The Marquess and the Maiden(29)

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. There's no way around that little pain. It won't hurt from now on."

"I'm fine," she said.

He bent and kissed her, tenderly, then slowly he moved his hips, pressing into her, then pulling back out nearly to his tip.

"Harriet, you have no idea how good you feel."

Gingerly, she pulled up her legs and wrapped them around his waist, seating him into her even deeper. He swore.

She froze. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, it's just really good, and I wanted to last longer for you." With  this new angle though, every thrust rubbed him against her bundle of  nerves, and she gasped each time.

"Again?" she whispered.

He chuckled. "I hope so." He thrust into her, in and out and then felt  her spasm around him as she cried out his name. One more push and he  spilled his seed inside her.

He'd been right about one thing-his desire for her would never wane.





Chapter Sixteen


Harriet had woken alone. The soreness between her legs and in muscles  she was certain she'd never used before told her the night before had,  indeed, happened. She was married, and well and thoroughly defiled.  Well, she supposed, since the wedding had happened first, then defiled  wasn't the appropriate word. That's certainly how it felt, though.

After going back to her own bedchamber and washing herself, she rang for  a maid, who assisted her in dressing. She missed Lottie and her mother,  even Malcolm. Her life was different now. She would make her own family  here with Oliver. Her heart fluttered at the thought, and she rolled  her eyes at her foolish reaction.

She knew this estate wouldn't be their permanent home, considering  Oliver preferred London. Still, Brookhaven would be home on some  occasions. With that in mind, she left her bedchamber in hopes of  exploring the estate. She'd seen some of it when she and Oliver and  their mothers had initially arrived. He'd shown her the basic rooms,  including that mesmerizing shower he'd had installed.

A miniature version of a Roman bathhouse was what it had looked like to  her. He'd used the technology from such places to create a refuge for  him here and the one in his London townhome. An even smaller version was  due to be finished soon. Though he'd invited her to do so, she hadn't  intended to make use of the shower feature. That was before they had  married.

Before she was his wife. Lady Davenport.

Her heart thumped again. Good heavens, but she was a goose this morning.  She'd wanted to be a wife for as long as she could remember. This  hadn't been how she'd envisioned it, though. Granted, last night wasn't  how she'd envisioned that, either. She'd known there could be pleasure  found in the marriage bed. Her mother had told her as much, but what  Oliver had done to her, the responses he'd elicited from her … pleasure  seemed such a lackluster word in comparison.

Two hours later she had walked the entire perimeter of Brookhaven Hall  and seen most of its rooms. She found herself in the armory where Oliver  had made her practice room. Sparring and practicing was rather  difficult without a partner, so she ended up sitting on the mattresses  in the center of the massive room.

He'd done this for her, because he liked her, was what Agnes had said.  Had it all been a ruse to get her into his bed? Is that why she hadn't  seen him at all today? Because he'd had her and now he was done?

Perhaps he intended to leave her here in the country where he could  visit her when the mood struck. She would not stand for such a thing.  He'd gotten her into this marriage, and she'd be damned if she stood by  while he ignored her. She could return to London and live her life as  she had before their vows.         

     



 

Vows.

She'd made promises. To him. To God. In front of their families and friends.

She would adhere to her vows, but she would not forsake her heart in the process.

 …

He had successfully avoided his wife the entire day. Though, admittedly,  it had not been easy. He'd wanted to find her during luncheon to make  certain she had everything she needed. During afternoon tea, he'd  thought to call for her, but knew if he did, they'd end up tangled  together and he'd not get any work done.

Damned if he hadn't missed her presence, her smile, her laugh. That  meant nothing other than he'd grown accustomed to being with her.  Without her, though, he'd been able to accomplish some tasks that day.

He'd drafted the design for the expansion at Benedict's, then he'd  sketched two new pictures of Harriet. He scrubbed a hand down his face.  Christ, what was the matter with him? Would he ever have another moment  free from thoughts of her?

By the time he'd gone in search of her, he'd discovered she'd eaten  supper without him but had not yet retired to her room. Her angry threat  about having a marriage in name only after she produced him an heir  hung over him. He'd make certain she was so addicted to the pleasure he  brought her, she wouldn't dare.

Before leaving her bedchamber, he spoke briefly to her maid, then went to his own room to prepare himself.

 …

After supper, Harriet had walked briefly in the gardens. Brookhaven was a  beautiful home, his ancestral home, having been in the Davenport family  for hundreds of years. She could imagine the halls filled with the  laughter of their children, Christmases in the largest parlor and games  of hide-and-seeking in the maze outside.

She might not be happy with the way Oliver had brought about their union     , but she'd made vows and would follow through. Once he provided her  with children, perhaps she would stay here at Brookhaven and raise them.  With any luck, she'd be a mother, and her children would adore her.

Children would be the only thing that would tempt her to leave the  Ladies of Virtue. She wasn't certain she'd be able to walk away for any  other reason. She'd asked Agnes to make certain to send notice if any  new information about Lady X came out. So far, she hadn't heard a word.

She stepped into her dressing room, and her maid was already waiting for  her. The girl quietly went through the routine, and before Harriet knew  it she was dressed in the shimmering shift and dressing gown from the  night before.

Her hair was simple enough that she was able to send the girl away so  she could undo it herself. She started removing the pins, then stepped  into her bedchamber. After dropping the pins on her dressing table and  pulling the rest of her hair free so it fell down her shoulders, she  rolled her neck to ease the tension.

"I love when your hair is down," Oliver said.

She jumped and turned. He stood by the fireplace, dressed only in his dressing gown.

She swallowed. "My lord, I didn't see you."

He gave her a lazy grin.

Her breath caught. How was it possible that something so simple as a smile could have such an effect on her?

"I didn't see you all day," she said, then frowned. "That is, I wasn't certain I'd see you tonight."

"How is it possible you still doubt that I want you?"

How could he see her doubt? Did it show in her face?

Instead of coming to her, though, he stepped over and sat in the large  chair next to the fireplace. In doing so he allowed his robe to fall  open. His body lay open to her perusal.

His manhood lay against his thigh, unassuming, yet still intriguing her.

"Take off your clothes, Harriet. I want you to watch me, to see what you do to me."

She bit down on her lip and shook her head.

"Sweet Harriet, let me see your beautiful body."

Tears pricked at her eyes, so she slammed them shut. She didn't want to,  but as her husband he had the right to her body. He'd touched her  everywhere the night before, he could surely feel her flaws; showing him  would be no different. Her hands shook as she untied the small ribbon  that held her dressing gown together. The filmy material fell to the  floor, leaving her in nothing but the gossamer shift.

"Open your eyes, love. Watch my body and see what you do to me, what you are already doing to me."

She opened her eyes and settled them on him. His legs stretched out in  front of him. His broad shoulders and perfectly sculpted torso made her  hands itch to touch him.

"Take off the gown," he said. His voice edged with an almost painful quality.

She did as he asked and, though she wanted to douse the lights and hide  beneath the covers, she stood boldly in front of him. Desire darkened  his eyes to a cold metallic gray, and the weight of his erection jutted  out in front of him. His hand wrapped around his length.         

     



 

"This is what you do to me. Do you understand that?"

Her body reacted instantly, her nipples pebbled, lust pooled between her  thighs. Her exhale was louder than she intended. She bit down on her  lip.

"You're so beautiful. Come here, wife." He held his hand out to her, and  she allowed him to pull her forward. He settled her onto his lap,  straddling his powerful thighs. His hard length pressed against her  aching sex, and she bucked against him. "I've never wanted a woman the  way I want you. I've no sooner come inside you than I crave the feel of  you all over again. It is as if you alone hold the key to my pleasure."