Two Wrongs Make a Marriage (20 page)

‘Shakespeare again?’

‘Of course. You may keep Miss Pennyworth. I have the Bard. Sheridan and Goldsmith are good for a laugh, but when one truly wants to know the hearts of men, one can do no better than Shakespeare.’

‘I must trust you, then,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I had no idea that marrying would require I consort with actors and Lombard dealers and charlatans of all sorts.’

‘
Consort
is a rather strong word,’ he said. ‘Although the urge to consort, when you look at me with those eyes, is impossible to resist.’

She shook her head, ignoring the little thrill that the words raised in her. ‘Do not talk nonsense.’

‘I was merely wondering if you wished to continue what we began in the cab this afternoon.’

It was a brazen suggestion, one that required her to make the decision. She could not pretend, as she had earlier, that there was no way to control what was occurring. Tonight, she had but to send him away and she was sure he would bother her no more. ‘If I say yes,’ she said, looking gravely into his eyes, ‘I do not know what is likely to happen, now or in the future.’

‘None of us does, really,’ he said. ‘But I promise, you will enjoy what happens tonight.’ He closed the door behind him and came across the room to stand in front of her, so close that she could almost touch him. ‘I will be gentle. I will protect you from any dangers, just as any husband would. And afterwards I will guard your reputation with my life.’ He was smiling at her and it was warm and fond and tender. His hands came to her shoulders and he pulled her into him, until his lips rested by her ear. ‘“Hear my soul speak: the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service.”’

‘Shakespeare again?’

He nodded, and she felt his cheek move against hers. ‘But no less true, even if the words are not mine. When I am with you, I cannot help myself. I was yours from the first moment.’ And then, as though revealing too much of himself, he tried to make light of the comment. ‘It was the cut of your dress, I suspect. I’d have done anything for a chance to lay hands on those breasts.’

She sighed. ‘And now you are trying to spoil it. What shall I do with you?’

She expected some sly comment in response, but instead he said, ‘Forgive me. You are not the only one who was not prepared for the turn some things have taken lately.’ He dipped his lips to the corner of her mouth and kissed her. Then he said in a quiet, amazed voice, ‘“When I saw you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew.”’ He looked at her, his eyes blue and soft, and she believed the truth in them, down to her very soul.

‘Hamlet.’ She sighed.

He nodded. ‘And you have a beautiful smile,’ he added, touching the corner of her lip with his fingertip.

‘That did not end well for Ophelia, I think.’

‘Because Hamlet was not truthful with her,’ Jack said softly. ‘He did love her. But he waited too long to share the fact.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I have played him many times.’

Just as he was playing a part now. But she was tired and a little frightened and did not want to think about it. ‘So, when you are Hamlet, does Ophelia ever learn the truth?’

‘The next time, perhaps. I might make the ending happy, like Tate did for King Lear.’ He looked solemnly into her eyes. ‘Those who love deserve to be happy, despite what the playwrights may think.’

‘Sacrilege,’ she whispered with another smile.

‘There is enough tragedy in the world, is there not? Far too many kindred spirits kept apart by birth and circumstance.’ His lips were closer to hers now and she remembered the kisses they’d shared that afternoon, hot and passionate through the lace of her veil.

‘Star-crossed lovers?’ she coaxed.

‘Exactly that. A couple who are totally wrong for each other, but meant to be together all the same.’ There was an earnestness about him that made her want to believe, if only to have one more kiss. His lips brushed hers again.

She tasted his after-dinner port, licking the flavour away with the tip of her tongue. ‘And what would you do to bring them together?’

‘What else is there to do but this?’ he whispered and kissed her back.

This was what she had hoped for, in the days before her marriage. And she had missed it more than she’d known. It had been a bitter disappointment to know that propriety would not allow it, but it might be even worse to enjoy it and then lose him for ever when he returned to his old life.

Either choice could end in a mistake, but she was tired of fearing what might happen, if it denied her what she could have right now. She freed her hand from his and wrapped her arms about his neck, going up on tiptoes to make it easier to reach his lips. He put an arm about her waist, pulling her up to stand on the tops of his stockinged feet, pressing the length of her body against his so she could offer herself to him.

He claimed to have wanted her from the first day. Perhaps it was true. Why else would he choose that particular quote to woo her now? For all his roguish talk, he was as gentle as he had promised, his kisses soft on hers, his tongue in her mouth, moving slowly so as not to frighten her.

But she wasn’t frightened any more. She felt warmth flood into her body anywhere he touched her. Gradually, the kiss grew to something more than a kiss, hot and dark and wonderful, making her strong and weak at the same time. She could not seem to stand without his support, so she stepped away, leaning back, pulling him down with her to lie on the bed.

He hesitated only a moment, then followed eagerly, stretching out to cover her body as she relaxed back into the pillows. Eventually, he leaned back so he could reach the ties on the front of her nightdress and undo them one at a time. She felt the evening air on the skin above her breasts, the warmth of his fingers and the gentle tickle of the fabric being spread wide.

Why had she fought this? Hadn’t she known, from the first night, the first kiss, that they were meant for each other? His hands, which had been cupping her face, slid to her shoulders, pushing at the neckline of her gown, and she wiggled against him, feeling it slip down her arms. He viewed the newly exposed skin and with a reverent sigh dropped his lips to it, brushing his open mouth against her shoulder, tracing designs with his tongue and following the path of love bites he had made that afternoon. His kisses made her restless, she hardly knew for what. She wanted this. Needed it more than she had expected. She was married. She deserved to be complete and have the love of a man.

Her mind offered vague warnings that none of this was real. He was no more her real husband than he was a real viscount. But it did not matter. He was Jack. And she liked to feel his lips on her breasts.

He pulled away and looked up at her, his hand under her, playing along her spine, up and down the thin fabric of her nightdress, then both fists gathered between her shoulders and she felt the cloth rip and the force of his kiss as he claimed her mouth again as she gasped in shock. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, circling hers, holding her lower lip between his teeth and sucking upon it, as he peeled away the scraps of her gown, tossing it aside and leaving her naked. Then he knelt, fully dressed, between her legs and pushed them wide apart, staring down at the juncture and then up at the rest of her body, stopping at her breasts.

She held her arms out to him in welcome, unable to pretend a modesty she did not feel.

And he fell forwards onto her, nearly crushing the breath from her body as he settled his face between her breasts, kissing his way up to the nipples, licking and sucking, taking them deep into his mouth and making her squirm beneath him. His hands gripped her hips, pressing them into the mattress, holding them firm for his inevitable entry and her throat tightened in a gasp at the thought.

He sensed the change and released her, slipping a finger between the folds of her body again and pressing until she released the held breath in another gasp, arched her back and cried out. She was falling to pieces again after one touch. If this was to be her undoing, she welcomed it, letting the feeling wash over her, taking her reason away.

When she opened her eyes, he was smiling at her, smug at her satisfaction. But the pause made her worry that the interlude was ending and, delightful as it had been, it could not be over so soon. She reached up and tugged at the end of his cravat, smiling as the knot unravelled and the strip of linen fell free, brushing against the tips of her breasts.

He watched it as she let it pool on her belly. Then he swept it away with one hand, undoing the buttons of his waistcoat with the other.

‘I swear, Cyn, by marrying you I did the world a service and saved other men from this madness.’ He struggled out of his coat and waistcoat, and pulled her tight against him again.

Perhaps she was mad as well. The feel of his linen shirt against her skin was exquisite, as was the solid feeling of the man beneath the cloth. Her hand strayed to explore the angles and planes of his upper body, then lower to grasp his hips as she tried to pull him down into her. She could feel the bulge at the front of him, pressing down, and wondered why she had never bothered to steal a peek at him to prepare herself for what was to come.

She had been too polite to notice such things before she met Jack, but now she was most assuredly interested.

He untangled her hand from him and kissed the knuckles. ‘Soon enough, my dear. If that is what
you want from me, you need not worry. But I am not ready yet.’

What more could he possibly do to prepare, other than removing his trousers? She had been under the impression that such things took little time at all for the men involved. He lowered his head again to the place that the linen had touched her and dipped his tongue into her navel, making her laugh.

Then he trapped her hips and slid lower, down her belly, until his face was buried between her legs and his tongue...

She clutched at his hair, trying to pull him off of her, and then trying to draw him closer as he pulled on her with his teeth, just as he had done with her mouth while kissing her. Between them, his tongue was busy, driving her to distraction. His hands slid down the bare skin of her thighs, pushing them wide apart. She was breaking again, and again and again, sobbing out her passion, helpless in pleasure, barely aware of her surroundings. When he stopped to remove the rest of his clothing, the chill of the air on her skin as he left her brought fresh tremors of need. To warm herself she followed, rubbing her body against his, touching the perfect golden skin with her breasts, twining her arms about his athletic dancer’s body. She ran her fingertips down the muscled arms, which had cradled her close, and rested her head against his strong shoulder so that she might kiss it.

‘Cyn.’ He was using the strange nickname he had chosen for her as a command to misbehave.
Sin.
But how could something that felt so good be a crime against God?

‘Cyn,’ he called to her again as he pushed into her. His beautiful voice was raw and uncontrolled, though the stroke was slow and careful. The actor was utterly gone, leaving nothing but the man. He wanted her. Needed her so much that he was willing to reveal his true self.

And she needed him as well. He was light and happiness, salvation and courage. And though she did not want him to be, he was her lover and had been from the first, winning her heart with a single smile in a darkened gazebo. She felt all control slipping, sank her fingers into his arms, her teeth into his shoulder, and pushed back to meet him, free. It was as if she was flying with him, riding the currents of the air like a hawk. Then, together, they fell in a burst of feeling, and her body shook where it held him, tight inside her.

They settled to peace in each other’s arms. He was so quiet, she assumed he must have fallen asleep, but when she opened her eyes to look at him, he was admiring her, silent and smiling. He smoothed the hair away from her face and gave a shy shake of his head, as though he could not quite believe what had happened.

And then they began again.

Chapter Sixteen

J
ack stared at the ceiling above his wife’s bed, afraid to move. It was a shared bed, after all, and the least change would wake the woman sleeping in his arms. The warm weight of her was wonderful. Mouth open against his shoulder, breasts crushed to his side and the damp centre of her pressed close to his hip by the way her leg stretched over his.

He was used to feeling crowded after the act. He usually wanted to push the woman, whoever she was, away from him, roll to his side and sink into a satisfied sleep. He had slept with Cyn, of course. He’d slept well. But instead of moving away, he’d pulled her closer, settling her against his body with a sigh and a smile.

And now that he was waking, he had to admit that he’d never in his life felt like this on a morning after. Of course, there had been damned few of those. Couplings tended to be hurried and done with, the girls as eager to be away as he was to have them gone. But on the times he’d seen dawn with a woman in his bed, he’d felt them to be awkward, uncomfortable and leading to quick partings and unmet gazes.

But this...

He glanced down at the head resting in the crook of his arm, at the coppery hair, the pale shoulder, felt the feathery touches of her breath against his skin and a desire to keep it just so for ever. The part of him that he thought of as Kenton was sighing in satisfaction, content and, dare he think it, deeply moved. The joining of the two of them had been more than a brief joy.

It had been pleasurable, more so than any coupling he could remember, but the experience had marked a change in his life and his spirit. There was a logical explanation, he was sure. It was probably due to the delayed wedding night and the anticipation built by it. It was the softness of the bed, the softness of the lady, the general opulence of his surroundings and the fact that, other than trying to get the better of de Warde, he had fewer worries than at any other time in his life. Of course this would be better, more memorable, more enjoyable.