The Devil Who Tamed Her (25 page)

T
HE LULL BEFORE THE STORM
was driving Raphael crazy. He had fully expected his “wife” to do some outlandish thing to enrage him. She had promised retribution. She had sworn she intended to make him suffer. By mere chance he’d remained apart from her so that she couldn’t taunt him into ruining his life any further.

He
had
gone looking for her, he just hadn’t been obvious about it. He’d attended quite a few parties, expecting to encounter her at one or more of them. But she was either attending different parties or she was too busy moving into her new house.

Then it occurred to him that she might be staying out of the public eye because she didn’t want to answer any questions about them. Smart girl. It would be highly embarrassing to have to admit that her husband didn’t want to be her husband. Of course, he couldn’t really see her admitting to that a’tall. No, she was more likely to create a completely false scenario that would show him in a bad light.

But he’d heard no rumors to that effect, no rumors period regarding their marriage. And he’d been bombarded with questions himself. But he was rather adept at providing answers without really divulging any pertinent information. And his sister, who was also being barraged for some juicy tidbits, had agreed to continue to assert that she was annoyed with him.

Dining with her last night before she’d left for yet another ball, she’d assured him, “They think I’m still not talking to you. It’s
so
much easier to just say I don’t know.”

He finally gave up wondering what Ophelia was up to and early that evening went to find out for himself. He’d staffed the house he’d bought her. It had come fully furnished, tastefully, all in excellent condition, which was in fact what had sold him. Having told Ophelia he was buying her this house, he didn’t want her to have to wait for furniture to be delivered before she could move in.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d dismissed the staff he’d selected for her, so she could hire people of her own choosing, but she hadn’t yet done so. The butler who answered his knock and let him in was the same chap he’d sent over.

“Where is she?” he asked Mr. Collins.

“Who, m’lord?”

“My wife, of course,” Raphael said as he handed over his hat and greatcoat. He was already remembering the last time she’d kept him waiting. He might as well get comfortable.

“Lady Locke hasn’t taken up residence yet,” Mr. Collins informed him, appearing rather embarrassed to impart that information.

Now
that
he wasn’t expecting. “It’s been nearly a week since I let her know this house was ready for her. Did she at least move her belongings in?”

“We haven’t seen the lady yet at all.”

Raphael asked no more questions. He grabbed his coat back, forgot his hat, and was on his way to the Reid household within moments. There he was told where she’d gone and that she’d left two days ago! And that was when he panicked.

The trouble she could cause in his family could be everlasting—for him. And he didn’t doubt for a minute that she’d gone to Norford Hall with the express purpose of turning his family against him. And she’d had two days to do so. She was once again the Ophelia he’d first met, the one he didn’t like, the one capable of spreading false rumors and backing them up with lies, the one who didn’t give a damn about anything other than her own selfish ends. She didn’t care whom she hurt on the way to her goal, and her goal was to hurt him.

A few hours later he arrived at Norford Hall. The house was quiet at that time of night, most of the lights extinguished. The footman who manned the front door during the late hours was sleeping in a chair beside it and didn’t wake when Raphael slipped inside and went up to his room to get some sleep before he faced Ophelia in the morning.

She was in his bed. He hadn’t expected that they would put her in his room. He should have. She was his wife, after all.

He should leave and find another room for the night. Most of them were empty in this wing of the house. He was too tired after racing pell-mell for Norford to deal with her tonight. In the morning, when he was fresh, he would be clearheaded enough to force her to reveal what she was up to. But he didn’t move to retrace his steps.

She was in his bed. That kept him riveted to the spot, standing next to the bed, staring down at her sleeping form.

Her hair was glossy white in the moonlight, spread across his pillows. She hadn’t closed the drapery. It was a clear night, a bright moon, which is why he’d made such good time getting there. It was still late. She’d probably been asleep for several hours.

She was in his bed. And she was his wife. Wild horses couldn’t have pulled him out of there.

Was she a deep sleeper? Would she even notice if he got into bed with her? He quickly stripped off his clothes and did just that. She didn’t wake. She didn’t move a speck. And he was tired. It had been a stressful day full of unpleasant surprises. He ought to get some sleep. She’d be sure to wake him when she found him there in the morning. That would be soon enough to deal with the raging shrew.

But just now the shrew wasn’t present. And there was no way he was going to sleep with her soft, warm body only inches from his. Sex had tamed her anger before, or had that been a lie too, just another part of her ruse to trick him into believing he’d succeeded in changing her? There was one way to find out….

I
T ONLY TOOK A MOMENT
for Ophelia to realize why she felt so good. It only took another moment for her to decide that she wasn’t about to deny Rafe the path he seemed intent on taking. She wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t going to refuse the exquisite pleasure he was capable of giving her, just because the anger he’d ignited in her wouldn’t go away.

She knew instinctively that making love with him again wouldn’t alleviate that anger, though. It might make her forget it briefly, but that would be all, because she’d been betrayed, maybe not in the typical sense, but that’s what it felt like. A broken heart. She’d had all the symptoms of one and still did, which more or less answered the question she’d been avoiding. She
had
fallen in love with this man. And that’s why making love with him again wasn’t going to mend her broken heart. But it certainly was gratifying to know that he still couldn’t resist her.

Her linen nightgown, which she typically raised up above her knees once she was under the covers, had been no hindrance to him and was now bunched up above her hips. He had been stroking the insides of her thighs and now slipped a finger inside her, just deep enough to set all her nerves tingling. The top of her gown, which had been nice and snug when she’d gone to sleep, was now wide open, giving him full access to her breasts. He was suckling one of them, drawing on it deeply, though gently.

She wasn’t fighting the hot sensual feelings he was arousing in her, quite the opposite. She luxuriated in every sensation, struggling to keep her breath under control and her sighs of pleasure to herself. She wasn’t pretending to still be asleep. She simply didn’t want to talk to him, confront him with the many angry questions she knew she should ask him, or…distract him from what he was doing to her.

And she watched him. Seeing him take so much enjoyment from the simple act of sucking on her nipple was heady indeed. She gently ran her fingers through his hair, then stopped when she realized what she’d done. She hadn’t meant to give him such an obvious clue that she was fully aware of what he was doing to her—and enjoying it. She’d just done it without thinking. It brought his eyes directly to hers.

Don’t say a word, not a single word
, his gaze seemed to warn her.

She knew that if she spoke, it wouldn’t be to say anything nice. If he spoke, the sensual trance he’d lulled her into would be broken.

He leaned up on an elbow, continuing to gaze at her. It seemed like forever. It also seemed as if he was debating whether to say something.

She couldn’t remain silent any longer. “You’ve deliberately avoided my bed. Why are you here now?” she demanded.

“The bed is mine,” he replied softly. “And so is the woman in it. We may have a lot to talk about, but now isn’t the time to talk.”

He kissed her. And, oh, my, what a kiss it was, deep and sweet and intended to change her mind if she had any reservations about making love with him. She didn’t have a single one. If the kiss hadn’t been enough to sway her, his calling her “his woman” pulled on her heartstrings in a most persuasive way. She fully participated in his sensual exploration, drawing his tongue into her mouth, slipping her own into his to taste him more fully. She put her arms around his neck and held him tightly, to try to keep him there…forever.

And then she realized…his finger was still inside her. And it was no longer still. He was moving his finger deeper, steadily penetrating her, moving it in and out, changing tempo, exquisitely slow, then a few quick thrusts, then slow again. His knuckles, possibly his thumb, rubbed against the small sensitive bud at the apex of her thighs. She gasped and her body thrust upward in surprise. He continued stroking her that way, again and again, as she writhed on the sheets moaning in pleasure. And all the while he just kissed her harder.

The room had been quite comfortable with the fireplace burning low, just cool enough to make her want to snuggle under the blankets. Now it was far too warm. The cloth of her nightgown was irritating her skin at the few places the linen was still touching her body. Actually, her whole body seemed overly sensitized to the slightest touch!

It was him. She knew it was him, and her body’s reaction to him. She wanted him so much! She’d thought she’d never again be able to hold him in her arms like this. She’d thought she’d never again experience the beauty of his lovemaking. And now that it was happening, her body seemed to want to race ahead to the climax and finally experience complete satisfaction, while she wanted to proceed slowly to savor every minute she could, and the two completely different urges just weren’t compatible.

He had tossed the blankets off the bed and must have been feeling the heat as well. She ran her hands over his broad shoulders and back; he was very warm to her touch. His breathing was becoming labored as well. She found herself holding her own breath each time it felt as if she were approaching a climax, but then the unbearable pleasure would recede and she’d breathe again, only to have the sensations build back up again. Every one of her nerves was screaming for that release. If she’d had the strength, she’d probably push Rafe on his back and have her way with him.

The thought almost made her laugh. It relieved a little of the tension, but not enough to let her relax. But then as if he’d been reading her thoughts, he finally moved his hips between hers and entered her, in a deep, smooth thrust that took her over the edge.

“God, now this is really coming home,” he murmured into her ear.

She exploded with pleasure almost instantly. And held on to him for dear life. And when the haze cleared a little from her mind, the tender feelings she had for him returned to her so abruptly, she was almost moved to tears.

Yes, she loved him. And hated him. And tomorrow would be soon enough to figure out what to do about it. Tonight, right now, he was carefully removing her nightgown to show her again what he’d mentioned to her once before—what it would be like to be in a bed with him, where he could devote the proper time to her and her pleasure.

W
HAT A COWARD SHE WAS
turning out to be. Ophelia didn’t sleep again that night, and unfortunately that led to a lot of deep introspection as she lay in bed next to Rafe. She shed a few silent tears and finally decided not to ruin such a beautiful night with the acrimony that would surely reappear in the morning. So before dawn, while her husband was still sound asleep, she snuck out of the bedroom, fully dressed for travel, and got Sadie and her coach brought around, without waking too many members of the household.

She left a note for Preston Locke, thanking him for his hospitality and asking him not to mention to his son what they had discussed, that if it did come to pass that she was carrying their baby, she wanted to be the one to tell him. She still didn’t think she was with child. The few brief bouts of nausea she had experienced had all occurred when she’d been seething with anger, which was a perfectly good reason to be sick to her stomach.

She had only to mention to Sadie that Rafe had arrived for the maid not to ask or complain about their leaving while it was still dark. But after taking two steps out the door toward the waiting coach, she stopped and told Sadie, “I forgot something. I’ll only be a moment,” and she ran back into Norford Hall.

Rafe was still sleeping, of course, his head half on her pillow, one arm draped over her side of the bed as if he thought he were still holding her. She leaned over and kissed his brow. She couldn’t wake him. All of her hurt would come spilling out: it was already spilling down her cheeks. But she wasn’t going to leave him without a word. She jotted off another note in the dim light of the dying fire and left it with a footman downstairs before she joined Sadie in the coach.

Hoping to regain better control of her emotions, she caught up on her missed sleep, napping nearly the entire trip home.

She arrived in London just before noon, and in time to share lunch with her mother.

“That was a short trip,” her mother said as she directed the staff to bring another plate for Ophelia. “We didn’t expect you back so soon. Didn’t it go well?”

“It went fine, Mama. The Lockes are very nice people. And Rafe’s grandmother, the dowager duchess, is a charming old bird. The entire time I was there, she confused me with her granddaughter Amanda, whom she adores, so we got along splendidly.”

“Then why didn’t you stay longer?”

“Rafe showed up.”

That simple statement said so much and didn’t need any further explanation, at least not for Mary. “I was afraid that would happen. Our butler informed me that he came here looking for you. Mr. Nates wasn’t aware that he shouldn’t have mentioned your direction.”

Ophelia shrugged, unaware of how dejected she looked. “It’s all right. I got to meet a few of the Lockes under a congenial atmosphere before he showed up. I just didn’t want to treat them to one of our verbal skirmishes. I’d as soon they don’t know how easily I can still lose my temper—when I’m around him.”

Mary abruptly suggested, “We should go shopping tomorrow, after you’re rested from your journey. Take your mind off all this unpleasantness for a while.”

Ophelia started to agree. She was open to anything that would give her thoughts some peace, however briefly. But then she caught the aroma of the poached fish being served for lunch and her stomach abruptly turned over nauseously. But she loved poached fish! And she wasn’t the least bit angry at the moment!

“Let’s go this afternoon,” she quickly told her mother as she stood up and backed away from the plate that had been set in front of her. “I’m not tired and not hungry. I’ll go change while you finish your lunch.”

She didn’t wait for Mary to agree. She ran out of the room, trying to get as far away as she could from the smell that was making her sick.

Raphael woke so refreshed, his body so relaxed, he was quite certain that had been the best night’s sleep he’d had in months. Before he left the bed, he leaned over and smelled the empty pillow next to his and smiled that Ophelia’s scent had been left behind. It hadn’t been a dream. She wasn’t in the room with him now, but her clothes were scattered here and there.

She couldn’t still be angry with him. That was the first thing that occurred to him as he pulled himself out of bed. She couldn’t make love with him like that and then turn around and still want to hurt him. Something had to have happened here, before he arrived, to expunge most of her anger.

He could probably thank his father for that. Preston had such a calming influence on friend and foe alike. If it could be said that someone had been born to be a diplomat, fingers would point at Preston Locke. He didn’t argue his points, he got them across in a reasonable manner, and if he was proven wrong, he’d merely laugh about it and go on from there. The only exception was how he dealt with his siblings. Where his sisters were concerned, he enjoyed pulling their cords.

Raphael dressed quickly and went in search of his wife and his father, in that order. Considering the early hour, he checked the breakfast room first. Ophelia wasn’t there, but Preston was.

“You still know how to work miracles, don’t you?” Raphael, entering the room, said cheerfully to his father. “Took the steam right out of her, didn’t you?”

“I’m not wearing a halo this week, and you look entirely too exuberant for this time of day. Sit down and explain yourself.”

“I’m talking about Ophelia, of course.” Raphael thanked the servant who added a few more platters of food to the table for him to pick from. “How did you manage to defuse her anger?”

Preston shook his head. “She didn’t come here angry, so there was nothing to defuse.”

“She didn’t try to stir up trouble while she was here? Didn’t dump all the blame at my door?”

“On the contrary, I found her to be quite charming, straightforward, and willing to accept responsibility if the errors were in her court. She even admitted that in anger she’d prodded you into marrying her, but my question is, why did you let her? You could have merely announced your engagement officially and married her properly within a reasonable time. You don’t think she would have wanted a nice wedding with all her friends and family present? All of
your
friends and family present as well?”

Raphael flushed slightly at the topic, as well as his father’s admonishing tone. He’d known he’d have to answer for excluding his entire family from his wedding. If it had been a joyful wedding, he’d really be feeling guilty, but it wasn’t, and this embarrassment was bad enough.

“I’ll tell you honestly, Father. If it didn’t happen as it did, it would never have happened.”

Preston raised a disapproving brow. “Despite the rumors? Are you actually saying you would have let her be thrown to the wolves?”

“Of course not. I could have defused all that. It was merely one bloody kiss that was seen!”

“It was much more than that. You were seen going off with her and you both didn’t reappear for nearly a week.”

“Visiting my family,” Raphael corrected. “You were the one who pointed out to me when I was here before that her father even boasted about it.”

“Yes, he boasted that you’d brought his daughter here specifically to Norford Hall. What I didn’t mention was that I had a number of visitors that week who asked after you and were told you
weren’t
here. It doesn’t take much to add that up, Rafe. And we’ve already had this conversation more or less, so let me ask you this. If there had been no rumors, would you have stood by and let her marry someone else? And keep in mind, I’ve met her.”

“Forget for a moment that she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever come across. What if she were nothing but blackened ice inside, malicious, spiteful—”

“Are we talking about the same woman?”

Raphael sighed. “All right, to be honest, I was having a few regrets about turning her loose on London again. I’d grown fond of her during our brief time together, perhaps a little too fond of her. But I thought she had changed, that the shrew was gone for good. I might even have asked her to marry me—if I had continued to think that.”

“I saw no evidence of this shrew.”

“Because she’s very good at keeping her temper and viper’s tongue under wraps when she wants to. And she had me convinced, one hundred percent, that the shrew was gone. I really believed I’d helped her to change for the better. But she admitted it was all a ruse, just a pretense so I’d send her back to London sooner.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe it wasn’t a lie that she’d changed. Maybe the lie is that she didn’t.”