Twice a Rake (23 page)

Oh, dear good Lord. She couldn’t look away. Now the heat between them was entirely too much to bear and she felt that liquid pull in her core drawing her ever closer to him.

“In fact,” he continued, “I intend to have my hands all over you in a few moments. More than just my hands.”

“So this is how you plan to do what your grandfather requires? By force?”

He winced and anger flashed in his eyes again. Or she thought it did. The frisson of emotion was gone as soon as it came. “I will never force you to do anything. But I do require you to perform your wifely duties. Which, might I remind you, only moments ago you agreed to with a compromise. Your journal.”

“I agreed to sleep in your bed, not to be dragged there by force.”
Odious man
. “And I want my journal now. Please.” She held one hand out with the other on her hip, waiting.

Quin marched to a bureau and retrieved the bound pages. “Here. But do not let me hear of its contents ever again, Aurora. Not from anyone but you.” He tossed them to a table nearby and then was before her again.

Too close. His heat would burn a hole in her nightrail within moments. Aurora ought to be furious with him. But then he was kissing her, and her ability to deny him anything fled like clear water running through a sieve.

Not good. Not good at all. She should not just allow herself to melt from a heated look and the kind of caveman-like behavior she had dreamed about. She should hold firm to her convictions. She ought to break the kiss, back away. If only she could free her lips, of course. Because after all, if she allowed him to lie to her this time with no consequences, only a day into their marriage, what could she expect for their future?

But she did nothing, and then it was too late.

His tongue slipped into her mouth, and her ability to form rational thoughts slipped out of her mind.

And Aurora couldn’t care in the least.

Chapter Thirteen

5 April, 1811

Oh, dear good Lord. Marriage is a far more complicated matter than I ever imagined. And husbands have an entirely unfair advantage in terms of arguments, in that they are able to incite rabid lust in their wives with a few simple touches in the appropriate places. God must have truly wanted to punish Eve for eating the forbidden fruit, to put all women at such a monstrous disadvantage. Admittedly, the results of said disadvantage are rather pleasant. But it is highly annoying to know that arguments will be
that much
harder to win from now on. And I do imagine that there will be a good many arguments to come. Life with Quin is hardly shaping up to be an uncomplicated affair.

~From the journal of Lady Quinton

Was he cursed to hate himself a little more each day? Damnation!

Quin’s life had been far less complicated before he had a blasted wife. Why Rotheby thought taking one would help him to settle down, he would never understand. With Aurora trying to involve herself in things that were none of her concern, Quin only wanted to drink himself into oblivion.

He couldn’t do that, though. He oughtn’t to fall back to his old habits, because he’d be sure to drive her off. God knows he wanted just that, at least on occasion, but if he lost Aurora, he’d lose everything else, too.

It was bad enough that the minx had overheard Rotheby’s weighty reminder to fill his nursery. But for her then to confront him on the matter, like she had any right to know his business! And then—
then
—to think she could sleep in her own chamber, just because he had not been entirely truthful with her? She’d lost her bloody mind, and was well on her way to forcing him into a similar situation.

No, Aurora would sleep in his bed every night, and he would take every opportunity he could find to fulfill his obligation.

But he’d be damned if he was going to do more with her than just that. There was no reason whatsoever to let his troublesome little wife get too close. With his luck, as soon as she did, he’d end up hurting her—losing her. Just like he’d lost Mercy.

Quin would rather die than feel that kind of pain again.

So when Jonas called the next morning and suggested they take a trip to Gentleman Jackson’s, Quin avidly accepted. A round of boxing or two would do wonders for working out the aggression that had built up inside him over the last two days.

Two days! No more.

Within such a short span of time, he was amazed that she could vex him so thoroughly and completely.

He couldn’t allow her to continue to affect him like this. But the more time he spent in her presence, the more she consumed his every thought. One look into her eyes, and he was drowning in her sea. One whiff of her hair, and he was caught in her snare. One touch of her skin, and he could think of nothing else but burying himself within her velvety womb again and again.

Granted, that might prove a hastened end to his means rather than restricting himself to such pursuits only at night. But however eager and willing Aurora was to learn once he stoked her fire, she remained incredibly innocent.

Quin would like to keep her that way, at least somewhat. He couldn’t sate his lust with her in the same ways he would a paid whore. She was his
wife
, after all. She deserved a bit more decency than that.

He would have to keep some distance between himself and Aurora during the days—nights would be impossible to avoid, if he intended to impregnate her. Not to mention he didn’t
want
to avoid her at night. Far from it. But the last thing he needed to do was become besotted with his wife.

If he did, he’d be doing neither of them any favors.

~ * ~

“Thank God you’re alone,” Aurora said when Rebecca sashayed into the downstairs parlor at Number Fourteen, the soft pink of her afternoon gown brightening the room considerably. The appalling grey everywhere would have to be changed. Perhaps that should be her first order of business as the new Lady Quinton. “We need to talk, and it is simply impossible to do that with Lord Norcutt with you. He is such a bore, you know, only wanting to discuss the weather.”

Rebecca clucked her tongue. “I thought you agreed not to disparage Lord Norcutt in my presence, Aurora. And he talks about far more than just the weather. If you would only listen to him sometime…”

That was about as likely to happen as Aurora spending an entire week without opening her mouth to speak. She waved a dismissive hand. “I have no intention of speaking of him today. There’s something far more important on my mind.”

“Such as the details you’re desperate to tell me about what happens in the marriage bed?” Rebecca prompted.

Aurora’s cheeks heated immediately. She wasn’t entirely sure she could talk of such things. Not yet, at least. Maybe someday, after she’d had some more experiences to help her articulate it all. How would one describe
that
? She’d have to attempt it—but in her journal first. It might take several attempts to get it just right.

But her mind was focused on matters of far greater consequence than that. “Such as whether I might be barren or if having a child might be as difficult for me as it was for Mother. Such as what Lord Quinton’s grandfather will do if I’m not carrying his heir within a year.”

Rebecca frowned. “You are worrying about all of these things two days into your marriage? I do care for you, Aurora—deeply. But these are things you cannot control. You’ll worry yourself sick if you don’t stop it this instant, and that is no way to begin a marriage.”

“But I have to worry about them!” Aurora argued.

Her friend raised a single, perfectly arched eyebrow. “Why? Will worrying help you to produce a baby? More likely the antithesis,” she scoffed. “Will it do anything about Lord Rotheby’s opinion on any matter? Hardly. You should focus your efforts more on getting to know Lord Quinton.”

Getting to know him might be important, but the matter of her pregnancy seemed far more important at the moment. “I don’t particularly want to get to know him. He lied to me.”

“About what?” Rebecca prodded, her expression dubious, at best.

“About…” Hmm. Well. She didn’t
know
what he’d lied about. Just that Quin was lying about
something
. “I don’t know. I don’t know what he’s lying about, but he lied to me. I’m as sure of it as I am of my own two feet. He’s a liar.” And she was married to him. Permanently, irrevocably, indubitably married to him.

“I think,” Rebecca said, rising from her seat and making for the door, “you should worry more about how to find some common ground between the two of you than about what he may or may not have lied to you about. And you shouldn’t worry about the rest of that, either. You’ll find the answers you need to know in good time. Until then, there’s nothing you can do about it one way or another.”

In good time
. That wasn’t particularly helpful. Nor was it very comforting. Some friend Rebecca was turning out to be now that Aurora was a married woman and Rebecca was not.

Rebecca faced her again just before leaving. “Nothing. Understand?”

Aurora merely scowled in response.

~ * ~

For the better part of a fortnight, Aurora spent her days primarily alone. Of course, there were meetings with Mrs. Gaffee where they went over the household budget and plans for furnishing and decorating the various rooms of Number Fourteen, and visits with Cook to plan the menu.

Two or three days a week, Rebecca stopped in—usually accompanied by Lord Norcutt or by Her Grace of Aylesbury, or perhaps by a maid, but never alone after that one visit. Father made a weekly visit, but claimed to be too busy with Parliament to visit on a more frequent basis—Aurora believed it far more likely that he wanted to give her time alone with her husband. A few ladies of the
ton
had dropped in for her at-homes to pay their regards. But, more days than not, Aurora sat alone.

Worse than that, she grew more and more lonely with each day that passed.

Quin left with Sir Jonas shortly after breaking his fast each day, and seldom returned before supper time. Even at those meals, they rarely spoke.

The bulk of their interaction occurred each night in bed.

Aurora enjoyed the marriage bed. Far more than she thought healthy, actually. But she could feel herself going slowly mad with no one to really talk to, with no real interaction beyond, “We’ll have mutton for supper this evening, Cook,” or, “I should like the parlor to be a lovely rose color, Mrs. Gaffee.” She had no one to gossip with, no one to discuss the undiscovered territory that was matrimony, no one to allay her fears that seemed to ever introduce themselves to her overindulgent mind.

So she decided it was time, yet again, to write.

But what ought she to write? As a married lady, she had no more dreadful suitors vying for her hand, so she saw no need to convince herself one way or another of their inability to suit. The finer details of her marriage to Quin had proven far more inventive than even her own imagination, so she doubted she could add to them in any profound manner.

Aurora pondered the predicament she found herself in for several days before finally settling on her plan of action: she would simply write. She would write anything and everything that came into her mind, whether it seemed like the type of thing she ought to be writing or not. But if she continually thought about
what
she was going to write, she might never actually write anything.