Lord Hathaway's New Bride

by Suzanna Medeiros

  He winced as the words left his mouth, realizing that they sounded bitter. He’d been aiming for levity.

  She turned and waited for him to reach her before replying. “It is a shame to be fair-haired?”

  “No, it is an embarrassment that I am not. Something that my uncle never let me forget on those few occasions he deigned to speak to me.”

  He could almost see her mind ticking away, weighing the implications of his words. His new wife was a clever woman. If she hadn’t suspected the truth before, she’d know now. He only hoped she wouldn’t be too scandalized.

  She licked her lips before she spoke, and he almost groaned at the slight movement. He’d wanted Sarah for his own since first setting eyes on her. It was killing him to exercise restraint and keep his distance in the face of her obvious unease in his presence.

  “I was of the belief that illegitimate children couldn’t inherit.”

  He inclined his head. “And you would be correct. My father wasn’t illegitimate, but I don’t think anyone had any doubt that he and my uncle did not share the same father.”

  She nodded, apparently accepting his words without censure.

  “Your grandmother would hardly be the first woman to bear a child from a lover and raise him together with her other children.”

  She spoke so calmly that for several moments he was speechless as he wrestled with the implications of her acceptance. Was it possible she was already with child? Or perhaps she was thinking of the day when she, too, would take a lover. Her ready acceptance of his familial history would certainly explain why she’d agreed to marry him despite the fact that she could hardly seem to stand being in his presence.

  Jealousy speared through him at the thought, the emotion so intense and unexpected that he almost recoiled.

  “Tell me you’re not already increasing.”

  Color drained from her face at his words, and for a moment, he feared it was due to guilt at his having discovered her secret. The roar of blood pounded in his head. When color seeped back into her face, there was no mistaking that her shock had now turned to anger.

  “How dare you accuse me of such a thing.” Her lips were pressed together, her chest heaving with indignation as she finished.

  It was a struggle to keep his tone even. “You would hardly be the first woman to marry another man after finding yourself in such a condition.” He’d deliberately echoed her words, telling her that it was her own fault that he’d come to that conclusion.

  Her brown eyes narrowed as she glared at him. “I may live in the country, but I am not a simpleton. Just because I’ve seen other women behave in such a manner does not mean I come by my knowledge from personal experience.”

  “So you are not increasing?” The relief coursing through him was immense.

  “No,” she managed between clenched teeth.

  Their tentative camaraderie was now gone, and it was obvious to him that she wouldn’t soon forget this conversation. He’d misstepped. Badly. He was supposed to woo Sarah, gain her acceptance of him since he’d never force himself on a woman. Not even his own his wife.

  Judging it best to retreat and allow her temper time to cool, he made a swift change of subject.

  “I’ve arranged for you to meet with Mrs. Phillips, the housekeeper. She’s waiting for you now if it isn’t too inconvenient.”

  She released a breath, and he couldn’t tell if she was trying to dispel her anger or exhibiting her relief that she would no longer have to bear his company.

  “Now is fine.” She looked down and must have realized she was still wearing her wedding dress. “I’d like to change first.”

  He nodded and took his leave. She didn’t move until he’d left the room, no doubt anxious to ensure he wouldn’t follow her to her bedroom.

  Chapter 3

  Sarah didn’t know what to do with herself as she waited for her husband to join her. She had never even kissed the man and now she was about to lie with him. She couldn’t help but remember the kisses she’d shared with Robert. She’d believed that he cared for her, but given how casually he’d broken her heart, it was clear she’d been wrong.

  The Vaughans were respected within their corner of Northampton, so there had never been any doubt they’d be invited to the wedding breakfast. Incredulity had filled her, though, when she’d seen Robert. Her disbelief had quickly turned to anger, and she’d been tempted to ask a footman to escort him from the house.

  In the end, she’d been grateful for the reminder that men couldn’t be trusted. The conversation she’d had with Hathaway in the gallery that afternoon had shown her that he felt the same way about her sex. She still found it difficult to believe he’d actually asked her if she was with child. That one question told her that he had a very low opinion of her—perhaps of all women given his family’s history. The fact that he’d essentially bought her by agreeing to pay off her father’s numerous debts no doubt solidified his low opinion. But then again, their union was no different than that of any other member of the ton.

  After that brief, uncomfortable meeting in the gallery, she’d spent the rest of the afternoon with the very efficient Mrs. Phillips, who had wasted no time in going over the menus and discussing the running of the household.

  She had found it almost impossible to concentrate, her fear of what that night would hold growing by the second as the housekeeper went on about household matters. Sarah hadn’t made a good impression with the older woman, but honestly, what had she expected? It was no secret that her marriage wasn’t a love match, and she’d wager that any new bride in similar circumstances would be nervous about their upcoming wedding night.

  James had seemed content to leave her to her own devices, something for which she was more than a little grateful. Whenever he entered a room, he seemed to take up all the space and she had to keep reminding herself to breathe. She was constantly on edge in his presence. She went to great pains to hide the fact that he made her nervous, but she couldn’t tell if her efforts were successful.

  When he’d sent word that he wouldn’t be joining her for dinner, she’d taken the opportunity to have a tray sent to her room, hoping the time alone would allow her to settle her nerves. It hadn’t worked.

  She cringed again as she remembered that he’d overheard her cousin offering condolences on her marriage, a sentiment she knew had sprung from her cousin’s jealousy and not from true concern. The flash of disappointment she’d seen on his face still haunted her. Of course she hadn’t been successful in hiding her reservations from him. She didn’t think anyone else had seen through her attempt at a content, if not entirely happy, facade. The fact that he had seen below that surface had unnerved her and served as yet another reminder of how much his mere presence unbalanced her.

  When her maid finally left after spending an absurd amount of time fussing over her, Sarah turned toward her new bed. She considered pretending to be asleep, but such a ruse would only gain her an extra day. Perhaps. It was entirely possible Hathaway would wake her.

  She started to pace as she considered what was about to happen. In what had been an extremely awkward conversation, her mother had told her that the first night would be the worst. It might be better for her nerves to just get it out of the way. Maybe he’d leave her alone once their marriage was consummated. And if not, she might be lucky and conceive right away. Surely he wouldn’t continue to demand his marital rights when she was carrying his child.

  She tried not to dwell on his joining her. Much as she had wanted to avoid the conversation, her mother had gone out of her way to ensure she knew the mechanics of what would happen on her wedding night. Sarah had heard innuendos from some of the staff when they hadn’t realized she could overhear them but hadn’t been able to piece together herself just what was involved. How was she supposed to bear having a virtual stranger take such personal liberties with her body? Her only hope was that the ordeal would be brief and that he’d return to his own bed after it was over.

 
Determined not to let fear overwhelm her, she forced herself to stop pacing. She took several deep breaths and tried to push back her racing thoughts.

  After her meeting with Mrs. Phillips, Sarah had headed straight to the library to find a book to read. She piled the pillows on the bed and settled against the headboard. Despite her resolve, when she opened the book she could barely concentrate on the words before her. She forced herself to continue, however, determined not to allow her fear free rein.

  A shared dressing room connected her bedroom to her husband’s. When the soft knock on her door finally came, she lowered the book to her lap with exaggerated care and bade him enter. She gave herself a mental pat on the back when her voice didn’t waver.

  When he strode into the room, she experienced again the odd sensation that he had taken up all the available space. He still wore the clothes he was attired in that morning for their wedding, but he’d removed the topcoat and cravat. In his shirt and waistcoat, the former open at the throat, the evidence of her husband’s muscular physique was undeniable. A strange sensation stirred deep within her at the sight.

  Trying to retain her composure, she looked away from him and realized she was holding her book so tightly her knuckles were white. She forced her fingers to relax and made a great show of marking the place in her book before setting it on her bedside table.

  Tense silence stretched between them as she searched for something to say. Something that wouldn’t reveal just how nervous her husband made her. Even worse, she had no idea what she was supposed to do. Did he expect her to lie there while he joined her? But he’d need to undress first, and if she stayed as she was, she’d witness every moment of it.

  Heat rose to her cheeks at the thought, spurring her to scramble from the bed and face him. She would turn around if he started to remove his clothing. She glanced at her bedside table. Should she snuff out the lamp she’d left on so she could read?

  When she looked again at Hathaway, she saw his eyes travel down the length of her night rail, lingering on her breasts, then lower. His eyes seemed to burn into her, and embarrassment coursed through her as she looked down to see that the thin garment clung to her uncorseted breasts and wrapped around her thighs. Shocked, she looked up and met his gaze. Hunger shone in his eyes, threatening to steal her breath.

  Turning away from him, she came up against her reflection in the mirror of her dressing table. Was that…? She squinted at her reflection. Dear Lord, how had she not realized this garment was quite so sheer? Surely the modiste who’d created it for her wedding night should have said something to her—she could almost see right through it. She covered her face with her hands, mortified that she was virtually naked in front of this man who was little more than a stranger to her.

  She heard him move behind her and tensed when the weight of his hands settled on her shoulders.

  “You’re afraid.” She could hear the concern in his voice. “I won’t hurt you.”

  She lowered her hands and crossed them over her breasts, her hands settling just below his on her shoulders. Their eyes met in the mirror.

  “We barely know one another. It seems unbelievable that I’m here with you, like this. And I don’t know what I should be doing.”

  “You hate the fact that you’re not in control.”

  She was going to deny it but then realized he was correct. Yes, she was nervous, and yes, she was embarrassed, but what she struggled with most was exactly what he’d pointed out. It was the first night of their marriage together, and she feared that by ceding control to him now, she would find herself on even shakier ground in the future.

  His hands covered hers, making her aware of the ring he’d placed on her finger just that morning. Slowly he dragged her hands down to her sides and held them there while his gaze traveled over the reflection of her body.

  “You are very beautiful,” he said, his voice thick.

  She knew she was pretty, but the way he spoke, his voice almost reverential, gave the words extra weight. He wasn’t just paying her a compliment… The words sounded as though they had been torn from his very soul. She stared at him in the mirror, unable to look away. When he moved his hands to her waist, she drew in a deep breath. His hands were so hot they seemed to burn right through the thin fabric of her night rail. She might as well have been wearing nothing.

  She could only watch in silence, holding her breath and bracing herself for the touch of his mouth as his dark head descended toward the side of her neck. Robert had never done this to her, and she felt powerless, unsure what to do. When her husband’s lips touched her skin, she closed her eyes, unable to watch. She was taken aback by his gentleness, his mouth resting against her throat, the heat of his breath causing a shiver to go through her.

  When she opened her eyes again, she saw that his eyes were trained on her face in the mirror. He started to inch his hands upward. His palms settled over her breasts, his thumbs toying with the hardened peaks through the fabric, and she let out a shaky breath. The intimacy of his touch was almost unbearable.

  “Please,” she said, feeling suddenly shy. “I can’t watch… It’s too much.”

  He stilled, and for a moment she thought he was going to deny her, but then with a curt nod he shifted their bodies so she was no longer standing in front of her dressing table.

  Without the embarrassment of having to watch herself while he touched her, there was only him. Her husband. His large body pressed against her from behind, his hands holding her, one on her breast, the other on her stomach. And oh God, he’d lowered his mouth to her neck again and was doing something wicked with his lips and tongue that caused her to moan and tilt her head farther to the side.

  She could feel his hardness pressing into her lower back, and she should have been afraid. She knew what was going to come next, and while her mind tried to prepare her for the pain of his impending penetration, her body seemed to revel under his touch. Without conscious thought, she pressed back into him and a thrill of satisfaction went through her when she heard his groan. He had completely unbalanced her, giving her pleasure when she’d expected none, but she was also having a similar effect on him.

  His hands bunched the fabric at her hips, and when he started to drag the material up, she was almost breathless with anticipation at the thought of feeling his warm touch on her skin.

  Was this normal? Was she supposed to be enjoying his touch so much?

  When he caressed her now-bared thighs and swept one hand between them, she opened for him without having to be asked. His other arm gripped her around the waist, keeping her back pressed against his front.

  A soft whimper escaped her lips when he touched her there—the most private part of her.

  He made a soft shushing sound. “Let me show you how much pleasure I can bring you.”

  And he did. He brought her more bliss than she had ever thought possible as his fingers stroked her. His other hand moved up to cup her breast again. Almost delirious from the sensations he coaxed from her, her head fell back against him. He pressed the side of his face against her cheek as he caressed her breast and continued his wicked movements below.

  She couldn’t think, could barely remember to breathe as pleasure overwhelmed her, just like he’d promised. And when it reached a point that she didn’t think she’d be able to stand it any longer, her whole body seemed to convulse. His grip on her breast tightened briefly and he exhaled harshly, but the fingers of his other hand continued to move, prolonging the moment. Finally he stopped and released the fabric of her night rail so it fell around her, covering her once more.

  They stood like that for at least a minute. His hand still on her breast, his cheek pressed against hers, and he wrapped his other arm around her waist, securing her to him as they both tried to regain control of their breathing.

  As she came back to herself, she realized that he was still hard where he pressed into her back. Her thoughts were reeling… What had just happened? How had he affected her in such a way?
And surely now he would take his own pleasure.

  He released her and took a step back. She turned to face him, but he was already moving away. She stood, stunned, as he walked to the door that separated her room from his and crossed through it, closing the door behind him with almost exaggerated care.

  James had known his plan to introduce Sarah slowly to the physical side of marriage would prove difficult, but it had been harder than he’d imagined to keep from taking his new bride after she’d fallen apart so gloriously in his arms. He was hard and aching. It went against his nature to deny himself something he wanted so badly, especially when it was clear Sarah had been prepared to carry out her duty.

  But if that day’s events had shown him anything, it was that his new bride had not fully accepted their marriage. She’d been unfailingly polite when he’d courted her, but she hadn’t encouraged his suit. Perhaps he should have given her more time to come to know him, but he’d known from the first time they met that he wanted her for his wife. He hadn’t wanted to risk losing her to someone else. He couldn’t say why, exactly, but she affected him in a way no other woman ever had.

  He was well aware of his shortcomings and knew it would take time for Sarah to accept him fully. He wasn’t classically handsome… certainly not as handsome as Vaughan. His mouth twisted in distaste just thinking of the man.

  Physically, James had more in common with dockworkers than his fellow members of the aristocracy, but he’d never wanted for female companionship. Those liaisons had been with women who were willing to engage in a little bed sport, but none of them had wanted to marry him. Not until he’d inherited his title. Then, overnight, he’d become a desirable catch.

  But not for Sarah. She hadn’t had a dowry and he hadn’t cared. He had more money now than he could ever imagine spending. Still, she hadn’t hidden her reluctance to marry him, and his conscience wouldn’t allow him to forget that her parents had pressed her to accept him.

  He paced the length of his room, unable to bear the thought of getting into his cold, lonely bed. He vowed silently that he would have Sarah. If her reaction to his touch that evening was any indication, it might even be as soon as the following night.