A Compromised Lady (37 page)

Richard slid the ring onto her finger and held it there as he spoke the final vow. ‘With this ring, I thee wed, with my body, I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods, I thee endow…’

The wedding breakfast was over, the farewells said. David had put the new Mrs Richard Blakehurst into her husband’s carriage with a hug and a kiss. Together with Sophie they had come to Tarring House for their wedding night. Verity had offered to keep Sophie for the night, but Richard and Thea had both thought the child better with them. It was all so new to her and confusing, that she clung to Thea as if afraid that her new life would vanish if she let go.

Their wedding night…Richard stood at the window of their bedchamber, waiting. Thea had gone to settle Sophie for the night and tell her a story. When she came back…His body tightened. He wanted her. Wanted her until it was a fire in his blood.

He had wanted women before. But not like this. Love changed everything. And beyond that was the knowledge of how deeply she loved him, how deeply she trusted him to give herself. He stared out at the darkening sky, at the stars leaping to life one by one.

There had been so little chance to speak to her in these days before their wedding. She had remained at Blakeney, of course, and he had been here. Was she afraid of what was to come?

The door opened and he swung around. Thea stood there in the doorway, plainly hesitant. His heart contracted. Shyness? Or fear? She had been a long time with Sophie…

She came further into the room, which was lit only by the flickering dance of the fire and a branch of candles on the chimneypiece. Warm, laced with intimate shadows.

‘I…I am sorry to be so long. She wanted me to stay for a little. It was all so strange for her. I waited until she slept.’

His own fears, for they had been fears, vanished. He held out his hand and she came to him at once.

He drew her into his arms. ‘Our wedding night,’ he said softly, one hand teasing the hollow of her spine as the other removed hairpins, freeing the silken curls to tangle around his fingers.

‘Yes.’

‘You are sure then? You do not wish to wait?’

‘Quite sure,’ she whispered. ‘What would I wait for? To love you more? To…to want you more?’

His breath caught. ‘You want me?’

Her smile tore at his heart. ‘Richard—that night when we were here and you nearly seduced me in the parlour, you knew then that I wanted you. Nothing has changed. I still want you.’

His heart nearly shattered with love. For a moment it was all he could do to breathe, then she whispered, ‘Richard—if you do not want this…’

There was only one answer.

He took her hand very gently and raised it to his lips, tenderly brushing kisses over her suddenly trembling fingers. Then slowly, his touch light, he guided her hand down his hard, aching body.

Even through the heavy silk of his dressing gown the touch of her hand set fires under his skin.

Finally her hand rested on his thigh, inches from the taut flesh that screamed his need.

The next move must be wholly hers.

His voice harsh with restraint, he said, ‘Men can lie about nearly everything, Thea. But not this.

Touch me. See, feel, how much I want you.’

An instant’s hesitation. He felt the flaring shock in the sudden tension in her body and prepared to draw back. Then a gossamer touch through the silk. A single, curious finger trailed over the aching length of his need. He shuddered at the fierce leap of desire, trying desperately to curb the response of his flesh under that delicate touch.

He didn’t succeed and heard a soft gasp from Thea.

Fighting the urge to tip her face up to his and kiss her senseless, he reached for her hand, covering it, drawing it away. ‘It’s all right, sweetheart,’ he managed. ‘You don’t have to—’

The touch of her lips silenced him, trailing along his jaw until he turned his head and captured them. She gave her lips willingly, sweetly and took his in return. He opened his mouth, tracing her lips with his tongue, licking delicately until they parted on a sigh. With a shuddering groan he deepened the kiss, sinking into the heat and taste of her.

She pulled her hand from his and touched him again, still lightly, still hesitant. Pleasure that was nearly pain sang through him, beating in his blood to an ancient rhythm. He had to touch her.

His fingers shaking, he tugged at the ribbon holding the bodice of her nightgown together. It gave, exposing the soft, creamy breasts.

Thea barely noticed, so entranced was she by the feel of him. Through the silk, the hot surge of flesh and blood under her exploring fingers held her enthralled. His mouth, possessing hers so deeply, told her of the other way he needed to possess her and heat swirled through her own body in response.

Gentle fingers on her breasts, tantalising, caressing, releasing fire that spread from his touch.

More. She wanted more—a firmer touch—and instinctively arched her back, pushing her breast more fully into his hand. She felt his smile through their kiss as he cupped the tender offering and rubbed his thumb over the aching crest. Delight pierced her and she cried out, the sound captured by their kiss. He released her mouth and murmured, ‘You like that?’

‘Yes, oh, yes,’ she whispered, scarcely able to speak for the hot pleasure flooding her. And not just her breasts, but aching and pooling lower, in her belly, between her thighs. She arched again, pleading for more.

He feathered kisses over her face, her jaw, tracing the curves of her ear, breathing gently so that she melted, her knees shaking until she would have fallen if not for the steely arms cradling her.

She clung to him, all her fears gone, her world remade in the joy of their embrace.

‘One more promise, Thea,’ he whispered, drawing back a little.

‘I promise,’ she gasped, not wishing him to stop, not caring what promise he wanted.

‘Look at me,’ he insisted.

Somehow she opened her eyes to meet his gaze.

He stepped back, holding her at arm’s length and said, very softly, ‘There is never a moment, Thea, when you cannot ask me to stop. I will have your promise that if I do something, anything at all, to frighten you, anything you do not wish, you will stop me.’

She stared, dazed. She could feel his need, the urgency of his desire. And she could see something else too. In his eyes. Love, tenderness, all that. And with it, fear. The fear that in possessing her, he might lose her. If she had needed any further proof that he loved her, this was it.

‘Only if I have the reciprocal promise,’ she whispered, smiling up at him as she reached for the sash of his dressing gown.

He caught her hand. ‘And that would be?’

She tugged at one end of the sash. ‘That you don’t stop again otherwise.’

His dressing gown fell open and she gazed speechless at the lean, hard strength of him, etched in shadow and firelight.

His heart hammering, heat pounding in every vein, he said, ‘I think I can safely make that promise.’ And led her to the bed.

She had not known that it could be like this. Sweet and wild, his strength and weight exciting. She had not known all the hot textures and tastes of a man. Never imagined that desire could sing, a deep, aching beat in her body. Fierce, open-mouthed kisses blazing over her throat and lower, until with lips and tongue he circled her nipple, teasing and biting gently. Her body melted and she sobbed, writhing against him, her fingers sliding through the dark locks, pressing him closer, wanting more and not knowing what more might be, until with a groan of pleasure he drew her nipple deep into his mouth and suckled.

A cry of shocked pleasure burst from her and her fingers clutched at his head, holding him to her.

His hand slid lower, over her belly, the long fingers caressing and exploring, telling her with each touch how lovely she was. Further, until he reached the soft curls nestled in the apex of her thighs.

He took her mouth again and she opened for him as he deepened the kiss, his tongue moving slowly, rhythmically…his hand on her thigh stroking to the same rhythm. The same rhythm as the throbbing emptiness within her. So that it seemed the most natural thing in the world to open her thighs to his tender urging.

His fingers shifted, seeking the aching heat and emptiness, teasing, parting soft folds. Liquid pleasure welled up and she cried out in shock as it spilt over, his fingers now sliding easily…

‘Richard?’

‘Beautiful,’ he whispered hoarsely. And his touch told her again. Endlessly seeking and loving. Her body was no longer hers to control. It had melted, softening into delight as he discovered a place where every nerve in her body seemed centred, ready to explode in fire and light. A choked cry escaped her as he pressed lightly and stars shattered about her.

‘More?’ His voice was a husky breath against her lips. She couldn’t speak, only lift against him in frantic entreaty as he teased, circling her softness. Then…a gentle pressure and one long finger slid within, a tender invasion of her body’s secrets. Slowly, so slowly he stroked as thought fled, leaving only sensation and shattering emotion as the heat of desire and need swept her body.

Shuddering need raked its claws through Richard as he felt her surrender. Felt it in the molten liquid welcome of her body, sensed it in the utter trust of her surrender, knew it in the delight of her giving.

He could take her now. She was ready. Soft, wet, her body trembling on the point of release. And his body was screaming for it, aching to be sheathed in her clinging heat and feel her shatter around him. Shaking with need, he withdrew from her sweetness and nudged her thighs further apart.

Desire hammered in his blood with every heartbeat, redoubling at every breath. But—a queer realisation came to him—this was, in some strange way, her first time. Lallerton had taken her by force, stripping her of her virginity. She had never had a lover. Only violence and betrayal.

And she lay now in his arms willingly, giving herself without reservation, trusting him utterly—her lover. Her only lover. Her husband.

Pushing himself up on one elbow, he looked down at her, continuing to stroke gently. At her body, flushed and ready for his possession, lifting to his touch. At her face, eyes closed, her trembling mouth, swollen with his kisses. As he watched, her eyes fluttered open.

‘Now?’ she whispered, and he felt it, the slightest tension in her body.

‘So impatient?’ he murmured, bending to kiss her breasts again, trailing lower over the damp heated skin of her belly, nuzzling into the soft curls. He slid between her thighs, holding them apart with his shoulders.

Shock held her speechless as she felt the hot caress of his breath and realised what he intended.

No. She had to be wrong. He couldn’t…

He did; and she nearly died at the fiery delight that speared her, the intimacy of his mouth and tongue. Tender, teasing and demanding. A fierce giving and a wild taking she could never have imagined. Gentle hands holding her in a tender vice for his loving. His worship. And she burned, helplessly, in wanton abandon, pleasure and need pulsing through her.

She was frantic, her body afire before he surged over her and she felt the hot seeking of his body, pushing into her hungry flesh. Not enough. Not nearly enough. She needed to feel him within, deep inside where she ached to hold him.

‘Thea?’

‘Yes. Please. Now.’

The naked plea nearly broke what was left of Richard’s control. He hung on, his jaw cracking with strain as he fought the urge to ravish her, to sink deep.

He came a little further, stretching her, giving himself with a slow penetration. She gasped, lifting against him in a silken surge, taking more of him. He groaned. She was so tight that he feared hurting her. He withdrew a little and she cried out, wrapping her legs around his hips.

His control snapped and his loins surged, sheathing himself to the hilt in her soft depths.

Deep. He was so deep. Her softness shivered around him in the sweetest caress, yet she lay so still, her eyes closed.

‘Are you all right?’ His voice was harsh, shaking. He pushed a lock of hair from her eyes with trembling fingers, spreading it out on the pillow, framing her face with his hands. If he had hurt her…He ignored the hammering of his blood, the pounding urge to have her utterly, and held still.

Her eyes opened slowly and her fingers slid into his hair.

‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘You promised not to stop.’

Her hips shifted against him, seeking, pleading.

‘I love you,’ he whispered, brushing his mouth over hers.

He moved then, deep within her, taking her mouth as he took her body, gently, completely. Soft moans punctuated each stroke, mingling with his own huskier voice. Loving her with every fibre of his being until her breath fractured into desperate need and her body tightened around him in urgency. Loving her slowly, thoroughly, holding deep and still as her release shattered around him and his own consummation welled up in an explosion of love and joy.

Thea awakened in the dawn. Pale streamers of light gilded the room and the bed where she lay entangled with her husband. She was cradled in his arms, her cheek pillowed against him, one thigh nestled between his. Contentment held her. Every fibre hummed with relaxed pleasure. She snuggled closer, pressing a kiss on his shoulder, and felt his arms tighten.

‘Awake?’

It was a soft murmur. Not enough to disturb her if she had been asleep.

‘And if I’m not?’

He chuckled. ‘I’ll have to wait a little longer.’ A brief pause. ‘Or wake you up.’

He’d awakened her in the night, invading her dreams with tender passion…She smiled against his chest. ‘I’m asleep then.’

She felt the laughter deep inside him as he eased himself around and began to wake her. To life, to joy and to the bright world that lay before them.

T he clatter of hooves on the carriage drive roused Thea from her doze in the shade of the oak tree. Blinking sleepily she looked up and saw Sophie trotting towards her, Richard a length or so behind.

‘Mama! Papa taught me how to jump a log! And Uncle Max said it was an excellent jump.’