Secrets of the Marriage Bed

by Ann Lethbridge

  He knew exactly what he was doing. Flirting. The dissolute Duke had made an appearance here in the country. And wickedly, her body came alive under his hands. Desire. Along with a smidgeon of anxiety. He hadn’t approached her in this way since the moment they wed.

  The thought hurt. She brushed the pain aside. He had saved her from a terrible situation with their marriage. She had no right to ask for more.

  ‘All right?’ he asked, his voice a low rumble.

  ‘Yes.’ Her voice sounded husky, breathless.

  A wicked grin curled his sensual lips.

  She swallowed.

  He stepped away, tying the horses to a low branch on the nearest tree and unbuckling the rolled blanket from behind his saddle she had noticed, but not really thought much about. Clasping her hand firmly, he led her deeper into the orchard, ducking beneath low branches here and there, until they arrived at a huge tree with a gnarled trunk and low twisty branches.

  ‘This is the oldest tree in the orchard,’ he said. ‘We think it is more than a hundred and fifty years old.’

  ‘Positively ancient, then.’

  He gazed upwards into the leafy canopy. ‘There is a great view to be had from up there.’

  Her mouth gaped open. ‘Are you suggesting I climb it?’

  ‘It isn’t difficult. I’m told my mother did it.’ Again there was that odd note in his voice. Nothing of the chill to which she had become accustomed. And he was sharing something with her that seemed to have special meaning.

  If she wanted to come to a better understanding, she needed to take such opportunities when they arose or they might not come again. Though she wasn’t exactly dressed for clambering about in trees. ‘As long as you promise to catch me should I fall.’

  ‘I won’t let you fall.’

  The intensity in his expression spoke of protectiveness and possession. Her insides gave a little pulse of pleasure. She swallowed a gasp of surprise and hooked up the train of her riding habit to allow for more freedom of movement. ‘I think I might need a ladder to make the first branch.’ After that, he was right, the branches were at easy distances and so thick, the climb wouldn’t test a toddler.

  ‘Come. I will give you a boost.’

  No sooner said then he had her about the waist and lifted her to sit on the lowest branch. Placing the rolled blanket on the branch, he hauled himself up effortlessly and stood up. Holding on to the next branch up, he helped her to her feet. After that, with a bit of careful attention to her skirts and his steadying hand, she was soon a good few feet off the ground. Nestled in a fork at eye level was a structure. A narrow platform she hadn’t noticed from below.

  ‘A tree house?’

  ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘Anyone can see it is a fort. Or a pirate galleon. Or a castle.’

  She laughed. ‘But not a house.’

  ‘Not for this generation.’ An expression crossed his face. Was it sadness?

  ‘You and your brother played here.’

  ‘We did. And our father before us.’ His wicked smile made another appearance. ‘I was conceived in this tree, according to my father.’

  Startled, she wobbled, her foot slipping. His grip on her arm tightened for a brief moment. She had no fear of falling, but his instinctive action to keep her safe made her want to lean against his strength.

  ‘Then it must certainly be sturdy enough for two. How do we get up there?’

  He grinned. ‘Let me go first. I’ll pull you up.’

  Standing close to the trunk, she held on, while he nimbly went down for the blanket, whose purpose she now recognised, and then pulled himself up. He tested the three wooden planks by bouncing up and down. ‘It seems solid enough.’ He reached down.

  She took his hand, following his directions of where to put her feet, and was soon seated safely on the blanket, her back against the tree trunk and her feet dangling. At this point in the tree, several branches had been trimmed back. Not only was the tree the oldest in the orchard, it also stood at a high point and gave a vista of some considerable distance. From here, she looked over the treetops to Sackfield Hall nestled in the centre of its park. ‘What an amazing view.’

  ‘I know.’ He sat beside her, watching her face as she took in the view of rolling meadows and elegant stands of trees.

  ‘Are there deer in the park?’

  ‘No.’ He leaned back on his hands. ‘The Duchy has another estate for game.’

  ‘How many estates do you hold altogether?’

  ‘Six. Not counting the houses: one in London, one in Edinburgh and one in Manchester. I rent them all out, except the Richmond one.’

  ‘Your housekeeper at Richmond said you visit each of the estates once a year.’

  ‘Though I receive regular reports from my estate managers, I like to see things with my own eyes from time to time.’

  ‘It is a great deal of work, being a duke.’ He certainly spent a great deal of time in his office. She had wondered how he had any time left over to gain his wicked reputation.

  He gazed at her thoughtfully. ‘I find it fulfilling. Things were a bit of a shambles when I inherited. Fortunately, I have a good staff who help with much of the work.’

  She would like to offer her help, too, but he had kept her at such a distance, she wasn’t sure it would be welcome. ‘Talking of staff, when will Mr Lewis return? You seem to be drowning in paperwork.’

  His smiled widened. ‘I expect him tomorrow.’

  Silence fell, but for the twitter of birds and the rustle of leaves in a light breeze. A comfortable quiet. A bumble bee buzzed by, investigated them and decided they were not worth his trouble.

  She breathed deep, inhaling the scent of new mown grass. ‘I love the countryside.’

  ‘Me, too. I am not so fond of this bonnet, however. Perhaps we can dispense with it for the moment. It hides your pretty face and the feather keeps tickling my nose.’

  Pretty. He though her pretty. Her body warmed, but she managed to avoid giggling. ‘Feathers do that,’ she agreed, hoping she sounded calm. ‘There is enough shade for me to take it off.’

  ‘Let me.’

  He untied the strings beneath her chin, unerringly found the hatpin and eased the hat off her head. He kissed her cheek and tossed the hat to the ground.

  ‘Your Grace!’ she said. She leaned over and saw it had landed on the grass. ‘That is no way to treat such an expensive hat.’

  He ran his knuckles along her jaw. The light caress made her shiver. ‘You will call me Alistair when we are alone, will you not? “Your Grace” is far too formal when we are private.’

  Finally, a chink in his armour. She could not help but feel glad, if a little cautious. ‘If you will call me Julia.’

  His expression softened. ‘I will.’

  His eyelashes lowered and she watched his hand draw a circle on her shoulder, reminding her of the first time they met when he had drawn words all over her body with a finger dipped in red wine. Her insides gave a pleasurable little pulse. Was he remembering that, too?

  ‘I am a lucky man,’ he said softly. ‘It is not often one finds such an exotic bird in an ordinary English orchard.

  She wasn’t used to this. She didn’t know what to say, but the ground did seem a long way below. ‘This bird cannot fly.’

  ‘I will not let you fall. Trust me. ‘

  She did trust him. Somewhat. But it was hard to relax when the seat beneath one moved with every little breeze.

  Then he leaned close and kissed her, a light brush of his lips, that was comforting. Reassuring. Delicious. Gradually, the kiss turned into something far more heated.

  His lips roamed her face, ending up beneath her ear. One hand grazed her breast. Heat blossomed between her thighs. She gasped.

  Her throat suddenly dry, he
r insides clenching, she swallowed. ‘I do not think this is such a good idea.’

  He straightened his legs and drew her into his lap, turning her face with fingers on her jaw and kissing her deeply, his tongue stroking hers until her heart was thumping wildly and she could scarcely breathe. He lifted his head and gazed into her face. ‘Is that what you really think, sweetheart?’

  Thinking was beyond her. ‘Alistair,’ she said, and sighed.

  His lips descended once more, wooing, teasing, tormenting.

  Returning his kiss, loving the silky slide of her tongue against his, she clutched at his shoulders, pressing her aching breasts against the satisfyingly hard wall of his chest. Though she had only ever known him carnally once, she had missed this. Missed the feel of him.

  She sighed.

  He shifted. The hard ridge of his arousal pressed against her hip. He desired her.

  She stroked his shoulders, his back, then combed her fingers through his silky hair and felt as if she was flying.

  But a niggling doubt wouldn’t be ignored. Why on earth was he kissing her after all these days of cold reserve and why in a tree?

  * * *

  When he set out this morning, he’d simply wanted to show Julia his home. As well as gain a little of her trust. He had given the old tree fort a passing thought with the vague idea that she might be intrigued by his boyhood pursuits. Though he’d half expected the planks to be rotten. Or torn down.

  He had not expected to be tempted into kissing. This delicious slide of tongue against tongue, her breathing warm against his cheek, her breasts soft against his chest. His body hardened.

  He broke their kiss and let go a breath, slowly letting his desire ebb until it was no more than a minor disturbance, a faint beat in his blood he could ignore. A hard-won skill he had never expected to need so drastically.

  ‘Easy,’ he said.

  Her breath hitched and she uttered a little sound of distress she tried to hide. He wanted to curse at that sound. Instead, he let out a long sigh. ‘Any more kisses like that and we’ll be testing our wings.’

  She stilled. Tensed. ‘Falling, you mean.’

  Falling into bliss. He cursed the wayward thought when his shaft gave a little jerk of approval.

  ‘You are quite safe.’

  She snuggled her cheek against his chest. ‘I know.’

  ‘Nor will I risk life and limb for the dubious pleasure of outdoor intimacy.’

  ‘Dubious?’ she questioned, her expression hidden, but not the doubt in her voice.

  ‘Uncomfortable.’

  ‘And high.’

  ‘That, too.’

  Back in control, mostly, he ducked his head and brushed his lips across hers. She deepened the kiss and he savoured the plush feel of her tender flesh, the feel of her fingers at his nape, the small sounds in the back of her throat as a simple kiss once more brought them both the brink.

  Not for years had he had so much trouble maintaining control of his base urges. Perhaps if he stopped remembering her wearing nothing but the Dunstan rubies...

  The rubies and her sighs and moans and her delectable body.

  And...once more he was harder than granite.

  He lifted her so she sat between his legs with her back to him and her derrière a few decent inches from his falls. ‘Do you hear the lark?’

  She listened, her body alert, her head cocked to one side, the milky skin below her ear so very available to his lips, his tongue, his teeth. He resisted temptation. They were married. There was no need for sore knees and splinters in naughty places. No need for anything in a marriage that would never be consummated.

  ‘I hear it.’ She leaned back to look up into the deepest blue of the sky. ‘I do not see it.’

  ‘Nor me.’

  A white butterfly fluttered past.

  ‘Not much of a kaleidoscope, that one,’ he murmured in her ear.

  She gave a light gasp before a breathless utterance. ‘No.’

  He held her loosely and still he felt her heartbeat against his chest. ‘Tell me more about your first husband.’ He held his breath as her back stiffened. He cursed himself for spoiling what up to now had been a perfectly companionable interlude, if a little fraught with another kind of tension.

  She rested her head against his shoulder, gazing out across the tree tops. For a moment or two he thought she would not answer.

  Her voice was soft when she spoke. ‘He paid my brother a great deal of money for the privilege of my hand. Very quickly he decided he’d got a bad bargain, as he never stopped reminding me.’

  And that was the least of it, no doubt. Rage rose in his chest.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said, hoping his anger wasn’t apparent in his voice.

  ‘If you don’t mind, I’d prefer never to speak of him again.’

  ‘Forgive me for asking, then.’ He kissed her temple, her cheek, the hollow of her neck. ‘Please.’

  He sensed her smile rather than saw it. ‘Forgiven.’

  Her generosity of spirit almost made him feel ill. He did not deserve her forgiveness. Or her kisses. He should never have married her.

  ‘We should go,’ he said, knowing if he did not leave now, his control might give way to carnal desires. ‘The horses will think we’ve abandoned them.’ Carefully he got to his feet. ‘Give me your hand and I’ll help you down.’

  She stood up and bestowed a glowing smile upon him that was a tiny bit mischievous, too. ‘Thank you for bringing me here. I know this place is special to you.’

  He’d been glad to share it. Surprisingly glad, since he rarely ever shared anything with anyone any more.

  Perhaps he’d made the right choice to bring her here. She’d trusted him enough to let him kiss her in a tree.

  Some instinct he couldn’t name urged him to do the same. To trust her, despite knowing full well what sort of reaction she’d have to his past and what he’d done. Since he despised himself for what had happened, he could hardly expect her to feel differently. Not that he cared what she thought of him. What he could not do was give her the power to cause his son harm.

  * * *

  Julia gained the ground and not for a moment did she feel unsafe. For the first time in a very long time.

  ‘I assume we are headed straight home?’ she said when they rode into the lane.

  His gaze was fixed ahead. Two riders were approaching from the other direction. A man with a boy on a dun-coloured pony. Alistair cursed softly as the pair slowed from a trot to a walk.

  Julia had the feeling that if there had been any way for Alistair to avoid them, like a break in the hedge, he would have gladly taken it. The other man seemed equally uncomfortable. She half expected him to turn his horse and gallop off. Manners apparently overcame instinct because they came to a halt facing each other in the middle of the lane. ‘Duke,’ the other fellow said in gentlemanly, if stiff tones.

  His face a frozen mask, Alistair moved forward, angling his horse between her and the newcomers. ‘Julia, allow me to present my half-brother, Lord Luke Crawford.’ His tone held so much ice she would not have been surprised to see a frosty puff of air issuing from his lips. ‘Luke, meet my wife.’

  His half-brother, and the heir he had mentioned. The son of Alistair’s hated stepmother. They certainly looked nothing alike. Lord Luke was as dark as Alistair was fair, built on leaner lines, his dark eyes set deep, his cheekbones standing out to the point of gauntness. If she had thought her husband stern, this man was positively austere. Joyless.

  Lord Luke certainly looked no happier than her husband at this chance encounter. He was another family member who had not been invited to their celebratory ball. ‘Estranged’ was the word Alistair had used.

  Nevertheless, Lord Luke offered her a fleeting smile that held a charm
all of its own. ‘It is good to meet you at last, Your Grace.’

  ‘May I say likewise.’ She held out her hand and he leaned across Thor’s neck to touch her fingers. Barely.

  He gestured the lad forward. He was a blond boy of about eight or nine. ‘May I introduce my oldest son, Jeffrey? Unfortunately his brother could not come with us today.’

  The boy cast them both a shy smile. ‘Good day, Your Graces.’ He bowed, clearly carefully schooled in his manners.

  Alistair was staring at the boy as if he’d like to eat him for dinner. A muscle flickered in his jaw. ‘Jeffrey, how do you fare?’ He glanced at his brother and back to the boy. ‘He’s grown a great deal since I saw him last.’

  He sounded strangely bitter.

  ‘Papa says I am going to be as tall as he is,’ Jeffrey said.

  If anything Alistair’s face became grimmer. ‘You will outgrow that pony soon.’

  He was right. The stirrups were well past the pony’s belly.

  ‘He’ll do for now,’ Lord Luke said stiffly. ‘Jeffrey is perfectly satisfied with Rascal.’

  It was a warning not to interfere as best Julia could tell from Alistair’s glare.

  The silence stretched between them.

  Lord Luke ran a swift glance over Julia and a brief flash of amusement entered his dark eyes. ‘Showing your bride the orchard, were you, Your Grace?’

  Alistair glared. ‘What of it?’

  Lord Luke’s eyes were a little too knowing as he stared back at his brother, before turning to Julia. ‘It was a favourite haunt of ours as boys. Many a mischief has taken place in that orchard. Did my brother happen to show you the view, Your Grace?

  In the tree, he meant. Julia felt her face heat, as if she’d been doing something more wicked than simply kissing. Yet oddly enough she had the feeling Lord Luke was not being unkind, but rather enjoying being part of the joke.