Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) (46 page)

Lisette's eyes filled with tears again. She nodded, her woebegone expression so pitiful that John groaned and pulled her into his arms. Raining kisses on her cheeks, nose, and mouth, he muttered, "I do not think there is anything in the world that would cause me to leave you again—not when we have just found each other." He drew back and looked down at her, a crooked smile curving his lips. "Do you not know that you're my life, that life without you is unthinkable? Unendurable? For over twenty years, I have thought the love of my life was lost to me." His eyes darkened. "
Nothing
is ever going to come between us again. I swear it."

* * *

While Lisette and John basked in the discovery that sometimes love really could conquer all obstacles, Hugh was finding out that love did not exactly resolve every problem between a man and his wife. Since he and Micaela had finally confessed their love for each other, Hugh had been a happy man. A very,
very
happy man. There was only one blight on his unalloyed joy and that occurred, to his great and painful mystification, during their most intimate moments.

The afternoon that he had been wounded had been the first and
only
time that he had known, truly known, that he had given his wife the ultimate physical satisfaction. For a few, fleeting moments, she had responded openly and generously to his caresses, her low moans and eager movements telling him clearer than words that he had pleased her. He had been thrilled, elated at her pleasure in his lovemaking, feeling that at last he had broken through the iron control she kept on her emotions. He had, he admitted wryly, been confident that he had solved
that
particular problem. The argument which had sprung up so swiftly between them had put them at odds once again and had made further exploration of Micaela's erotic nature out of the question. But with their differences settled and the knowledge that they loved each other openly declared between them, Hugh had assumed that all her inhibitions in the bedroom would have disappeared and that she would reveal again the passionate creature he had glimpsed the day he had been shot. To his chagrin, she had not.

His brow furrowed, he wandered around his sparsely furnished study, trying to understand what was not precisely
wrong
, but lacking between them in that one area. Without conceit, he knew that he was a skilled lover. He took his time making love to her, he did not hurry her, as much for his own pleasure as hers, and he wanted her to take as much delight in their lovemaking as he did. He was tender and wooed her gently when they made love, which since their mutual confessions had been indecently frequent. His wife's lush charms held a never-ending fascination for him.

Hugh knew that his wife loved him—she had said so and he believed her. Micaela was never cold or indifferent to him—nor had she ever refused him, except for obvious reasons. She always seemed to welcome his advances, and he could not say that she ever gave any sign that she found his lovemaking repulsive. And yet...

He scowled. And yet, when they lay together, except for the faintest of signs, Micaela was like a soft, warm, complaisant doll! He never knew for certain if she found their joinings as wonderful and exciting as he did or even if he had pleased her.

Hugh was well aware that Micaela had been gently reared and protected from the more elemental aspects of life. And he could safely assume that sex was not a topic of conversation among demure young Creole ladies. The Creoles sheltered and protected their daughters from the coarser aspects of men as fiercely as any puritanical father could have wished. His scowl deepened. But even considering all that, surely after all these weeks of marriage she would have begun to put aside some of her inhibitions? He loved his tart-tongued wife, and there was little he would have changed about her. But, he admitted glumly, for all her sweet charms, he did want something more than simply an accommodating body in his bed, no matter how warm and acquiescent! Making love was something one did
with
someone, not just
to
someone.

Hugh sighed heavily, wondering how he could introduce such a delicate subject without hurting Micaela's feelings or sounding like he was complaining. He felt greedy and guilty for wanting more from their marriage. His wife loved him and never denied him—surely he should be content with that? But he wasn't, and he was angry with himself for yearning for something that might never be his.

If only I understood why she is so oddly placid in bed, he mused unhappily, when in all other aspects of their life together she does not hesitate to make her feelings known. Was it just that she is merely shy about the intimacies that they shared and that in time she would grow more comfortable with his lovemaking? he wondered. Was just shyness the reason why she always seemed to hide under the sheets or insisted that the candles be blown out before he came to her? Had he ever, actually seen his wife naked? Did their lovemaking embarrass her? Or was it something about him? His face grew grim. Could it be that though she loved him, she did not enjoy his lovemaking? And was it just his lovemaking, or was it that she found the entire act distasteful?

Hugh could not believe that she found lovemaking not to her liking. She was too sweetly accommodating, too welcoming, to be repulsed by the act alone. His expression grew somber. It must be him, he thought heavily. Somehow he had to find a way to talk to her about it. Unfortunately for him, the unpleasant notion that there must be something about him that she found offensive would not go away and began to take on enormous significance in his mind. By the time several more minutes had passed, he was convinced that the fault lay with him—his wife, he feared, found something about his lovemaking so utterly offensive that she could only lie there beneath him and endure it.

Upstairs in her rooms, seeking relief from the humid heat of the afternoon, Micaela was luxuriating in a huge brass tub filled with lukewarm water. The water foamed with gardenia-scented bubbles, and as she settled back in the tub, her thoughts were on her husband, specifically on the delightful pleasures they had shared the previous night. She would have been horrified if she had known that Hugh believed she found him or his lovemaking not to her liking—especially since she adored everything about him and his lovemaking.

She was positive that she was the most fortunate of women and that she had the handsomest, kindest, most generous husband in the world. That he loved her and showed her so in a dozen different ways only made her own love for him grow. A dreamy smile on her lips, she washed, the tepid water soothing against her heated skin, the rivulets running down her breasts and over her nipples bringing back the vivid memory of Hugh's lips traveling that same path last night. She sighed blissfully.

It had been torture, although of the sweetest kind, to lie so passively in his arms, to let him do as he willed with her, to keep her hands from caressing him, to stop herself from wantonly offering her body to him. It had nearly been impossible to tamp down the rampant urges of her own body, to smother the moans and wild responses to his touch that swamped her every time he made love to her, but ever mindful of
Tante
Marie's words of warning, she managed to keep her passions in check. She was determined that Hugh would never find her behavior in bed anything to complain about—certainly he would never have reason to even consider divorcing her because he thought her licentious or lewd! Never suspecting that Hugh would have been overjoyed with a little licentious behavior on her part, Micaela continued her bath, already looking forward to the coming night and her husband's embraces.

The tub had been set up in her spacious dressing room and hearing the sound of steps crossing her bedroom, she assumed it was one of the servants bringing up more hot water. When the door opened and she saw that it was her husband, a little squeak came from her.

A flush on her cheeks, she sank beneath the concealing foam, the flush increasing when she realized that the waning bubbles did not entirely hide her nakedness. "Hugh!" she exclaimed, greatly agitated. "Go away! You must not see me!"

Hugh stood in the doorway transfixed by the scene that met his gaze. Micaela's black, glossy hair was piled on her head, unruly tendrils curling near her flushed cheeks, and her shoulders gleamed wetly above the translucent mantle of white foam, the tips of her breasts barely revealed. Desire seared through him, his manhood hard and throbbing in a second, his gaze locked on that teasing glimpse of her rosy nipples beneath the water.

"And why," he asked thickly, "should I not see you?" As one in a trance, he shut the door behind him and walked across the floor toward her. "You are my wife—there are no secrets between us."

His state of arousal was obvious. The impressive bulge in the front of his tight-fitting breeches made Micaela excitingly aware of precisely what was on his mind. She swallowed, then, ignoring the indecent rush of emotion that went through her, she said desperately, "I am naked—a good Creole wife never exposes her naked body to her husband. I do not want you to be ashamed of me."

"A good Creo—" Hugh looked at her, an incredible notion suddenly crossing his mind. Could it be? He had known that Creole women were raised to be submissive and passive to their husbands in all things. He had heard tales of Creole men, married for fifty years or more, never having seen their wives' bodies. Good God! Did Micaela think she was pleasing him by wrapping herself in enveloping nightgowns and hiding behind a screen when she undressed? Did she believe that he expected her simply to lie there while he took his pleasure? A gleam entered his eyes. If she did, she was about to be shocked. Very.

An alarming smile suddenly lit his face. Her eyes grew round when he sat down on a stool near the tub and proceeded to take off his boots.

"What are you doing?" she asked in growing astonishment and not a little excitement. When he stood up and shrugged out of his shirt, her mouth formed a perfect O of delight at the sight of his sleekly muscled chest.

"I am about to perform an experiment, one that I think you will enjoy, if you promise me something first."

Tearing her gaze away from his chest, a wary expression on her face, she asked, "What sort of promise?"

He bent over and pressed a warm kiss on her surprised mouth. "I want you," he said as he feathered small, teasing kisses over her face, "to promise me, to
swear
to me, that for the next several minutes, you will
not
be a good Creole wife! I want you to promise me that you will let your body guide you, that if I do something you like, you will let me know." Deftly he slid a hand down into the water to cup her breast lightly. Startled and unable to help herself, Micaela gasped with pleasure. "Yes!" Hugh said softly, "that is what I want. I want you to
show
me that you desire me, I need you to encourage me, to touch me as I touch you."

Every nerve in her body had come gloriously alive at the first touch of his mouth on hers, and the feel of his hand caressing her breast awoke a heavenly crescendo within her. Her nipples were already hard, and between her legs she could feel a damp, aching heat. But his words confused her. She angled her head back and regarded him with wide eyes. "Y-y-you want me to show you? B-b-but would you not find that repulsive? Distasteful? Would it not make you displeased with me?"

A decidedly carnal smile curved his lips. "No," he said, "It would, instead, make me the happiest of men."

He stood up and, in one swift motion, discarded his breeches. His member sprang free, the size and swollen state making Micaela's mouth go dry, her heart to beat thunderously.

Unable to tear her eyes away from him, she stared mesmerized. They had been married for over two months and yet she had never seen him naked, had never seen a naked man before in her life. The sight was breathtaking... and vastly arousing. He was wonderfully fashioned, Micaela thought, from his broad shoulders, lean hips, and shapely legs, right down to his long, elegant feet. And in between, oh, in between, he was everything a woman could have dreamed. Her eyes caressed him, lingering helplessly on the stiff rod which jutted out from the black curly hair between his legs. As she stared, that marvelous object seemed to lengthen and enlarge right before her very eyes. Astonished, her gaze flew to his face.

He was smiling, an incredibly pleased yet oddly tender smile. "You see," he said gently, "just your gaze upon me can arouse me. By hiding our bodies from each other, we are also denying ourselves a great source of pleasure."

Micaela swallowed with difficulty and blurted out, "But
Tante
Marie says that no self-respecting Creole wife would let her husband see her unclothed." Her eyes locked painfully on his, she rushed on, hurrying to get the words out before she lost her nerve. "Or would act the part of a wanton in the marriage bed. She said that a Creole husband wants a wife who is self-effacing at all times, and that boldness has no place between a man and his wife. She told me that there was even once a Creole man who wanted to divorce his wife because he thought her too forward in the bedroom." Almost in a whisper she added, "I do not want you to divorce me."

Appalled at what must have been going through her head all this time, Hugh muttered, "
Tante
Marie is an old windbag who has not the faintest idea what she is talking about." He smiled tenderly. "I swear that no matter what you do, I have no intention of ever divorcing you, my sweet. And I shall tell you something else." He tipped her face up with one finger. Laughter dancing in the depths of his gray eyes, he murmured, "It may have escaped your notice, but I am not a Creole. I
am,
however, a man who loves you and wants you very much. And I do
not
want a Creole wife like the one this
Tante
Marie describes." He kissed her, a long, hungry kiss, and he was breathless when he added, "I want my own sweet little wife, and I want her to act as bold and as wanton as she likes in my arms."