by Stacy Reid
The slash of his hand as he motioned her to leave was almost violent. Phoebe hesitated then lifted her chin and walked toward him. She stopped a few feet away from him, not certain how to offer comfort to someone who had not asked for it.
“I…” Phoebe impatiently pushed away strands of hair from her forehead and eyes. “I cannot imagine the pain you must feel that he is gone. But I am here should you need me, even if it is to rest your shoulders against mine as we sit in silence.”
He regarded her with a slight crease between his brows. “I do not fear death, or loss, or even pain. Your words are not needed.”
“Because you chose to deny their existence…or the emotions that come with their existence does not mean they are not there, buried deep, fighting to break free.”
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes before all expression shuttered. “Your naive reasoning is astounding.”
The words were cutting even though he had signed them. She lifted her hands and slowly signed as she said, “And I can tell right now you are a wounded wolf and you are pushing me away in your need to not feel. I know your heart is breaking…because he’s your father, you loved him, and now he is forever lost to you.”
His throat worked on a swallow, the veil cracked, grief and such pain brewed in his eyes that it was awful to witness. His lashes lowered when he glanced back up, all emotions contained. Without speaking, he dismissed her by turning his back to her, facing the cliffs and the raging seas below. She went up to him and hugged him tightly from behind, her face pressing close to his back. He stiffened, and then a deep shudder worked through him until his entire body trembled. She held him tightly, comforting him silently. He gripped both of her wrists, which she anchored around his waist, and she braced for him to push her away. Instead, he held on to her hands as if they were lifelines.
Her throat burned with unshed tears, and her heart ached relentlessly for him. She had only been a part of their family for a little over five months, but Phoebe had been charmed by the old earl’s eccentric view on life. She had liked him a lot. It was unfathomable to think what his children might be feeling at his departure.
They stayed like that for a long time. Phoebe couldn’t tell how long had passed, but even as the wind sliced at her back and she quaked from the chill, she did not let him go. The soles of her feet ached from standing for surely what was over an hour on the rocky incline of the cliffside, but she did not move. They just stood there, waiting as the surf crashed against the coast in frothy, violent waves and the air grew even more chilled. At times Hugh shuddered, and at times he was so still, he was an effigy of a marble statue.
Phoebe only knew she must never let him go, so she did not.
After another several moments, he lifted her wrists from around his waist and kissed each of her clenched fists. Then he pushed them to his side. She released him but did not step back. He turned around, and his beautiful eyes were carefully contained.
“Thank you,” he signed, his lips quirking in a small smile that did not reach his eyes. “I am obliged to you for your company. You may leave now.”
“No.”
“Phoebe, you will leave—”
“No.”
They stared at each other for long moments. He cupped her cheeks, dipped slightly, and kissed her with violent tenderness. This Phoebe had not expected, and in his embrace, she felt the force of his grief, the pain, and the desperation of his loss. She tasted something dark and dangerous, something sweet and hot, something never felt before in all the kisses they had exchanged.
With a gasp, her lips parted, allowing him inside, and he plundered, ravishing her lips over and over. Odd and terrifying sensations crashed against her senses when his mouth slanted over hers with greed and something fierce that she was unable to identify. When he released Phoebe, her lips felt bruised, her heart felt alive, and her body…she trembled to be closer to him.
He gently pushed her away from him, but she took a step forward, and he moved back, shaking his head slowly, the indifferent veil cracking and raw and powerful hunger leaping in his eyes. His finger jerked as he said, “No, not like this.”
“What is not like this?” she asked softly, though she knew. Dear God, she knew for something hot and a bit scary trembled low in her belly. The air was chilled, but her palms were dampened with sweat.
“This first time we make love…will not be when I am feeling so much.”
Awareness blossomed through her and her lips parted in wonder. Control was very important to her husband. All those nights he had kissed her, and when their passion had burned around them, he would always pull away, the hands braced above her head trembling. A few deep breaths later, his kisses would change, and then he would hold her in his arms, and they slept.
She had been wondering how to seduce him when every night after kissing her endlessly he would disappear to the lake. She would sit at the window and watch him swim, admiring his body but lacking the courage to follow him. The one night she had drummed up the nerve and went down there had once again turned into them laughing and romping as if they were loons.
After she’d dipped her toe into the water and yelped at the coldness, he had hauled himself from the water with a dare in his eyes. She had shrieked and sprinted away, knowing he was chasing her. He had caught her in the hallway and flung her over his shoulder and made his way to their bedroom. Though her heart had pounded with such anticipation, he had only kissed her forehead before bundling her under the sheets, then joined her.
She tested his limits, threatened the icy clasp he had on his feelings.
I make you lose control. “Our first time will be like this,” she said softly. “I want the real you in my bed, making me burn with pleasure.”
His eyes darkened, and he could only stare at her.
“If you will admit it…we’ve had each other already.”
A flush mounted on his cheek, and he stepped back one more step. Phoebe ran to him in a few steps and jumped. Shock flared in his gaze, but he caught her effortlessly, and she scandalously wrapped her legs around his hips, uncaring dress and pelisse had ridden up to her thighs and her stocking-clad legs and half boots were on display. Now they were face to face.
“Every night you’ve been running from me to the lake, trying to drown the images in your mind of taking me. In your thoughts you are not controlled, are you, my husband?” She nipped the corner of his lips. “You ravish me. And the desperate hunger that fills you scares you.”
He shook his head slowly, as if in a daze.
“You cannot deny it, for I know it because I too have had you,” she whispered, right at his ear.
A powerful quake went through him.
“Shall I tell you how I’ve had you, husband? How many nights in my thoughts you’ve kissed more than my lips…how many nights I’ve imagined that you kissed all over my body to that aching heart of me. Shall I tell you how many nights you’ve climbed atop me and pushed my nightgown to my hips and entered my body? Shall I tell you in my dreams I’ve sobbed from the delight of it even though I have never experienced such a pleasure?”
His chest rose and fell, and the hands gripping her hips tightened almost painfully.
A wave of heat rushed through her, and though she blushed frightfully, Phoebe continued. “I’ve had you in my dreams…every night since the first time you kissed me.” She kissed the corner of his mouth then bit on his bottom lip tenderly before peering into his eyes. “Show me…tonight…now…show me all the ways you have taken me. Claim me as yours.”
Chapter Fifteen
To Phoebe’s shock, Hugh lowered her to the ground almost violently. Then he grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the main house in the far distance. She wasn’t sure what she had hoped for with her sensual taunting, but it wasn’t this. Swallowing down the knot of uncertainty in her belly, she instead directed her thoughts on the excitement tha
t still thrummed in her veins.
No words were spoken as they walked for several long, pulse-pounding minutes, hand in hand to the main house. Anticipation enlivened her blood, and her heart was like the roar of the ocean in her ears. The butler opened the door before they could even knock, and Phoebe fought to keep the blush from her cheeks when Hugh swung her into his arms once they crossed the threshold.
With a squeak of mortification, she buried her face in his throat, quite aware of the butler’s astonished stare before he snapped his head forward and away from them. This drew a giggle from her, and it reassured her greatly when his lips touched her forehead in the barest, softest hint of a caress.
He climbed the stairs effortlessly with her clasped against his chest, and he did not lower her to the ground until he had entered their room. Their bedsheets were turned down, a lamp had been lit, and a fire roared in the hearth, shaving away the chill of the night.
He did not lift his fingers to speak to her, and nervousness had knotted her tongue. Hugh took her hands and led her closer to the fire but stopped them in the center of the palatial room. He brushed the wild tangles of her hair from her face, pushing strands behind her ears. Then he untied her coat, went behind her, and eased it from her shoulders.
Phoebe’s heart gave a patter in warning.
He dropped her coat to the carpet, and Phoebe stared at him wordlessly when he came back around, lowered to his knees, and removed her boots. Shock jerked through her as she realized he was undressing her. Her gaze jumped to the bed and then to the top of his head. “Hugh…I…”
He glanced up, and her words strangled at the intensity in his gaze. Show me, she had urged wickedly, and now the moment was upon her, a fine trembling cascaded through her body.
“I have been waiting for this…for you,” she breathed.
His eyes darkened, and his fingers lifted from her shin. “Every day I have hungered for you, Phoebe. Every day it was a torture not to take you.”
The tension thickened, and her heart jerked so fiercely, she felt weak. He resumed his duties and removed her boots fully. His fingers coasted up her shin to the garters holding up her stockings. He rolled them off, one by one.
He stood and shrugged from his jacket then his waistcoat. With a sense of shock, Phoebe realized he would remove all his clothes here…right now.
She curled her toes into the carpet. “I…I have never seen a naked man before,” she blurted.
His gaze sharpened and glittered with fierce triumph, and the fingers untying his neckcloth paused briefly. How silly it all sounded considering she had birthed a child. Now she wished she had told him the details of how she had lost her virtue. But she had been too grateful he hadn’t demanded a great explanation. But what if he now had expectations of her experience as a lover? Phoebe felt woefully unprepared for this level of intimacy and boldness.
She cast her mind to the past and recalled that before she had even dared to kiss George that night, she had consumed at least five glasses of sherry, and everything had been hazy and warm. Though she did not think she needed the liquid courage to be warm, for she was already burning with a frightful heat.
“Have you…have you done this before?”
A crooked half smile curved his lips, and he nodded once.
The neckcloth dropped to the floor, and his shirt was dragged from his trousers, the buttons undone. How fiercely her heart shook, and a sweet, mystifying ache trembled low in her belly when he pushed the shirt from his body.
Oh! The body he was revealing was lithe and beautifully muscled, showing not an ounce of fat. His hands went to his trousers, and she couldn’t bear to look anymore. She heard when they fell to the floor, imagined she heard when he removed his stockings from his feet. Phoebe could feel his stare on her face and fighting the blush, she faced him. He was…splendidly formed, corded with smooth muscle, full of power and elegance. Tight buttocks flowed into lean, strong legs.
She colored fiercely as she glanced at his manhood. He jutted proudly, and to her mind he seemed significantly larger than all the wicked paintings and sculptures she had seen. He padded over to her, and his male beauty stole her breath. Her heart pounded, and her hands trembled as she reached out and touched him, trailing her fingertips over his chest.
He was so beautiful.
The stark lines of his face were heightened by desire. Hugh cupped her cheek and took her mouth with his. Phoebe clutched at his arms and tipped slightly onto her toes. His kiss offered no mercy, but she didn’t want that tender consideration, responding to the ravishing force of his kiss with artless wonder.
It was over too soon, and a soft sigh of need escaped from her. In complete silence, he removed her chemise and stays, stockings, and drawers. Phoebe stood naked before her husband, the curtain of her hair covering her breasts and shoulders. A wave of shyness engulfed her, but she lifted her chin and returned his stare. He seemed awe-struck, and the awareness of it filled her with a sense of wonder. His regard was slow and pointedly bold as he perused her body. Desire lit the beautiful depths of his eyes as they moved over her face and then down the length of her.
“You are stunning, my wife.”
The warm admiration in his eyes as they stroked over her was pleasing.
She closed the distance between them by taking two small tentative steps toward him. His thumb brushed her cheek tenderly before he signed. “Are you scared?”
Unexpected yearning rose to choke her like thick smoke. “I want you too much to be afraid,” she whispered.
His mouth was hot and sweet as it ghosted over her lips, down to the hollow of her throat. Soft, fiery kisses drifted over her shoulders. The mass of hair was lifted from her nape, and kisses littered across to her shoulders. Hugh shifted the heaviness of her hair to her front where the long, thick tresses cascaded over her body to cover her breasts and most of her belly. Acutely conscious of the nakedness of her back, Phoebe trembled. The powerful heat behind her was at once arousing and intimidating. She could feel the press of his manhood against her backside, eliciting a most tender ache between her thighs. That reaction surprised and captivated her in equal measure.
He kissed her neck, and she jolted when his hands came around her from behind and cupped her breasts. The touch of his fingertips on her nipples was a delicious sensation. Gently he shaped her breasts into his arm, while he nuzzled the side of her neck. A low moan broke from her throat. Suddenly Phoebe could no longer be certain of who she was and what her reaction would be to her husband. She felt taken over…altered in a way she had yet to understand.
He coasted his hands down her body, spread his hands over her stomach, beginning a slow descent to the secret heart of her. Phoebe gasped and trembled in his embrace. Once he was there, he simply rested his hands above her mons. There was a wicked ripple of response between her thighs from such a simple action. Her heart pounded, and she swallowed tightly.
The anticipation made her squirm, and she moved her hands that had been passively resting at her sides, lifted them above her head, and twined them around his neck, inadvertently thrusting her breasts out more. He twisted her body, and she gasped when he dipped his head and took her hardened nipple into his mouth. Phoebe’s entire body surged under the flash of heat.
“Hugh!”
He lavished the same attention on her other breast, the sensations wreaking havoc with her sensibilities and sense of control. Her chest lifted on shuddering gasps. He delved through the soft hair between her thighs, until he found her slit, pressing firmly over her most tender flesh, stroking. She turned her face into his throat, gasping as sensations built.
He swept her, weightless, into his arms and made his way over to the large bed. She was deposited into the center, and his frame blanketed hers. He used his tongue to trace the fullness of her mouth before taking her lips in another ravishing kiss. His mouth moved down her neck, her breasts, and his h
ands seemed to be everywhere, sliding and molding and shaping and stroking to a fever pitch of arousal.
Then he was there again, rubbing along the soft folds of her sex. He nudged her legs open wider with his and settled into the welcoming cradle of her thighs. She lifted her leg and rubbed it along his shin.
“I ache, Hugh,” she gasped. “I hunger, but I do not know what I need.”
Two of his fingers slid deep inside her body, and she gasped at the full feeling. Phoebe gripped his shoulders and clasped him to her. The awareness he could not say to her how he felt…only intensified the painful sense of unfulfilled ache, the desperate need to hold him to her, to take him into her body. She wanted to crawl into his skin. The shock of how much she wanted him scared her. It felt too consuming.
His fingers disappeared, and a hard, blunt pressure was pressed against her soft opening. She felt the heady sensation of his lips against the soft hollow of her throat, the bite of his fingers at her hips as he anchored her for his penetration. His hips flexed, and then he drove his length to the hilt inside her welcoming body.
A cry of shock tore from Phoebe, and she froze, gripping his shoulders so tightly, she would leave impressions on his skin. The pressure stretching her felt too much. She tried to recall if her first time had felt anything like this, but the scent, feel, and taste of her husband had obliterated that last vestige of memories. All she would feel, smell, was him.
“Hugh?” she asked tremulously, shifting slightly then gasping at the tight painful stretch.
He kissed the corner of her mouth, then her nose, and then her eyelids. His touch meant to soothe, but her anxiety climbed.
“I do not think you should move,” she whispered.
Another kiss on the bridge of her nose. One that said, “Trust me.” Something warm and tender shifted inside her chest. Then he kissed her. At first, he was slow and tormenting, then his mouth on hers was hard and fierce and urgent. Soon she forgot about the discomfort of his presence inside of her and thrust her fingers through his hair. He reached between them, and his fingers brushed against her nub of pleasure.
