My Fair Mistress (38 page)

Breathing him in, she gave herself over to the kiss, knowing there would be only this one, knowing suddenly how much she needed it, how deeply she craved Rafe’s touch. Refusing to stint, she closed her eyes and let him draw her deeper, relishing every fiery taste and silken sensation.

She shuddered, her body suffused with heat.

God, it’s so good,
she thought,
so wonderful. How can I possibly stop? But I have to and now, while I still have the strength.

Yet even as she began to move away, Rafe shifted her in his arms and angled his head. Slanting his mouth across hers, she felt him take the kiss deeper, careful never to break contact as if he hoped to stretch this single kiss into infinity. And as she floated on a cloud of bliss, she wondered if he just might manage the trick. And if she would let him.

The world narrowed, growing smaller and smaller until there was only herself and Rafe.

His hands began to move, gliding and caressing, stroking her curves and gently kneading her flesh. Arching like a cat being pet by her master, she turned into his embrace, welcoming it, welcoming him.

She didn’t know when or how, but suddenly her feet were no longer touching the floor, her body aloft as Rafe carried her across the room.

The soft feather tick enveloped her as he bore her down onto the bed, his mouth amazingly still fastened to her own, making her quiver as his tongue swirled around her own.

She could barely think as he lay over her, so big, so powerful, his touch an imprint that went all the way to her soul.

Then, when her thoughts were starting to turn muzzy from lack of oxygen, he freed her lips. Her mouth throbbed, hot and swollen from his thorough feasting. Aching and hungry for more.

Kissing her cheeks and temple, her ears and neck, he kept her enthralled, even more so as his hands glided again over her frame, seeking and finding all her most sensitive spots.

A draught of cool air brushed across her skin as he unbuttoned her nightgown and peeled back the garment to expose her breasts. She nearly jumped out of her skin, tensing when he covered one of her nipples with his mouth and began to draw upon her.

“Oh!” she cried out, stiffening as a disturbing mix of pleasure and pain radiated through her.

His head came up. “What?”

“It hurts. I…I’m sore.”

He paused. “The baby?”

She nodded, that single word enough to drive some of the passion from her mind, to clear her foggy senses.

What am I doing? How could I have let things go so far?

She didn’t want to stop, the deep ache between her legs begging to be assuaged. But if she let Rafe stay now, she would have to let him stay again tomorrow night and the night after. She would have to let him come to her as often, and for as long, as he had need.

And what if his need ceased? What if he once more grew bored and turned his back? If she let him into her bed and into her body, only to watch him discard her yet again, she knew some part of her would break, and perhaps even die.

He had used her once. She could not afford to let him use her again.

“Stop.”

Rafe cocked his head. “What?”

“Stop. You’ve had your kiss, now go.” Aware of her naked breasts, she reached down to cover herself.

He caught her hands before she could close the bodice. “I couldn’t have heard right. Did you say
stop
?”

Unable to meet his gaze, she looked away. “Yes. I’ve had enough.”

His expression turned dark. “I know you want me. If I reached under that skirt, I’d find you wet and more than ready. And as for me, I’m hard as a freshly dug tuber.”

Bending down, he tried to kiss her.

She turned her head so that his lips only grazed her cheek. “You said you would stop.”

His jaw tightened. “I did, but surely you’re not going to hold me to that promise now. You are my wife, Julianna. You belong in my bed.”

“I am sure many would agree, just as they agreed we should be wed. You forced me into this marriage. Are you going to force me to service you as well?”

She shivered, recoiling at the fury that blazed in his eyes. For a moment, she imagined she saw more, glimpsed hurt and disillusionment shimmering in his gaze. Then the look was gone.

With a growl, he flung himself away and off the bed. “Have it your way, madam, and don’t imagine I’ll be back. I hope you enjoy your cold, lonely bed.”

Stalking toward his room, he walked through the connecting passageway and slammed the door, the wood rattling so hard she thought the frame might crack.

Shivering, she curled on her side.

I did the right thing.
She thought.
So why do I feel so empty? Why does it feel so wrong?

Closing her eyes, she started to weep.

An overly large blot of ink bled into the foolscap beneath Rafe’s pen, obliterating several of the words he’d already written above.

Hell and damnation!
he silently cursed, reaching out to crush the ruined paper in his fist. Flinging it toward the fireplace, he watched the wad roll, then bump up against another trio of previously discarded attempts.

With deliberate care, he set down his pen.
I can’t concentrate,
he thought,
and it is all her fault.

To his recollection, he couldn’t recall ever being so angry, at least not with a woman. But after Julianna’s heartless behavior, how could he be otherwise?

He’d gone to her room last night with the intention of gently wooing her, showing her with tenderness and care that despite his past words and actions his desire for her remained strong. The passion between them had always been explosive, and he’d been counting on using mutual need to rekindle their relationship and forge what he hoped might be a new, and even deeper, bond. After all, they were now husband and wife. Last night but the first of countless evenings to come.

Yet she’d been skittish and defensive from the start, ordering him from her room before he’d even had a chance to get near her. After an admittedly slow beginning, however, he’d thought things were going well.

Even now, he could feel the almost concussive delight of having her lips moving under his once again. Experience the heady bliss of holding her close in his arms, so warm and lush, so Julianna.

Once he’d carried her to the bed, he’d lost himself in the moment and in her, savoring each sensation, relishing every touch. And she’d been enjoying herself, too. He knew she had.

Yet abruptly, she’d turned cold.

He’d been dying for her, his body diamond hard and throbbing with need when she’d told him to stop. The effort to comply had been wrenching. Yet it was the venom of her words that had bitten most deeply. Accusing him of forcing himself upon her, of attempting to violate her with no regard for her feelings or wishes.

That had hurt worst of all.

Grinding his teeth, he shoved back his chair and stood. Crossing to the fireplace, he bent down to retrieve the ruined balls of paper. Slowly, he fed them to the flames, his thoughts still centered upon his wedding night.

Wedding night, hah!
More like wedding
nightmare.

After he’d slammed his way out of her room, he’d come downstairs for a much-needed drink. But the liquor hadn’t helped. If anything, the spirits only seemed to increase his ire, to fan the flames of his outraged emotions and sexual frustration even more.

Nearly two hours later, he’d returned to his bedchamber to climb beneath his solitary sheets, and there he’d lain, utterly unable to sleep. At five, he’d given up any attempt at rest, dressed and shaved himself, then gone out for a ride.

The exercise did little to alleviate his mind, but at least he’d worked up an appetite by the time of his return.

He’d just been finishing breakfast when Julianna appeared, her face guarded and a bit pale. Without a word, he’d tossed down his napkin and left, retreating to his study.

He’d hoped to work, hoped to bury himself in dry financial matters that would drive all thoughts of her from his thoughts. And though he’d managed to accomplish something, it had been a very little something indeed.

Growling now under his breath, he tossed the last ball of paper into the fire.

Instead of remaining here at the house for what was sure to be a torturous dinner, he ought to send around notes to Tony and Ethan to see if they would like to join him for an evening on the Town. But doing so would be tantamount to admitting that his marriage was a disaster after only one day.

The same would prove true if he went out to find a convenient and willing partner to satisfy his lust. Taking another woman to his bed would serve Julianna right. But despite his anger, he knew he couldn’t humiliate her that way.

Besides, he didn’t want another woman. He wanted his wife, who happened to be upstairs in her bedchamber right at this very moment. But he’d sworn not to touch her again, and he wouldn’t.

Gripping the edge of the mantelpiece, he wondered what he was going to do.
How can I bear living in the same house with her,
he pondered,
wanting her yet knowing she is out of reach?

The same way he’d done without her all the time before their marriage, he supposed.

He’d given her up to protect her. He’d married her to do the same. He would honor his vows. He just hoped it didn’t kill him first.

“Yes, my lady. I will see to it immediately.”

“Thank you, Martin,” Julianna said.

Seated in the morning room, she and her butler were finishing one of their twice-weekly meetings concerning the running of the household. “Is there anything further?” she added.

The older man straightened his already straight shoulders and cleared his throat. “Well, ma’am, though I do not like to trouble you with such things, there is the matter of a certain
large
individual. Despite my many admonitions that he not do so, he is still opening the front door to callers. Yesterday he scared poor Lady Neville when she stopped by for a visit, and then he had the bad manners to leave her waiting in the foyer.”

Heavens!
Julianna thought. No wonder she had found Beatrice waving her bottle of smelling salts beneath her nose when she had entered the room.

“I left instructions that one of the footmen is to answer the door when I am unavailable,” the butler continued, “but
that person
does not listen. And he intimidates the footmen so they haven’t the nerve to gainsay him.”

That person,
of course, being Hannibal, she realized without needing further explanation.

When she had moved into Rafe’s house five weeks ago, she had brought along several of her own servants. In general, the adjustments in the household had gone smoothly with one notable exception. Stubborn and independent to a fault, Hannibal deferred to no one.

Except Rafe, of course.

She knew the easiest way to remedy the problem would be to go to Rafe, explain the situation, and ask him to put an end to Hannibal’s cantankerous behavior. Unfortunately, she and Rafe were not on comfortable speaking terms these days.

In fact, despite living in the same house, they saw very little of each other. Occasionally they would share a meal, during which Rafe was always unfailingly polite. First he would inquire after her health, wanting to know if she was feeling well and if there was anything she required to make her pregnancy easier. Once she assured him she was well, the conversation would turn to mundanities—the weather, events around Town, or perhaps some interesting story one of them had heard.

Although she did her best to participate, to be equally polite and equally attentive, the encounters always left her drained and despairing afterward. Everything between them was surface now, without an iota of genuine warmth or intimacy.

We might as well be strangers,
she mused.

Her fault, she supposed, since she had sent him from her bed. True to his word, Rafe had made no further attempts at having sexual relations with her. Lately, he barely looked at her, and never with anything close to passion gleaming in his eyes.

I should be relieved. And I am,
she assured herself.

Yet she couldn’t deny wishing things might be different, wishing by some miracle that Rafe loved her.