Stormswept (22 page)

When the servants bobbed their heads, cowed by his commanding stance and firm voice, Juliana suppressed a snort. If he thought peace would be achieved by making her powerless in her own house, he was in for a surprise. She wouldn’t let him tear down everything that was good in Llynwydd out of peevishness.

“That’s all for now.” Rhys pointed to two footmen. “You and you, unload the coach. And Mrs. Roberts, I wish to see you and the agent in the study in an hour. Bring with you the account books and whatever other documents you think might need my perusal. The rest of you are dismissed.”

Their faces mirroring their questions, the servants returned to their duties.

“Shall we go in now, wife?” Rhys asked.

His assumption that he’d won made her want to shake him. She kept her temper long enough to enter the house, but as soon as they passed into the drawing room, she pivoted away from him. “There’s something you should know
before you start changing everything to suit your fancy. Ever since I’ve been managing this estate, it has gained steadily in profits, which was no small feat. Your father left the place sorely run-down. If it hadn’t been for me—”

“I know.” He drew off his leather gloves and dropped them on a shrouded table. “Father ran this estate into the ground. He gambled and drank too much. After his death, I’d planned to restore it to its former glory.” His tone grew acid. “Of course, my impressment altered that plan for a while.”

Folding his hands behind his back, he scanned the room. Although the furniture was covered with white and yellow cloths, he had to be noticing the new Chinese-patterned wallpaper and the fireplace, whose chipped sandstone facade had been replaced with black marble.

“I can see you’ve done much to restore the place. And for that, I’m in your debt.” His gaze snapped back to her. “But ’tis my estate now, and I will see to its care. Which may require some changes.”

“Fine.” Let the blasted fool think he was running everything. Once his back was turned, her servants would ask her in private what to do. And she’d have no qualms in telling them.

Aye, Squire Arrogance, we’ll see how far you get trying to manage this estate without me.

A frown creased his forehead. “You act as if this surprises you. But surely you’d anticipated what would happen upon my return.” He cast her a mocking smile. “After all, you told me that you waited for me those first few years. Hadn’t you realized I would take charge of my estate
upon my return? Or were you so sure I’d never come back that you didn’t consider that?”

She caught herself before she reacted in anger. Truth seemed to work better. Tilting up her chin, she softened her voice. “Whenever I thought of it, I imagined you knocking at the door and me opening it. I imagined you taking me in your arms and kissing me until I ached from it, then recounting all your hardships so I could soothe them away.” When he looked taken aback by her words, she added, “My dream never passed much beyond that.”

His gaze locked with hers, and it took all her strength to meet its intimidating force. He stepped closer until he stood only inches from her, a myriad of emotions flitting over his face—disbelief, confusion . . . desire.

“Your dream never passed beyond kissing?” He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

The unexpected caress gave a turn to her words that she hadn’t entirely intended. Shivers coursed down her spine, then made her tremble. Oh bother, there it was again, that same longing he’d always made her feel. Why hadn’t the years crushed it to bits? Why did he alone hold the key to her desire?

An urge toward self-preservation hit her and she backed away, but he caught her around the waist, drawing her to him until he’d fitted her snugly against his lean, hard body. “I have been lax, haven’t I?” he whispered, nuzzling her temple. “Already I’ve been with you several hours today, and I haven’t yet kissed you.”

Before she could protest that she didn’t want him to, he bent his head to brush his lips over hers. After last night
she hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this.

Confused by the change in him, she stood frozen, and he took advantage of her surprise to toy with her mouth, meeting her lips then sliding away, enticing her with his gentle playing, never quite settling in one place. His hot breath mingled with hers until she lowered her defenses, her body going limp and her eyelids sliding closed.

Then he covered her mouth with his so warmly that her pulse began to race. As her breath caught in her chest, she realized she was sinking fast, falling into the quicksand of seduction he’d always been so good at creating. But when she tried to draw away, he captured her head in his hands, holding her still.

Then the kiss began in earnest. He brought his thumbs down to caress her throat as his mouth fed on hers, coaxing her to soften. In a sensuous invitation to deepen the kiss, he ran the tip of his tongue along the seam of her closed lips.

I can’t let him do this.

But it was too much like the dream she’d spoken of. With a sigh, she parted her lips, then heard him groan as he buried his tongue inside her mouth.

She stifled her own groan, but couldn’t stifle the memories he conjured up as he drove his tongue into her mouth over and over, marking his possession of her as surely as he’d marked his possession of Llynwydd moments ago. This was not like last night’s hard kisses. This was seduction, pure and simple.

And as his hands slid down to clasp her shoulders and
hold her tight against him, the lonely years melted away. Once more they were in her bedchamber at Northcliffe Hall, and he was kissing her for endless hours while touching her with brazen caresses that had made her young, virginal body sing.

Now, however, his caresses were bolder. He covered her breast, kneading it beneath his palm. Despite the layers of clothing that separated her from his intimate touch, she could feel her nipple harden.

This time she couldn’t restrain her groan, which brought an answering one from him. He stroked down to cup her bottom and pulled her against him so she could feel his arousal. “Ah,
cariad
,” he murmured. “You see what you do to me?”

The endearment shot her arousal to new heights. He
did
care, no matter what he said. He was still hers. Throwing her hands about his neck, she gave herself up to him, to the poetry of his mouth plundering hers in an ancient rhythm more compelling than that of the bards, to the sweet slide of his hands relearning every contour of her body.

Before she knew it, he was drawing aside the robings of her dimity Levite gown and inching down her corset and shift to bare her breast to his fingers. Then his mouth left hers to trail kisses down her throat as he flicked his thumb over her nipple until she whimpered, arching her head back to give him better access.

She was waiting breathlessly for the first touch of his mouth on her breast when a knock at the open door behind her brought her to her senses.

Dear heaven, they’d been kissing here in front of God and everybody! With a violent blush, she pushed away from him and swiftly restored her clothing.

He released her reluctantly. “What is it?” he demanded of the interloper.

She glanced back to see a younger footman, David, blushing almost as furiously as she was. He had a tendency to knock first and look later; this would undoubtedly cure him of that.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” David stammered, “but I wasn’t sure where to put the trunks.”

“You haven’t forgotten where the State Bedroom is, have you?”

“Of course not, sir. But I didn’t know if . . . well, I mean, milady has been sleeping there and—”

“Put all the trunks in the State Bedroom. From now on, Lady Juliana will be sleeping there with me.”

David’s head bobbed again and he fled.

As soon as the doorway was clear, Juliana blurted out, “Did you have to be so . . . to imply . . . Oh heavens, they’ll think that—”

“That I plan to share a bed with my wife?” Rhys raised an eyebrow. “I should hope they would realize that.”

“But what kind of woman will they think I am, to share a bed with you the night after I’d pledged to marry Stephen?”

When his amusement vanished, she cursed herself for saying such a stupid thing.

He strode over to shut the door. When he faced her, his expression could have frozen fire. “They’ll think you’re
my wife, and not the betrothed of some infernal marquess. They’ll think I plan to bed my wife. Because that’s precisely what I intend to do. Thoroughly and often. Beginning tonight.”

Thoroughly and often. She suppressed the thrill his words gave her. “You may have the State Bedroom, but I won’t share a bed with you. There are plenty of other rooms I can sleep in.”

He settled an enigmatic gaze on her. “My parents slept in that bed together, and so shall we.” Reaching out to skim the tip of his finger over the upper swells of her breasts, he lowered his voice to a silky murmur. “You know you want that. Don’t deny you were willing just now. I daresay if I’d laid you down on that settee, you’d have been willing enough.”

The crude, self-assured words shattered her hopes for peace between them. He saw her only as a receptacle for his urges, not as a wife.

“Perhaps I would have. But we’ll never know, because next time I won’t be so foolish.” She ignored the hurt that snaked through her insides. She’d deal with that later.

“If you’re wise, you’ll use that beautiful body of yours to make amends, to soften my heart.” He dragged his finger up her throat along the pulse, which cursedly quickened. “I’m very interested in seeing if our last joining was everything I remember.”

“Why? I don’t understand you. Last night kissing me made you angry, and today—”

“I want you in my bed.” He tilted her chin up. “But I want you willing.”

Blast him! To him, bedding her meant conquering her. But she wanted it to mean so much more. “You would make love to me, even though you think that I’m fickle? That I betrayed you?”

His mouth went taut. “One thing has nothing to do with the other. Fickle you may be, but you’re also lovely and enticing. And you know how to appreciate pleasure. Why shouldn’t we appreciate it together?”

Rubbing his thumb along her lower lip, he watched her with a secretive smile.

And despite herself, her breath quickened. Oh yes. She certainly knew how to appreciate pleasure. One touch and, like tinder held to a spark, she erupted into flame. He knew it, too. But that didn’t change anything.

“What if I resist you? Will you then resort to force?”

His eyes glittered as blue as the icy waters of the Towy. “I’ve no need for that. You burn as much as I. And as you said this morning, we have many years ahead of us. Even you can’t hold out for an eternity. One day you’ll say yes.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.” He headed for the door, where he paused to look back at her. “And I’m betting you’ll do it soon.”

When he went out, she released the breath she’d been holding. Pray heaven he was wrong. Because if he came to her as he had the night of their wedding, and made love to her like
that
, she’d be lost forever.

Maybe so sharp is exile,

Not to love were more worth while.

—GORONWY OWEN, “AN INVITATION”

L
ooking up from the ledger, Rhys rubbed his tired eyes. He should close the windows and call for someone to light a fire in the grate; the room was growing chill and dim as nightfall approached. Soon it would be time for dinner. And after dinner, bed.

He slammed the ledger shut. For two hours he’d studied the management practices of his lovely wife, and he’d learned two disturbing things.

One, despite her youth and inexperience, Juliana had run the estate as efficiently as she’d claimed.

Two, he could think of nothing else but bedding her.

Yet judging from their encounter earlier in the day, he wouldn’t be bedding her anytime soon.

He hadn’t meant to be so obvious about what he wanted. Women didn’t like being told they were desired only for their bodies. He’d planned to be smoother, to seduce her
with compliments, even use poetry as he had years ago, when he’d been a starry-eyed fool in love.

But when she’d mentioned her beloved Stephen and reacted in such horror to sharing a bedchamber, he’d had to remind her that she was his wife—
not
Lord Devon’s betrothed.

With another curse, he rose to pace the room. Why couldn’t he do as he wanted with her? He couldn’t bear to force her, and his attempt at seduction had ended with her even more determined to fight him. He knew she wanted him. And God knows he wanted her.

But
why
? As she’d said, why did he want her, when she’d taken six years of his life from him?

Because the damned woman had defied all of his expectations. He’d expected her to be either frightened of him or penitent. He’d expected her to throw herself on his mercy. He’d spent many an hour envisioning the penance he’d require of her before he allowed her a wife’s privileges, and each scenario had included bedding her in various enjoyable ways.

In none of his dreams had she firmly declared her innocence. Or refused to share his bed. It drove him mad.