Bride for a Night (6 page)

“I am…” Her words trailed away as he gently rolled the tip of her nipple between his fingers.

“Yes?” he prompted, kissing a path down her throat.

“I am uncertain what to do,” she at last managed to confess.

Gabriel swallowed a curse. Trust Silas Dobson to send his daughter off to her wedding bed without giving her a hint what to expect. Bastard.

“Leave matters to me,” he growled against her silken skin, his hand skimming down her back to clutch the curve of her hip. “I am exactly certain what to do.”

Her lips parted, but Gabriel was beyond coherent conversation.

Besides, he had no words to assuage her virginal unease. The only means to allay her fears was to demonstrate the marriage bed could offer more than sacrifice.

Dismissing the taunting voice that assured him his impatience had nothing to do with comforting his bride, and everything to do with the desire that had escalated to an unrelenting need, Gabriel claimed her mouth in a kiss that demanded utter surrender.

She briefly stiffened, floundering beneath his raw hunger. Hardly surprising, he instantly chastised himself. Hadn’t he just told himself that Talia was a timid virgin in need of coaxing? Christ, in another moment he would be tumbling her like a two-bit whore.

The damned female might have trapped him into marriage, but, by God, he intended to have her begging for release before the night was over.

With grim determination he gentled his touch, his hand brushing down her naked thigh while his mouth teased at her lips until they slowly parted. Murmuring soft encouragement, he dipped his tongue into the moist heat of her mouth.

She again stiffened, and he swallowed a hiss of frustration. Surely she could not be frightened of a kiss?

Then, just when he was trying to convince himself to pull back, she gave a tiny sigh of pleasure, and her arms lifted to wrap around his neck.

Pure male satisfaction surged through him at her unspoken surrender.

He hadn’t been deceiving himself. She wanted him.

Continuing to stroke his fingers in a lazy pattern along her thigh, Gabriel nipped at her full lower lip before blazing a path of kisses down her throat and over the curve of her breasts. She tasted of heat and sunshine that reminded him of lazy summer days at his childhood home in Devonshire.

Days before the heavy duties of his title had stolen his untroubled existence.

Her fingers clutched at his hair, her body arching with an unspoken plea.

His cock twitched in anticipation at the feel of her soft curves brushing against him. For all her inexperience she was a natural-born siren.

And for tonight she was his.

Sweeping his mouth downward, Gabriel captured the tip of her hardened nipple between his lips, savoring the sound of her soft gasps. The sweetest music.

“My lord,” she rasped. “Gabriel.”

“Shh,” he whispered, subtly pressing a hand between her thighs. “Trust me.”

She shivered, her hands shifting to run an impatient path down his back.

“You have given me little reason to trust…” Her breath caught as his finger dipped through the moist cleft between her legs. “Oh.”

He laughed softly, circling the hard tip of her nipple with his tongue.

“Your first lesson as a wife is to accept your husband always knows best.”

She muttered something beneath her breath at his smug words, but she was swift to cry out in wonderment as his finger slid with gentle insistence into her welcoming body. Gabriel pulled back to watch her delicate face flush with sensual heat, her thick tangle of lashes lowering and her lips parting as he stroked his finger in a slow, tantalizing tempo.

Christ, he had never seen anything so beautiful.

It was absurd.

He had been pleasured by the most talented courtesans in all of England. Hell, his last mistress had caused riots when she had first appeared on the stage.

So why then was this inexperienced wallflower making him tremble with savage hunger?

Refusing to contemplate the dangerous question, Gabriel instead reclaimed her lips in a kiss of fierce anticipation. A flare of triumph raced through him as she willingly met the thrust of his tongue with her own, her nails biting into his lower back as her body sought relief from her swelling tension.

He had done what he could to ease her maidenly fears. Now he was through with waiting. If he didn’t have her soon, he was fairly certain he would go mad.

With one smooth motion he shifted on top of her body, settling between her legs with a groan of sheer relief. She gave a small gasp, but finding the tiny nub that made her squirm in bliss, Gabriel continued to pleasure her as he situated his cock into the opening of her body and entered her with one slow thrust.

A rasping moan tore from his throat. She was molten heat and exquisite tightness.

A perfect combination.

His heart forgot to beat as he drank deeply of the nectar of her mouth, waiting as Talia adjusted to his intimate invasion. Only when her muscles eased and he felt her hands running an impatient path up his back did he pull back his hips and plunge back into her slick warmth.

Brushing his lips down her cheek, Gabriel nipped at the lobe of her ear, relishing the crisp clean scent of her skin. Until this moment he did not realize how he disliked a female who drenched herself in perfume. Having his senses filled with the delectable woman in his arms, and not a choking cloud of flowers, only intensified his pleasure.

Lost in the urgency of his passion, he struggled to concentrate on the sounds of her soft moans and the rasp of her breath. He would not allow his searing need to overcome his determination for Talia to find her own release.

Burying his face in the curve of her neck, he kept his pace slow and steady, his hands shifting beneath her hips to angle them upward. Her nails bit into his flesh, her body arching as she neared her climax.

“Gabriel,” she groaned. “I cannot…”

“Yes, you can,” he coaxed in thick tones. “I will give you what you need.”

Scattering kisses down her collarbone, he lowered his
head to suckle at the tip of her nipple, increasing his pace and urging her legs to wrap around his hips.

Gabriel heard Talia cry out in startled joy, the pulse of her release clutching at his cock. He clenched his teeth, his hips surging until he was buried deep inside her as a shattering climax slammed through him.

Time stopped as he rode out the storm of sensations that assaulted him. Then, with a low groan, he wrapped his arms around her quivering body and rolled to the side, pressing her against his chest.

A silence filled the room, broken only by their heavy breathing as they both struggled to recover from the explosive coupling.

It is time to walk away,
a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

He had bedded his wife, ensuring their marriage was consummated and sating the unfathomable desire that had plagued him. Why would he linger?

But even as the thought of leaving passed through his mind, he dismissed it.

The uncomfortable truth was that he was not
sated.

Despite the shockingly intense orgasm, he could already feel himself growing hard, and when she wiggled against him in an attempt to untangle herself from his arms, he instinctively tightened his grasp and growled in her ear.

“Do not move.”

“My lord…Gabriel…” She tilted back her head, her eyes revealing her stunned bemusement at what had just occurred between them. “Surely we should discuss…”

“No discussion,” he interrupted. Damnation, the last thing he desired was to discuss the cruel irony that the female who had so recently trapped him into marriage was capable of undermining ten years of self-discipline.
He wanted to drown in the sweet temptation of her body for the rest of the night and then forget this temporary bout of madness as if it had never happened. “There is only this…” He shoved his fingers into her satin hair, crushing her lips in a devouring kiss. “And this…” He slid his mouth down the line of her jaw and then along the curve of her neck. She whispered a soft moan, her eyes fluttering shut as he continued his downward exploration, using his teeth and tongue to rouse her untutored passion. “And this…” His lips closed around the tip of her nipple and all coherent thought ended.

Carrick Park Estate in Devonshire, England

T
ALIA HAD NOT KNOWN
what to expect when she’d left London to travel to Gabriel’s remote estate in Devonshire.

In truth, she had barely given thought to her destination as the carriage had rattled over the cobblestones in the early-morning light. How could she when her thoughts were consumed with Gabriel and the hours she had spent in his arms?

It had all been so…extraordinary.

From the moment he had burst into her private chambers like a madman until he had disappeared without so much as a word just before dawn, it had all seemed like a strange dream that she might wake from at any moment.

He had been so coldly dismissive after the brief ceremony, she had never dreamed he would return with the expectation of sharing a marriage bed. And certainly she could never have anticipated his passion that had swept her away on a tidal wave of pleasure.

So why had he come to her?

Had it truly been out of fear that her father would demand proof of their consummation like some medieval villain? It seemed ridiculous. And besides, his seduction had not felt like a duty.

Even now, a month after arriving at her new home,
she still lay in bed at night, recalling each branding kiss and every skillful touch.

Not that his reasons truly mattered, she told herself for the hundredth time, giving a shake of her head as she strolled along the narrow dirt path that led from the thatched cottage to Carrick Park.

For all the hours he had devoted to pleasuring her into mindless abandon, he had been swift enough to walk away from her bed, not even bothering to make an appearance as she was loaded into the carriage and taken from his home.

His message was painfully clear.

She was still his frumpy, ill-bred, unwanted wife who he intended to bury in the country.

The knowledge might very well have been the last blow needed to crush what remained of her fragile spirit, but her arrival in Devonshire had proven to be more a blessing than a punishment.

From the moment she’d set foot at Carrick Park her heart had lightened, and her fear of the future had mysteriously eased.

Perhaps it was her first sight of the grand manor house.

Constructed near the limestone cliff overlooking the English Channel, the house had once been a monastery of pale brown stone. The newer additions blended nicely with the original structure with rows of Elizabethan windows and slanted roofs. Ivy climbed along the front bays, softening the angular lines and allowing the structure to meld with the untamed parkland that surrounded the estate. The same ivy could be found on the rambling stables and outbuildings that were spread beyond the gardens.

It was not as large or as tidily manicured as some country estates, but Talia found herself immediately drawn to the rugged, natural beauty.

It felt like…home.

Far more so than her father’s gaudy house in Sloane Square. Or Gabriel’s frigidly elegant townhouse.

But, more likely it was the unexpected realization that so far away from the incessant criticism of her father and the smoldering fury of her husband, she could breathe freely. She was finally given the opportunity to make decisions for herself, which filled her with a strength she never dreamed possible.

Over the past month she’d slowly managed to earn the trust of the wary servants and tenants who had clearly been leery of meeting the latest Countess of Ashcombe.

They did not care that she was the daughter of Silas Dobson or that her ancestors could not be traced back to the Garden of Eden. For them, all that mattered was her genuine interest in their lives and her willingness to do what was within her power to ease their troubles.

Passing by the small redbrick church with a slate roof and an enclosed porch that framed the entrance, Talia came to a halt at the sight of a slender, dark-haired gentleman. He stepped through the high hedge that separated the church from the vicarage.

A smile curved her lips. Vicar Jack Gerard did not resemble any man of God that Talia had ever met.

He was very young, not more than a few years older than Talia, and so exquisitely handsome that there was little wonder the pews were overflowing on Sunday morning. What woman could resist the perfect male features and velvet brown eyes that held a hint of devilish humor? And while he was careful to wear simple black coats and breeches with a modestly tied cravat, he possessed such an innate sense of style and grace that he made even the finest noblemen appear more like preening peacocks than gentlemen of fashion.

Of course, he would not cast Gabriel in the shade, a treacherous voice whispered in the back of her mind. For all his faults, her breathtakingly handsome husband possessed a dominating presence that commanded attention no matter where he might be.

It was a voice that Talia was swift to dismiss.

Gabriel clearly desired to pretend she did not exist. For her own peace of mind it would be wise for her to do the same.

Grimly turning her thoughts away from Gabriel, Talia studiously concentrated on the approaching vicar. Which allowed her to catch sight of his subtle change of expression when he realized he was not alone.

Was that…dismay?

There seemed no other word to describe his response.

But his momentary reaction was swiftly hidden behind a brilliant smile of welcome, and Talia assured herself that it was nothing more than a trick of the growing dusk.

As if to prove her point, the vicar took her hand and lifted her fingers to his lips, his kiss lingering just a hint too long.

“Good evening, my lady,” he murmured, his low voice edged by an elusive accent.

It was rumored that his parents had fled the French revolution to settle in England, although Talia was painfully aware that gossip rarely held any truth. And so far as Talia was concerned his past did not matter.

From their first meeting he had treated her with a beguiling charm that she had greedily encouraged, allowing his flirtations to ease the wounds of Gabriel’s sharp rejection.

Not to mention the icy lack of welcome from her more
aristocratic neighbors who had yet to issue an invitation to their exclusive gatherings.

She already considered him a dear friend.

“Vicar.”

Lifting his head, he slowly inspected her apple-green walking dress edged with silver lace along the scooped bodice. A matching ribbon encircled her waist. Her bonnet was a jaunty yellow that had been dyed to match her half boots that peeked from beneath the hem of her gown.

Until arriving in Devonshire she would never have chosen a dress in such a vivid color, and certainly she would never have dared to reveal so much of her full bosom.

But with the vicar’s gentle encouragement she had sought out the local dressmaker and ordered a complete new wardrobe. She had even started to wear her hair in a casual style that allowed several glossy strands to frame her face.

Now, the sight of the appreciation simmering in his eyes made each tedious hour spent being poked, prodded and measured worthwhile.

“I must say you are appearing particularly fine today,” he said, continuing to hold her fingers in a gentle grip. “That gown suits you.”

She shyly preened beneath the warmth of his gaze. “Do you think so?”

“I do. The shade brings out the emerald of your eyes.” A wicked smile tugged at his lips. “May I indulge my vanity and tell myself that I can take a small measure of credit for your lovely ensemble?”

She chuckled. “You can take full credit, sir.”

“Please, I really must insist that you call me Jack,” he interrupted, giving her fingers a squeeze. “We are friends, are we not?”

She paused, a warning that her husband would not be pleased to discover his new bride speaking so intimately with another man. Even so, she tilted her chin in an unconscious gesture of pride.

Gabriel had given up his right to dictate her behavior when he had driven her from London.

“Jack,” she breathed.

Satisfaction flared through his dark eyes. “Much better. Now, what were you saying?”

“I was admitting that I shall unfortunately never develop a talent for fashion. Which is why I am so thankful for your advice.”

“A foolish business.” He shrugged. “You have far more important talents.”

“You are very kind.”

“No, my dear, I speak with all sincerity,” he assured her. “Your presence at Carrick Park has enriched the entire neighborhood.”

“Jack…”

“Only this morning Mrs. Jordan was singing your praises for having so quickly acquired a suitable doctor.” He overrode her embarrassed protest. “And Mr. Stone is convinced you are an angel for the meals you have provided for his family. And, of course, your plans for the new school have the entire countryside twittering with excitement.”

With a laugh, Talia pressed her hands to her heated cheeks. Her entire life had been filled with criticism and the knowledge she was a disappointment to those who were supposed to love her.

She had no notion how to accept such admiration.

“Enough.”

He took a step closer, releasing her hand so he could cup her chin in his palm.

“I simply wish you to know that your servants and tenants consider you to be one of the finest Countesses of Ashcombe in memory.”

Genuine warmth filled her heart. The realization that she had the power to improve the lives of those who depended upon her had given a sense of purpose to her days. And more than that, it had offered a newfound confidence in herself.

Something she had never expected.

“It is pleasant to think that I am not an utter failure in my position.”

His brows snapped into a frown. “Failure? Why would you say such a thing?”

“How can I not? As you are well aware, I have yet to be welcomed by my more noble neighbors. They are obviously not so pleased by my presence.”

He studied her pale face. “Does that trouble you?”

She grimaced. “The thought of bringing shame to my husband’s family troubles me.”

Without warning Jack grasped her upper arms in a firm grip, his dark eyes blazing.

“Do not,” he growled.

“Vicar…Jack.”

“Forgive me, but I cannot allow you to talk such nonsense,” he barked, not sounding the least apologetic.

Talia regarded him with a measure of surprise, taken off guard by the sudden vehemence in his tone.

“It is not nonsense to be concerned for my position as the Countess of Ashcombe.”

“Surely your position means tending to those in need, which you have done with admirably, rather than wasting your time and resources on impressing those unworthy of your concern?”

Talia frowned, suddenly suspicious that Jack Gerard
hid dark depths behind his smooth charm. But she soon shrugged aside her brief moment of disquiet.

What was the matter with her? Jack was a handsome, excessively pleasant gentleman whom she counted a friend.

“I am not so certain my husband would agree with you,” she said, returning her attention to their conversation.

“Then he is a fool.”

“Jack,” she gently chastised.

“My lady…Talia…” He paused, as if searching for the proper words. “I have only been here a short while, but the people tend to confide in me.”

She laughed. It was rare that the church was not filled with eager females seeking a word alone with the handsome vicar.

“Yes, you do have a skill for earning the trust of others, especially if they happen to be the fairer sex,” she teased.

His expression never eased. “Then you will believe me when I tell you that the locals had few kind words for the previous countess.”

Her breath caught at his blunt confession. The sensible part of her knew she should gently turn the conversation in another direction. It was hardly polite to gossip about her mother-in-law with the local vicar. But a larger part of her was consumed with curiosity about the woman who had yet to acknowledge Talia as a member of her family.

“Why?”

“She is like far too many in society.” His voice was edged with disgust. “She cares for nothing beyond her own comforts and her social standing. In less than a month you have managed to spend more time among
the tenants than she has in the past thirty years. Certainly she has never taken the effort to learn their names or to discover their needs.” He grimaced. “To be honest, I doubt she is even aware of them as more than additions to the barnyard animals.”

Talia frowned. She had always thought the Countess of Ashcombe a conceited, overly proud woman when she had seen her in London, but it was disturbing to think she had no concern for the poor and vulnerable.

“I do not believe she could be entirely oblivious to those who depend upon her.”

“No?” Jack pointed across the distant fields that provided a perfect view of Carrick Park. The sight was magnificent as the last rays of sunlight brushed the windows in pinks and violets, and the water cascading in the marble fountains sparkled like jewels. “Last winter she insisted that old Lucas be forced from the cottage that had been in his family for two hundred years because it spoiled her view of the church.”

“Surely she did not realize…”

“The poor man begged on his knees to have his home spared, but he was tossed like so much rubbish into his daughter’s care and his cottage was destroyed.” He deliberately held her troubled gaze. “He died less than a fortnight later.”

“I cannot accept she would be so cruel.”

“It was more indifference than cruelty,” he mused. “For aristocrats such as the countess, those without blue blood running through their veins are simply unworthy of their consideration.”

She tugged from his lingering grip, licking her dry lips. She barely noticed that his dark gaze seemed fascinated by the small gesture.

“And what of my…” She still struggled with what to
call the man who had taken her as his bride, then stolen her innocence before shipping her off to the country. “Of the earl? The servants and tenants speak of him with great respect.”

“As if they have a choice,” he said dryly.

A sickness settled in the pit of her stomach. She could not explain why, but the thought of Gabriel as yet another worthless aristocrat living off the sweat of his tenants without offering them the assistance and appreciation they deserved made her heart ache with disappointment.