The Marriage Trap (24 page)

There was a flurry of movement behind the screen, then Ellie's head emerged. “Aurora!” she exclaimed. “Is that what this is about? You think I'm a wanton? You think I want to seduce every man I meet? Is that what you think Aurora is like?”

He stared in astonishment, then he began to laugh. Finally, when he could contain his laughter, he got out, “Ellie, my dear, I doubt that you've had a carnal thought in your life. You're not that kind of woman.”

Strangely, this was the unkindest cut of all, because it touched on her deepest misgivings as a woman. She was twenty-eight years old and, in spite of her marriage, was an aging spinster with only a few heated kisses to her credit, and those with the man who so cruelly mocked her now.

If her chin was up before, now it jutted. “Don't be so sure of that. Aurora has had more adventures than you can dream of.”

He frowned. “How many glasses of wine have you had?”

“Why must you always think I'm inebriated when I defend Aurora? One glass, two. What difference does it make?”

“That explains it!”

“Explains what? That I'm not the woman you think you know?” She stepped away from the shelter of the screen and advanced upon him with the sinuous grace of a cat. “Do you think ice flows in my veins? Do you think that I am not as other women? Do you think that passion and I are strangers?”

She had yet to put on a fresh gown and was wearing only her stays and drawers. Silk! She was wearing silk next to her skin? It clung to every feminine contour in a sinful embrace.

Candlelight warmed her flesh with a sheen of gold. Her hair was undone and fell around her shoulders in reckless abandon. She had the figure to torment the imagination of a saint, breasts that thrust against the edge of her stays, a waist that his hands could span, and hips that flared to a lush ripeness.

His mouth was dry. His feet were rooted to the floor. Ellie had turned into a siren.

“What's the matter, Jack?” she taunted. “Are you afraid that Aurora has taken over and you're in danger of being seduced?”

“No,” he replied in deadly earnest. “I'm counting on it. Why don't you finish what you started at the Palais Royal?”

She couldn't blink; she couldn't tear her eyes away. She was caught in his stare as though he held her in a spell. They didn't touch. Strangely, her senses were more acute. She could hear the rain dashing against the windowpanes; she could feel the warmth from the fire in the grate. His breathing was harsh, hers was quick and shallow. Her instincts were giving her mixed messages. Should she run? Should she stand her ground?

Something moved in his eyes and the spell was broken. A sigh shivered through her. This was Jack. She had nothing to fear here. She could ask him to go or stay, and he would accept her decision.

She had never seen him look so uncertain. That look made her feel the power of her own femininity. It was a heady feeling.

She rested her splayed fingers on his chest. Her voice was husky. “You want Aurora to finish what she started in the Palais Royal?”

“I do.” His voice sounded confident, but his eyes betrayed him.

She leaned closer. “Didn't you know? Aurora can't do anything without Ellie's permission.”

He swallowed. “And what does Ellie say?”

“Ellie says, ‘Kiss me, Jack.'”

When he remained there rooted to the spot, like a great oak waiting to be felled, she
click
ed her tongue. “I've waited for this moment half my life,” she told him, “and nothing is going to take it away from me.”

Then she felled him with a kiss. One moment he was standing there, eyes staring in disbelief, and the next, he reeled back on his heels—or was he pushed?—and went toppling over onto the bed. The siren pounced on him and, naturally, he was helpless to resist.

When they came up for air, he began to laugh, not in restrained chuckles, but in great whoops, with enough volume to raise the roof.

Ellie was mortified. “Will you be quiet? You'll waken Alice or the other guests.”

“So?” he demanded with an indifference that shocked her, then he pulled back to look at her. A thought struck him. “Ellie,” he said, “you're not tipsy, are you?”

“No,” she replied solemnly. “I'm drunk.”

He groaned. “In that case—”

Her arms tightened when he tried to roll off her. “Drunk with you, Jack Rigg. Don't ask me why. It's beyond comprehension. You're positively feudal in your notions about women, and the most unromantic man I know.”

“‘Feudal'?” he protested, though he wasn't offended. “I'm the most liberal husband I know. You don't think Ash would give you so much license if he were married to you?”

“No. Those charming, free-and-easy types often turn out to be ogres when they marry. I've seen it happen time and again. It's not that they don't trust their wives. They don't trust other men.”

That she'd found fault with Ash in one small particular pleased him immensely. However, he prudently refrained from mentioning his own jealousy of Ash. “So I'm not an ogre. That's something. But I take exception to ‘feudal.'”

His mind wasn't entirely on the conversation. He was trying not to fall on her like a ravening beast. He'd been celibate too long and the feel of her soft womanly contours so innocently molded to his rapidly hardening body was driving him crazy. With every ounce of will, he kept his eyes on her face and his hands away from her delectable breasts.

“Not feudal?” she scoffed. “Then what do you call it when a man is forced to take a wife against his will?”

“What man?”

“You, of course.”

There was a silence as he absorbed her words. Is this what made her so prickly? His reluctance to marry her?

He gave her a gentle shake. “I married you,” he said, “because I wanted to. Of course, the circumstances were not ideal, but I would have come to it myself sooner or later.”

“A likely story.”

He kissed the pout from her lips and smiled when she shivered. “We're more alike than you realize. Neither of us can be forced into doing what we don't want to do.”

He couldn't help himself. His hands were moving over her, not possessively as he wanted to, but stroking, brushing, enticing.

She wriggled under his seeking hands. He knew he was making progress, but Ellie could never be distracted while something was on her mind.

“I've never had a lover,” she pointed out, “while you've had legions. I hardly think that makes us alike.”

“So you've been following my, ah, career?”

“Don't look so smug. I'd have had to stuff my ears with cotton not to hear about you. When you came into your title, you became grist for the gossip mill.”

“I bet.” It was beginning to register that there was more to this conversation than maidenly nerves throwing up defenses in a last, futile stand. So what was she really saying?

He dragged himself up on one elbow to get a better look at her. Her dark lashes veiled her expression. “Look at me!” he commanded.

Her lashes lifted. She looked, he thought, adorably vulnerable. It was not a description his capable wife would like, so he kept the thought to himself.

“We
are
alike,” he said. “There never were legions of lovers. I was too busy fighting a war. I didn't know I was waiting for you to come along. All I knew was that most women bored me to tears. When you streaked into my life, then and only then, I knew what I'd been missing.”

It wasn't a declaration of love, but she didn't expect it. After all, she didn't love him either. This was better than love. This gave them a common ground. Equals. She didn't want to be one among many. With this man, this one man, she wanted to make such an impression that all other loves would fade from his memory.

It was a forlorn hope. She hadn't a clue what to do or how to begin. Now that the moment was on her, all that feminine power she'd exulted in had vanished into thin air.

“What is it, Ellie?”

She looped an arm around his neck. “Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“You won't be shy with me.”

“‘Shy'?” He didn't know what she meant.

To his baffled look, she explained. “I have so much time to make up, so many things to learn. I'm only a novice. Perhaps you haven't had legions of lovers, but you're experienced.
Proficient,
is what I mean. I want you to teach me all you know.”

Images flashed into his mind, each more lurid than the last. He closed his eyes against a wave of heat that suddenly raced from every pulse point in his body to pool in his groin. His heart was racing. His breathing was as choppy as the sea in a tempest. When he had gained control of himself, he looked down at her with a feeble smile.

She was looking up at him intently, as though she'd asked him to explain the intricacies of Greek grammar, and she was ready to take mental notes. One thing was certain, she would follow where he led.

Not that he would take advantage of her innocence. They'd get to that night of uninhibited passion he dreamed about, but they'd get there in easy stages. For now, he had to be patient and put a bridle on his own ravenous lusts.

“Making love,” he said easily, “usually begins with a kiss. Here, let me show you.”

He lowered his head and covered her lips with his. It was a gentle kiss, slow and undemanding. He drew back to gauge her reaction. “See how easy it is?”

She nodded. “But that's not how you kissed me before.”

“How did I kiss you?”

“Let me show you.”

He obediently lowered his lips to hers. She twined her arms around his neck. It was sweetly erotic until she thrust her tongue into his mouth. Then everything changed. Instant heat. Fire. His good intentions went up in flames. She wasn't helping. Her fingers were fisting and unfisting in his hair. She was arching, offering herself to him. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was losing control. If he didn't get a grip on himself, he would ruin everything. She was a bride. He should be initiating her with the utmost restraint.

He dragged his mouth from hers with a harsh groan. “Ellie,” he got out, “you're going too fast. This isn't a race. We're supposed to take time to taste and savor.”

She looked crestfallen. “I didn't do it right?”

He waited until he had control of his breathing before he answered. “You're better than you know.”

Her smile bloomed and her cheeks colored with pleasure. “Am I? Then why did you stop?”

He couldn't help laughing. She was as reckless in bed as she was out of it. He couldn't tell her that he stopped because, if he hadn't, she would have lost her maidenhead before he'd had a chance to remove his boots. A man of his experience should have more finesse than that.

She had that expectant look on her face, waiting for him to explain what couldn't be explained.

He tried anyway. “There are no rules. Don't rush things. Be natural, spontaneous. Let your instincts guide you.”

Good God! He could tell from the intent look on her face that she was memorizing every word. It was his cue to stop talking before he got tied up in knots.

“Taste and savor,” he said softly.

“I'll let my instincts guide me,” she promised.

The mattress sighed as she nestled against him. He kissed her eyes, her brows, her throat, and nuzzled the lobes of her ears when he discovered a sensitive spot. He kept her hands in his, just in case. One never knew with Ellie what would set her off.

Her eyelids became heavy, her sighs became moans. She found it hard to memorize sequences for future reference when her body was humming with new sensations. She was drifting in pleasure and that didn't seem right to her. She wanted Jack to feel what she was feeling.

What were her instincts telling her?

She came up on her knees and shook off Jack's hands. “I want to practice on you,” she crooned.

She silenced his halfhearted protest with a kiss, then, brows knit in concentration, she suited action to words. From his brows to his throat, she left a trail of openmouthed kisses and laughed in sheer feminine pleasure when he began to moan. Eyes on his, she undid the buttons on his shirt and began to stroke the hard column of his throat, his shoulders, his chest, and where she touched, her kisses soon followed. Every muscle in his body was as taut as a tightrope. One wrong move and he would step into an abyss.

When she fumbled with the closure on his trousers, he batted her hands away. She was his bride, he reminded himself. He was going to initiate her in easy stages. Besides, he doubted she would be so bold if she knew where all this was leading.

She sat back on her heels. “What's the matter, Jack? Why have we stopped?”

They had stopped because he was belatedly trying to remember what he knew about virgins. Damn little, as it turned out. He had never initiated a virgin, had never wanted to. In fact, the very thought gave him the shudders.

Now who was the novice?

Just as though she could read his mind, she said, “Jack, you worry too much.”

Laughing softly, she pushed him into the mattress and rose above him. Her fiery locks veiled her face and she tossed them back with an impatient hand. She looked, he thought, like some ancient warrior queen demanding surrender from a vanquished knight.

“Don't be shy,” she said. “Remember what you told me.
Be natural, spontaneous. Let your instincts guide you.
”

He took her at her word.

When he pounced, she squealed and they went rolling on the bed. This time he came out on top. Her smile slipped a little when he removed her stays, her chemise and her drawers, but she didn't try to cover her nakedness and he marveled at her trust.

“I'll try to make this good for you,” he said.

She smiled and reached for him. “I know you will.”

He lowered his mouth to one bared shoulder and laved it with his tongue. When her breathing quickened, he smiled. He did the same to first one breast, then the other, laving her nipples, rolling them with his tongue, then sucking strongly when she began to moan.

His mouth was still playing with her nipples when his hand began to roam. She didn't take the hint, so he had to tell her to spread her legs. She was moving restlessly, her head thrashing on the pillow. He pulled back to watch her face as his fingers gently sank into her damp folds.

Her eyes were glazed with passion; her nails were digging into his shoulders. She would never be more ready for him than she was at this moment.

When he rolled from her, she tried to stop him. Eyes on hers, he began to undress, then he stood there in his nakedness, waiting for a sign that this was what she wanted.

Her eyes moved over him slowly, taking in the breadth of his shoulders, the hard muscular torso, the trim waist. But it was the solid shape of his manhood that had her eyes widening.

She knew what he wanted, but as her fever ebbed, so did her confidence, and she looked around the room as though she didn't know how she'd got there.

“Don't turn craven on me now,” he said.

He stretched out his hand and she automatically held onto it. “Jack,” she whispered, “you told me to follow my instincts.”

“And?”

“My instincts are telling me to hide in the closet.”

He smiled faintly. “You decide, Ellie. Do we stop or do we go on?”

She rose to the challenge, as he knew she would. “My instincts were never any good. Let's go with yours.”