by Royal, Emily
As if on cue, a murmur of voices rose behind the adjoining door.
“That’ll be him, with his valet,” Mrs. Draper said. “Hurry now!” Before Meggie could protest, she opened the trunk and pulled out Meggie’s nightgown. If she noticed the frayed hem, she said nothing, but her eyes conveyed sympathy as she handed the garment over.
“If I may be so bold, ma’am, let me reassure you that it will be over quickly. I’ll send Tilly to tend to you in the morning in case of any—discomfort. There’s nothing a good dish of sweet tea won’t fix. You needn’t worry about rising early. A new bride is expected to rest after her wedding night.”
Discomfort…
Mrs. Draper excused herself and left Meggie alone. Mindful of the voices next door, she removed her wedding gown, slipped off her underclothes, and pulled her nightgown on. Then she extinguished the candles, and the room was in darkness, save for a sliver of light at the bottom of the adjoining door and the orange glow from the fireplace.
The voices stopped.
Meggie slipped under the bedsheets and waited. Her heart pounded in her ears at the eight-year-old memory of pain and heartache.
Her husband was such a large man. How much more would he hurt her, compared to…
She closed her eyes, praying sleep would claim her. A clock chimed in the distance, and she counted eleven notes. On the final stroke, the adjoining door creaked open, and a tall shape entered the chamber. The bed shifted with his weight, and he slipped in beside her. His body heat seeped through the bedsheet, and she turned her head to face him.
He lay on his back, the outline of his profile silhouetted against the diffused light from the fireplace. He blinked, and his eyes glittered as he stared at the ceiling. The tick-tick of the clock on the mantelshelf seemed to grow louder, but he made no move.
At length, he sighed and rolled toward her, and she felt his breath quickening against her cheek.
But still, he made no move to touch her. Eventually, she could bear the silence no longer.
“Are you g-going to touch me?” she blurted. “You don’t have to…” she waited, but he remained silent, “…if you don’t want to.”
“Take off your nightgown. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
His voice was a low growl, but his tone was kinder than it had been all day. He moved closer, and she drew in a sharp breath.
She hadn’t realized he was naked.
She grasped the hem of her nightgown and pulled it over her head. Perhaps if he’d promised her gentleness, she might be able to trust him. What reason would he have to lie, given the power he had over her?
He moved on top of her and nudged her thighs apart with his knee. She turned her head aside, unwilling to see the expression in his eyes—to have it confirmed that he saw her merely as a tool by which to best Alderley.
He placed his elbows on either side of her, and she felt something hot and hard nudging against her thigh. She parted her legs wider and waited for the onslaught.
He thrust forward, and she cried out in anticipation of the pain. But there was no pain—not like before. Only a tight pinch. He thrust into her again and again, his breathing growing hoarser with each movement. The discomfort as he’d entered her intensified, but before it grew unbearable, he let out a groan and collapsed on top of her.
When he withdrew, she opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, his eyes glowing in the dark.
“You deceived me,” he said. His voice, though quiet, held a note of danger.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you do. Another man was there before me.”
Fear spiked through her. “Who told you?”
“It seems you just did. A man knows, and you’ve confirmed it with your response.”
He climbed off the bed and strode toward the fireplace, seemingly oblivious of his nakedness. The firelight caught the planes of his muscles, showing his finely sculpted form. He placed a hand on the mantelshelf and studied the fire, his back to her.
“Does Alderley know you weren’t a maid?”
“Yes.”
He sighed. “I’ll wager he’s laughing at my expense.”
“Your expense?”
“Yes,” he said. “Not only has he deceived me into wedding his by-blow, I find that she’s sullied.”
Almost as soon as he’d spoken the words, he flinched.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Why not?” she cried. “My father tricked you into wedding his bastard when you wanted his legitimate daughter—the one who told me that you’d soon tire of me and ask her to service you instead.”
“She said what?” He sat on the bed, and she drew her knees up and pulled the bedsheet to her chin as if to protect herself.
“Who was he?” he asked.
“It’s not important.”
“It is to me if I’m to wake in the morning to find some low-life sniffing at my door.”
“There’s no chance of that, I assure you.”
“Then I must be content with that,” he said, “if somewhat disappointed that I was not your first.”
His words cut through her heart. Why was it that a man could deceive a naïve young girl with pretty speeches to seduce her, only to abandon her afterward—yet she was the one who must live with the consequences?
“It happened once,” she whispered. “A long time ago.”
The bed shifted under his weight. “Why should I believe you?”
“I have no reason to lie.”
“Yet, you lied to me today.”
“No, I didn’t!” she cried. “I made a vow to honor and obey a stranger—a man of few words and sour disposition, who had no wish to take me for a wife. A man who loathes me almost as much as the father who sold me to him. I will stand by my vows. And I am not afraid of you.”
“Aren’t you?”
She slipped her hand beneath the bedsheet to conceal the bruise on her wrist. “I’ve known enough of cruelty to learn the futility of fear. The inevitable will happen, whether I fear it or not.”
“You’re wrong,” he said.
“In what way?”
“I don’t loathe you. Far from it.”
He crawled across the bed, his muscles rippling with each movement as if he were a lion, poised to devour his prey. Then he grasped the bedsheet.
“Will you show me cruelty?” she asked.
“No.” He tugged at the bedsheet, and it fell away, exposing her body. His eyes darkened with hunger as he dropped his gaze.
He reached toward her and cupped her breast. Her skin tightened with an unfathomable need, and her nipple beaded against his palm. He flicked the peak with his thumb and curled his mouth into a smile. A wicked sensation pulsed between her thighs at his touch.
“Will you show me mercy?” she whispered.
“No, my dear,” he said. “I will show you pleasure.”
Chapter Eight
Dexter’s manhood hardened at the sight before him. Her skin was smooth as cream, glowing in the firelight. She had the body of a courtesan, built to tempt and ensnare a man.
And another had claimed that body first.
Yet the fear in her eyes had all but obliterated the anger and betrayal he’d felt on hearing her confession. The expression in her eyes spoke of innocence, and she was the exact opposite of Elizabeth.
No, his little wife was innocent in spirit, even if her body had been used. But Alderley had tricked him thoroughly and was, most likely, expecting Dexter to confront him. That old bastard would do anything to destroy Dexter’s reputation and would relish spreading tales around the clubs of London of how he’d conned him.
The woman sitting before him now was not to blame for her father’s machinations. Doubtless she lacked the wit to understand what was happening. Tucked away in obscurity lest her status as a bastard threaten her father’s good name, she was, most likely, uneducated and naïve—an unwitting pawn, a minor piece which Dexter’s oppo
nent chose to sacrifice at a minimal cost.
Every chess player knew that a pawn had little value compared to his other pieces. Pawns were disposable. Alderley would never have consented to give him Elizabeth, for she was a more powerful piece. A queen—the one piece a chess master was reluctant to sacrifice.
A mere pawn his wife might be, and she must be removed from London with all haste.
Removed for her own well-being. Tucked away in the country, in the confines of Molineux Manor, she’d want for nothing, and she’d be safe. She may be the last woman he wanted for a wife, but he had no wish to make her life a living misery. He’d seen the bruises on her wrist. And he’d seen the fear in her eyes each time she looked at him. She was like an injured animal—and he was the last person in the world capable of giving her comfort.
But, for now, as promised, he would give her pleasure.
He grasped the bedsheet and pulled it back. At first, she resisted, then she met his gaze and yielded. Though she was thin, her body had lovely curves. Her breasts were full and shapely, and the prospect of tasting them pleased him. His gaze wandered across her body—the softly rounded belly, the delicate flare of her hips, and the nest of curls at her core.
“Lie back,” he commanded.
Her lips parted in surprise. At first, she remained still, then she complied. He lay beside her and reached toward her face. She flinched, and he stopped.
“Are you afraid?”
Her eyes glistened, but she shook her head. He placed his palm on her face and caressed her skin in the manner of a stablemaster taming a filly. Her body tensed as he continued, following the lines of her body, stroking her neck, her throat, until he reached her breasts. Her nipples were already peaked for him. She gave a little whimper of surprise.
“W-what’s happening?”
Whoever claimed her first had known nothing of pleasure. The true mark of prowess was the ability to give a woman pleasure rather than merely rutting her. And he could think of nothing more pleasurable than having his wife writhing underneath him, begging him to take her.
He placed a light kiss on her breast. She gave a little gasp, and he circled her nipple with his tongue. When he covered her breast with his mouth and sucked hard, she bucked and gave a sharp cry. The air filled with a sweet, musky smell, the unmistakable aroma of female need, and he found himself caught in a wave of powerful lust.
Jealousy overcame his lust, and he suckled harder, relishing the cries which erupted from her throat. He thrust his hand between her thighs, and she parted them for him. He almost came undone as he touched the damp curls at her center, and his fingers met her needy heat. She may not know it, but she was ready for him. He ran a fingertip along her flesh until he found the secret bud, and her body jerked, and she cried out.
How could he resist? He lowered his head, drinking in the sweet, exotic smell of female desire. Why the perfumers of Paris saw fit to distill flowers and spices was beyond him. All they need do was bottle the essence of female need, and they’d make a fortune.
He placed a light kiss inside her thigh, and she drew in a sharp breath and tried to clamp her thighs together.
He held her firm, and she let out a whimper. “Please…”
“Please what?” he asked, relishing his conquest. He knew he’d have her begging for him but had not imagined victory would come so quickly.
“Please, don’t let it hurt again.”
Her desperate plea doused his need for conquest.
He lifted his head. “Did I hurt you before?”
She nodded. “Does it always hurt?”
“Usually only the first time.”
“But the second time hurt also.”
“Did your mother not tell you about the marriage bed?” he asked.
“I never knew my mother.”
“Then I must show you myself. Hold still, and trust me.”
Hardly silver-tongued words of seduction, but she complied, and he slipped a finger inside her.
“What are you…oh!” she cried out as he teased her little nub.
Once more, she parted her legs. She may not beg with words, but her body knew what it wanted. He lowered his head and dipped his tongue into her folds, breathing in her sweet scent. She shuddered, the tremors of her body vibrating through him. Her legs shifted in a slow dance as she reached her peak.
Little mewing cries escaped her lips, and she thrust her hips toward his face. Her body rippled and contracted around him as she peaked again while he kissed and licked her.
Eventually, her cries subsided, and her body relaxed. By the time he lifted his head, she had fallen asleep, a woman well pleasured.
Her mouth had curled into a small smile of contentment. It was the first time he’d seen her smile, and the peaceful expression tore at his heart. His manhood strained with the need to be buried inside her, but he clenched his hands and sat back. Though she was his to do whatever he liked with, he had no wish to see that beautiful smile disappear. What might she look like if she smiled when awake?
Would she ever smile at him?
He shook his head. He was turning into a sentimental fool, ruled by a pretty smile and a willing body. Better for her if she learned her place sooner rather than later — and it was better if she did that in the country.
***
When Meggie woke, the fire had gone out, and the chamber was in darkness. She smiled to herself. Her predicament was not as bad as she’d feared. When her husband had realized she wasn’t a virgin, he’d been angry at first—those cold, blue eyes had flashed like a steel blade. But then he seemed resigned to it.
The memory of her pleasure pulsed through her, and she shifted her legs to recall the delicious sensation of his intimate caresses, his mouth on her flesh…
And he’d joined her in bed. Rather than be abandoned and unloved, hope sprang forth that she would be cherished and cared for.
She reached across the bed to find it empty.
Her husband had abandoned her during the night.
He was no different from the others. Her mother had abandoned her when she was a baby. Her father had tucked her away out of sight. As for him…
She cursed herself. Resurrecting that memory only led to pain
Like the rest of them, her husband had taken what he wanted, then had no further use for her.
He hadn’t even kissed her.
What might he do now? Find another to satisfy his appetite, just as Elizabeth said he would? Was that why he had a separate chamber, so he could enjoy women he desired, while the woman he’d never wanted slept next door?
She rolled onto her side and succumbed to the tears.
Chapter Nine
Dexter looked up as his wife entered the breakfast room.
“Good morning, husband.”
She sat at the end of the table. Though her voice was flat, she looked as if she’d been crying.
“Are you well—Margaret?” he asked.
She glanced at the footman, then nodded. Dexter gestured to the servant.
“Please serve breakfast to your mistress,” he said. “Forgive me, what’s your name?”
“Charles, sir.”
“Charles,” Dexter said. “Perhaps some eggs and a little bacon, unless my wife objects.”
She looked up, her nut-brown eyes watching him with uncertainty. “Thank you,” she said, “that would be most kind.”
She waited until the footman had left before she started eating.
“You look tired,” he said. “Forgive me. I assumed you’d remain in your chamber this morning.”
She colored but said nothing.
“Would you like some tea?” he asked. “I can ask…” he hesitated and gestured toward the door. What was the damned man’s name?
“Charles,” she said.
“Charles, yes, that’s it. I can ask Charles to pour you a cup.”
“Are you in the habit of forgetting the names of those you deem unimportant?”
Ah! There it was. She
possessed spirit, though it had, no doubt, been suppressed most of her life.
He lifted his teacup and drained the contents. “I make it my business to know every one of my employees personally,” he said. “It ensures their loyalty. The root of a successful business is a contented and fulfilled workforce.”
“And what is the root of a successful marriage?”
“That depends on the marriage,” he said. “But, at the very least, a marriage cannot survive without honesty.”
Her hand trembled as she lifted a forkful of eggs to her mouth. She might have spirit, but it seemed as if he could crush it with a single sentence if he wanted.
But he did not.
He set down his teacup. “In answer to your question, today is the first day I’ve set eyes on Charles. He’s new to my employ.”
“Don’t you have enough servants already?”
“I do,” he replied. “Charles arrived this morning to replace John.”
“John?” she asked. “The one who served us at dinner? Has he had an accident?”
“I had him dismissed,” he said. “Another essential quality an employee must possess is respect for his employer. And his employer’s wife.”
She nodded and resumed eating. But this time, he noticed a little relaxation in her shoulders.
“I trust you’ll be ready for your journey,” he said.
She stiffened. “My journey?”
“To Molineux Manor,” he said. “We leave in two days. I’d have preferred sooner, but I have business to attend to, today and tomorrow.”
“Molineux Manor?”
“My country seat,” he said. “You’ll want for nothing there.”
“You’re sending me away?” she asked. “Is it because…” she hesitated. “Because of last night?”
“Partly.”
She flinched, and he cursed himself. The brutal honesty which elicited the desired result when conducting business was, perhaps, not the best quality in a marriage.
Which only confirmed the need to send her away. She was poorly equipped for the harsh realities of the world in which he lived, and he had neither the time nor the ability to deal with her. She needed a tender hand, and he was not a tender man.
