his. Absently, he played with her fingers. “Still no regrets?”

  “None,” she answered.

  “Good.” He leaned down and placed a soft kiss to her lips. “Now, don’t be unnerved.”

  “Why should I be?”

  “It’s your blood.”

  She sucked in.

  “Your maidenhead did, in fact, rip. I wish it hadn’t caused you so much pain, but it’s perfectly natural the first time, as I understand. In our grandparents’ time, the sheets would be kept as a sign you were chaste.”

  She gasped. “Is that why you bought new bedding?”

  He scowled. “Not at all. I bought new bedding to keep your mind off vermin.” He touched her cheek and softened his features. “And entirely on me.”

  As if her mind could have possibly been on anything else. “Ugh.” She dabbed at his stomach. “It’s all over the sheet.”

  “Do I look like I mind?”

  “That’s vulgar.” She wrinkled her nose. “And a little bit vile.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows. “Did I ever claim to be anything else?”

  Her heart repeated its funny little squeeze. Whatever they must face, they’d face together.

  Small pieces.

  She’d make it work.

  He reached over and plucked a rag from the bedside table. “Here—this is for the blood.” He tucked an arm behind his head. “Truthfully, I wouldn’t have cared if you’d been unchaste.”

  She searched his gaze—no artifice, no deceit. �
�You said you wanted to tear my maidenhead.”

  “Hubris. Primal nonsense.” He pursed his lips in an endearingly self-deprecating way. “If you’d told me you’d been indiscreet, do you think I would have wanted you any less?”

  “I don’t know.” She hesitated. “You surprise me sometimes. I said you were incapable of being gentle. You just proved me wrong.”

  “At tremendous cost, kitten.” He stretched. “I’m starved, by the way.”

  She gazed at him thoughtfully. “Why do you always respond with a joke? Why can’t you just admit your good side?”

  “I don’t have a good side—that’s just me reflecting you.”

  “You can’t convince me any longer—I’ve been to Periwinkle Gate. They trust you there.”

  A crease appeared between his brows. “Funny thing, trust.” He took her into his arms, placed a kiss against her brow, and yawned.

  Intentionally, she suspected.

  She could tell Rayne he was loyal and kind and good. At every step, he’d taken great care with her. And, thanks to the visit to the Gate, she’d seen him at ease and genuinely respected. But no matter what she said, he wouldn’t believe.

  Trust was a funny thing. She had no choice but to trust he’d eventually feel whole.

  Whatever wound he’d opened up that long-ago night when he’d lashed out at his closest friend was deeper than she yet understood.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Julia briefly closed her eyes as her husband shut the door behind him, remembering the feel of his lips against her brow—her first kiss on her very first morning as a married woman. She was content to take up his suggestion she rest while he ran errands preparing for their journey to the Grange.

  After she’d breakfasted, she pulled a horn comb through her hair, smoothing out the curls while studying her face in the mirror. The bruise on her chin had faded. Other than a slightly heightened color, she appeared no worse for her recent adventures. In fact, by her reflection, she could hardly tell her life had irrevocably changed in every possible way.

  A change she’d not just wanted but had prayed, schemed, and risked to achieve.

  Possessing—and being possessed by—Rayne had been her aim. However, in the silence of Rayne’s absence, with a dull ache between her legs and his scent still hanging heavily in the air, one thing became obvious—she’d come as far as her aspiration had allowed her to imagine.