by Lloyd, Diana
Her throat clenched at the thought, and cursing her stays, she measured her breaths to keep from panic. In and out, in and out—she calmed with each new breath, her mind churning over possibilities until she hit on one. She’d seduce him. It was the only logical recourse available to her. She’d seduce him every single night until…well, until the inevitable happened. And then, she’d convince him to let her stay. Or, at least, stay near. If his house was large enough, it would be easy to avoid each other.
Everyone knew that Lord Haverworth occupied the east wing of Worth House, while Lady Haverworth occupied the west. Still, it seemed an unnatural and odd way for a married couple to live. Her parents took an early breakfast together every Sunday in her mother’s sitting room. Just the two of them. Sometimes, from the hallway, she could hear her father’s laughter over some small unheard thing her mother had said. The sound of it always made her feel safe, warm, and happy. She wanted that for herself and her children.
She smiled and looked over at Quin. He’d removed his coat and was now slumped in the seat fast asleep. He should sleep while he could because she would keep him awake tonight. The sleepy seduction of the swaying of the coach took its toll on her, too, and she let loose a loud yawn and stretched. Removing hat and gloves, she made herself comfortable. Sleep now, seduction later.
Sandalwood was her next conscious thought, and she inhaled deeply, letting it fill her lungs. Smiling, she snuggled closer to the warm, solid object that made the seat more tolerable as the coach rumbled along the road. There was a beat just beneath her cheek keeping steady time with the passing seconds. A feeling of contentment settled about her shoulders before, in the first wave of full wakefulness, she remembered where she was. And worse, she remembered what was to become of her.
With a heavy heart, Elsinore forced herself to ease away from the warmth and comfort she’d found in slumber, surprised to find she had sought out Quin in her sleep. He was the sandalwood and the warm comforting anchor—and it was his cold heart that served as the timepiece ticking away the seconds until she would be cast aside. She did not want to be like Lady Haverworth, alone in her half of the house, pretending not to notice who came and went from the east entrance.
With his eyes closed, and his muscles relaxed, Quin’s face was almost boyish. He slept with a slight smile, as if he found pleasure in the simple peacefulness of slumber. He’d look positively angelic if it were not for one small crease of concern lingering across his brow.
Before she could think better of it, Elsinore removed her gloves and pressed the pad of her thumb against that one small imperfection. She allowed her touch to linger for a moment, but when she pulled her hand away, the stubborn crease remained. Gently, with no more pressure than a summer’s breeze, she brushed the back of her hand along one eyebrow and down the side of his face. The crease disappeared, and still in slumber, he turned his face toward her touch and gave a deep contented sigh.
Emboldened by her success and more than a little pleased that he’d turned to her willingly, she dared to touch him again. Tracing his jawline, she cradled his face in her hand. A few prickly whiskers scraped her palm, and she smiled at the strangely intimate sensation. Resting her other hand against his chest, she felt the rise and fall of each breath and the steady beating of the cold, hard, heart that would tear her babe from her arms and cast her off.
He had no intention of being a real husband to her. But she couldn’t deny she craved the way he’d made her feel by treating her as a woman rather than a bothersome child. When they kissed, their first proper kiss as man and wife, she was sure she’d glimpsed his heart. Her traitorous body had responded to his touch even as she knew his despicable intentions. Even now heat gathered and pooled in the places he had touched her. If only she could show him or teach him what she wanted as his wife.
But Oglethorpe’s Treatise could help with that. Oh, how she wished she’d had time to visit a booksellers to find her own copy. As it was, she’d just have to try to remember what it said. When first starting canine training, she recalled, rewards for good behavior were paramount. Bad behavior, on the other hand, rather than being punished as some kennels subscribed to, was to be ignored. An intelligent hound, the book had explained, would naturally seek out all things that produced reward.
Easy enough to reward a hound with a fresh bone or bit of meat she supposed, but what about a Scotsman? Bits of haggis? Drams of whisky? What did men want? Well, according to the other book she’d read, they wanted to fit together with a woman like a Chinese puzzle. She couldn’t deny that every man in the illustrations looked more than content.
So between what she’d been taught and what she’d read—what sort of plan could she come up with? Elsinore smiled with sudden inspiration. She would flirt with and seduce her husband. She would reward his good behavior with attention, devotion, and even love. She would insinuate herself into his mind until he realized he couldn’t live without her. He’d be buying her jewels, writing her sonnets to rival Byron’s, and professing his love before the end of summer. He didn’t stand a chance.
She would start this very minute. Closing her eyes, Elsinore leaned over and dared to brush her lips against his. Her lips tingled where they’d met his, and she drew away and touched her fingertips to them, imagining that he’d left a tangible part of himself there. If she was going to do well at it, she reasoned, she’d need more practice. Besides, he looked so handsome, she couldn’t resist. Keeping one eye open in case he started to wake, she pressed her lips against his again.
The contact was sweet and tempted her into more. Yesterday’s lessons were still fresh in her mind, even if she couldn’t remember last night. She needed to find her way back to the place where they were both living only to touch the other. With that in mind, she increased the pressure of her lips against his before closing her eyes. Tilting her head, Elsinore dared, for the briefest of moments, to touch the tip of her tongue to his full bottom lip.
Slowly, reluctantly, she ended the kiss and opened her eyes, her breath catching as she gazed into a pair of bemused hazel green eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I was just…”
Quin touched his finger to her lips to silence her. Without a word, he pulled her closer, pressed his lips to hers, and boldly returned her last kiss. He returned it again, and again. When she slid her arms around his neck, he pulled her into his lap and rained kisses upon her upturned face. He kissed her temple, then gently brushed his lips over each eyelid. Elsinore moaned with pleasure. Seducing her husband would be no hardship.
Quin’s movements intensified at the sound of her pleasure, and he settled her more firmly in his lap. He returned his attention to her eager mouth, slanting his lips over her own and increasing the pressure until she parted her lips in welcome. Shyly at first, then with building confidence, she brushed her tongue against his.
A warm sensation sprang to life near her heart and spread outward to her fingertips and down to her toes. The heat settled low in her belly and between her legs, and she knew that she’d discovered the secret as to why women risked ruin by stealing kisses in shadowy corners and secluded gardens.
“Mo chreach,” he exclaimed between kisses. “What a little wanton I’ve married. I should think you’d be exhausted after last night.”
“Last night?” she asked dreamily, as he moved to nuzzle her earlobe.
“Of course, last night…our wedding night. Come, lass, do that lovely little thing that you did for me last night.”
Elsinore’s eyes flew open, and she lifted her head from where it rested on his shoulder. What had she done? “Um…that thing?”
Quin winked at her suggestively. “It was delightful, and let me tell you, quite unexpected.”
“Unexpected?” Elsinore stared at him and swallowed hard. “Oh,” she said finally, “there were just so many…things.” Her mind reeled. She’d apparently left him well pleased. It was a good start for her plan, even if she couldn’t remember it.
&nbs
p; “Dozens,” he offered helpfully. “I’ll get you started,” he said, as he tore away his cravat and laying his collar open. “There we are, have at it.”
“But it’s…daytime,” she said, her voice catching as she caught sight of the patch of golden brown curls exposed on his chest.
“Nonsense. We’re in a closed coach with the shades drawn. Besides, I’d hardly think such a thing would bother ye the way you were scampering nudus perfectus around our bedchamber last night.”
“What?”
“Bare as the day you were born. Delightful as it was, I was a little concerned the servants might see you. We’ll have to be a bit more circumspect in the future.”
“Circumspect,” she echoed. Good gracious, I’m turning into an amnesiatic hoyden parrot.
Quin smiled. “I may be exaggerating just a bit, but you were…indescribable.” With that, he winked and flicked at his open collar in an outright challenge.
The tuft of tawny curls now openly mocked her earlier resolve to seduce him. Making up her mind, Elsinore licked her lips, leaned in close, and pressed them against his chest. Placing her hand on his bare chest, she brushed her fingers over the planes of his muscles and through the short curls. He shivered as her thumb passed over a flat, firm nipple. Exploring a wanton curiosity, she leaned down and kissed him there.
He stopped breathing. Despite the pounding of the horses’ hoofbeats and the churning of the wheels over the bumpy road, the entire world went silent as she waited for him to take his next breath.
She looked up to meet his eyes and found him staring at her with an expression she didn’t know how to interpret. “Shall I continue?” she dared to ask, trusting neither her voice nor the white-hot longing now coursing through her body.
He inhaled a deep, shuddering breath before speaking. “You’re so damn beautiful. You deserve better than me,” he said, his voice low and deep with emotion. “You deserve so much better than this.”
“I’m your wife.” The words left her mouth unplanned, and she struggled to follow her declaration with something more that would help convince him to make their marriage what she wanted it to be.
“Then I pray you will forgive me.” Their lips met, and Elsinore used the kiss to convey every confused emotion coursing through her veins. Quin grasped her hips and resettled her on his lap so that she straddled him. His movements becoming urgent, almost desperate, as clothing was unfastened, loosened, and pushed aside in a quest for more and more physical contact.
There was no time to consider insecurities or propriety. Elsinore could only think of the sudden all-consuming need to feel his body against her own and seek out the satisfaction she knew his body could bring. Surely, the flame ignited within her would help to melt his cold, hard heart.
Her pelisse now lay in a puddle on the floor and her bodice stretched to the limit of its stitches, exposing as much of her breasts as it would allow. Urgent hands slid her skirts up the length of her legs, exposing her stockings and garters as she straddled his lap facing him.
At last, when his hand found the part of her that most ached for his touch, she tore her lips away from his. “Please,” she begged, remembering all too well the breathless ecstasy of yesterday’s encounter. She dropped her head and moaned into his collar, inhaling the warm sandalwood scent of him, as his clever fingers obeyed her entreaty.
With one hand coaxing her toward heaven, the other moved to her hip and guided her into a pulsing rhythm against his hand. The hot, hard evidence of his arousal became more and more pronounced with every beat of her hips. When he slid his hand away, Elsinore murmured her displeasure against his lips.
“Not yet,” he said, “wait for me.” Quin eased her hips away from him, and a frisson of fear-tinged anticipation raced up her spine as he unfastened his breeches and positioned his hard length at her opening. He rubbed himself against her, spreading the slick dampness of her need as she ached for the return of his touch. Their eyes caught and held.
“Yes,” she breathlessly answered the unasked question. He responded by burying himself within her with one smooth, powerful thrust. She cried out at the burning pinch of pain, but he soothed her with kisses, his hands holding her hips firm as her body stretched to accommodate all of him. Soon those same hands were lifting her hips, urging her into a pounding tempo of thrust and retreat until her knees trembled.
Elsinore moved her hands over him, running them through his hair, brushing her fingertips over his lips, spreading her hand wide and skimming it over his broad chest—she couldn’t stop herself. She suddenly needed to see and touch every part of him, wishing for nothing to remain hidden between them. Quin’s vicelike grip on her hips held fast as he impaled her over and over again. A coil of desire began to tighten low in her belly, pushing aside the pain between her legs. She moaned softly with every thrust that brought her closer to the explosion of sensations that now flickered just out of reach.
He thrust to the hilt once more, and Elsinore cried out as the coil finally released. Tender muscles fluttered and pulsed along the length of his manhood as the rest of her body went limp. She collapsed against his chest, gulping in a lungful of air as he reached his own climax and his body tensed. He throbbed inside her, spilling his seed.
Several moments passed before she had both the will and the energy to lift her head to look at him. His head rested against the back of the seat, his eyes half closed, and he returned her gaze with a small smile and a contented sigh. He draped his arm around her before murmuring, “Are you all right?”
Elsinore nodded, unsure of her voice. There was a thought germinating in her brain, but she pushed it aside, wanting to enjoy their languor for a few moments more before reality intruded. Quin lifted her slightly and shifted their weight so that she no longer straddled him. As he moved to put the pieces of their clothing back to rights, a dark red smear of blood along the hem of his shirttail stood out like a beacon.
The wayward thought that she’d been trying to deny crashed to the front of her mind.
She knew with sudden, absolute, crystal clarity that she’d never slept through his lovemaking. She froze with shock, then disbelief, until finally anger settled itself around her shoulders like a black cloak. Elsinore took a deep, slow breath, before speaking. “You lied,” she said quietly, pulling her bodice up to cover her breasts like a shield.
The small stain mocked him as a liar, and he fumbled with the front of his breeches, trying to make himself presentable. “Aye,” he admitted finally. “I did.”
She escaped to the far corner, putting as much distance between them as she could. His lie hung in the air between them, as effective as a stone and mortar wall.
…
Quin took that time to put himself to rights, straightening his clothes, pulling on his boots, and retying his cravat. He never once looked up. He didn’t want her to see his shame or any other emotion that might linger there after what they’d just shared.
“Why?” Her voice, small and hurt, cut him to the quick. It would be so much easier to hang on to his anger and resentment if she’d only scream and rant like a termagant.
“Your little trick worked quite well,” he answered at last, pulling on his coat. “Nothing happened on our wedding night. The tea made you quite senseless.”
“My little trick?” she asked, the first shades of anger affecting her tone. “What little trick?”
“The laudanum-dosed tea that you and yer maid concocted.”
“What are you talking about?” One hand clenched the fabric of her gown to her chest, while the other frantically smoothed her wrinkled skirts back down to her ankles.
“The tea, Elsinore. And, by the way, it was a waste of time. Non-consummation is not sufficient grounds to set aside a marriage, if that was the goal.”
“But the blood…”
“I cut my foot on the damned broken teacup.”
“But you said…you said I did, and you made me kiss you!” Her hands were now shaking and her voice threat
ened to follow suit.
“You kissed me of your own free will. I never forced you to do anything, even though it would have been within my rights to do so.” Somewhere in his mind, Quin knew he owed her an apology for his childish act, but her treachery still smarted. He wasn’t yet ready to beg forgiveness. Anger was familiar and comfortable territory for him, so he stayed within its boundaries.
“Your rights?” Elsinore grabbed up her bonnet and flung it at him. “What about my rights?”
The millinery projectile bounced harmlessly off his head and landed at his feet. “And exactly how have you been harmed? You should count yourself lucky that the tea wasna strong enough to kill you. All night, I stayed awake making sure you continued breathing. All bloody night.” The foolish lassie had no idea how dangerous poison could be, but he knew all too well.
“I have never taken laudanum in my life, and I most certainly did not put it in my own tea on our wedding night.”
“Then how did it get there?”
“I don’t know. I asked for a soothing cup of tea to help calm me, as I was so upset after you told me I was to be set aside. Perhaps Yvette only thought to spare me a painful wedding night and didn’t realize how strong it was. She said she didn’t know your kitchen well. Why can you not consider that it was an innocent mistake? Why are you so determined to prove that I’m trying to deceive you?”
“Because that’s what women do.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to snatch them back. The expression on her face told him that it was much too late. Quin turned away, sparing himself her judgment.
Cold in her grave, Sorcha still mocked him. Blinded by duty, honor and, yes, arrogance, he trusted when he should have questioned. He accepted when he should have challenged, and he overlooked what he should have investigated. She may have died in the effort, but in the end Sorcha won. He had no heir, no joy, no peace, and no hope.
And none of it was Elsinore’s fault. He was the worst thing to ever happen to her, and she didn’t yet realize it. She gave him a glimpse of redemption, a vision of what life might be, and he drank it up like nectar, leaving nothing behind for her. As an English woman she would not be readily welcomed in Scotland. His household was still in a sterile stage of mourning—shoes muffled, mirrors covered—she would find no happy welcome there. How long would it be before she gave up and came to hate him?
