‘Of course you do. Well, run along and fetch his lordship a tankard of ale, Betty,’ she said, dismissing the maid.
The pair of them scurried out, heads down, stifling giggles.
‘I never thought...’ she began. Tugged at the sheets again. ‘That is, in future, you must say what you want in the morning.’
He raised one eyebrow. She went bright red. ‘I mean, what your habits are upon rising.’
He raised it a little higher. She scowled.
‘Look, this is all very...strange,’ she flung at him. ‘I have no idea what it’s like for a man and woman to share a room.’ She eyed his bag, which was on full view from her position in bed, through the open dressing-room door. ‘It never occurred to me, actually, that we would even be sharing a room.’
‘Never occurred to you? It must have done.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know any other married couples that do so.’
‘Well, we aren’t like any other married couple, are we? We need to get to know each other. And that means spending time alone. In private.’
‘Oh.’ She frowned. Pondered for a second. ‘You...want to get to know me?’ A strange expression flitted across her face. It looked a bit like wistfulness, only he didn’t know her well enough to be certain, and it was gone so quickly he might have imagined it anyway.
‘Well...’ she began, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. And he promptly decided he didn’t want to hear whatever it was she’d decided to say.
If she was going to start bargaining for some form of freedom, she’d find her pleas landing on deaf ears. He might not have actively sought marriage. But now he was a married man, he wasn’t going to make it easy for her to cuckold him.
Before she could say anything he didn’t like, or he said anything he’d regret, he strode to the dressing room with his can of hot water, and tipped some into the basin.
‘I usually go down to breakfast,’ he heard her say, though his back was toward her.
‘I think the few people who go down to breakfast,’ he said, shrugging out of his coat, ‘can manage without you for one morning.’ He pulled his shirt off over his head.
‘Yes, I’m sure they can, but, I’m still Papa’s hostess. And with the house so full of guests, family guests, many of whom are embroiled in long-running feuds, I find it’s always a good idea to get down early, to sound things out.’
He rummaged in his valise for his shaving tackle. He could hear her bedclothes rustling. One glance over his shoulder was enough to ascertain she was struggling to get out of bed without exposing more than one limb at a time. Which was ridiculous, given that he’d seen every voluptuous inch of her, spread out under him, last night.
Though rather endearing, too. Who would have thought the siren who’d lured him to that greenhouse one night, then torn the shirt from his back another, could be shy, in the light of day? It was something to consider. He wet his shaving brush, and began working up a lather.
‘You see...’ Her voice was coming nearer. He glanced over his shoulder once more. She’d got a slinky sort of wrap round her. Though she was clearly naked underneath.
He took a deep breath, and lathered his face in record time.
‘By the time breakfast is over, I can tell what sort of mood Nicholas and Papa are in. And then I go and take tea with Mrs Dawson—that’s the housekeeper. And she lets me know if there’s anything else I ought to know about. The maids who light the fires, and carry up hot water, are always the first to find out if there’s any trouble brewing. And then I can take steps to nip it in the bud.’
She’d drawn up a stool from somewhere, and was watching him swipe the razor over his cheeks with a sort of rapt fascination. When she wasn’t running her eyes over his naked torso.
Julia had clearly never watched a man shaving before. Well, he’d never shaved while a woman—a practically naked woman—was watching him, come to that. Suddenly he felt more masculine than he’d ever felt in his life.
‘I’m sure you understand how it is,’ she persisted, though her voice now sounded a bit thready. ‘As captain of a ship, you need to know everything that’s going on with your crew. So that you can keep everything running smoothly.’
‘That is a fair point, actually,’ he grunted. He swooshed his razor through the water for longer than necessary while thinking through what she’d said.
‘You look young to be in charge of such a large household,’ he finally said out of the side of his mouth as he tackled his upper lip. ‘Just how old are you?’
‘Twenty.’
‘I didn’t make captain until I was much older,’ he admitted. ‘At your age, I only had charge of about eighty men. And I’d been trained for command for years.’
‘Well, I’ve been trained to command ever since I was born.’
‘Hmmm.’ He raised his chin to shave the delicate area beneath it.
‘I have been meaning to ask,’ she said, twisting her fingers together in her lap. ‘What you plan to do next? I mean, do you have a ship to go back to? No—’ she shook her head ‘—I seem to recall you saying something about things being uncertain now the war has ended.’
‘Yes, they are,’ Alec said, tilting his face one way, then another in the mirror, to make sure he hadn’t missed a spot. ‘Which makes it imperative that I return to London as soon as possible.’
‘Oh, but...’
He dipped his head to rinse off what remained of the lather. And paused. He hadn’t imagined it this time. There was definitely disappointment written all over her face. She’d even begun to protest.
‘There is no point in arguing with me about this,’ he said, rinsing his face swiftly, then reaching for the towel to dry himself. ‘Any new commands, any decent commissions, are likely to go to those men with connections to the Admiralty. Since I don’t have any influence, I need to be there in person. I need to cruise up and down the corridors so people will notice me. See how hungry I am for a new command. They won’t see that if I linger here.’ He tossed the towel aside with a grimace. ‘If they hear I have married. They will think I’m willing to settle down.’
‘You are leaving so soon? Leaving me here?’
‘Leaving you? Who said anything about leaving you?’ Though...hadn’t he just been saying I need to be there in person, I need to cruise up and down? He supposed he could see why she’d misunderstood. And at least she looked disappointed about it. Was she, too, starting to hope they could salvage something from the situation into which her irresponsibility had pitched them?
Or was she merely annoyed about how it would look for her groom to appear to tire of her so quickly after their hasty marriage?
‘Well, obviously I cannot leave Papa in the lurch,’ she said. ‘Not with a houseful of guests.’
He leaned back on the washstand, examining the pugnacious tilt of her chin. Not what he’d expected her to say at all. ‘It isn’t obvious to me,’ he retorted, stung that she thought helping throw a party was more important than his career.
‘I just told you, I have duties—’
‘You have new duties now. Wifely duties,’ he snapped, taking the two steps to close the distance between them, grasping her under the elbows, and lifting her to her feet.
She gasped, but it wasn’t a gasp of shock. The look on her face told him she knew exactly what he meant. And that gasp was an admission she wasn’t at all averse to what he had in mind either.
So he kissed her.
The moment he let go of her elbows, to wrap his arm about her waist, she put her arms round his neck, and sort of arched into him.
He was glad he’d taken the time to shave. He wouldn’t have been able to kiss her so thoroughly if he’d been worrying about scouring her soft cheeks with his rough whiskers.
Which reminded him of his plan to kiss his way d
own the entire length of her spine.
He broke off the kiss, and turned her round.
‘Wh-what...?’ she stuttered, and then, when he lifted the hair from the nape of her neck and nibbled gently, gave a deep, shuddery sigh.
Signifying that she liked it.
So he nipped a bit harder. Slid the silken wrap from her shoulders, and slipped his hands down to cup her breasts. Both of them at once.
‘Oh, God,’ he groaned. ‘But your breasts are magnificent.’
She ground her hips back, against his hardness.
He groaned again. Tore her wrap from her arms and tossed it to the floor. Clamped one arm about her waist to hold her still as he began to nibble his way down her back.
Only, the little noises she was making, the gasps and whimpers, were so encouraging he gave up somewhere between her shoulder blades. Straightened up, grabbed her hand and tugged her back to the bed.
‘We shouldn’t,’ she protested. ‘I have to get down to breakfast...’
‘Not today,’ he growled.
Then turned her, and laid her face down on the mattress.
* * *
For a second, Julia felt alarmed. What did he mean to do? Was this to be some kind of lesson? He’d sounded so strict when he’d mentioned her duties. And surely this wasn’t good—being bent over with her bottom in the air like this? As though he meant to spank her? Just because she’d expressed a reluctance to leave Ness Hall in the middle of a house party?
If he did anything like that she would never forgive him. It might be his right, but nobody had ever beaten her. Not even with the flat of the hand.
But she wasn’t going to struggle, or give so much as a hint that she felt even the slightest, faintest, stirrings of alarm. Showing weakness only made bullies worse. She’d learned that from Nick and Herbert, as a little girl. Which was why she’d been able to teach her younger brothers how to deal with them.
But she was so very naked, so very exposed, so very vulnerable, that she couldn’t prevent her heart from banging against her ribs. Nor could she help flinching when his hands finally connected with her body.
Though it was the shock of him slowly caressing her bottom that made her jump. For she hadn’t expected it. Well, she hadn’t known what to expect. But it wasn’t that he should stroke, and knead, and squeeze her bottom like this.
‘Lush,’ he said. ‘That’s the only word for your behind. So soft, and sweet, and round as it is.’
The alarm she’d been refusing to let him see skipped a beat, and settled into a new, thrumming sort of excitement.
He swept the hair away from the nape of her neck, again. Nibbled. Then took up kissing his way down her spine, the way he’d begun to in the dressing room.
All her breath left her lungs in a whoosh of relief. He wasn’t trying to punish her for objecting to his plan, he was just determined to carry it out.
He slid one hand under her body to cup her breast as he reached the very end of her spine. His other slid up the inside of her right thigh. Pushed it aside so that he could insert one of his own legs between hers and nudged them further apart so that he could stand between them.
And then there was a pause. She glanced over her shoulder to see that he was undoing his breeches. She buried her face back in the bedding before she caught sight of that part of him. Or worse, the sight of him as he entered her. From behind. And then crouching over her, and sinking his teeth into the nape of her neck. The way a stallion held his mare while he was covering her.
The image sent a bolt of something purely animal screaming through her. Just about the same time as the hand that had been cupping her breast slid down her stomach. Toyed with her as he plunged into her from behind. And she didn’t know whether it was the pressure of his hand, or his hot breath in her ear, or the sheer dominance of his position, but she’d never felt so utterly feminine in her life. Or so glad to be female.
She groaned with pleasure. Gasped, and ground herself against his hand, and finally bit into the mattress to stifle the scream that tore from her as raw, primal excitement exploded through her whole being.
And then he stood up, and gripped her hips with both hands as he thrust to his own completion. While she lay completely immobile. Just letting him. She could do nothing else. She was too limp from the incredible sensations that had ripped through her frame.
When he finished, on a guttural groan that sounded as if it was torn from the very root of his being, he pulled her up, into his arms, and brought her down next to him on the bed, rearranging her while she still felt like a rag doll.
Then he gave a deep, satisfied sigh.
Well, he was bound to feel satisfied, wasn’t he? He’d just treated her to a masterly display of masculine dominance.
He hadn’t even had to shout at her, or strike her, to get his own way. To make her miss breakfast. He had just kissed her. And her own body had surrendered. No, worse than that, had gleefully gone to him. That realisation soured everything.
‘Now that you’re done with me,’ she said in a waspish tone, ‘may I get up and commence the rest of my duties?’
He tensed. The way he’d done when she’d slid her hand under his coat and cupped his bottom, that very first night.
Oooh! It made her mad as fire that everything he did made her think about...that. Congress. Conversation. Whatever you wanted to call it.
When she disliked him more than any other man she’d ever met!
With an angry huff, she got off the bed—irritated even further by the way her legs felt so weak—and tottered to the dressing room. She sloshed his cold washing water into the bucket, and poured some fresh for herself, with hands that were shaking. Ooh! She couldn’t even make her way to the dressing room, and have a wash, with any dignity.
By rights Mabel should be up here, laying out her gown for the day, and helping her with her hair. She soaped the sponge, and gave herself a brisk rubbing down. Well, that was what you did to a mare, wasn’t it? After a lengthy gallop.
‘Is something amiss?’
She didn’t need to turn round to feel him, standing in the doorway.
‘Can I not even have a wash in privacy?’
‘You watched me wash and shave,’ he said silkily. ‘It’s only fair you let me do the same.’
‘There’s nothing fair about this,’ she almost sobbed. ‘Most husbands let their wives have their own room.’
‘Not when they’re first married,’ he said with utter certainty.
Could that be true? She had no idea. Nobody had told her what to expect from marriage. Not even one such as this. Not one of her aunts had bothered asking her if she needed any advice—not that she’d have welcomed it from them. She’d already solved the great mystery of what men and women did with each other if they could get each other’s clothes off. So she didn’t need a married woman to tell her what to expect on her wedding night.
Anyway, not one of them had the kind of marriage she’d ever wished to endure. It was probably one of them that Nellie had spied, doing what she shouldn’t with one of the guests. Or one of the locals.
‘Is that why you didn’t have my things brought down here? You expected to have the kind of bloodless marriage that high-born society people have?’
‘No,’ she blurted out. ‘That’s the last thing I wanted.’ She’d dreamed of a marriage in which they could be friends, as well as lovers. ‘But...’ she turned to look at him, pleading with him for understanding ‘I was so busy planning the wedding I never thought about the marriage at all. About where you’d want to sleep.’
‘I want to sleep in this room.’
Her heart gave a funny little twist.
And then plummeted when she couldn’t see any sign of tenderness in his face. No sign that he’d forgiven her for the way the marriage had come about, or h
er lack of foresight about making her room into their room. Just a sort of hard determination. Determination to have his own way.
Which suddenly turned distinctly lustful as he eyed her naked, soapy form.
‘The view is much better,’ he said, with the start of a wicked smile.
With a squeal of outrage, she flung the sponge at him.
He fielded it. Laughed. And strolled back to the bedroom, where he disposed himself gracefully on the bed.
She slammed the dressing-room door shut on him.
And kicked his valise, for good measure.
Chapter Eight
Julia had never been so glad she had a suite of rooms. By getting Mabel to remove her clothes from the armoire in the bedroom, and taking them into her sitting room, she managed to get dressed without once having to set eyes on her husband. He’d dressed himself...well, she didn’t care whether he’d done it in the bedroom or the dressing room. By the next time she saw him he’d made himself decent, which was the main thing.
‘You are still angry with me?’
Well, what a stupid question. She glowered at him from the doorway, undecided whether she was more angry with him for making her miss breakfast, or insisting she leave Ness Hall before her father’s guests.
Breakfast. Missing breakfast was the worst offence. Because she’d told him how important she felt it was to be there, and he’d ignored her wishes. Would he always ride roughshod over her? Try and reduce her to the status of...of one of his deckhands?
That was what happened in a marriage without love and mutual respect at its core. Two individuals, yoked together, each striving to go the way they wanted and having to drag the other along, instead of both pulling in the same direction.
He got up. Clasped his hands behind his back. ‘I’ve been thinking.’
Something she’d said had made him think? Good grief.
* * *
She was pushing out her lips again, the way she did when she was biting back a sharp retort.
He sighed. ‘I can see you take your responsibility to your guests seriously. It was the way you likened your post to being the captain of a ship that made me think. Because, as a captain, I would have found it impossible to desert my post.’ He’d thought about more than that as he’d listened to her sloshing about in the dressing room in a sort of thwarted rage. It had put him in mind of the way he’d felt when Lizzie’s letter had arrived, and he’d had to come tearing down here instead of staying until the task of gutting his ship was finished.
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