The Sherbrooke Bride (20 page)

“You're very dark and hairy and big.”

“Yes, and you're very white-skinned with no hair at all except between your thighs. Lovely, that.”

“Oh goodness.”

“Touch me, Alexandra. I would appreciate it very much.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere that pleases you so long as it's between my chest and my thighs.”

She pressed the open palms of both hands against his chest. Black hair crinkled against her flesh. She felt the thud of his heart, slow and steady. Slowly, very slowly, her hands came down.

He sucked in his breath. His sex grew thicker. His hands fisted at his sides, but he forced himself to stand still, to let her keep the control. He would be frightening her soon enough. When her hands were against his belly, his sex was throbbing and he prayed now that she wouldn't touch him.

“You're very big, Douglas.”

He smiled painfully. “That's true, but you will learn that a man is made to give a woman pleasure. It is his role, that, and spilling his seed inside the woman.”

“I can't believe this will work.”

Then before he could think of anything to say, her fingertips lightly touched him. He jerked and moaned.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Yes and it was wonderful. Don't touch my sex again, Alexandra, else I might embarrass myself.” Douglas couldn't believe it. He was the man Ryder accused of being a cold fish, the man who would control himself with an angel, and it was true. He'd never had to fight for control in his life. Yet she was touching him and it was making him crazy. He'd been without a woman for too long, that was it. But he hadn't, not really.

“But you are so—”

“So what?” he said between gritted teeth. Her hands were hovering over him, her face lowered, and she was looking closely at him, and he suddenly saw her on her knees in front of him, and she was going to take him into her mouth. He could practically feel the warmth of her breath on his sex. To have her take him into her mouth—the thought made him tremble and shake, and in that moment, he simply couldn't bear it any more. He couldn't call up a bit of
cold-bloodedness. It was insanity and it had him. He jerked her close and pressed her hard against him.

“I want you,” he said against her mouth. “Part your lips, now, now, yes, that's it,” and his warm breath was inside her mouth and his large hands were stroking wildly down her back and cupping under her buttocks. Then he was groaning into her mouth, his tongue touching hers, and he was pressing her upward against him and he was hard and hot and his hands were on her bare legs now, feverishly stroking upward, and his fingertips pushed against her buttocks and touched her. She flinched, and in that instant, he realized she was scared. She was stiff as a board.

Douglas got hold of himself. Too quickly, he was going much too quickly. It wasn't at all like him. He was careful, slow, very deliberate, yet here he was, acting like a wild man. He, the excellent lover, was scaring the devil out of her. Ah, but he wanted to part her woman's flesh and he wanted to thrust into her this very second, this instant, deep into her, and hard, but he'd told her he wasn't a pig. Damn, he'd even bragged about how good he was to a woman. He had to gain control. She was a virgin and he wasn't. He was an experienced man, he knew how things were to be done. This grabbing and pawing and panting wasn't a sign of excellence. He drew a deep breath. He set her away from him and took a step back. He grabbed up his dressing gown and shrugged into it. He wouldn't spill his seed too quickly and leave her to wonder how he could ever believe himself a matchless bedmate.

“I'm sorry,” he said, his voice raw and low. “I frightened you. I'm sorry.” Then he laughed at himself. “You won't believe this, Alexandra,” he said,
grasping her arms and stroking them, up and down and up and down because he had to touch her, just have contact with her. “Never, please believe me, never have I felt so frantic before, so damned urgent. It's true and it shocks me that I could lose my control. I don't like it a bit. It isn't at all like me. You're just a woman, truth be told, like any other woman, despite the fact that you're my wife. I'm not lying to you, Alexandra. No, don't look at me as if I'm a monster. I am not rejecting you, never that. That other time I was a fool and I want to make it up to you tonight. I don't want to hurt you, to frighten you. God, your breasts are lovely.”

He was breathing hard, as if he'd just run to Northcliffe's north field and back. His sex was thrusting outward still. Alexandra pressed her palm against his heart. Fast pounding. He wanted her.

And she'd acted like a stupid ninny, freezing up on him. “Please, Douglas, I'm sorry I'm afraid. I won't act like a virgin again.”

He laughed and it hurt. “You are a virgin.” Yet he marveled at her unquestioned acceptance. She still looked wary, but also she was eager and he was more than eager to teach her.

“Come here.”

She took the three steps until she was standing directly in front of him.

“As you can see, I still want you very much. As I told you, I can't control my reaction. Do you want to stay here or come with me into my bedchamber?”

“I want to go with you.”

Without another word, Douglas picked her up and held her tightly against him. Her breath was warm on his cheek and then she kissed him, a light kiss, one with her lips closed, a virgin's kiss, an innocent
kiss a girl would give her uncle, and it pleased him and drove him mad with lust. He dropped her to her feet and took her hand, dragging her into his bedchamber. Once there, he turned to face her and pulled her up against him. She kissed him again, this time on his ear and then she lightly bit his earlobe.

He ran the last few feet to his bed. He was breathing hard, and it was going to be touch and go. “Now, listen to me,” he said, forcing himself not to touch her, just to look down at her, sprawled in the middle of his bed. “I don't want you to touch me or kiss me again. I don't know what the matter with me is, but I can't take it, Alexandra. Do you understand?”

Even as he spoke the words, he remembered again Ryder telling him he was a cold fish. Cold, ha!

Her eyes were large with astonishment as she stared up at him.

“I know you don't understand, dammit, just tell me that you do, all right?”

“I understand, Douglas,” she said, and reached up to clasp her arms around his neck, drawing him down. He fell atop her, his mouth was on hers, and he was kissing her again and again, whispering for her to part her lips, and when she did, he groaned into her mouth, and didn't stop. “Alexandra.” He said her name over and over, and he didn't want to stop kissing her, not until he had no more breath, not until he was dead, and then he'd stop, maybe. He managed to jerk off his dressing gown, but the touch of her flesh against his sent him over the edge. He was on top of her, hard against her belly and he wanted to fit himself between her legs. He reared back and pushed her legs wide apart. He fell on her again and his sex was pushing against her
and he thought he would die if he couldn't come into her this instant, this very moment in time. He held on, but his tongue was wild in her mouth, deepening, his tongue touching hers, and the heat of her made his heart pound and speed up faster and faster. He raised his head and stared down at her. “I don't believe this,” he said, and kissed her again. Her arms were around his back, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and she was moving beneath him and he jerked back to look down at her body, open for him, his for the taking, and he saw that she was pale, her face as white as her smooth belly, and he looked at her sprawled legs and felt himself tense and tremble, and he couldn't believe it. He sat back on his heels between her legs and stared down at her. “You are incredible,” he said and his hands cupped her breasts, kneading them, and then he was leaning down, suckling her nipple and Alexandra, shocked, terrified until this moment, yelled.

Her back arched up, and at her response, Douglas went mad. His hands were all over her, everywhere he could reach, and he was pleased she was small and that his hands spanned her belly and at the same time his fingers were delving through the dark red hair that covered her woman's mound and she was wet and he was so relieved, so maddened with lust, that he simply couldn't wait to soothe her, to prepare her. He lifted her off the bed and brought her to his mouth.

Alexandra had no time for shock at this act. His tongue was hot and wet and all she could think of was, “Oh my God, something is going to happen to me!” And then it did, quickly, and she was screaming with the pounding and the scalding heat between her thighs and his mouth deepened and
a finger gently came into her and she lurched up, her hands fisting in his hair and she shuddered and cried out and his words burned into her as she spun outside herself, yet deep into herself, and he was there, and he was saying, “Yes, come to me, Alexandra, come, come . . . yes. You're mine now and that is a woman's release . . . come.”

The powerful burning and clenching eased and in the next instant, his fingers were stroking her there, parting her, and then he was easing inside her and she wanted to tell him to stop because it hurt and she knew it couldn't work for he was large and he would tear her, but his fingers were on her slick flesh again, probing and caressing, and she was sobbing with the power of it as he came more deeply inside her.

“Alexandra, look at me!”

She stared up at him. His face was taut, there was sweat on his brow, he looked to be in pain, and he groaned, his powerful back arching, and he lunged forward, and she screamed for the pain was deep inside her, tearing, rending, and there was raw pain and more pain. He came down over her, balancing himself on his elbows, but he couldn't stop himself. He was panting now, and he looked both incredulous and beyond reason, and he was pumping deep within her, hard and fast, and faster still, and the pleasure was forgotten and she was crying.

Then he froze over her. She was surprised that he was utterly still. She looked up at his face and saw the look of astonishment and intense satisfaction written there. Then he moaned long and deep, and his dark eyes were vague and wild and she felt the wetness of him at her womb. And it went on and on, and she was slick now and the pain had lessened.

Just as suddenly, he was lying on her, breathing painfully hard, crushing her into the mattress, and it was over and she was wondering what had happened and what more would happen. After some minutes, Douglas raised himself on his elbows. He looked down at her face. He stared at her for a very long time. He frowned.

He said finally, his voice harsh and angry, “My God, I don't believe this. It shouldn't have happened. It never has happened before. It wasn't what I wanted, expected. Damnation!”

He pulled away from her, aware of her flesh quivering as he pulled out of her. He rolled off the bed and stood there for a moment, staring at her. “Go to sleep,” he said, and to her astonishment, he turned and left her, going into the countess's bedchamber, jerking the door closed behind him.

T
HE SCREAM BROUGHT
Alexandra bolting up in bed. It was loud, piercing, and it was coming from the countess's bedchamber, the bedchamber she wasn't in. She jumped out of Douglas's bed, realized she was quite naked, and grabbed the counterpane, wrapped it around her as she dashed to the adjoining door and flung it open.

There was a maid, Dora by name, fifteen and foolish and thin, and she was shrieking, her hands covering her face, and she was staring at the bed through her fingers.

Douglas was sitting up in bed, staring in some confusion down at his naked chest, now covered with hot chocolate. The white sheet came only to his belly.

Alexandra skidded to a halt, staring.

Douglas raised his head and yelled at the maid, “For God's sake, you silly wench, shut up!”

Dora clamped her jaws together. She began to wring her hands. Alexandra quickly came into the room, and Dora, seeing the mistress she'd expected instead of His Lordship who was amazingly naked, said, “Oh, my lady! Oh dear! 'Tis His Lordship and I thought it was you and I gently shook your—his—shoulder and he came up and he doesn't have any
clothes on and it scared me so that I spilled the chocolate all over him and I burned him. Oh my lady!”

Alexandra looked at Douglas. There was chocolate matting the thick hair on his chest and staining the white covers. His hair was tousled, his jaws dark with whiskers, and he looked so beautiful to her that she couldn't understand why Dora had been shrieking. If she had discovered him thus, she would have leapt into the bed with him and kissed him until she was breathless.

She said to the maid, “It's all right, Dora. You may leave now. Fetch some warm water and washcloths and towels. Hurry now, His Lordship can't be all that comfortable with the chocolate on his chest.”

Alexandra turned to her husband. “Are you all right? Did the chocolate burn you?”

He looked vastly irritated. “Dammit, no, but she startled the devil out of me, the hysterical little—”

“You probably scared her more, being in my bed.”

She managed to hold herself quiet until Dora let herself out of the bedchamber. Then she laughed and laughed, so hard that tears pooled in her eyes. She hugged her stomach, bending over, still laughing.

“Damnation! Be quiet!”

“Yes, my lord,” she said and laughed some more. Finally, Alexandra wiped her eyes on the edge of the counterpane, and looked at her husband.

Douglas, pulled from a deep sleep, doused with hot chocolate, and then shrieked at, shoved away the covers and rose from the bed. He was quite naked and Alexandra became quite still at the sight of him.

He didn't look at all like he had the night before.

“Good Lord, woman, stop staring at me!” It was then that Douglas looked down at himself. He drew in his breath. There was blood on his member.

He looked at the shrouded woman with long tousled dark red hair who was standing there like a half-wit staring at him, the woman he'd taken the previous night, that former virgin woman who was also his wife, and said, his voice deep and gruff, “Did I hurt you?”

She stared at him, unconsciously clutching the counterpane more closely. “Yes.”

“Do you still hurt?”

She was terribly embarrassed, standing here with him perfectly naked, asking her questions that made the roots of her hair turn even redder. “A little bit. No, not really. Some, it's strange.”

He walked past her into his own bedchamber, grabbed up his dressing gown and shrugged into it. He looked back at her, and said, “Come here.”

Alexandra, her head cocked to the side in question, walked slowly to him. Without warning, he lifted her and laid her onto her back on the bed. He began unrolling the counterpane.

“Stop! Oh dear, what are you doing? Douglas!” She was swatting at him, but it did no good. Soon she was lying naked and he was looking down at her. “Part your legs.”

She twisted away from him, but he grabbed her ankles and flipped her back. “Dammit, hold still, woman!”

“No, this is horrid! Stop it, Douglas! I might not be a virgin now, but this is still very embarrassing.”

He came down on top of her. “Be quiet. I saw blood on my member, your blood, your virgin's blood, and I need to see if you're all right. Did you bleed much?
I forgot to warn you. Were you frightened? Blessed hell, I'm sorry.”

She stared up at him. “I don't know.”

“What do you mean you don't know?”

“I feel sticky but I didn't look at myself. It was dark and you had left me.”

“It's not dark now. Hold still, Alexandra.” He rolled off her and shoved her thighs apart. “Damn,” he said, “it's you who need the water Dora is bringing. You're a mess.”

She was so humiliated, so utterly mortified, that she just lay there, her eyes tightly closed. She felt his big warm hands on her thighs, touching her, knew he was looking at her and it was a bright morning, sun flooding through the windows. She wanted, quite simply, to open her eyes and discover that she was ten years old again, waiting for her nanny to come fetch her for breakfast, and none of this was happening.

She felt the mattress shift and knew he was standing beside the bed now, staring down at her. “Don't move. I'll bring the water and bathe you.”

She heard the master bedchamber door open, and she did move, faster than she'd thought possible. She buried herself in the sheets.

“My lord?”

It was Finkle, Douglas's valet.

“Go away!”

“My lady? Is that you, all muffled? Oh dear. Excuse me, oh dear.”

“Finkle, is that you?”

“Oh my lord, forgive me, but I thought it was you but it wasn't, it was her—”

“No matter. I do understand, believe me. Go away and bring bathwater. Next time, knock. Her
Ladyship still isn't certain which bed is hers. She has problems with direction, you know, and I have assured her that I quite understand.”

When the door closed, Douglas looked down at the shrouded figure on his bed. It was his turn to laugh, which he did. She burrowed more deeply. Finally, he said, amusement filling his voice, “You can come out now. Finkle is quite gone. Can you imagine how I felt?”

“This is worse. Men don't seem to care who sees what. They have no modesty.”

“This conclusion, I gather, is from your vast well of experience? Never mind. Get used to me seeing you, whenever and wherever I please. As for poor Finkle, with all those ‘oh dears,' you and my valet could sing a duet. Come along, there's warm water in your room.”

She came along, the counterpane trailing after her like a very long bridal veil.

She dug in her heels in the doorway. “I will bathe myself, Douglas.”

“Nonsense, I need to see that you're all right. I am the one responsible for wounding you, though that is not the appropriate thing to say about the rending of your maidenhead, but no matter. I did it and I will tend you.”

“You will go away. I cannot allow this. It is too embarrassing.”

Douglas frowned. “Do you so soon forget what I did to you last night, madam? Do you so soon forget how you squealed with pleasure? Believe me, I was looking at you then. Now it's different, but just a bit. Be quiet.”

“No.” She fidgeted. “It was dark last night. You said the blood is natural?”

He heard the fear in her voice, and softened his own. “Yes. I should have warned you, but I didn't.” He frowned, remembering how he'd felt so utterly stripped of everything comfortable, everything known and accepted at the power of his release, so completely unfamiliar to himself, an alien feeling he hated, that he'd reeled away from her and from the scene of his fall.

“Go away, Douglas.”

Douglas picked up the bowl of warm water and set it on the tabletop next to the bed. He laid the washcloths next to the water. Then he turned to her. Alexandra tried to run but the counterpane tripped her up and she fell into his arms. He picked her up and dumped her onto the bed. He unrolled her, then said, “I am tired of playing Caesar to your Cleopatra, though you continue to unroll well. I am weary of telling you to be quiet and to hold still. I don't wish to tell you again.”

She lay there, her head turned away, her eyes tightly closed, as he pushed her legs apart and bathed off the blood and his seed.

Douglas felt calm and in control even when his fingers touched her flesh and she quivered. He remembered he'd felt just as calm, just as in control when he'd tended her during her illness. No savage lust for him then and none for him now. It was finished, thank God. He was back to normal. When he decided to take her again, it would be accomplished with reason and logic and a modicum of involvement. No abandon, no frenzy. She would not disturb him again to the point that he lost himself entirely. He took one final swipe, then tossed the cloth aside. He turned back to tell her to get up when he looked down at her and discovered that he couldn't seem
to look away from her. His calm fled from one short breath to the next. His task was done and so was his control. His vaunted control was a valueless memory. Now he couldn't stop looking at her, his fingers twitching at the closeness of her body. Her flesh was soft and pink and warm and he found that he'd begun to tremble. No, he wouldn't tremble at the sight of a naked woman. He never had before. His fingers dug slightly into her inner thighs. He wanted to stroke her, and he wanted to caress her with his fingertips and his mouth. And her breasts, he wanted to cup her breasts, to fill his hands with her breasts, he wanted to suckle her, to rub his cheek against the soft flesh and hear her heartbeat against his face.

He sucked in his breath. It was worse than it had been the previous night, this crippling lust, this alien urgency that turned him into a wild man, a man he didn't recognize, a man the logical side of him could not approve of. He felt blood pounding in his head, felt his muscles, his sex, tighten and throb. His sex was hard and he was filled with such desire for her that he was shaking with it. He tried to find a shred of reason in his brain, but there wasn't any, not even a thread. “Damnation,” he said, and fell on top of her, parting her legs wider as he came between them.

“Lift your hips,” he said, then lifted them with his big hands. He was panting now, close to shattering, so close to releasing his seed, and he couldn't understand it, couldn't begin to explain it, and then, suddenly, he thrust into her.

Alexandra cried out in surprise.

Douglas froze over her, but for just an instant. She was hot and very small, and he could feel her
flesh accommodating to him; she was accepting him smoothly, so there must have been some desire in her for him as well. There was no force, only the soft acceptance of her, and he could feel every movement she made and it was exquisite and he felt everything he understood spinning away from him and he arched his back and thrust deeper and deeper still. She was crying and it was those small broken sobs that brought him a semblance of reason. He was pressed against her womb, so deep, yet it wasn't enough for he wanted his tongue in her mouth, wanted to have her breasts heaving and pressing against his chest.

“Alexandra.”

She opened her eyes.

“Please, hold very still. Am I hurting you?”

“Not really hurt, it's just that I don't know what will happen and it is frightening.”

“I promise the next time it will be very slow. I swear it to you, but not this time. Please, don't move. If you move I will go insane. Do you understand?”

She looked at him, at sea.

“Just say you understand.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Don't move. I don't know what's wrong with me. It is beyond my experience. This isn't acceptable to me or—” He felt her muscles clench around him and he groaned and tensed and heaved. He cursed and his eyes closed. He pushed deep then withdrew only to thrust forward, his hands digging into her hips as he lifted her higher.

He yelled when his climax hit him, yelled like a madman, yelled like he'd never yelled before in his life. Then he was flat on top of her and he was kissing her, wanting to consume her, tasting her tears,
tasting the warmth of her mouth and still he was moving inside her, and he simply couldn't believe it, couldn't comprehend it and it just wouldn't stop.

When finally he calmed, he stilled above her. He'd done it again. He'd lost himself again and forgotten who he was and what he was. And it was this woman who had brought him to this ludicrous pass and he wouldn't accept it. He frowned. She was crying, her face pale, her hair tousled around her face.

“I'm sorry,” he said, and pulled out of her. “Next time, I swear it will be slow and you won't be afraid. I'm sorry.”

He stood there, stiff, his chest still heaving, looking at her sprawled legs. “I'm sorry,” he said again, “but I can't—”

He turned quickly, his dressing gown flapping open, only to be brought up sharply by a very angry voice. “If you run away again, Douglas Sherbrooke, I swear I will leave Northcliffe Hall and travel to London and tell everyone that you are a pig and not an excellent lover. I will tell all the ladies that you have no control at all, that you're a raving lunatic, that you can't think of anything except yourself. Oh yes, and you're very hairy and you sweat a lot!”