The Next Best Bride (12 page)

"Poker." Rand made a face. "I don't care for that one myself. Too stiff." He grinned, and she flushed with heat, first at his crude joke, and then again, more violently, because she had understood it all too well, thanks to his efforts to educate her. "Not to be confused with erect. As your husband, I feel you should know some of the more common names."

"I hardly think —"

He interrupted her. "Some choose to call it cock, organ, member, rod, staff, even names like peter and willie."

Willie. She shuddered, and glanced at him to see if he'd noticed. He had. To distract him, she asked, "What do you call yours, my lord?" The question was hardly out of her mouth before she wished it back.

His grin widened and his eyes gleamed. "Lord of pleasure, of course."

The absurdity struck her. She glanced at his ... member ... Yes, that was a good term. "That? Lord of pleasure?" She laughed. To her surprise, his ... member ... shrank perceptibly before her eyes.

Abruptly, he sat up, his hold on her hand tightening, almost as if he was protecting his ... lord of pleasure ... from her. He looked as though she had struck him.

Involuntarily, not understanding what she had done, Helena said, ''I'm sorry. I did not mean to offend you — or your lord of pleasure." She struggled to suppress a giggle as she repeated the absurd name.

He exhaled a harsh breath of laughter, and shook his head. "Call a man's cock any thing except little," he said. "But never laugh at it again, unless you're ready for a new lover."

"Surely no man is that vain that he cannot see the humor—?"

"That vain and more." His green eyes were twinkling, but she sensed a serious note in his reply, as he reclined against the pillows once again. "Helena, a woman who understands the extent to which a man's cock controls him can make him do anything."

"Lust is so powerful, then?" Perhaps that was why her sister's husbands were so willing to please their wives? But no, time had amply proven there was more than lust joining them; there was love. As there had not been between William and Helena. As there was not between Helena and Rand.

She examined her husband, trying to see beyond the handsome exterior to the heart that beat somewhere inside him. "Lust can toss common sense out the window, I suppose." She shook her head, sadly, understanding what he had left unsaid. "Only for a brief time, though."

He tightened his hold on her hand and pulled her toward him relentlessly, until her face was perilously close to his. "A brief, sweet time. As I hope to show you, Helena." A swift glance confirmed for her that his member had elongated once again.

She closed her eyes, waiting for him to ... what? Kiss her? Throw her to the bed and thrust himself into her? What did a husband do when he wished to make love to his wife? She waited for him to do something to force her hand.

But he did not. Nor did he ask of her what she had expected. His voice low and deep, he said, "Do not call down for a maid tonight. Let me undress you. As you have undressed me."

"But —" Her objections all seemed foolish, even to her. After all, she had undressed him the last six nights and nothing untoward had happened besides pleasant kisses. He would not hurt her. She was almost sure of it.

A soothing note in his voice, as if he sensed her fear, he bargained with her. "I will leave your shift on."

A shift hardly seemed enough protection from the heat and want vibrating from his needy body. "I don't —"

He sat up and swung his legs off the bed, pulling her toward him again so that she stood between his knees. Her hand gripped his muscled thigh for balance for a scant second before she pulled away and instinctively stuck her hand behind her back. He only smiled a lazy smile and shook his head. "I let you take my clothes off. Fair's fair."

"You let me?" As if he had given her a gift, the conceited man. He hadn't even given her a choice.

"Are you saying you didn't enjoy disrobing me and studying the human form?" His eyes shone with amusement even as they dared her to lie.

He couldn't know how much she had come to look forward to the clearing of the dinner dishes and the beginning of their sessions, could he? Had she been that obvious? She had been careful to protest she was too tired each night so that he would not know how she loved to look at him lying nude on the bed. How she loved to sketch him. She flushed. Surely he couldn't realize—

As if he understood the thoughts churning within her, he pressed his point. "Fair's fair, my love. Let me act your maid."

He could be relentless when he wanted something; she knew that well enough by now. "You'll only take my clothes off? Nothing more?" She searched his face for signs of a trick.

"Your virtue is safe with me, my lady," His voice was smooth and deep with sincerity. But other parts of him indicated she might not be wise to put all her faith in his words. After all, they both knew she had lost her virtue some time ago.

"Very well." How could she object? She knew what he wished to do to her, and having her clothes taken off couldn't be worse than that.

He rose from the bed, brushing against her as he did so. She stepped back so hastily that she would have fallen if he did not catch at her shoulders. "Careful," he murmured.

"I think it must be too late for that," she replied, almost, but not quite, under her breath.

She stood stiffly as he unfastened her bodice and slid it from her shoulders. He bent to press a kiss to each shoulder and she shifted restlessly beneath his hands. "You smell like a treat," he murmured.

"I smell like orange and cinnamon," she answered, shrugging away his kisses. "That is the scent of the soap I use."

"A sweet treat." As if compelled by her scent, he rubbed his rough cheek along her back, from shoulder to shoulder.

Her skirt and petticoats were a simple affair to remove. She would have stepped out of all of them at once, but he stopped her from helping. "No, let me."

First he bent to remove the overskirt, lifting each ankle as if she could not do so alone. His hand was gentle and warm as it lingered for a moment longer than necessary. Involuntarily, heat flooded through her as she recalled the day she had gone to his room to jilt him and ended up ... Was this a weakness in her? If so, she should no doubt be grateful she had a husband to keep her from outright disgrace.

He rose to stand before her, slowly, his hands skimming along her calves, her thighs, her hips, and took the measure of her waist with his hands. Unfastened another petticoat. Skimmed it down her hips, her thighs, lifted her feet one by one to free the froth of material.

She grabbed his hands as he stood to repeat the process with the next petticoat. "I have three of these, must you take all night?" She prayed he would not noticed that she had forced the words through a dry throat.

"What else is there to do?" he asked, kissing the tops of her breasts where they showed above her corset, as if he had just noticed them. She pushed him away.

After the petticoats, he unlaced the corset, slowly releasing her breasts from their confines so that they lay firm and defined beneath the thin lawn of her shift.

Standing behind her, where she felt most vulnerable to him, he dropped the corset to the floor and pulled her against him. She thought she should protest when he rubbed his palms over the curve of her hips, her waist, and then up over her breasts. Her ears pounded with the rising of her blood and she felt dizzy as he continued his caresses, all the time holding her against him, breathing heavily into her ear. She should tell him to stop. But she did not.

His hands lingered at her breasts, shaping and smoothing, stroking with a gentle pressure on her nipples. William had liked touching her breasts, too. But Rand's gentle hands made William's almost painful kneading seem like mauling to her mind. How had she ever...? She could not think of that now. Not with Rand's warm lips kissing her neck, her shoulder, her ear — anything he could reach with his mouth.

The desire to return his caresses grew wildly inside her. But something held her back. Fear? She had nothing to be afraid of. He was her husband now. Even as he touched her she realized that she had accepted him, though she could not say when it happened. Perhaps when he lay obediently still for her as she sketched. Or when he said she had talent. Maybe she had even been fool enough to accept him when he courteously saw her home, the night she had gone to his rooms dressed as a man.

Her conscience nagged at her. She knew he wanted to go farther than a few kisses tonight. She could feel the tension thrumming through him everywhere he touched her. Could feel the press of his erection in the small of her back. But coward that she was, she did nothing to give him what was, in all truth, his due. He had been patient, more patient than she would have been willing to wager on.

After a measureless time, he sighed in her ear once, and then again. Languidly, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. She went willingly enough and snuggled next to him as he followed her onto the well-stuffed mattress. With a sigh she rested her head against his shoulder.

"You are driving me mad," he muttered under his breath as he drew her close. As he spoke, she turned so that his mouth was near and he kissed her. He meant only a light kiss, to bid her goodnight, as he had done each night they traveled.

But tonight, after the sensual assault she had suffered, the touch of his lips flared through her once, then again, like streaks of lightning and suddenly all her fear burned away. Desire was the only emotion left. Desire for her husband, for the wicked earl. For Rand. She deepened the kiss, daring to touch a teasing tongue to his lips.

He groaned and broke the kiss, pushing her away. "That is enough patience for tonight." He rolled away from her with another small groan and tossed the covers over her.

Helena followed him, her arms going around his neck to prevent him from leaving her. "Don't." Her protest was a faint murmur, but her mouth found his neck. His ear.

To her satisfaction his arms came around her and his mouth closed in upon her ear. After one kiss he offered what she knew well enough was all that kept him from making love to her, "You are indisposed."

"I am not," she murmured against his lips. "I lied." His mouth fell open under hers and she touched her tongue to his.

Rand wasted a moment in utter astonishment. Although, he supposed, having Helena's tongue teasing his, even if he did not respond, could not be considered a waste. She had lied. And then she had gifted him with the truth.

He wanted to kiss her. He did kiss her, deeply, with the need that had been building within him for days. Thankfully, she did not protest at the ferocity of his passion. He could no more have released her then if she had sprouted wings and a tail and tried to fly from him. "Why?" he whispered, though he did not care. It was enough to know that he need not stop at the gates tonight.

She offered no excuses, only the truth he had already known. "I was afraid."

"Don’t be. I won’t hurt you."

Her fingers traced the scar low on his belly and her mouth nuzzled his neck. He knew her need had overcome her fear when she moaned softly, and said, "I don’t care if you do."

His patience at an end, Rand nudged a place for himself between her knees and ignored her frantic hands as he teased each breast in turn with his fingers, his lips, his tongue. When her hands stopped their fluttering protest and settled on his shoulders in encouragement, he rubbed the head of his shaft against her, teasing, sliding, almost but not quite entering.

Not until she moved her hips under him restlessly did he allow himself the pleasure of pressing into her slowly, deeply. Buried inside her at last, he took her mouth and kissed her deeply.

Her hands stroked from his back to his thighs, her hips rose under his. He allowed her to set the rhythm of their movements as he pulled slowly away and then pushed back in, teasing a gasp from her. He lifted his head up to gaze into her eyes, satisfied to see an unfocused haze of building passion. "What are you doing to me?" she murmured.

As he watched her, her hands traveled upward, over his shoulders, skimming his neck and jaw. Her fingers traced his lips and she pulled his head forward and kissed him with an abandonment he willingly returned tenfold.

She turned her head aside, gasping for breath. "Now I see why they call you the wicked earl," she said and her hands tightened on his neck, demanding wordlessly that he kiss her again. Without warning, she increased the tempo of her movements, bucking her hips against him.

Caught by surprise, he lost control and found himself plunging against her in a frantic rhythm, his breath harsh in his throat. He felt his climax begin, knew it was coming too soon for her, but he was past the point where he could halt the sweeping pleasure of his own release. All he could do was hang on for the ride until he lay gasping for breath into the pillow under her head.

For a moment Rand lay stunned and disbelieving. He had never lost control of himself before. "I'm sorry, my love," he whispered when he could speak again. "Sometimes patience is not its own reward."

Aware that he made a heavy weight, he rolled away from her, feeling the onset of the drugging sleep that always followed sex for him. Fighting the lethargy, he pulled her into the shelter of his arms just as she said, "Don't be sorry, my lord. You didn't hurt me at all."

His last thought before sleep overtook him was that he should perhaps thank her lover, whoever he was, for being a singularly clumsy clod.

Chapter Ten

Helena lay in the circle of his arms, comforted by the steady rise and fall of his chest as he slept. So. It was done. The experience had been nothing at all like it had been with William, which should not have surprised her.

The earl was a renowned rake. William, the cad, was a mere shadow lover compared to Rand Mallon, who seemed to live for his next amusement, be it at cards, on the back of a fast horse, or in bed. There was no good reason for her be unsettled by the fact that she had almost forgotten herself in his arms.

Almost, but not quite. Still, the fear that had made her hesitant was gone, finally. She didn't even remember now what she had been so afraid of. Perhaps it had not been the intimacy of their bodies, but of their hearts. That was the danger in marrying a rake, she knew. Apparently even a rake who had made plain that he wished no part of love.