Heather Graham (16 page)

“Then you’ll be a very wealthy widow.”

“Or perhaps you will kill him. And then the king will be forced to hang you, or perhaps, due to your position, he’ll manage to get your head mercifully lopped off by a good axman!”

“Either way, you’ll be a very wealthy widow.”

“But you’re still in love with Anne!” she said in dismay.

Women! They were incomprehensible creatures, and none more so than this freethinking little colonial!

He rose and walked over to the fire, gripping the mantel. His shoulders tightened and strained. He watched the rippling flames, then leaned against the marble.

From the moment he had first seen Anne with her pale and ethereal nobility, he had assumed he would marry her. Now this little piece of baggage—albeit exquisite baggage—was his wife. Maybe she hadn’t been part of the game played against him.

And maybe she had.

It didn’t matter.

“I will be damned,” he declared, starting off with his voice low and somewhat controlled, “if I am going to be locked into this travesty of a contract and not bed the woman forced on me as a wife!” He roared out the last, control forgotten, pushing away from the fireplace, and spinning on Rose.

She was sitting up, tense and wired like a horse about to bolt.

He swore savagely again, letting his long coat fall from his shoulders to the floor, then striding for the bed, wrenching his shirt over his head as he did so.

He had never imagined his wedding night would be like this. Even when Charles had
asked
him to marry Rose. He hadn’t actually planned very far ahead, but he’d never thought he’d have to force the woman who had become his wife into bed!

He should have been gentle with her, tender.

But it was already too late. She watched him coming, then leapt up on the opposite side of the bed. “If you force this issue, I swear, I shall see that you pay for it!” she cried to him. And so regally! Really, she should have been born a duchess. She could sound incredibly superior when she chose. That grated, made him forget his best intentions.

“I’ve already paid, milady. And I’ll have the merchandise now, thank you!” he retorted. “You are, after all, a merchant’s daughter, are you not!”

She gasped, going pale. He was sorry for his words, but they were spoken.

“Rot in hell!” she returned furiously, then spun and ran.

Where the hell did she think she was going? It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to get there.

There was no contest. He was in a rare mood indeed and came after her with a startling speed, lifting her up with a forceful sweep, casting her down quickly and impatiently. She panted, rising halfway as he methodically pulled off his boots and trousers, then walked toward her with absolute purpose. Her eyes met his, fell down the length of his body, then rose again. Her cheeks colored to a soft crimson. She would have bolted again, he knew, if the block of his body had not prevented her from doing so. He heard the grating of her teeth as he crawled atop her again, straddling her hips. She rose against him, a gemstone glitter in her eyes, just a hint of tears. Her hands flew against his naked chest with a wild fury. “DeForte—” she began, but he had no tolerance for this new protest.

He caught both her wrists, pressing her back against the bed. “Lady, lie still!” he commanded her, his tone low but brooking no opposition.

She swallowed hard, her eyes locked with his. She fell against the sheets, still staring at him. He released her wrists, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her lips. Slowly, evocatively. His kiss trailed from her lips to her cheekbone, to her earlobe. To a pulse that beat at her throat.

A little strangling sound escaped her. She pressed her hands against his naked chest again.

“No,” he said quietly, firmly, catching them, pressing them back.

Her eyes met his; she delicately licked her slightly swollen lips. She shivered, and her lashes fell over her eyes.

“Just what do you remember?” he asked her softly then. Her eyes flew open, meeting his. “What do you remember of the night? Treachery, ah, yes, but magic, too. The sweetest magic.”

“Magic!” she whispered with a strangled sound. “Perhaps for you—”

“Umm, and for you, my love.”

“You flatter yourself!”

“Do I?”

“It was wretched!”

“I’ll not hurt you again,” he said very softly. And in that particular moment, he did not think that she could have been guilty of anything. Her eyes upon his were huge, liquid. Color flooded over her cheeks again. She had not expected him to remember that there had been moments of intense pain for her.

Maybe she hadn’t wanted him to remember.

Her lashes closed again. His fingers fell upon the strings to the bodice of her elegant gown, pulling upon them. She reached for his hands, clutching them in her own. Their eyes met again. His remained steadfast. “You’ll not leave me tonight,” he warned her gently.

“Perhaps you’ll leave me?” she inquired hopefully.

He shook his head, fighting the smile that tugged at his lips. Her hands remained upon his fingers but with little force. He loosed her bodice until it fell free, but found himself then hindered by the linen and bone structure beneath it.

“Women wear far too many clothes!” he muttered.

“Perhaps you’ll find the effort too much—”

“No,” he countered, “I will persevere against the inconvenience.” He tugged upon another silken tie. He didn’t realize quite how fiercely he had done so until she swore out at him in a sudden outcry of fury, flipped over by his force. But the offending garment at least came free in his hands.

But Rose Woodbine also slipped free from him, trying to leap from the bed but tripping upon a pile of her own petticoats. She pitched over upon the floor, and he rolled swiftly from the one side of the bed to the other, looking down at her. She lay there stunned, staring up at the ceiling, panting for breath. Then she noticed his eyes on hers and she gave a little cry, trying to struggle to her feet. She was caught in her own clothing.

Pierce smiled, calmly rising, watching her frustrated struggle as he walked the few steps to her and reached down for her. She still tried to wriggle out of his way, but he caught her hands, drawing her upward.

And she was naked. His heart slammed, his breath seemed to cease. He had not realized until that moment just how exquisite she was. Flawless from head to toe, her flesh was ivory silk, her breasts were full and beautifully formed. She was slim and sensually curved, and all the perfection of her body was enhanced by the wild fall of copper hair that cascaded down her back, framing the pale loveliness of her face.

The pulse at her throat beat furiously. She was still ready to run. If he had released her hands, she would have done so.

“Where would you go that you could run to?” he asked her softly.

She opened her mouth to speak. No answer came.

“There is nowhere for you to go,” he said.

And indeed, there was nowhere.

He released her wrists, sweeping her up into his arms. Her heart seemed to thunder and her breasts rose and fell swiftly. Her fingers fell upon his chest, and their light touch seemed to set all the fires of hell free within him. “I will be tender,” he promised her in a hoarse whisper, “but I will be with you.”

He laid her back upon the bed. Her eyes closed. He touched his lips to her throat, his hand cupping and cradling her breast as he did so. He ran his palm over the nipple, then caught it with his mouth, his tongue rubbing erotically over the peak. She shifted against it, another soft sound escaping her.

He slipped his hand low against the length of her body and began a slow movement upward along her leg, kissing her lips, her throat, her earlobes, all the while. She had ceased to fight. She didn’t respond, but she didn’t fight …

And the fascination within him burgeoned and grew. He brought his lips to her breast once again. Slid his tongue around and over it, savoring the way the dark peak hardened to his touch, the weight of her in his hand. He lay down beside her, drawing her to him, stroking her again and again, his fingers running down the length of her spine, cupping her buttocks, rising over her hips, stroking upward on her legs again. He stroked and brushed her belly, her upper thighs, her belly again, creating an evocative circle, then gently brushed the downy fiery red triangle at the center of the circle, his touch light, then more and more intimate, his palm moving while his fingers discovered the crevice and gained entry. Fire seemed to shoot into his own system as he caressed her there, finding a slick liquid warmth, the response she tried so very hard to deny.

He found her lips while he continued to touch her. They parted to his. Her eyes opened as he lifted his mouth from hers. She shook her head, and tried to twist against him, gainsaying his hand. He smiled, thrusting her thigh back, wedging his leg between hers.

“Uh-unh! Lie still!” he insisted again.

A shaking sigh escaped her. He leaned over, his tongue drawing wet lines against her belly. He met her eyes, then sent his own sweeping down the length of her. She was perfection, her flesh beautifully damp and glistening golden in the firelight.

He met her gaze again. Her breath came swiftly from slightly parted lips. She tried to form words again, shaking her head. “No!” was the best she could manage.

“Lie still, my love!”

He just touched her lips with his own. Then the valley between her breasts. Her navel. Then he lowered himself against her. He touched her intimately with just the very tip of his tongue. Very wet. Very hot. She surged up against him.

“Lie still!” he repeated softly, and then he smiled, for he realized that she could not do so anymore. He buried himself against her. Felt her rise and twist and cry out. His hands braced against her hips. He felt the wild wave of her trembling. He covered her with the length of his body, riding high above her for one long moment, then sliding with a massive shudder into the seductive sheath of her sex. She seemed to wrap around him exquisitely, willing, tight. He shuddered again and again with the little spasms of pleasure that seized him just to feel the enveloping warmth.

Then the desire leashed within him seemed to explode. He caught hold of her, and began to move. Her eyes flew open. Glazed, they met his. She wet her lips, then tried to look quickly to the side. She was exquisitely beautiful with her emerald eyes and wild fiery hair a tangled mass beneath and about them. He wouldn’t let her twist away. He curled his fingers into hers, seized upon her lips, and continued to move against her and within her. He kissed her, rose, kissed her breasts again. She gasped, arching against him, her fingers stretched and taut beneath his. The sound of her voice, the movement beneath him, all enhanced the soaring thrust of his desire. He gritted his teeth and cast back his head, willing himself to slow down until he had taken her with him.

Her fingers curled hard into his, she inhaled, the slick length of her body going taut against his. Warmth, like a molten nectar, seemed to surround him, then send him hurtling toward a climax. It was ecstasy. It burst from him and swept into her. Again, again. Shudders swept him. He thrust deeply and hard, once, again, and again. Small after-tremors seized him. He held himself against her until they had shook their fill through him, and then he fell to her side, amazed at the force of the pleasure that had swept him. The wonder stayed with him as the seconds ticked by.

Perhaps not so for his bride. She drew her legs up, turning away from him in a little ball. Frowning, he raised himself upon an elbow, trying to watch her. “I know I didn’t hurt you!” he said irritably.

She shook her head in silence.

“Then what in God’s name is the matter with you?” he demanded.

“Life!” she snapped back.

Smiling, bemused by the tenderness he felt toward her now, he rolled her back to meet his gaze. There was just the faintest glistening of tears in her eyes now. He stroked his finger down her cheek. “Life! Indeed, ’tis brutal, is it not?” he inquired softly.

She clenched her teeth tightly, meeting his gaze, her eyes searching his. She swallowed hard, then said primly, “I believe I’ve served as your wife. Could you possibly release me now? Perhaps you’d even be so kind as to allow me to have my own set of rooms? I believe that’s a customary thing among the nobility who reside within the framework of their arranged marriages.”

Puzzled, he watched her. He knew that she had reached at least one climax that night, and that she was certainly discovering the extent of her own sexuality. Then he thought that she hated him all the more fiercely because he could make her enjoy their physical relationship—instead of just nobly enduring it.

“You’re not going anywhere tonight,” he told her. Stretching out on his pillow, he swept his arms around her, pulling her against him. The length of her body fit to his, her back against his chest, derrière to his hips, his chin just above her head, the tangle of her hair teasing his nose. She stiffened, her fingers falling against his hand where it lay casually over her abdomen. They curled tightly for one minute, then she realized that he wasn’t going to let her go.

“Does this mean that I may have my own rooms?” she inquired.

“Be nice to me. Humor me. Make me happy. I may give you all sorts of things,” he told her.

“Be nice to you! You wanted a mistress, not an unwilling bride! But then, you had a mistress—” she began, then broke off in dismay, feeling the tension that riddled his body. She spoke quickly again. “If you would really be decent enough to do anything for me—”

She could still feel the terrible constriction in him as he interrupted curtly, “Give you your own room?”

She moistened her lips, glad she wasn’t seeing his eyes. “No. Find out what happened to Mary Kate for me.”

“Will that put an end to things?” he queried.

“Can it?” she whispered.

She tried to move away from him. Furious, he caught her wrist and dragged her back. “Damn you, lie still!” he thundered.

She tossed back her hair, trying to use her free hand to pull the bedcovers about her. “What, my lady?” he demanded through clenched teeth. “You think that there is something that I still haven’t seen of you?”