Wicked Delights of a Bridal Bed (18 page)

Leaning over, he rinsed his face, chest, and under his arms. Toweling himself dry, he poured a fresh bowl of water and reached for his toothbrush and tooth powder. Teeth clean, he tossed the brush aside and went across to gather his robe. Divesting himself of his trousers, he slid into the brown silk garment and yanked the belt tight around his waist.

Ready, he turned and stalked across to the connecting door, his hand closing over the knob. But even as he began to turn it, he thought again of Mallory’s words.

Would you mind terribly if you didn’t come to my room tonight?

Suddenly he stopped.

Hell and damnation, what am I doing?

He’d promised he would honor her request, that he would let her sleep and not trouble her again this evening. Was he really going to barge into her room and wake her? Was he truly going to seduce her and, by doing so, run the risk of his need turning to something more—something dark and wrong that he would never be able to take back?

No matter his longing, he would never, ever, do anything to hurt her. Regardless of his pain, he loved her far too much.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he bit out a curse and released the handle. He turned away, running his fingers through his hair as if he feared he’d gone just a little mad.

Walking back into his bedchamber, he bent to pick up the glass and decanter, carrying them across to a large chair by the fire. Pouring a dram, he sat and stared into the flames, wondering how long it would be before he too could sleep.

Mallory sighed and beat a fist against her pillow before rolling onto her side. Eyes wide, she stared into the darkness, then sighed again.

I can’t sleep,
she thought.

No matter how she tried, she was finding it impossible to relax, impossible to rest. After the day she’d had—not to mention the past few weeks—she should have dropped off the moment she pulled the sheets over herself.

Instead, she’d spent the past two hours lying awake, her mind running in circles as she thought again and again about what she’d said to Adam at dinner. Seeing over and over the taut, withdrawn expression on his face, the blank glaze in his eyes that she knew he’d used to mask his hurt over her rejection.

Because even if she hadn’t meant it as such, she had rejected him. After all, this was their wedding night, and she’d told him she wanted to be alone. Told him she didn’t want him, when it wasn’t actually true.

She did want Adam.

She was just so confused, her emotions too over-wrought to be intimate with him tonight, to let him claim her virginity. And yet, perhaps his touch was exactly what she needed, his kisses the oblivion she ultimately craved.

Still, she was scared, afraid in ways even she didn’t fully understand. Her fear was the reason she’d refused him tonight. Her worry the cause of this rift she’d caused between them.

If she had the chance to do it all over again, she would never have said a word. She would simply have done as Adam suggested and come upstairs. Penny could have helped her change into the same shockingly diaphanous pink silk nightgown she was wearing now—an addition Madame and Mama had obviously slipped into her traveling case without her knowledge—and left her to wait for Adam.

But she hadn’t, and now he was angry.

She hadn’t and now, worst of all, he was hurt.

Adam was a proud man, and she’d spurned him on their very first night as husband and wife. How long would it be before he forgave her? If he forgave her at all?

Sighing again, she rolled onto her back and thumped her hands against the covers. If only she could sleep, she wouldn’t be having this uncomfortable inner debate. She would be lost in dreams—or perhaps nightmares, and heaven knows she didn’t want to contemplate that. Luckily, she hadn’t had another nightmare since the evening she’d asked Adam to stay with her.

The night that had landed them both in holy wedlock.

Yet Adam hadn’t complained or struggled against the situation. He’d merely accepted and tried to make the best of being forced to take her as his wife. Swallowing against the lump in her throat, she sat up, wondering suddenly if perhaps that’s what she should do as well. Stop struggling and simply be his wife, regardless of her qualms or reservations.

Was he asleep? she wondered. Was it possible he was having as much difficulty resting as she?

She knew he was in his bedchamber, since she’d heard him come upstairs some while ago. The door had opened and closed, a low rumble of masculine voices drifting briefly down the hallway as he’d exchanged a few words with his valet. The servant had left soon after, presumably to seek his own bed, then the house had fallen quiet.

Swinging her legs off the side of the bed, she reached for the tinder on the nearby table, then lighted a candle. A golden glow drove away the surrounding shadows, providing her with enough illumination that she was able to locate her robe.

Before she gave herself more time to consider, she slipped her arms into the garment, then returned for the candlestick.

The flame flickered as she carried it before her. Crossing the suite, she wondered if the connecting door Penny had mentioned would be easy to find, and more importantly, unlocked.

She located it with little difficulty; the door was made of ordinary, painted wood set into the wall on the far side of the dressing room. Approaching on bare feet, she reached for the handle. The metal was cool against her fingers, her heart thundering inside her chest, as she hesitated one last moment.

What if he was asleep?

What if he wasn’t?

Knowing there was only one way to find out, she forced herself to turn the knob. To her relief, the hinges were well oiled, so there was no squeak to announce her presence. Although her candle unfortunately acted as a beacon in the darkness.

Making her way through his dressing room, she paused at the edge of his bedchamber and glanced toward his bed.

Empty.

So he is awake.

Her heart pounded violently again—although whether it was with relief or disappointment she wasn’t sure. Then she saw him seated in a large chair near the fireplace, his face hidden in the shadows, his long legs stretched out beneath his robe.

Had he seen her?

What should she say?

Before she had time to decide, he leaned slightly forward and met her gaze. “What are you doing here?” he asked, deep and rough.

“I…um…I couldn’t sleep.”

A long pause followed. “Another nightmare?” His tone sounded faintly bitter this time and less than sympathetic.

“No. I came to talk.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “Talk, is it? If that’s why you’ve come, then you can save it for later. I’m not in the mood at the moment, rather like you weren’t earlier.”

She cringed, never having seen him in such a foul temper. Clearly the situation was every bit as bad as she’d imagined. She’d known he might be angry, but not like this.

Leaning back in his chair, he swirled the contents of the glass in his hand, ignoring her as if she’d already departed.

She gripped the candle tighter, a leaden sensation plummeting to the bottom of her stomach. Obviously, he’d been drinking, but he was notoriously good at holding his liquor, and if he was inebriated, she couldn’t tell.

“Still here?” he demanded, startling her. “I thought you were tired.”

“I was.”

“Well then, run along, why don’t you?” Suddenly he sighed, the sound filled with woeful resignation. “Go to bed, Mallory.”

She hesitated, tremors chasing over her skin. “As you wish, my lord.”

He gave a derisive grunt, plainly expecting her to turn and leave. Instead, she walked deeper into the room, not knowing where she found the nerve.

“What are you doing now?” he asked, brows drawn into a fearsome scowl.

Without meeting his gaze, she crossed to the far side of the chamber where the mahogany tester bed stood, one that appeared to be even more enormous than her own. Pulling back the covers, she climbed in.

Chapter 17

A
dam stared, his eyes growing wide as he peered around the side of his chair at the bed and the woman who now lay upon it.

His mind must be playing tricks on him, he decided, or else it was the liquor—though in actual fact he hadn’t imbibed that much, certainly not enough to get him so foxed he would be seeing things. Studying her, he watched as she stretched out against the sheets, her long hair spilling over the pillows as he’d earlier fantasized.

His eyes narrowed, wondering why she’d changed her mind.

He’d never known Mallory to be untruthful, yet he wondered if she had been dissembling when she’d said she hadn’t had another nightmare.

Was she scared and in want of company, but knew he was in too dreadful a mood to comfort her right now?

Had she been dreaming of Hargreaves again, yet hesitated to mention it for fear of upsetting him further? Well, if that was the case, she could get out of his bed right now and return to hers.

She was sadly mistaken if she thought he would act like some damned eunuch and lie there next to her without claiming his husbandly rights. If it’s sleep she wanted, she could do it in her own bed. As for company, she could call Penny. Let her maidservant stay up all night with her. Of course if she did call Penny, there would be talk of a different kind.

Plague take it, he didn’t care. Let the servants chatter and spread rumors. Everyone except her immediate family thought he’d taken her innocence already. As for gossip of trouble between them, it was no more than what half the Ton expected, despite word that theirs was a love match. Which he supposed was half-true given that one of them was in love.

Whatever her motivation, he decided, he would have the truth out of her soon enough.

Then they would see.

Setting down his glass with a thump, he surged to his feet. The edges of his robe flapped around his calves as he crossed the distance between them in a few long-legged strides. Stopping beside the bed, he gazed down, detecting fresh anxiety in her eyes.

“So, you’ve had a change of heart, have you?” he said, not worrying if he loomed over her. “I thought you were tired and didn’t want to be with me tonight.”

“I
was
tired, but I couldn’t sleep.”

“Yes, so you said. Shall I climb in with you then?”

“If that’s what you want,” she said in a tremulous voice.

Placing his hands on either side of her, he leaned down. “Oh, I want a great many things, Mallory Gresham, and if you stay here in this bed, you’ll find out exactly what they are. So, you’re ready to be my wife now, are you?”

“Y-yes,” she whispered.

“Then why haven’t you taken off your robe? I’m sure you don’t generally sleep in that particular garment.”

A flush crept up her neck and into her cheeks, a becoming pink that made her even prettier than she was already. “B-because of my nightgown.”

“What about your nightgown?”

“It’s…it’s sheer.”

He stilled, his pulse beat faster as blood pooled low. “How sheer?”

“Could we not just blow out the candles?”

Abruptly curious, he shook his head. “No, we could not.”

“Adam—”

“I assure you, I’ll be seeing a great deal more of you than this nightgown.” He paused. “Unless you’re not actually planning to stay, after all.”

Lines formed on her brow. “Of course I am.”

“So you didn’t have another nightmare?”

Her eyes turned round. “No.”

“You didn’t wake up and feel afraid?”

“I never went to sleep. I told you, I couldn’t rest.” She studied him with a questioning gaze. “Is that what you think? That I came here because I was too frightened to be by myself?”

“Are you?” he charged.

“No!”

“Then why are you here,” he demanded, “since you sure as Hades didn’t want to be earlier?”

“Because I’m sorry.”

“Sorry, are you?”

“Yes. I didn’t mean what I said at dinner. I was just nervous and scared, and I feel terrible for ruining our wedding night. I know I hurt you, and that’s the last thing I would ever want to do. Don’t be angry with me, Adam. Please.”

“I’m not angry,” he denied, his heart twisting at her words.

“Yes, you are, and you have every right to be.” Reaching up, she urged him to sit down next to her on the bed. When he did, she sat up and locked her arms around his chest, leaning her face against his shoulder. “I’m your wife. I should be with you.”

“So, it’s guilt then, is it? You’re here to do your duty?”

“No, I…no, I want you as well.”

But in spite of her words, he could tell there was indeed a measure of guilt involved, as well as a desire for them not to be at odds. She wanted to be friends again, and she was willing to be intimate with him if it would soothe his wounded feelings. He realized she was being honest about being scared, which he had to admit was only natural given the fact that she’d never made love before.

Part of him knew he ought to be offended that she was offering herself for reasons of obligation and guilt.

Another part urged him not to be a fool.

She’s in your bed. What more do you want?

Love?

But he would take whatever he could get for the moment and worry about the rest at another time. She was his wife, after all. He had days and months and years to woo her. Somehow, he would make her love him. If it took his whole life, he would find a way.

Deciding he’d wasted enough of their wedding night already, he slid his hand into her hair and gently tipped her head back. Without giving her time to say another word, he took her mouth, parting her lips so he could delve inside.

She shuddered, yielding to his demand, answering his claim with a willing response of her own. Tongues tangling, he drew on her with the hunger of a starving man, losing himself in her flavor and scent, roses and warm, womanly flesh that filled his senses and clouded his thoughts.

At length, he broke their kiss, gazing into her vivid jewel-colored eyes as he eased her slowly back onto the bed.

“Well, now,” he said on a husky rasp. “Let’s take a look at this nightgown.”

Mallory quivered, her pulse throbbing wildly in her veins.

He’d forgiven her, she realized with relief—his anger now turned to passion. So too had her worries, as if his touch carried some magical property that had the power to drive away all doubt and fear and replace it with desire. So long as she was in his arms, nothing else seemed to matter. When she was with him, everything felt right. If only she’d reminded herself of that earlier, this evening’s trouble could have been avoided. As for what the morning might bring, she would deal with it then, whatever it might be.

Despite her newfound confidence, however, she tensed when he opened her robe, her natural modesty asserting itself as he peeled the thin fabric away from her body. Closing her eyes, she waited, imagining his gaze roaming over the nearly transparent confection of silk and lace and the way her flesh was scarcely hidden beneath it.

“Beautiful,” he said in a reverent tone. His fingers curved against her neck, caressing her in a slow, sleek glide that went from throat to collarbone, then down the length between her breasts. Her lips parted on a silent inhalation, a fine tremor radiating outward to the tips of her fingers and the ends of her toes, nerve endings sparking wherever he roamed.

He went lower, taking his time as he skimmed his fingers over the flat plane of her stomach, pausing to circle around her navel before continuing on.

Her eyes flashed wide when he stopped, gasping as he placed his palm just above the triangle of curls that lay at the juncture of her legs.

“I approve your choice of attire,” he said. “It leaves just enough to the imagination to be interesting. A shame you’ll have so little opportunity to wear it.”

“I won’t?” she asked breathlessly.

“No.” His fingers glided upward again, slowing as they reached her breast. “Since I have every intention of taking it off you.” He flicked a thumb over one nipple. “And keeping it off you.”

A fresh gasp filled her lungs, along with a shudder that was as shocking as it was exciting.

Rather than reaching immediately for the hem of her nightgown though, he leaned forward and crushed his mouth to hers again, kissing her with an intensity that was hot and lush and voluptuous. He was tender yet demanding, patient yet rash, eliciting a range of sensations that sent her spinning.

All the while, his hands were far from idle, strumming in languorous caresses over her breasts and belly, her hips and thighs. The thin layer of silk that separated them created a tantalizing friction, one she was helpless to resist as her body turned aching and pliant.

The room faded, shrinking down so that it seemed as if no one and nothing else existed except Adam and the bed on which the two of them lay.

Abandoning her mouth, he dappled her skin with a line of kisses, his lips moving over her cheeks and eyelids, her temples and chin and neck. Locating a particularly sensitive area behind her ear, he drew the edge of his tongue over the spot in a slow glide before blowing against it. His warm breath sent concussive shivers racing deep inside her veins, then again as he kissed his way downward until he reached her breasts.

She arched in a delirious haze as he drew one of her nipples into his mouth, suckling her through its lace covering. Her senses caught fire, wet heat pooling between her thighs as if the two spots were somehow connected. She ought to have been mortified, she supposed, or at least faintly stunned. Instead she found herself wanting more—craving his kiss, his touch, his possession, whatever it might entail.

As though he were attuned to her thoughts, one of his wandering hands eased beneath her hem, the material gathering against his wrist as his fingers glided upward. From calf to knee to thigh, he crept higher, her flesh burning everywhere he touched. When he reached her inner thigh, he paused, fanning his thumb in a wide arc that made her flesh yearn and quiver as it turned weak as jelly.

Breath soughed from her parted lips, as she resisted the contrary urge to draw her legs closed, feeling suddenly and inexplicably shy. But she needn’t have worried as he continued upward, his hand retracing the path he’d already forged once through the opposite side of the silk.

Reaching the breast on which he’d been feasting, he raised his head and replaced his mouth with his hand, cupping her fully inside his wide, capable palm. Meeting her gaze, he fondled her with a lavish caress that made her moan. “Touch me,” he murmured.

For a moment, she wasn’t sure she could speak, too awash with emotion to respond.

Leaning over, he kissed her again, his mouth uncompromising against her own. “Touch me,” he ordered.

“W-where?” she panted.

“Anywhere,” he said, punctuating his words with sultry, drugging kisses. “Everywhere. I have to have your hands on me.”

Wanting to please him, to pleasure him as he was pleasuring her, she laid trembling fingers against his cheek. His skin was faintly rough with an evening’s growth of whiskers, mildly abrasive in a way that only added enjoyment to his kiss.

As she watched, he closed his eyes, clearly approving the contact despite the innocence of the location. Trailing her fingers lower, she slid them over his bottom lip, finding it silky and warm.

She jumped when he opened his mouth and drew one of her fingers inside, her body throbbing as he swirled his tongue around it as if he were enjoying a sugar stick.

After giving her a teasing, painless bite, he let her go. “Continue,” he said. “Touch me more.”

But how could she when he did such wicked things? When his fingers continued playing against her breast in ways that were driving her half-mad?

Somehow though, she did as he asked, sliding her hand along his throat to his chest where the edges of his robe parted to reveal a section of his taut, hair-roughened muscles. With a boldness that surprised her, she eased her hand beneath the lapel and traced his form, intrigued by the contrasts in textures as well as the warmth, finding him delectably toasty.

In response, Adam pulled in a breath, clearly enraptured by her tentative exploration, the look on his face encouraging her to proceed. Without intending to, she flicked her fingertip over his flat male nipple, causing the nub to draw even tighter.

He gave her nipple an answering pinch, using just enough pressure to send a sharp, throbbing ache straight to the place between her thighs. Her legs shifted restlessly, her body afire.

With an ease that astonished her, he stripped off her robe, then just as quickly cast her nightgown onto the floor after it. She barely had an instant to acknowledge her nakedness, or for her shyness to return, before he deftly parted her thighs and slid a long finger inside her.

Her eyes flew open, a gasp issuing from her throat that turned instantly to a moan, as a flood of the most extraordinary pleasure burst inside her.

Laying her back against the sheets, he fastened his lips to one of her breasts again, drawing upon her with a wet suction that was just this side of heaven. And all the while, he stroked her, his finger moving inside in a steady, soul-stealing rhythm.

When he added a second finger, her mind grew dim, senses caught in a torrent of pleasure from which there could be no escape. Nor did she wish there to be, all inhibition seemingly erased as his two fingers worked her slick center to devastating purpose.

He eased her thighs farther apart and caressed her even more intimately, moans she couldn’t hold back issuing from her mouth in short, staccato bursts. Her hands curled against the bedclothes, nails digging into the linens with a grip that threatened to leave rips. Then suddenly he pressed her with the heel of his palm, rubbing her in a way that made stars explode behind her eyelids.

The room spun, her body caught in a maelstrom of delight that had her hips arching upward as if to capture more. Pleasure rippled through her in waves as reality shifted on its axis.

Sighing, she sank back.