Miss Winters Proposes (8 page)

He stretched his limbs and stood, taking a long glance at the grandfather clock in the corner of the study.

Midnight. A good a time as any to retire. It was certainly past the time when the rest of the house doused their candles.

Including his wife.

Juliet had long departed for her chambers. He had watched her slip away, the hem of her sage-green gown disappearing past the study door as he sat supposedly engrossed in one of her father’s books.

He should be ashamed of his indifference. This was their wedding night. He ought to be with his bride, consummating their marriage and claiming her for his.

But he wasn’t.

Because, as he continually told himself, he was a gentleman. And as such, he gave his wife a gift he knew she would appreciate: privacy and solitude.

He knew very well it was not only a gift but a requirement on his behalf. Like a coward, he had slipped away after the vicar had received his generous payment and had holed up in the four walls of the manliest room Hollington offered. That it should be filled with the finest brandy, outside of his own stores, was to his benefit. Several snifters had dulled his senses and relaxed his mind, making it a whole lot easier to think of something other than the temptress who had stood beside him for ten agonizing minutes while she took his name.

His bloody name
.

He had to get away from her lest he become further attached. Further intrigued. And further tempted. He had filled his side of their arrangement. He had met her request. He had married the woman if not because of any mutual benefit, at least for her own safety against her villainous cousin.

And now, with Winters departure imminent, that particular threat was eliminated. Artemis had been returned, and Benjamin was no longer required in this artifice.

Juliet would stay here with her father. True, the man had looked spades better than when Benjamin had seen him last, but illnesses were known to rebound on their victims. It was more than possible the elderly baron would require his daughter’s assistance within the next few days. It was a short enough ride to Darlington Hall to send for her when Artemis showed signs of her labor. Never mind the possibility of more snow and closed roads, that even this morning had prevented Eleanor and Meadowcroft from attending his wedding, despite their attempts to run the carriage through the slowly melting drifts; Eleanor’s condition was too delicate for horseback.

Everything was settled. Come morning, he would find a way for Juliet to come at the appropriate time. He’d ride through the snow himself if he must.

This whole attraction—lust—he felt whenever he saw his wife would likely subside after he returned to his routine. His home. And his solitude.

She needed to stay here. And he needed to get the hell away from her. He was weak. And he was humble enough to admit it.

He stood, his eyes crossed after hours of studying the impressive bloodlines of hounds in the library books, and readied himself for bed.

With the lighting of a candle and a low whistle to Artemis, Benjamin navigated the dark corridors of the country house, his loyal hound licking his hand whenever he paused to yawn.

The route having grown familiar over the course of the past few days, he arrived at his chambers quickly. Tomorrow, he would return to Darlington Hall. Alone. All would be as it should.

Artemis curled up on the small rug in front of the hearth, the glowing-red embers casting a dull glow on her white coat. With a smile, Benjamin settled his candle on the bedside desk and blew out the light.

Whisking off his clothes, he gave one final stretch and plopped down onto his mattress—and the hard lump in its center.

“Benjamin?”

Dear Jesus
.

He bolted upright, his breath catching. What the hell was she doing here? In his room? In his bed? He reached for his shirt, his hands grasping the first thing they touched, which was most definitely not an article of clothing. A leg, perhaps? A thigh? He drew back his hand, his heart racing in his throat.

“What the devil are you doing in my bed?” He scrambled to cover himself, his pulse hammering in his ears.

“Warming it?”

Her answer was more of a question than a reply. Which meant the girl had no bloody damn clue what she was about.

She continued, her voice a whisper in the dark. “The night draws cold. I thought I might be more efficient than a bed warmer or brick.”

Words escaped him. Reason eluded his addled mind. Blood rushed to the extremities of his body he had to continually suppress whilst in her presence. This wasn’t happening. He was caught in some strange, otherworldly dream, where blackmailing wives were in their own bed in their own room and not tempting him here like some fey of the woods.

“Efficient?” Or reckless, because at the moment, his heated mind couldn’t differentiate between the two.

“Yes. Not only have I warmed the bed, I’ve made myself available for the consummation of our marriage.”

Holy hell.

In what universe did women seeking solitude make themselves available for evening activities? She couldn’t possibly want what he offered. She had clearly stated she wished for solitude after their vows were exchanged. A separation. An estrangement. So what the hell was this?

“I was under the impression you married me for my indifference to this…topic.”

“Oh, I did. But…”

“But?” He shoved his blessedly found shirt over his head.

“I was told I wasn’t fully a Colwyn until we…well…did what was required to solidify our union.”

Solidify their union.
God’s blood.

“And who imparted you with such wisdom?” Who could have possibly filled her head with the harebrained, but valid, notion? The housekeeper? The vicar? Her father?

“Frederick may have implied—”

“Winters was here?” His jaw clenched, his hackles raised. Since his breach of propriety, Winters had retreated from conversation, meals, and life in general. The man had become a recluse, avoiding everyone, save for the housekeeper whom, he was told, brought food to Winters’s chambers. His only appearance had been at the wedding ceremony this morning, where he had made it quite clear, with his disapproving glare, his thoughts on the union.

Benjamin should have known the vile excuse of a man would conspire against him, especially after knowing what he’d done to Amelia. But that he should attempt to violate Juliet…

“Not here, precisely, but rather to my room. He said unless we consummated our marriage you could still have it annulled.”

Benjamin closed his eyes. He would very much like to take her up on the notion. She was half-naked and in his very bed, for Christ’s sake. He was only human, a man like any other. And weak. And tempted. And tried beyond his last vestige of patience. It would serve her right to be caught beneath him, her hands held above her head as he ravaged her and showed her precisely what it meant to consummate a union.

But he knew, even in his exceptionally aroused state, she was not here of her own violation. She had been forced into his chambers, driven by some twisted Machiavellian scheme Winters had conjured and set to motion in his wife’s innocent and naive mind.

Juliet crossed her legs, the motion rustling the linens and further aggravating his arousal. To hell with the reasons behind her presence in his chambers. She was his wife, was she not? He would not be committing any sins should he tug on the soft expanse of her leg and pull the far too enticing appendage against him. She
wanted
to consummate their union. He would only be satisfying her request if he sated his desire. Why, he should be rewarded for his accommodating spirit.

No. He was not a slave to his baser urges. He was not Juliet’s cousin, the scoundrel who had placed her in this very dangerous and precarious position. Winters was a fiend, a man who had, on prior occasions, taken advantage of young innocents, had used them to his advantage and then discarded them like old issues of the
Times
. Benjamin would not stoop to such vulgarities. He was a gentleman, and one exceptionally weary from the enormity of the day’s activities.

He let out long and mind-clearing sigh.

“Do you think I would capitalize on this opportunity, this caveat where consummation is required to prevent an annulment, when I have done nothing but heed your requests since I arrived here?”

“No.” A whoosh of air escaped her lips.

“It’s settled then. As neither of us intends on annulling anything, we can quit this charade and retire for the evening.” He stared into the darkness. “Your cousin was in your room?”

Her hand ran over his arm, the feel of her skin on his sending a shiver of pleasure down his spine. “Yes, well, not in it, per se, but rather outside of the door. Which is why I am not leaving until we consummate our union. I want every sliver of doubt eradicated.”

Benjamin brushed off her hand, his honor waning. “It is late. We can discuss this in the morning.”

Juliet slipped her bare leg over his, straddling him between her thighs.

“Or, we can discuss it right now.”

Chapter Nine

Juliet’s pulse thundered in her ears. Her legs brushed against the hair of Benjamin’s muscled thighs, making her heart beat faster than if she had been chased down the hall by a specter.

Once again, desperation propelled her beyond the boundaries of decorum and into the realm of the brazen. But her future happiness depended on her assertiveness. She could do this. She had been present at more than one hound breeding, and this was no different. She simply had to convince Benjamin this coupling was necessary to seal their marriage and waylay any lingering doubts Society, her cousin, and anyone else had about the truth of their union.

No mind the culmination of such carnal activity was impregnation.

Juliet shook her head. She was married. And to a man who was undoubtedly peering at her through the darkness, his attractive and soulful eyes likely assessing the dark, bumbling shape in front of him. If a child was a result of this evening’s activities, she held no fear. She would still be independent from her husband, and even more so if the child were a son. The acquirement of an heir would no longer necessitate the viscount’s contracted annual visit to Evenrood, which would make her well and truly free to do as she wished.

She would also be a mother. But there was little time to ruminate over the future possibilities, only the present facts. The first of those being that her nightshirt had bunched around her waist, revealing the naked juncture of her thighs that now rested on the top of her husband’s thinly covered hips, thighs, and…very rigid man parts.

“I want you to make me your wife.”

His hands wrapped around her waist, the warmth from his touch spreading into her stomach. With a grunt, he lifted her off his lap and positioned her to his side.

“You already are my wife.”

Juliet brushed a curl out of her eyes and gave a small huff. “Not yet in the intimate sense. I want to consummate the marriage.”

Before her courage failed, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against the first thing they touched, which happened to be the side of his mouth. He tasted of her father’s liquor, fruity and sweet with a hint of salt.

He grunted and pulled away. “You do not know what you ask.”

On the contrary, she was fairly certain she did. She knew where this path led. Ignoring his protest, she leaned toward him, kissing her way down his throat, the rough stubble of his fresh beard tickling her lips.

“You can’t possibly know or you would not be doing this.” He lifted her arms and once again placed her at his side.

“But I do. I want you to consummate our union,” she said, doing her best not to sound perturbed at his rejection. “I am fully ready to endure the experience.”

Het let out a low chuckle. “Which proves my point. This is not something you endure. It is something you enjoy.”

“Then prove me wrong.” She lunged toward him and kissed his jaw. “Show me.”

With one deft twist, he had her against the pillows. “No.”

He rolled to the side, his back facing her. “Remove yourself from my chambers before you regret you stayed.”

Tears pricked the back of her eyes. She choked on a sob, only adding to the churn in her stomach threatening to climb up her throat. The question she couldn’t stop, wavered out of her quivering lips. “I know I am not Amelia, but could I not be a substitute?”

His silence drew out for an eternity. He let out a sigh and shifted, his hands coming to rest atop of hers at the moment when she thought she might vomit. “This has nothing to do with Amelia. You and she are two different women from entirely two different worlds. You will never be a substitute for her, Juliet, nor do I want you to be one. You are unique. Different. And in my bed at a very late hour.”

His words hung heavy in the silence, his gentle tone a small comfort to his rejection. She lifted her shoulder to her cheek, the soft cotton of her shift absorbing her tears. Was it truly possible he thought her unique? As a separate entity from his previous wife? She couldn’t stop her heart from fluttering at the possibility he might hold her in regard—despite her previous crimes against him.

With a shaky breath she said, “I see.”

His thumb trailed over her knuckles. “The hour draws late, Juliet.”

She bit her lip but could not prevent herself from asking, “Does my uniqueness warrant your unwillingness to consummate our marriage?”

Benjamin drew back his hand and snorted. “That is not the question. What is, dear wife, is whether you are able to face the consequences of your actions. As a gentleman, I must ask you to quit this room before any regrets can be made.” He swiveled his body around and leaned over her, his voice lowering, his tone roughening when he added, “As your husband, I insist you stay and allow me to show you precisely how much I wish for this consummation to occur.” He brought her wrist to his mouth and pressed his lips against the flutter of her pulse.

She swallowed, her mouth dry. He wanted her to stay. He wanted to carry through with her scheme.

Did she want this?

His lips trailed up her arm to her shoulder, his kisses igniting a flame in the pit of her stomach that sputtered to life and spread through her limbs.

“I want to stay,” she squeaked.

He lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers, his arms wrapping around her, and nestling her against the pillows. Clasping her hands together, he lifted them above her head.

Her heart pounded, near escaping its skeletal cage with its erratic and rapid exertion. He no doubt felt its harried pace beneath him. Did his beat as hers?

Wiggling a hand free from his clutch, she placed it on his chest, her fingers slipping into the gap of his shirt and spreading through the swirls of hair covering his body. Her thumb trailed across the flat disc of his nipple.

“Juliet.” He groaned.

Her hand splayed across his chest where, as she had hoped, his heart beat as wildly as hers. Was it possible? Could he be as affected by her touch as she was by his?

His fingers danced across her skin, tugging the already loose neckline of her shift over the top of her breasts. Mimicking her earlier action, he cupped her breast and brushed his thumb across the tip of her nipple.

“Benjamin.” Her back arched toward him. Heat slivered down her spine.

Where his thumb had been only moments before, his tongue toyed with her rosy peak. She had never imagined, had never believed…

She gasped as he recaptured her lips. There was no hesitation, no reserve in the way his tongue intertwined with hers. He was a man bent on meeting her request. And heaven help her, she felt compelled to aid him in his endeavors.

Sheer pleasure ruled her senses, and with it, a loss of reason and propriety. The only rules in this game were for her own fulfillment—and his. So it was, without a second thought to the matter, Juliet explored the hard planes of his body with her hands, marveling at the dips and swells of his muscles. Her fingers roamed over his heated skin and under his billowing shirt, coming to rest on the curve of his buttocks.

The sweet smell of liquor on his breath intertwined with the earthen scent of his body, the musky perfume buoying her courage. She splayed her hands and dug her fingers into his flesh, reveling at how his breath caught with each of her movements.

Gripping her wrist, he settled her hand on the back of his neck. “My turn.”

“Your turn?” He trailed his hand toward her stomach, his rigid arousal brushing against her thigh. Her insides boiled, the flame he had kindled now a roaring fire tearing through her body, igniting her flesh and making her extra-sensitive to his touch.

Juliet tensed. Especially when he delved into areas of her body she had never thought to explore. She had certainly never thought them capable of bringing her pleasure, and yet, Benjamin seemed intent on proving her wrong, sliding his fingers into the wet area between her thighs and caressing the silken folds of her womanhood. Each flourish, swipe, and flick of his fingers sent her body into spasms, her voice to a whimper.

She cradled his hips between her thighs, her back arching into him. “Benjamin, please,” Juliet pleaded, but for what, she wasn’t certain. She simply knew she needed more. There was an ache, a deep need he had created within her, and her body seemed to instinctively know he was the only one who could fill it.

He touched his forehead to hers, his hands sliding up the sides of her body and making her shiver with delight.

“This…this might not be pleasant,” he whispered. “I may unintentionally harm you. Are you absolutely certain you wish to proceed?”

Her ears were deaf to his concerns. How could harm be done when nothing but pleasure had been wrought by his hands thus far?

She tilted her chin upward and greedily sought his mouth. “Yes,” she whispered against his lips.
Heavens, yes.

A shaky breath escaped him and he shifted above her, his hands lifting her thighs. With a grunt, Benjamin slid into her, his hard length slick with the heat pooling between her legs. “Christ, Juliet.” He let out a gasp.

A sharp pain tore through her middle, causing her to wince.

He stilled, his arms tensing. “Juliet, I’m sor—”

She quieted him by wrapping her legs around his back, driving him deeper inside her. Now was not the time for apologies. Not when his arousal throbbed inside her and her body craved his molten caresses.

His mouth once again found hers, his hands falling to her wrists where he interlaced his fingers with hers. Pulling back his hips, he thrust forward, his body picking up a slow rhythm that sent each of her nerves to its limit.

Pain slipped into pleasure and bliss exploded into ecstasy. Tearing her lips from his, she cried out.

With a final thrust, he pulsed inside her and moaned her name. Benjamin fell beside her, his chest slick with sweat, his breath coming in short little pants. “I never…”

Juliet placed her finger over his lips, silencing his words. There were none to describe what had transpired between them, and none to express the spasm of emotions that had erupted from her very core.

Her world had shifted. Her entire body shook with the enormity of what she had done, of the intimacies she had shared with a man she not only desired, but needed.

She wanted nothing more than to curl beside him, to run her fingers over every chiseled line and indented muscle. She yearned to repeat their sensual act or, at the very least, lay beside him, with his arm wrapped around her waist…and yet, a deal was a deal.

Their union was binding. Once again, her husband had done as she had asked.

And once again, she had a debt to repay, which she would in one week’s time. Juliet would be there to whelp Artemis’s pups. And then depart for Evenrood first thing after. Benjamin deserved his solitude. He had earned it. Every last minute.

…

Juliet woke to a wet tongue on her face.

Lifting one lid open, she peered at Cleo, who, with a wagging tail and a sloppy, wet tongue, set out to remind Juliet it was morning. And time to be fed.

“Fine. I’m awake. Is that what you want?” Juliet rubbed behind the hound’s ears. Cleo whined and proceeded to douse Juliet with a morning’s worth of spittle.

Gently shoving the dog to the side, Juliet sat up and glanced down at her rumpled shift. Heat flooded her face as she recalled precisely what she had done whilst wearing Mrs. Ancell’s neat and tidy stitches.

Her marriage was now consummated. The soreness between her thighs was testament to the fact.

Funny how she hadn’t noticed any physical discomfort when she had left Benjamin’s bed. Desire, hot and thick, engulfed her each time his hand had slipped over her body, pulling her in tight against his side. All pain was absent whilst in his presence, his bristly jaw and soft lips replacing any discomfort with pleasure.

She reveled in his caresses, in the heady rush of excitement and joy he brought with his nearness. But a deal was a deal, and he had filled his end. His solitude was well earned and she would do her best to respect his wishes to be left alone…even if she was loathe to admit how long she’d toyed with the idea of staying in his room.

Thus, why she was in her bed on the morning after their wedding and not in his.

Juliet pulled a pair of wool stockings out of her wardrobe drawer and tugged them over her numb toes. The coarse knit was hardly fitting for a viscountess, but it was warm enough for a married hound breeder set on nurturing a new line of pointers.

Cleo’s ears perked. A low growl rumbled in her throat, providing enough warning for Juliet to pull a blanket over her lap before the lock rattled with the insertion of a key.

“Mrs. Ancell?”

Only the elderly housekeeper had access to the room keys, but it was not customary for her to use the main entrance. Had she wanted to tend to Juliet, she would have made use of the servant door, if she suspected Juliet of being here at all. Perhaps she thought the viscount had come to claim her here?

A final rattle of the lock and the door was thrown open, with Frederick, in a rumpled shirt and breeches, standing on her threshold.

Juliet yanked the blanket to her chest, her face heating. “Frederick? What are you doing here? And how did you come to be in possession of the household keys?”

He sauntered in, a smug smile set on his thin lips. “I am the future baron, Juliet. I have access to the machinations of the house.”

“The
current
baron does not even have access to those keys,” she said. Her fingers clenched around the soft fibers of her cotton quilt. “Mrs. Ancell guards them with her life.”

“Yes, well, perhaps you should investigate the housemaid with the slippery fingers who will do almost anything for an extra pence. That, however, is neither here nor there. What is, my dearest cousin, is that you are still in your nightshift. In your own room. Without the viscount.”