by CJ Archer
He pressed his thumb and finger along the fold of the letter and sighed. Why did Wallan have to visit at a time when all Thomas wanted to do was make amends with his wife?
CHAPTER 5
Rose had not seen her father in eighteen months despite Lockhart being less than a day's ride from the queen's favorite London palaces and therefore court. She didn't know if he went home to his neighboring estate, nor did she care. There was nothing at Wallan House for her anymore. There hadn't been since her mother died fifteen years ago.
Now he was coming to make a nuisance of himself once more. Why couldn't he leave her alone? It was difficult enough having Thomas newly home, stirring up memories and desires she thought buried, but to endure her father too! Why was she being tested?
Thomas. He was coming to her rooms. Perhaps he was already on his way. Her heart tripped over itself and her legs buckled. She sat on her bed and pulled the edges of her housecoat tighter across her chest.
The soft knock at her door made her jump.
"Enter," she whispered, then cleared her throat and said it again in a louder voice. She rose and dropped her hands to her sides. She would not let her husband see how much the thought of being with him made her nerves jangle.
He entered carrying wine and candied figs. "Cook said these are your favorites."
Didn’t he know that sweets and courteousness were unnecessary? She might be nervous but she was willing. Very willing. She'd dreamt of this night since she was fifteen. Not that she would tell him.
He placed the tray on the pedestal table near the crackling fire and poured her a cup of wine. She sipped. It was warm and spicy and strong, just what she needed. She drank the whole cup. He raised a brow at her and his mouth tilted in amusement.
"Another?" he asked.
She shook her head and returned the cup to the tray. Well. It was time. So why didn't he do something? Why did he just stand there, looking at her?
"I've never seen you with your hair down," he said. "It's beautiful. That is not empty flattery but the truth. Ask any man."
Her face heated and she touched a curl at her temple to hide behind her arm. He gently took her hand and lowered it.
"You're beautiful." He breathed deeply and let it out slowly. "I had no idea."
He'd called her beautiful? Her? She was pale and thin next to Lady Mossdale's glossy black hair and generous bosom. Yet he'd sounded so sincere when he said it. Sincere and...wondrous.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. She must not believe him. The man knew how to charm. "Shall we begin?" she asked.
"In a moment." He leaned forward and suddenly kissed her, a light, barely-there brush of his lips across hers. Then he pulled back.
She couldn't breathe, couldn't think through the fog rolling into her mind. All she knew was that kiss hadn't been enough. It had triggered something inside her and sent a shot ricocheting around her body. She wanted to feel his mouth on hers again, taste him. Hold him and be held by him.
She couldn't have that. Couldn't lose her mind at such a crucial moment. "No kissing," she said.
He frowned. "Why not?"
"Because...it...I just don't want you to." She made to turn away but he caught her chin and gently forced her to look up at him. His eyes were so deep and tumultuous she suspected if she fell into them she'd drown.
"That's not fair, Rose. I need to kiss you." His thumb brushed across her bottom lip.
Her stomach flipped violently. She concentrated very hard on not looking at his mouth or eyes. Indeed, one more glance at his face may have been her undoing. She fixed on a point at his throat. "As far as I am aware," she said, "we do not need to kiss to get a child."
"There can be more to this than the act itself. Believe me, it's more fun to kiss and...do other things."
"You ought to know," she mumbled.
He stepped back and she hazarded a glance at his face. It was as bleak as the Dover cliffs. "Perhaps...perhaps we shouldn't go ahead until you find my presence less distasteful," he said.
"Don't be ridiculous. We both know that will never happen. Turn your back while I disrobe."
He didn't. He sat on the bed, rested his elbows on his knees and lowered his head. His hair fell forward, shielding his face. She wondered, dully, whether he would cut it to the more fashionable length worn at court.
"Ah, Rose," he said quietly. He patted the bed beside him. "I suspect an apology is overdue."
"You already apologized to me once. That night."
"I apologized in my letters too—in all of them—but since you never opened them..." He shrugged. "I hoped that saying it to you in person all these years later would mean something to you."
"You hoped wrong. I won't spit at you but my reaction will be the same. Go ahead and waste your breath, Thomas, but I will not forgive you."
"Ever?"
She shook her head. "Some things are unforgiveable."
The long dark lashes framing his eyes slowly lowered. "They are," he said darkly. He stood and took her hands, firmly so she could not remove them without wrenching herself free. "But I will try to earn your forgiveness every day until I breathe my last."
"Why is it suddenly so important to you?"
"There is nothing sudden about it. I've wanted to apologize from the moment I set sail for Ireland. Before."
Her heart hammered in her chest, crashing into her ribs in an effort to escape. But she couldn't move. Her stockinged feet were rooted to the rushes.
"I'm sorry, Rose. I am sorry for leaving you on our wedding night and going to...her. I'm sorry for the pain this caused you, and I wish with all my heart I could take it back. The only excuse I have to offer is one of youth and pride—"
"Pride! Ha!" How could it be pride to prefer his mistress over his wife? She pulled her hands free. "Grant me some privacy and turn around."
He blinked rapidly and, his face blank, obediently turned. She quickly removed her housecoat and lay it across the top of a trunk then climbed into bed and pulled the covers to her chin. She stared up at the deep green tassels hanging from the tester at the base of the canopy.
"You may turn around now and...and join me."
He got as far as the bed but stopped beside her. He lifted the curtain aside. "You've still got your shift on."
"From the description my maid gave, the shift does not need to be removed."
"Your maid gave you advice on being with a man?"
"Who else is there? I have no mother, sister, aunts or older female cousins. I was the first of my friends to wed. My maid took pity on me on my wedding day and told me what to expect."
"She hasn't advised you more recently?"
"Has the method changed in six years?"
He chuckled. "No."
"Well then? What are you waiting for? Blow out the lights and...begin."
He didn't blow at the candles. He lifted the coverlet. She snatched it back. "What are you doing?"
"Looking at you."
"Why?"
"Because I want to."
She supposed men liked to look but it made her feel vulnerable when he was fully dressed and she wore nothing but her shift. Would her husband think her too bold if she asked him to remove some clothing?
"I'm sorry, Rose," he said before she could say anything. "I cannot do this while you're angry with me. We'll get to know each other better first, then when you like me enough, you can invite me to your bed."
And let him alleviate his urges in the meantime with his mistress? "No!" She caught his hand before he could move away. "Stay. Please." His fingers closed around hers but he was otherwise very still. He didn't even seem to be breathing.
With her other hand, she pushed the cover down past her breasts and unlaced her shift. She lifted the fabric aside until one nipple was exposed. "Is this what you want to see?"
"Yes," he said huskily. He sat heavily on the bed beside her and stared at her breast. Gathering all her courage, she guided his hand to it and gasped as his thumb brushed a
cross the nipple. "Your heart is beating so fast," he said. "I can feel it."
"That's because my breast is small."
"Not small," he said. "Perfect."
Empty flattery again. But she swallowed her retort because he was circling her nipple with his finger, pausing to tease it to a point. There was fascination in his eyes, as if he'd never seen breasts or nipples before.
She held her breath and tried to fight against the tingles rushing through her body, but it was useless. They were swamping her. That was nothing compared to what happened when he closed his mouth over her breast. Desire spiked through her. She arched her back and his arms circled her waist, holding her to him as his hot tongue sucked and licked.
His fingers touched her between the thighs. She opened her legs to him, not caring if he thought her bold, because all she wanted was to feel his thick fingers touching her there. He dipped inside her opening and she gasped as his thumb found her sensitive nub, and gently rubbed.
"Thomas," she whispered.
"Yes?" he murmured against her breast.
"Take me. Take me now. I can't...stand...thisssss."
"Soon. Let me do something for you first."
What more could he possibly do? Shred her nerves entirely?
A few more circles of his thumb and it would seem she had her answer. Her nerves were at his mercy and he was going to utterly destroy them. She gasped as tension mounted, starting at her thighs and spreading everywhere. Her body felt like it was on fire, like she was burning from the inside.
"Thomas!" she cried out at the first convulsion. She dug her fingers into his jerkin to anchor her lest she float away on the tide washing over her.
She let the waves take control and soon she was lost in a sea of sensations that took over her body and mind. Utterly, utterly lost.
And she didn't care.
When finally the convulsions subsided and she was left feeling languid and loose, she opened her eyes. Thomas had a strange smile on his face, and his eyes simmered with pent-up desire.
She sat up and her shaking fingers fumbled with the buttons on his jerkin. He gently lay his hands over them and for a long moment, simply held them there, near his heart. Then he removed them and finished the unbuttoning himself. He took off his jerkin, doublet, shoes and hose, then finally his shirt and netherhose.
His chest and shoulders were magnificent, like hard, polished oak. She had a wild urge to sink her teeth into them and take a bite. Her husband was lean and muscular, his skin smooth except for a deep scar running from right shoulder to his chest.
Her gaze traveled down and her eyes widened. Her maid, Annie, had warned her a man's yard would grow when it was ready for lovemaking, but Rose hadn't expected it to be quite so big or so rigid.
"Don’t worry," he said, his voice rough. "I'll be gentle."
To hide her heating face, she removed her shift completely. When she finally looked at him again, Thomas's gaze was focused once more on her breasts. It swept down her body then back up to her face. He smiled.
"I am a very lucky man," he said.
She suspected it was more false sweet talk but her tongue was still too tied to speak so she let the remark go and lay back. He settled himself above her, keeping his weight off her. She stared down between them at his hard pole.
"Do you want to touch it?" he asked.
She hesitated then took it in her hand. He grunted and his hips jerked. Then he went still. His length was surprisingly smooth, despite the ridges, and the head felt silken when she pulled the skin back. She ran her fingers over it, around, and even thought about brushing it against her lips, but she wasn't sure what he would make of that so she didn't.
A drop formed on the very tip and she brushed it off with her thumb and rubbed it into the head. He groaned low in his chest and threw his head back. "Enough, Rose," he murmured. "Or I will spill my seed too soon."
He would? He had that little control?
She let him go and he gently pressed his length to her opening. She shut her eyes and braced herself. Annie had told her this part would hurt.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
She nodded.
He kissed her and she let him, her opinion on the matter entirely changed from earlier. He could kiss her for as long as he wanted. It was soft and warm and made her heart do somersaults.
He pressed himself into her and she gasped against his mouth. His hand snaked down between them and he rubbed gently. Her body melted and opened to him. He slid all the way in, holding her against his hard body with one arm as he broke through her resistance.
She cried out but it was lost amid his loud, long groan. Nevertheless, he paused and looked down with a troubled gaze. "Are you all right?"
She nodded. The sharp pain had already subsided. She lifted her hips to signal him to continue and felt a responding pulse of his member buried deep within her. But instead of moving, he kissed her again. Possessively, as if his mouth could brand her.
She reached around him and held him close, not wanting to break the kiss, not daring to move lest she shatter the moment. This wonderful moment in which there was no one else, no past, no future, just now. Just him and her and the passion that fueled them.
He increased the pace, and soon his body shuddered against her. His kiss seared her lips, the muscles in his back and shoulders tensed. He broke the kiss and growled like an animal as his seed spurted inside her.
Breathing hard, he lay half on her, half off, one leg between hers and an arm across her stomach. He turned his face into her throat and nuzzled sleepily. She stroked his hair, his back and shoulders. She didn't want to let go. Didn’t want the evening to end. She wanted him in her bed, forever.
Thomas moved off and lay beside her on his back. He gathered her into his arms and she rested her head on his chest. She listened to his heart as it slowed and returned to a strong, regular beat. His breaths became even too, ruffling her hair. He was asleep.
She closed her eyes and one tear escaped, sliding down her cheek onto his chest before she could stop it. She bit down against more tears lest he wake and repeat his false flattery, apologies and promises. Those words meant nothing—they were drowned out by his actions of that night, still so fresh in her mind.
Yet she lay very still, hardly daring to breathe. She might not have Thomas's love, but she had this moment and she would not relinquish it too soon.
CHAPTER 6
Thomas awoke to the sound of his wife's soft breathing. She lay in the crook of his arm, her breasts pillowed against his chest, her legs entwined with his. He smiled into her hair and listened to her breathing for several minutes. He was a lucky man to have her as his wife. Lucky and thankful. The night could so easily have gone differently after his failed apology. He'd put his heart into those words, yet she had not forgiven him. Not then but later, in his arms, she had melted. Now she was his. He wished he could've come home and made amends earlier, but the queen had forbidden him to leave Ireland until word of his father's death reached her ears. She'd seen it as a kindness to allow him to return. He'd seen it as an opportunity to finally apologize to his wife in person. His letters, it seemed, had been useless.
She stirred and he kissed the top of her head. "Good morning," he said.
Her body stiffened. "Good morning," she said, hesitant.
He kissed her nose. "Are you sore?"
She sat up, pulling the covers with her. Her sleepy eyes watched him from behind wayward strands of her tousled hair. "A little."
"Do you want your maid?"
"Not yet."
"Then come here and let me warm you."
"You could stoke the fire."
He laughed. "Yes, my lady." He got out of bed and felt her gaze on his back, his arse. Did she like what she saw? Did she want to explore his body as much as he wanted to explore hers?
He built up the fire and turned to her. She still sat on the bed but had lowered the covers to her hips, exposing those exquisitely pert breasts. Her palm
was pressed against her stomach as she pretended not to watch him.
He put his hands on his hips and grinned. She colored from her hairline down to her rosy nipples. "So you are watching."
"My gaze happened to fall upon you just this moment," she said primly.
"I'm sure it did." He nodded at her hand where it still rested on her stomach. "It's too soon to know if there's a babe in there."
"Do you think we should try again tonight? To make sure?"
"Most definitely. I want to be very, very sure."
"So do I. Shall you come to me?"
He grinned again. He couldn't help it. His wife had enjoyed the act. Perhaps they could enjoy it again sooner than tonight. Like right now. He moved up to the bed but she climbed off it on the far side.
"I think you should go after all," she said. "I wouldn't want to embarrass my maid."
"I don't care if your maid is embarrassed." But he watched as she put on her shift. "I want you to have some new clothes made up. Colorful ones, not dreary browns and grays. If you don't know a good seamstress, you could ask the other ladies when we go to the palace."
Her hand stopped tying the laces of her shift. "The palace?"
"There's always a ball on New Year's Eve."
"We haven't been invited."
"We have."
"But I don't have a ball gown."
"Never mind that."
"Never mind? Never mind? Thomas, all my ball gowns are old and ill-fitting. There is no time to alter them. I cannot go." She fumbled with the laces and gave up with an irritated click of her tongue.
He climbed across the bed and gently removed her hands to tie the laces. The rise and fall of her chest made her breasts brush against his knuckles but he did not touch her nipple through the linen like he wanted to. He finished his task and said, "Why don't you want to go to court?"
She shook her head and picked up his shirt. He took it but didn't dress. "Rose, tell me."
She turned away.
He drew in a deep breath. "Last night, you were a loving wife. This morning, you're angry again. You won't talk to me, and hardly even look at me. Why? I thought it was all resolved between us."
