by Jane Lark
“Then I consider myself honoured. But believe me if any other man compliments you now I shall knock him down. You wished to know more about me, then this another thing – I will not be played.”
“Played?” She did not understand.
“No games, Mary, no beaux, no flirting and no frolics. I will not be made a mockery of. I will not be cuckolded.” His eyes were burning with dark heat now.
She was being warned.
Yet there was something else, something deeper in the jet at the heart of his eyes.
Fear? Pain?
“I would not—”
“I know you will not. I shall not allow it.”
“I would never consider such a thing anyway.” She picked up her tea, her hand shaking as she sipped from it, hiding her disquiet, no longer able to look at him. Beneath his mask of self-assurance, Drew was very different, vulnerable, but that was the man who’d come to the summerhouse. He was the one she’d agreed to marry. She wished he would let his guard down entirely.
She looked up, determination flooding her. “I will not call you Drew. I shall call you Andrew, your real name.”
His eyes widened but he did not look displeased.
He was not a devil. He was a man, a man who could make mistakes, had faults and felt fear. He was Andrew beneath Drew’s sharp edges; the rogue was simply a layer upon that, a layer that she hoped would disappear when they were wed.
Chapter 11
Drew did not force the horses but kept them at a steady pace. They had two days or more before her father would find them and he did not wish to get too far ahead. At each tollgate he struck up a conversation when he paid so they would be remembered and when they reached Banbury, Drew asked the man at the toll gate to recommend an inn. If Marlow caught up with them earlier than expected he wanted the man to know where they were.
When he pulled into the stable yard of the Black Bull, it was five in the evening. He could have driven for another three hours but there was little point.
A young lad ran out to take the horses heads. The animals whinnied.
Drew looped his reins over the vehicle’s bar, then leapt down. An ostler came forward. He told the man they would be staying the night, and to stable the horses and his carriage. Then turned back to Mary.
She’d slid across to his seat. She was looking anxious again. They’d been mostly silent since luncheon, though she’d gripped his arm as he’d driven.
He should have spoken but he disliked the clinical dissection she’d made of him as they’d eaten.
He did not like remembering his childhood or looking inward. He lived for now, and now he lived for her… She was all he wished to think of.
She climbed down, her slender fingers gripping his firmly to steady herself as her gaze clung to the cobbled floor of the inn’s yard, as though she was too anxious to look at Drew.
When she reached the ground he tugged her close and kissed her lips. It was the only way he knew how to ease her anxiety.
She blushed, sucking in a sharp breath.
In a couple of hours they would be in bed…
Heat flared in his stomach and his breath caught in his lungs… The surge of emotion he was becoming used to, in her presence, ripped through him. Only today it was a dozen times stronger. Lust. Need. Responsibility. Caring. Hope. Fear.
Do I love her? His heart rate thundered.
Turning away, still holding her hand he drew her after him.
He ordered dinner served in their room and French wine to accompany it.
Their room was the first off the landing. It faced the street and the broad four poster dark aged-oak bed within it stood against the wall, its canopy and covers the colour of port.
He’d take her there.
Her hand slipped from his.
The uneven floor boards creaked as she walked over to the window and looked down at the street.
He smiled. He was avoiding her questions. She avoided the bed.
Two leather winged armchairs stood before the hearth, with a small table between them, and on it, a three arm candelabrum. Another unlit branch of candles stood on a chest beside the bed. Then against the wall there was a set of drawers, with a basin and a jug.
Drew’s gaze drifted back to the bed. Then turning he lifted off his hat and walked over to the table to leave it there.
A knock struck the door. “Y’ur bags, m’ lud.” A man’s voice breached the wood.
“Come!”
He tipped the man with coins from his pocket then shut the door behind him.
Drew pulled off his gloves and threw them down beside his hat.
There was another knock.
The wine.
The maid informed him it would be an hour until dinner.
When the door shut again, he stripped off his coat, watching Mary.
She’d not moved.
Noises permeated the glass of the window, voices, vehicles, horses, even birds. This was no solitary haven and yet it felt like a private island in a lake. Mary was his sanctuary.
She walked back across the room, stripping off her bonnet. She set it down beside his hat. His gaze was drawn to the curve of her nape, then dropped to the arch at the base of her spine. She had such a delicate feminine frame.
His heart thundered, as the turmoil of emotion gripped in his chest.
He turned to uncork the wine, poured a little and drank it.
It was hard to be patient and wait until after dinner. But she was a virgin. He could not hurry this. He’d heard women bled their first time, that a man had to tear a membrane within her body and it hurt the woman. He did not wish to hurt her.
He refilled his glass, and poured some for her.
He felt her behind him, it was a whisper passing through his senses the instant before she touched him.
Her small hands slipped about his waist, over his waistcoat, and her cheek pressed to his shoulder.
Whatever the emotion in his chest, it fisted and gripped harder. He wanted this woman physically, more than he had wanted any other. His mouth dried.
“Will we share the bed tonight?” she asked quietly.
“We will. Does the idea frighten you?” He stared at the wall. It was a stupid question, of course it must.
“A little.” She let him go then moved past him to stand on the other side of the table. Her wide pale blue eyes watched him sip the wine.
God, I love her. He did not heed the thought. He was still unsure he knew what love was.
He held out her glass.
She took it. “How will it be?”
He swallowed another sip of wine. A bride’s mother usually explained these things, he’d avoided an interview with her father but she’d lost the opportunity to ask questions of her mother.
“It will be beautiful, I hope. But I believe there will be some pain for you this time. I shall do my best to make the pain brief, and even if the first time is not good for you I will make it wonderful in the future.”
Her glass touched her lips as she blushed but once she’d swallowed the wine, she said, “Wonderful? You have a high opinion of yourself, Andrew.”
Lord. The way she spoke his name was as if her fingertips touched his innards.
He gave her a wicked grin. “It is not my opinion.”
Damn… That had been the wrong thing to say, he should not have boasted, he saw in her eyes she was now thinking of him with others.
She was not like the other women he’d known, and he should remember that. They would have been thrilled by his boast.
He put down his glass, then took Mary’s from her hand. “And now my skill is all for you.”
His hand braced the curve of her nape and pulled her into a kiss.
Her fingers slid into his hair.
Within hours…
Impatience ripped through him as he pressed his tongue into her mouth and she accepted it. He did not wish to wait but he must. He needed to think of her and not himself.
It would be the first time he’d put any
one’s needs before his own, except perhaps Caro’s.
He broke the kiss, picked up her glass and gave it back to her.
There was a tremor in her hand.
She wanted him too but she was afraid.
Remember it Drew!
* * *
The room span as Mary sipped her wine. She’d drunk four glasses through dinner. The conversation had been easier, though. They’d spoken of their friends, sharing stories, while Andrew continually refreshed her glass.
She’d drunk quickly, using the wine to calm her nerves, but she was sure she’d been babbling inanely for an hour.
She had not eaten much, her stomach had fluttered with too many butterflies and the bed had shouted its presence behind her.
He’d said it might hurt.
Her mother had not mentioned pain when Kate had given birth to Paul months ago, and they’d discussed such things. Her mother had said the marriage bed need not be unpleasant.
The things she and Andrew had done in the summerhouse had not been unpleasant.
“Mary?”
She’d let their conversation ebb.
The stem of her glass dangling through her fingers, she leaned back in her chair.
“Do you want any more to eat?”
She shook her head, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.
His plate was empty, hers was still full.
This was nothing to him.
Her palms were sweaty. “I am not really hungry.”
“And nervous…” His gaze held hers.
“A little, can you blame me?”
“No, sweetheart, I do not blame you.” He rose and something sliced through her middle cutting to the point between her legs, but he did not come towards her, he turned to the bell pull and rang for a maid.
Her mouth dried. She sipped more wine, her fingers gripping about the glass.
“I think you have had enough of that, I do not wish you unconscious.” He lifted the glass from her fingers and set it on the table.
Her hand shook as it fell to her lap.
“When they clear the table I’ll ask them to send up a maid to help you undress, and I shall go outside for a smoke to give you time to prepare.”
To prepare?
His fingers touched her cheek. “Smile sweetheart, this is meant to be a happy thing.”
She licked her dry lips, wanting the wine again.
His light brown eyes held the depth she’d seen in the summerhouse; Andrew’s eyes, not Drew’s. Her focus fell to his mouth. He smiled. The room span again.
A light knock struck the door.
Andrew turned and she stood, gripping the table as the floor swayed a little.
A maid entered and loaded a tray with the empty dishes and her leftovers.
“Could someone come and help my wife undress.”
“Of course my Lord.” The maid looked at Mary, “I will return to help you my Lady.”
Mary’s heart raced so hard she thought she might faint when the maid left.
“I shall go outside for a walk and give you time to undress,” Drew stated before leaving her completely alone.
Mary did not move until the maid returned a little while later. After the maid had lit the candles and drawn the curtains, she helped Mary unbutton the back of her gown and undo her corset, then left.
Once Mary was in her nightgown, she could not decide whether to climb into the bed.
When Andrew returned she stood at the end of it – still undecided.
His gaze dropped to her naked toes peeping from beneath the hem of her nightgown, then rose again. Darkness had gathered in his eyes, a darkness implying deep unfathomable seas of emotion.
He turned and locked the door.
Her heartbeat raced. This was her wedding night, but not her wedding night.
The butterflies in her stomach flew so raucously it made her nauseous when he turned and began slipping the buttons of his evening coat free.
He slid it off and draped it over the back of a chair, then with his back to her he unbuttoned his waistcoat too.
When he sat down to remove his boots, her fingers gripped the carved oak bedpost.
He looked up and smiled at her, then stood again, his feet now bare but his shirt and trousers still on. But when he came towards her, he pulled his shirt from his waistband and lifted it up over his head stripping it off.
Her breath caught in her lungs. His chest was contoured with muscular ridges and hollows. He was beautiful. Her fingers gripped the bed post tighter.
His shirt fell on the floor behind him. Then he was there before her, and his hand was in her hair, pulling her mouth to his.
Her fingers left the bedpost and gripped his shoulders instead, clinging as fear swayed around like the room.
His tongue slipped into her mouth and his hand touched her waist over her nightgown, then slid upwards.
The touch was not intimate and yet it felt intimate because she had nothing on beneath the fine cotton.
He broke the kiss and smiled.
The candlelight from the candelabrum beside the bed reflected in his eyes.
He gripped her nightgown and drew it upwards.
Her breath trapped in her lungs.
“Don’t be afraid, Mary, it will be good.”
Was it possible for butterflies to stampede, if so that is what they did within her stomach as the cotton slid up across her thighs, and her body shook as she lifted her arms so he could slip her nightgown over her head.
The air in the room touched her skin and made her shiver.
His head bent as he dropped her nightgown on the floor, then he kissed her shoulder and her neck, his hands at her waist.
The trembling in her limbs slipped through her body to the place between her legs. She was afraid and yet she still ached for his touch there.
Her body arched towards him and her head tilted back as he continued kissing her neck and then across her chest.
Perhaps the wine had helped because with the room spinning, it was hard to be too conscious of anything but the sensations he stirred inside her.
His thumb brushed over her breast, teasing her nipple.
She sighed, the air leaving her lungs in a rush.
He straightened.
He looked hazy through her wine tinted gaze.
“Lay down…”
She nodded and sat back on the bed, then slid backward as he undid the buttons of his falls. At least she had seen that part of him before. But that did not stop the heat burning in her cheeks.
He slid off his trousers and underwear all in one go.
Her stomach tumbled over at the sight of his naked thighs and buttocks and that part of him. He was statuesque.
She swallowed, to clear the dryness from her throat.
“Lie back,” he said, as he climbed onto the bed.
She swallowed again and did so, one knee bent upright, and one knee slack, as her fingers clutched at the covers.
“Relax, sweetheart.”
She nodded, though her muscles refused to.
He knelt above her, on hands and knees, just looking, his gaze skimming over her body. “You’re perfect,” he whispered.
Again she nodded, like a fool.
The candles beyond the bed flickered, as his head lowered and he kissed her breast. Tremors raced through her body, beneath her skin.
He sucked, then licked her nipple, without touching her anywhere else, his body hovering above her.
The feeling was exquisite, then his hand touched her breast and his fingers shook too.
“Andrew.” Her hands came down on his head, then it lifted and he kissed her mouth.
It was the most beautiful feeling in the world as she sensed his naked body above her, and his hand massaged her breast.
She arched upwards.
His kiss left her lips and travelled over her face then touched her jaw and her neck, as the room span.
When his hand left her breast it slid to her hip, and his mouth f
ollowed, kissing down her middle to her stomach.
Her fear became lost in the spinning room and the warmth of his lips on her skin.
When his kiss touched her intimately between her legs, her fingernails dug into his shoulders, gripping hard. Sensation ripped through her. She laughed a little. Nervously. But he did not stop. His tongue swept out to taste her.
“Andrew!”
“Relax.” The heat of his breath burned her there, before he licked again.
A part of her could not believe she was doing this, it must be the wine which made her allow it and not speak, she was too languid. He sucked her there too, like he had sucked her nipple, causing sharp sensations to spin up through her body.
“Andrew.” His name came out on a tide of want.
Then his fingers were within her as they had been the other day, only now it was no slight invasion, it was a deep intrusion, a claiming, as his lips claimed her too.
“Ah.”
His other hand still gripped her hip, gently.
Her head pressed back into the bed, and her body lifted to his touch as her fingers gripped in his hair. The sensation he had first taught her in the darkness, swelled.
“Please,” she whispered at last, not even knowing what she was asking for. She was so hot. She just wanted to be completed.
“Not yet.” His breath brushed against her. “Not until you have reached the little death.”
Her vision glazed as though she looked through hazy glass as her fingers clung in his hair, holding on to sanity, to reality, while he continued trying to steal her away with his wickedness. Oh, but then… “Andrew…” There was that rush of intoxicating, overwhelming, sensation. It broke over her…
Sweat glimmered on Mary’s skin and her nectar filled Drew’s mouth as the spasm of her release pulled at his fingers and pulsed on the tip of his tongue.
Emotion gripped in the back of his throat and caught tight in his stomach.
He’d known she was beautiful, but… naked… she outshone any other woman, there was not a single blemish on her skin. Her body was truly like porcelain.
“Mary.” He moved over her as her eyes tried to focus on his face. They were glazed by the wine and her limbs lay slack and moved awkwardly to accommodate him between her legs.
She was young and innocent, pure and beautiful – and any moment now she would be his. He would be the first. The very first. The only. He would marry and protect her, and keep her for himself. The emotion he felt overwhelmed him. I… love… her…
