Andrea Kane (13 page)

He continued the sensuous circling of the cloth. “To the contrary, my breathtaking bride, at this moment I am singularly driven in my intent.”

“I’m not sure I understand your intent,” she whispered, hot pleasure radiating out from his caressing hand.

He stared down at her, his eyes hooded, dark with reawakened passion. Slowly, he tossed the cloth aside, replacing it with his fingers.

Ariana shivered. “Trenton …” The rekindled sensations escalated rapidly inside her, obliterating whatever inhibitions she might have had. Urgently, she reached for her husband, needing to share the exhilaration.

Trenton’s gaze followed the path of her slender fingers as they feathered across his shoulders, the muscles of his arms. His features tightened, and a hard tremor shook his body.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, catching her hand and guiding it to his chest. Slowly, he drew her palm down his torso, gliding her fingers through the pelt of dark hair, along his rib cage, rubbing her palm over his nipples, groaning as they tightened instantly at her touch. “Feel my heartbeat,” he rasped, placing her hand flat over the drumming in his chest. “Feel what you do to me.”

Ariana was lost in the wonder of his body. The rough textures, the powerful muscles … so this was what made a man different from a woman. Not so different, she amended, feeling his nipples stiffen against her hand.

Warming to her sensual explorations, Ariana squirmed free and came to her knees, her other hand joining its mate. She felt the thundering of Trenton’s heart, heard his breath expel in a hiss, just before he seized her hand again and dragged it down to his painfully rigid erection.

“Touch me,” he commanded. His grip tightened at her hesitation. “Ariana … I need to feel your hands on me.”

Ariana did as he asked, gliding her fingers over his smooth, throbbing shaft, learning his size, his incredible heat. His chest heaved with the exertion of restraint, his eyes burned cobalt blue. But he made no attempt to move, submitting totally to her innocent exploration.

Ariana stroked her fingers lightly along his length, gliding up to the satin tip. She looked down in stunned wonder when her fingers grew damp, repeating the caress as if to verify his reaction.

“I … can’t… hold … back …” he got out through clenched teeth. “Your hands …” He shook his head in disbelief.

“I don’t want you to hold back,” she answered, transfixed by the miracle of life he contained.
“I
didn’t.”

That did it.

With a growl of severed control, Trenton caught her in his arms and toppled them both to the bed, pressing her thighs apart even as he shook his head in denial. “It’s … too … soon. Your body …”

“Wants yours,” she confessed breathlessly.

“You’re sore …” He crowded slowly into her, dragging air into his lungs with great, shaky gulps.

“Yes,” she agreed, wincing a bit, yet opening herself fully, eagerly, for his possession. “But I don’t care.”

“God …” he choked out, burying himself inside her hot, tight wetness.

Ariana wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting her legs to hug his flanks as he had taught her. There was some pain, yes, but it was eclipsed by an almost unbearable surge of passion that seized her, obliterated all else from her mind.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” Trenton grated, easing himself from her velvet heat, only to push deeper, farther inside her. Part apology, part command, his words swirled through her mind, impalpably lulling as a soft summer breeze. Entrenched in sensation, Ariana barely managed to nod, silently giving Trenton his answer.

This time was stunningly brief, unchecked and unimaginable. Trenton waited only until he felt his wife dissolve around him in rhythmic spasms of completion, her cries echoing inside his head, before he lunged forward, pouring himself into her in a great pulsing release.

Still trembling with reaction, Ariana knew the moment Trenton’s anger returned, a viable entity that crept between their tightly joined bodies. His hands balled into fists, digging into the damp sheets, and he swallowed audibly, fighting some inner demon, struggling to bring himself under control. In one taut, fluid motion, he rolled away from her, lying rigidly on the far side of the bed.

The narrow space dividing their bodies was as vast as an unbridgeable chasm. Ariana closed her eyes, tears burning behind them. This was not what she’d visualized for the aftermath of their passion. This was … beyond bearing.

She turned onto her side, her back to her husband, seized by a bleakness that was worse than any she’d endured in the past. Until today she’d been a child: alone, perhaps, and insignificant. But tonight she’d shared herself wholly with this stormy, enigmatic man who was now her husband, taken him into her bed and her body.

And, in the process, into her heart.

Had it meant nothing to him? Could he so easily relinquish that miraculous sense of completion, replace it with the frigid distance that now loomed between them?

Ariana felt the bed give as Trenton swung his legs to the floor, preparing to arise.

“Trenton?” Her voice was tentative, her eyes filled with bewildered questions.

Trenton paused, his breathing uneven, his hair and forehead slick with perspiration. He stared down at her, his mouth set in grim lines. “What?”

“You’re angry. Why?”

His expression softened at the uncluttered candor of the question, the baffled distress it contained. “I’m not angry, misty angel. At least not at you. Perhaps at myself.” Almost against his will, his self-deprecating gaze swept her fragile nakedness. “I should never have allowed this to happen. I lost control.”

Ariana knew he referred to far more than their physical union. For some reason, he was angry at himself for the intensity of his own response. And she suspected that his reason involved Vanessa.

An icy chill blanketed her heart. “You have no reason to be angry at yourself,” she countered, her tone wooden. Slowly, she raised up on one elbow. “You didn’t hurt me. … Nor did you force me.”

Trenton made a move toward her, then rapidly checked himself. Rigidly, he turned away and reached for his robe.

“Don’t.” The word was out before Ariana could call it back.

His head jerked around. “Pardon me?”

The flush on Ariana’s cheeks deepened, but she took the plunge nonetheless. “Please don’t leave.”

“It’s late, Ariana. I’m going to my room so you can sleep.”

“I know where you’re going.” She fought the urge to retreat. With forced bravado, she raised her chin a notch. “And I’m asking you to stay.”

“Stay.” He repeated the word slowly, as if it were foreign to him.

“Yes, stay.” She drew a sharp breath. “With me.”

Trenton’s jaw clenched, and for a moment she thought he meant to relent. He seemed to battle some fierce inner conflict, one that had no answer.

For a long while he said nothing, only stared at her, taking in her innocent sensuality and honest allure. Suddenly he came to his feet. “No.” He shook his head emphatically, refusing not only Ariana’s request, but all that went with it. Snatching up his robe, he shrugged into it, keeping his gaze averted. “Good night, Ariana.”

The door closed behind him.

Ariana stared into the darkness, aching as much for Trenton’s sake as she did for her own. Filled with unanswered questions and unexpected emotion, and too drained to cope with either, Ariana wrapped herself in the blankets and, with a weary sigh, surrendered to the relentless pull of slumber.

“Are you awake, my lady?”

Theresa’s voice, followed by the sound of running water, coaxed Ariana out of a fitful doze. Blinking, she sat up, momentarily disoriented. One glance at the tangled sheets was enough to remind her where she was.

Nearly bolting from the bed, she collided with Theresa in the center of the room.

“Good, you’re awake,” Theresa said brightly, adjusting her wilting bun and looking not the least bit ruffled over her mistress’s stark, disheveled nudity. She gestured toward a small door. “I’ve run your bath.”

Ariana blushed, glancing discreetly about, wondering where, amid the heap of bedcovers, her nightgown was buried.

“Your gown was soiled. I’ve taken it to be laundered.” On the heels of answering Ariana’s unspoken question, Theresa paused. “Are you in discomfort, my lady?”

Ariana averted her eyes. “A bit.” She dragged her gaze back to Theresa’s. “That
is
normal, isn’t it?” she asked anxiously.

“Normal and unavoidable. Hence the bath I’ve run.” She took Ariana’s hand. “Come. You’ll feel refreshed and renewed in no time.”

The luxurious bathroom was grander, more elegant, than any Ariana had ever seen, its marble tub polished and gleaming with alabaster hues identical to those lining the room’s exquisitely paneled walls. Sinking gratefully into the scented water, Ariana had to admit that Theresa was right: The bath did indeed feel glorious. She closed her eyes and let the hot water work its magic, seeping into her throbbing muscles and soothing her in places that had never before ached.

Her mind drifted to last night … and the cause of her discomfort.

Trenton.

Just thinking about him made her body quicken and her heart skip a beat. Her wedding night had been a turning point in her life, an introduction to physical pleasure and an awakening to her own dormant passion. She was still awed by the power of her husband’s lovemaking, the oneness of their union.

And yet, despite the intimacy they’d shared, Ariana was no closer to understanding Trenton than she’d been yesterday … no nearer to discovering the true cause of his anger.

Soaping her hair, she again wondered how she could feel so totally safe with a man who harbored a rage that erupted like lightning, a man with a secret that threatened to destroy all in its path. Recalling Trenton’s tenderness, his anguished expression when he’d breached her maidenhead, his gentle ministrations, his tortured ambivalence when he’d left her bed … recalling all that, Ariana had her answer. She might not understand her husband, but, deep inside her, she knew him. Better, perhaps, than he knew himself.

What she didn’t know was what he wanted of her. Not in bed, but in fact. Why had he married her? What had happened between him and Vanessa all those years ago? Did he hope to assuage the agony of losing Vanessa by wedding her sister?

Filled with questions, Ariana ducked beneath the water, rinsing the soap from her hair, wishing she could just as easily wash the insecurities from her mind.

“Would you like some help, my lady?” Theresa leaned over to wipe Ariana’s eyes with a thick towel.

Ariana smiled at the irony of the question, knowing Theresa too well to assume she’d merely meant help with the bath. “I’m more than a little muddled. Yes, I’d say I need some assistance.”

Theresa perched on the side of the tub. “You’re feeling better, my lady?” She broke off, her eyes twinkling. “Pardon me …
Your Grace,”
she corrected herself. “Now
that
is going to take some getting used to!”

“For both of us,” Ariana agreed quietly.

With a knowing lift of her brows, Theresa continued: “Shall we begin by confronting your questions about last night?”

“You were right,” Ariana blurted out. “He didn’t hurt me.

“I never believed he would. Nor did you.”

Ariana nodded, her gaze fixed on the gentle ripples of the water. “What happened between us … was so wrenching,” she whispered, half to herself.

With gentle understanding, Theresa smoothed a wet strand of hair behind Ariana’s ear. “I would imagine so. Your husband is a very intense man.”

“Intense. Yes. He is that.” Ariana hesitated. “Theresa, do you think he sees Vanessa when he looks at me? Do you think he imagined it was she he was holding last night?”

Theresa stared silently into the soapy tub. “The duke doesn’t want you because of Vanessa, pet,” she said at last. “He wants you in spite of her.”

“What do you mean?” Ariana jumped on the statement at once, sitting bolt upright in the bath. “Why would he want me
in spite
of Vanessa? Is her memory still so very clear and painful? Did he love her so deeply, then? Or is it only the consequences of her death that have haunted him all these years and made him so bitter?” Urgently, she gripped Theresa’s arms. “Please, Theresa. I must know.”

“You’re no longer asking if he killed Vanessa,” Theresa noted.

Ariana conceded that point without hesitation. “I don’t believe he did. Still, Vanessa
is
dead. And Trenton
was
involved with her when she died. The question is, was it love that drove her to kill herself? Or was it fear?”

Theresa’s mouth set in a grim line. “I don’t believe love was ever the issue.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“You recall your sister. How can you
not
be?”

Ariana fell silent, unable to refute Theresa’s candid, dispassionate observation. Yes, she recalled her sister. Vibrantly beautiful, filled with life, captivating and charming. But sensitive, prone to deep and lasting emotion? No. Vanessa had never been that. Still, when she’d met Trenton …

“Even I remember the way Vanessa spoke of Trenton.” Ariana voiced her thoughts aloud. “The things she said …”

“And what did she say?”

Ariana wet her lips, snatches of memories coming to mind. “How handsome he was, how powerful, how intriguing. What a respected family he came from. How different he was from her other suitors …”

“And those revelations led you to believe she was in love with him?” Theresa asked dryly.

“Not love, perhaps,” Ariana conceded, trying to reconcile her childhood memories of Vanessa with an adult realization of what her flamboyant sister had truly been. Suitors had swarmed to Vanessa. …and been treated with careless indifference. All but Trenton. “Whether it was love or fascination, she cared for him,” Ariana concluded.

“At best.”

Something about Theresa’s tone gave her pause. “You think she was toying with him?”

“Oh no. Vanessa took the duke quite seriously.”

“And he?”

“He took her seriously as well.” Theresa caught Ariana’s chin, lifting it in time to see the hurt in her eyes. “That disturbs you.”