To Pleasure a Prince (21 page)

Guilt cut through him at the thought of how he’d humiliated her publicly for not singing with him.

“I wanted to tell you before,” she whispered into his waistcoat, “but I was too mortified. Then after I was compromised, I was afraid you would refuse to marry me. And now—” Her sobs subsided, but the gaze she lifted to his face was still achingly teary. “Please don’t annul the marriage. I couldn’t bear the shame. I’ll do whatever you wish…I’ll stay in the country always…I’ll…I’ll—”

“Shh, dearling.” He brushed a kiss to her lips to stay her begging. It drove a stake through his heart. Every nasty comment and unthinking accusation he’d ever made about her came back to torment him. “I’m not annulling our marriage, for this or anything else.”

“You don’t understand,” she murmured, her face an ashen mask. “I can’t read because…because…there’s something wrong with my brain.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your brain,” he protested, holding her close.

“But there is!” She pushed him away. “Ask Cicely; she’ll tell you.” The words spilled out of her, heartbreaking in their conviction. “I don’t see letters properly, and when I try to read anyway I get these awful headaches. And if I bear you children and they have the same defect or worse—” Tears filled her eyes again. “Oh, I’d just die!”

“Don’t even think it.” He kissed her tears away, feeling as if
he
were dying. “Nothing will be wrong with our children, I promise.”

This was why she’d never married, why she refused every suitor, why she could be the sweetest angel one moment and a cruel siren the next. Because she’d survived by keeping everyone away. Until he’d come along.

And what if she were right? What if her brain really
was
damaged? Feeblemindedness and lunacy did run in families. What if their children—

No, whatever else might be wrong with her, she was not feebleminded. “We’ll face this together, dearling. You’re my wife, till death do us part. I’m not letting you out of it, so don’t even suggest an annulment.”

“But Marcus, I wouldn’t blame you—”

“If you persist in speaking of an annulment,” he warned, “I’ll assume
you
are the one who wants out of the marriage.”

Her gaze shot to his, fierce and sure. “Never. I meant every word of
my
wedding vows.”

His heart flipped over in his chest. “So did I.” Later, he’d probe into this “damaged brain” nonsense and make her explain how a duke’s daughter came to be illiterate. For now it was enough to see the old Regina reviving.

Determined to salvage what was left of their evening, he smiled and began to unfasten the tassels on her silly gown. “I can think of only one way to make sure there is no annulment.”

She sucked in a breath, her eyes shining through her tears like two silver guineas in the candlelight. “What does the inscription say, Marcus?”

His blood ran high as he opened her gown to find a silky chemise so sheer that her nipples showed through the fabric, two pink buds he already ached to taste. “It said, ‘To my dear wife, the only woman I would ever want to chain in my dungeon.’ ”

A hesitant smile touched her lips. “That is not very…er…nice. One might even call it naughty.”

“Damned right it’s naughty.” The blood surged through him as he lowered his mouth to hers. “And we’re going to be far more naughty before the night is over.”

Your charge’s mother is responsible for informing her of what she can expect on her wedding night.

But if the mother cannot or does not fulfill her duty, then you must do so.

—Miss Cicely Tremaine,
The Ideal Chaperone

R
egina reveled in Draker’s kiss, so warm, so tender. Perhaps he truly didn’t care. If he desired her badly enough to overlook her defect, who was she to argue?

Especially now that he had his hands inside her gown, working their incredible magic on her breasts. Sweet heaven, what a delicious feeling.

He bent his head to kiss her neck, then cursed.
“This
has got to go.” He hastily untied the other tassels, then dragged off her gown. “That damned ruff has poked me for the last time.”

She laughed, practically giddy in her relief that he hadn’t cast her aside. “Perhaps you should chain
it
in the dungeon,” she teased as he tossed it across the room.

His eyes glittered, playing hotly over her thinly clad body. “I’d much rather chain
you.”

“You’d better not,” she warned. But her breath came in quick gasps, and the images rising in her head were luridly vivid.

“You might like it.” He pressed her back upon the bed until her head lay on the pillow, then took her hands and closed them around two pieces of the fretwork that formed the headboard of the Chinese Chippendale bed. Bending his mouth to her breast, he tongued her nipple through the chemise, rousing it into an aching bud. “You might find it very adventurous to be chained up in my dungeon, waiting for—”

“The dragon to come devour me?” she whispered, caught up in his fantasy.

“Oh, yes,” he growled against her breast.

Where just a little while ago she’d been apprehensive about her wedding night, his outrageous words—and actions—were perversely having the opposite effect on her. Her body softened beneath the rasps of his hot tongue, grew warm beneath his sucking mouth.

He loosened her chemise ties with his teeth. But when he went to pull it down, he couldn’t lower it far enough to bare her breasts, because of her arms being over her head.

So he dropped his hand to the hem of her chemise and pulled it up. He tugged her hands free of the fretwork only long enough to drag her chemise over her head, closing them back around it seconds later. “Don’t let go,” he ordered. “You’re chained.”

“Am I?”

His gaze shot to hers, heated, intent. “For the moment.”

A wanton thrill coursed through her. “All right.”

Next he removed her stockings and drawers, leaving her lying fully naked before him. She squirmed as his eyes raked her from head to toe. How exquisitely sinful this seemed.

Then he left the bed and went to sit in an armchair facing her. All he did was stare at her.

A delicious shiver swept her from his distinctly ravenous gaze. With the firelight playing over the stark planes of his scarred face, he actually looked like a dragon brooding over his captive female, preparing to feast himself on her flesh.

She swallowed. Hard. But still she clung to the fretwork.

He removed one boot. “I believe I like you chained.” His voice was guttural, needy.

It spiked her own need even higher. “That only proves you’re very wicked.”

His other boot thudded to the floor. “Then how good of you to indulge my wickedness. Few women would.” He rose to approach the bed, his gaze fierce and hard as it scoured her. “Even fewer would take pleasure in it.”

Embarrassed that she’d shown herself to be as wicked as he, she jerked her gaze from his to scan the room. But that only made it worse, because the painting taking up half of the wall opposite the bed—a painting not at all in the Chinese style of the rest of the room—featured a whole array of half-clad nymphs. No, they were sirens, beckoning a shipful of hapless sailors to dash themselves on the rocks.

With a groan, she glanced back at Marcus. “Whose room is this?”

“Mine.”

“And your father let you have
that
painting on the wall?”

He chuckled. “Hardly. I added that later.” His eyes played warmly over her. “I have a particular interest in beautiful sirens.”

“Like those beauties you can purchase in any brothel?” she said tartly.

“Like you,” he countered. “I could never afford any beauty as priceless as you, dearling.”

The blatant approval in his look burned away any lingering embarrassment, leaving her feeling restless. Hot. And strangely hungry.

Then he began to undress. He took his time about it, too, his eyes never leaving her body as he sloughed off his coat. Next he unbuttoned his waistcoat with slow, deliberate movements that made her breath quicken in anticipation. She could see the bulge in his trousers, yet he continued his maddeningly slow process.

Low in her belly, her flesh began to quiver…then tighten…then ache. She thought she might die if he didn’t touch her soon.

He removed his cravat, then approached the bed to skim the scrap of silk over her highly sensitized breasts and belly and even
down there.
The cursed fabric roused her need to a fever pitch without satisfying it.

She squirmed as he dragged it one last time over her breasts before dropping it on the floor. “Now I know why they call you a dragon,” she grumbled. “Because you can be perfectly beastly sometimes.”

With a grin, he unbuttoned his shirt. “Ah, but you like me beastly, don’t you? It feeds your thirst for adventure.”

“I do not have a—” She broke off as he dragged his shirt off over his head. “Dear Lord in heaven.” His chest would rival that of any wrestler’s, a thickly hewn wall of flesh that narrowed down to a surprisingly lean waist.

His grin widened. “Do I meet with my lady’s approval?”

“You look perfectly…um…beastly.”

After shucking his trousers he lay down on the bed beside her, still wearing his drawers, though they didn’t leave much to the imagination.

“Then I shall get right to my beastly duties.” When he bent his head to suck her breast, she let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “Does that please you?” he rasped, then tugged at her nipple with his teeth.

“Ohh, yes,” she breathed, her fingers tightening on the fretwork bars. Just the thought of being utterly exposed to his mouth and teeth and hands was firing her excitement to incredible heights.

“Do you want more?” He kissed a path down her breastbone to her belly as one of his hands fondled her breast.

“Yes, Marcus, yes,” she whispered restlessly. “More. Please.”

She turned her head to find the dratted sirens in the painting laughing at her.
They
would never beg for more, but she was positively shameless when it came to Marcus.

She shut her eyes against them. But when she felt his hand leave her breast, she arched up toward him. “Please…Marcus—”

Then his mouth touched her in a wholly unexpected place.
Down there.
Between her legs. Oh, heavens.

Her eyes flew open. Somehow he had ended up with his head between her thighs. His hands were parting the folds of her flesh as he bent his head to kiss—

“Marcus!” she protested, utterly shocked. She tried to pull her legs together, but he wouldn’t let her.

“Be still, dearling.” His eyes glittered up at her. “The dragon is dining.”

Keeping his gaze locked with hers, he put his hot mouth right on her. Down there. Like a lover kissing her, except in the most intimate place. His tongue darted out to flick at her, and she nearly leaped from her skin.

Heaven save her. What…incredible…madness was this? She could hardly breathe. Or think. Or do anything but give herself up to the wild pleasure coursing through her.

He was even using his teeth! And it was wonderful. Amazing. Shocking. Surely the places his mouth caressed were not meant to be touched so sinfully. Or sucked so wickedly, or teased so…so…

“Marcus…” she breathed. “That is…oh…dear…oh…”

His mouth fondled her even more shamelessly. She writhed beneath it, seeking more. Every rasp of his tongue made her arch higher, every tug of his teeth wrung a surprised gasp from her throat until it ached with her cries. Soon she was headed toward the same sweet exultation she’d found that night in the carriage outside Almack’s.

She could feel it dangling before her. If she could just…reach…that…amazing…mad…

He lifted his head to growl, “Oh, no, you don’t, my siren wife. Not without me, not this time. Not until I can be inside you, sharing your pleasure.”

“Marcus!” she cried, half in alarm, half in outrage as he left the bed. She reached for him. “Where are you going?”

“To take these off.”

He removed his drawers, and she gasped. His great staff jutted out from its bed of dark hair, commanding her attention. That…that
thing
was going inside her? “Oh, sweet heaven.”

His eyes gleamed. “I’ll take that as an invitation.” His gaze flicked to her hands and he added, “What happened to your chains?”

She wasn’t sure when she’d let go of the fretwork. “I broke them.”

A strangled laugh burst from him as he returned to the bed. “That’s my wife—stronger than steel.”

Before he could climb on the mattress, she grabbed his hip. “Wait!”

“No more waiting,” he muttered, brushing away her hand.

“I want to touch you,” she protested. “And look at you.”

A dark flush stained his cheeks. “No.”

“You gazed your fill of me,” she persisted. “So it’s my turn.”

“Now?”
he ground out.

She propped her head up on her hands. “Now.”

He groaned. Nonetheless, he stood still and let her lay her hand tentatively on the mighty rod of flesh between his legs. “Someone
did
prepare you for this night, didn’t they?” he rasped. “Told you how this works?”

“My married friends told me a little. But I still didn’t expect…you…to be quite so…large.”

“It’ll fit, don’t worry,” he said tersely.

She ran one finger over the smooth flesh, marveling at how it jerked beneath her touch. He actually shook as she stroked him. Perversely, that reassured her.

“And what did Miss Tremaine tell you?” he choked out.

Regina snorted. “She said you would do naughty, embarrassing things to me, and that I must lie still and let you do them, even if I didn’t like them. Because you’re my husband.”

“The spinster instructs the siren. Ignore everything she said.”

“I intend to.” She closed her fingers around his shaft, amazed by how firm it had become, and an oath boiled out of him.

“God save me from curious virgins.” He thrust her hand aside. “That’s enough.”

“But I—”

He cut her off with a hard kiss as he settled himself between her legs. His hand found her still-aching flesh down below and rubbed it roughly, sweetly, just long enough to rouse her need again. And then it wasn’t his hand there anymore, but his massive flesh, parting her, easing inside of her.

She tore her mouth from his. “You’ll rip me apart.”

“No, I won’t,” he murmured against her temple.

“You will. It’s so…and I’m so…”

“Tight, yes.” He paused in his motions to brush his lips over her forehead, though she could see the straining of his jaw. “That’s how it’s supposed to be. But trust me, men have been doing this for generations—”

“Not to me,” she protested.

He gave a choked laugh. “Great God, I should hope not.”

He slipped farther inside her before she could prepare herself. But oddly enough, his talking had taken her mind off what was happening below, and she was finding it easier to accommodate him.

“That’s it,” he whispered in her ear. “Open yourself, dearling. Let me in.”

So she did. And she found it tolerable, if not exactly enjoyable. Then he came up against her virgin barrier. She could feel him inside her there, and a sudden apprehension made her tense.

He drew back to stare at her, his eyes alight. “Listen to me, Regina—”

“I know, it’s going to hurt.” She sighed. “I don’t suppose there’s any way around that part?”

A guttural laugh escaped him. “Not that I know of.”

So far her friends hadn’t been far wrong. The first part
was
lovely. But this was just odd. And mortifying. And decidedly uncomfortable.

She braced herself. “Get it over with, then. But try not to kill me.”

He frowned. “It won’t…never mind, you won’t believe me until the bad part is past.”

He drove into her in one sharp thrust.

A sudden burst of pain vibrated through her insides. But it subsided swiftly, leaving behind a dull ache where he was planted deep inside her.

He hovered over her, his muscles taut. After a moment, he demanded, “Well? Are you still alive?”

She’d been holding her breath, but now she released it. “I think so.”

“Good. Killing one’s wife on one’s wedding night is frowned upon. I’d be banished from society for certain.”

His attempt at humor made her smile, despite her disappointment that this was all there was to being deflowered. Deep down, she’d really hoped it would be better than her friends had said.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked again, an edge to his voice now.

She wiggled her lower parts experimentally, surprised that having him inside her did not feel nearly as bad as she’d expected. “I believe I’ve survived.”

“Not for long if you keep doing that,” he choked out.

“You mean this?” She wiggled her lower body again, eliciting a heartfelt groan from him.

“If you don’t stop that, I won’t be able to take this easy and slow, the way I should.”

“Take
what
easy and slow? I thought we were done.”

“Hardly.”

Hmm. If they weren’t done…“So when I do this—” She wriggled her bottom beneath him again. “It affects you?”

“Drives me insane,” he clipped out.

Perhaps her friends were wrong after all. She deliberately undulated her hips. “I like making you insane.”

“Impudent wench.” He drew himself out of her. Only to go slowly back in. Then out. Then in.

How very interesting. Her lower parts grew warm and sort of tingly. She lifted her hips to meet his next thrust and nearly went out of her mind when the tingling erupted at once into a searing need.

“Ohh…Marcus, that’s…ohhhh…”

“My words…exactly.” He increased his rhythm. “I was right about you, wasn’t I?”