A Hellion in Her Bed (26 page)

A smile flitted over his lips. “Cundums have always worked for me.” As he reached her, he drew her into his arms. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”

She certainly hoped so. All his talk about the goddesses of fertility made her nervous. She didn’t need any excess of fertility tonight.

Yet as he backed her toward the bed, his mouth seeking hers again, she wondered what it would be like to bear him a child as his wife. Would he stay by her side, as Hugh had done for all of Sissy’s children, or would he pace the halls in a frenzy? Would he be delighted with a baby, or annoyed that his pleasures were to be curtailed by an infant’s demands? She was sure he would make a good father—she had only to remember how he’d been with Geordie to realize that.

Stop thinking such things
, she told herself as an old wives’ tale rose in her head about how if one dreamed of a baby, one would conceive. God only knows what would happen if one dreamed of conceiving while bedding a man. That was surely asking for trouble.

Once he tumbled her onto the bed she had no problem putting the thought from her mind, for he was settling his body between her legs and fondling her below, his mouth scattering kisses over her breasts and shoulders and throat. “I could taste you all night, my sweet Venus,” he whispered. “You taste like honey.”

The reverence in his voice made tears burn the back of her throat. Would any other man be so careful with a woman he knew was unchaste? His tenderness was about to destroy her.

Not all of him was tender, though. His member lay hot and rigid against her thigh, sparking the tiniest bit of fear in her belly. She wasn’t sure she could take the whole thing inside. Rupert’s slender shaft had been difficult enough to
manage. Though she knew that the pain she’d suffered had been a product of her innocence, would a … a thing as large as Jarret’s hurt her?

If it did, she would bear it as best she could. That part only lasted moments anyway, thank heaven. This was what she enjoyed, the kissing, the touching, the caressing.

She was glad when he continued to stroke and caress her, to kiss and fondle her. It emboldened her to do the same to him, exploring the fine curls on his chest, the flexing muscles of his thighs, even the firm flesh of his buttocks.

When he tensed, she whispered, “Do you mind me touching you?”

“God, no. Touch whatever you like. Though it will shorten this considerably.”

“Good.” She wanted to have the actual act over with, so she wouldn’t start fretting over the possibility of pain. So they could do more of the enjoyable part. “I want you, Jarret. I’m ready for you.”

Something in her tone must have alerted him to her fears, for he drew back to stare at her. “Are you all right?”

She forced a smile. “It’s just been … a very long time.”

His gaze narrowed on her. “And you were young, and he was young, and neither of you knew what you were doing. Right?”

She nodded.

“And it hurt.”

“I know it won’t hurt this time,” she said hastily. “I’m not afraid.”

A wry smile touched his lips. “You look afraid. But there’s nothing to fear, dearling. Trust me.” He lowered his head to nuzzle her jaw as he rose up and pressed the tip of his aroused
flesh inside her. “Trust me …” he murmured, sliding ever so slowly in. “Trust me …” he whispered and drove into her with one silken thrust.

“Ohhh,” she murmured, feeling relief surge through her. The alien fullness was unexpected but certainly not painful. And the intimacy of it roused a heat in her that was almost as good as the kissing. “That’s not … bad at all.”

He chuckled against her neck. “We’re only beginning, my Venus.” He drew out, then thrust in. Warmth curled up from low in her belly and spread through her limbs.

Pressing his mouth to her ear, he whispered, “Before this night is over, I promise to have you begging for more.”

“Cocky as always,” she responded, his words sparking a thrill through her veins. “But I never beg.”

“You will,” he vowed, and plunged into her again. And again. And again, each stroke fiercer, harder, faster. Bracing himself up on one elbow, he reached down between them to finger her and fan the warmth in her belly to flame.

“Put your legs around me, dearling,” he ordered.

When she did, he drove deeper, and wildfire scorched through her, igniting her into a mass of heat. “Oh my sweet heavens …” she choked out, her body singing to the cadence of his thrusts.

“Better?” he rasped.

“Yes … oh yes … Jarret, my word …”

His heated breath came heavily against her ear. “You’re so tight, so sweet and tight and hot. I’m losing my mind …”

She was losing her heart. She felt it slipping away with his every word. He was taking such care with her when he had no cause to do so, and it made her heart ache and yearn as much as his body was.

“Annabel, my goddess …” he breathed. “Let me take you to the heavens.”

“I’m already there …”

He gave a choked laugh. “Not yet, but you will be.”

After that, he spoke with his body, pounding into her, relentlessly teasing that sensitive place between her legs. Soon the ache in her belly became a dark pleasure, and then a spiraling hunger that had her writhing against him, raking her fingers down his back. She could hardly think for the sensations rocketing through her until joy suddenly vaulted her, high and sweet, taking her right up into the heavens.

She cried out until her throat was raw with her ecstasy, as he drove into her and uttered a cry of his own. Straining against her, he threw back his head with a look of rapt satisfaction as his body reached its final release.

It was magnificent. It was terrifying. For as she clasped him close and let the shocks of pleasure wash over her, she knew she was in danger of making a great mistake.

Losing her heart to a rogue.

J
arret lay wrapped in his pleasure, utterly enthralled. He hadn’t dreamed lovemaking could be so piercingly sweet. He still couldn’t believe how freely Annabel had given herself to him after all his harsh words. He must have been mad to think she was using her body to reel him in. He’d never seen a woman approach the act with such innocent joy.

Guiding her to her release had been a delight beyond any he’d ever experienced in the bedchamber. And now what was he to do with her? Could he really just ride away from her in the morning?

The thought made something twist in his chest. Good God, when had he become so besotted by the tart-tongued brewster? He must be mad. Or she really was a goddess come to earth to enchant him.

“Jarret …” she murmured softly, pressing her hands against his chest.

He must be crushing her with his weight. It wasn’t like him
to forget himself so completely with a woman. He slid off as much as he could and flashed her an apologetic glance. “This bed wasn’t made for two, I’m afraid.”

“No,” she said with a little shiver.

It dawned on him how naked they were. “You’re cold.” He grabbed the folded blanket lying at the foot of the bed and pulled it up over them. “Better?”

“Thank you, yes,” she said, her voice shy.

He’d never seen her shy. It enchanted him even more. “Am I too heavy on you?” he asked, since half his body still covered hers. Their legs were entangled, and her arm was trapped beneath him.

“Not at the moment.” She shifted from under him so she could lie on her side facing him. Her eyes looked suspiciously misty as she met his gaze.

He rubbed a tear from her cheek. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head. “It was just so wonderful. I never thought … I never dreamed … I-It wasn’t like that before …”

When she trailed off, embarrassed, he said soothingly, “It usually isn’t. The first time between two virgins is never comfortable, from what I understand.”

“It wasn’t just that. You and I … well, I know it was probably nothing special for
you
, but—”

“Shh,” he said, brushing a kiss to her lips. “It was amazing. You’re amazing.”

A gratified smile touched her lips. “I rather think the prize for being amazing should go to you. I didn’t really know what I was doing.”

“You knew enough,” he said.

Her expression at the moment of climax would stay with
him for a long time. What a thrill it had been to give her that. It made him want to crow.

It made him want answers to the questions that had been nagging him ever since she’d told him about her brother running after Rupert to get him to marry her.

He propped his head up on his hand. “Tell me about Rupert.”

Her gaze dropped to his chin, but not before he glimpsed pain in it. “What do you want to know?”

Figuring he’d better start small, he said, “How did you meet?”

A relieved sigh wafted out of her. “He and his older brother were the sons of Papa’s widowed brewery manager. When Rupert was fourteen and I was eleven, his father’s heart gave out and he and his brother were orphaned, so Papa gave them work at the brewery. They often came to dinner at the house.”

“So you saw him a great deal,” Jarret asked.

She nodded. “I think I was around fourteen when I started to care for him in a different way. It took him longer. When I was fifteen, he started courting a milliner’s assistant, and it made me furiously jealous, so one day I dumped a basket of fish on his head when I knew he was going to meet her. He chased me down, threatening to spank me.” She smiled. “He ended up kissing me instead. And that was the end of his courtship of the milliner’s assistant.”

The sweet story of a village romance touched him more deeply than he liked. He could just see her at fifteen, fresh-faced and dewy-eyed, falling for a handsome lad a few years older than she. And for one shocking moment, he virulently hated the man who’d had her heart, no matter how briefly.

“When I was sixteen,” she went on, “Rupert asked Papa for my hand. Papa let us become betrothed but said we had to wait to marry, since he felt I was too young. Then Rupert’s brother died, and you know the rest.”

“Not all of it. I gather that you sneaked out to meet him the night before he left for the war.” He cupped her cheek. “But I don’t understand why the two of you didn’t marry after he’d deflowered you. You were already betrothed. Why not marry?”

“There wasn’t time,” she said in a halting whisper. “He was to leave the next day.”

“Clearly, your brother thought there was time, since he ran after the man. Rupert could have obtained a special license that very night, and you could have had a hasty wedding in the morning before he left.”

She shifted away to lie with her back to him. “It would have required parental approval.”

“Surely your father would have been glad to give that, if he’d known Rupert had taken your innocence. I don’t see—”

“He didn’t
want
me, all right?”

Jarret gaped at her. “What do you mean?”

A heavy sigh shook her small frame. “It wasn’t supposed to happen—the two of us making love. He’d come to the house for a farewell dinner that night, and we’d said our good-byes. Hugh had even allowed us a moment of privacy for a kiss.”

Her voice dropped to a pained whisper. “But I was brokenhearted. I couldn’t stand the thought of his leaving. So I packed a small bag and sneaked out. I planned to join him, you see. I begged him to take me with him. I told him we could marry, and I could go to war with him as a camp follower. He wouldn’t let me.”

“Of course he wouldn’t.” Terror burst in Jarret’s chest at the thought of her near a battlefield. “No man wants to see the woman he loves in that kind of danger.”

She shifted her head to glare up at him. “I’m stronger than you think, you know. I could have done it—washed for him and cooked for him, like those other women.”

“Those other women are seldom sixteen-year-old, gently bred daughters of rich brewers. They’ve either been raised in the regiments—officer’s or soldier’s daughters and sisters—or they’re poor women who have no choice. It’s a rough life, being a camp follower. I don’t blame him for not wanting that for you. Besides, enlisted men are rarely allowed to take their wives. Very likely, he would have been denied permission to do so.”

“But what if he hadn’t? If I’d been there, he might not have died. Who knows how long he lay in the battlefield before they found him? I would have taken care of him, bound his wounds, watched over him—”

“And he probably would have died anyway, love.” He stroked her hair, his heart hammering at the thought of her blaming herself for her fiancé’s death. “Five thousand men lost their lives at Vittoria. It was a brutal battle. He was right not to take you.”

Her pretty eyes were dark with grief. “But he should have married me before he left. That’s what you think, isn’t it?”

Jarret regretted raising the subject at all. He’d figured there was a story behind it, but he’d assumed that it had something to do with her father or her own insecurities. Like a brainless fool, he hadn’t considered that Rupert might just have been a bastard.

“I’m sure he wanted to,” he said gently.

“I’m not. Afterwards, he said not a word about marrying
right away. He promised he’d return soon. That once the war was over, I would be old enough to wed and we would have a big church ceremony.” She met his gaze with her tear-filled one. “He said he loved me. He promised we would be together. Then he ran off to fight without a care in the world. Because he didn’t want me.”

“I doubt that very much.” Jarret suddenly found himself in the peculiar position of having to make excuses for her confounded fiancé. “But men react differently to the threat of war. He might have worried he couldn’t support you on a soldier’s salary. He might have been so sure he’d be coming back that he didn’t consider marrying right away. Or maybe he thought you’d be better off being free to marry if he were wounded or—”

“Killed? Then I would have been a respectable widow. I could have married whom I wished, instead of having to hide …” She bent her head to shield her tears from his gaze.

He brushed the hair from her damp cheeks. “I was going to say, if he were permanently injured. Men sometimes return from war with scars that can’t be healed—their brains damaged or their limbs gone. Perhaps he didn’t want to risk you suffering that.”