His Sinful Secret (14 page)

She
was
asking. She wanted to hear he found the new Marchioness of Longhaven a bore, a disappointment as a lover, an empty-headed doll with little more to recommend her than that glossy hair and pretty face. Antonia took a quick sip from her drink and then said with barely a wobble in her voice, “No. Why should I care?”

“You shouldn’t.” His agreement was soft but firm.

But she did. God help her, she did.

“She is going to fall in love with you.” Antonia found a perverse pleasure in informing of him of that impending pitfall in his life. “And you will hate it, for you dislike anyone forming too strong an attachment. You will
hate
it, but it is going to happen.”

He stood, the missive in his hand, and said with an offhand smile, “Thank you for bringing this communiqué to my attention. I will let you know what I find.”

 

A week had once meant nothing. Seven days, usually passed with mundane activities, but this was different, Julianne thought, sitting at her dressing table, a hairbrush in her lax hand. One week into her marriage and she was acutely aware of the minutes that ticked by during the daylight hours. It was partly an adjustment to living in a new household, and Southbrook House was imposing in many ways. Both the duke and the duchess were warm and welcoming, but Michael didn’t fit into the same category.

She very rarely saw her husband. If she was brutally honest, she might even speculate he avoided her company. Only twice had he been at luncheon. Dinner was a formal affair and there were usually guests of some kind, so it ended up being more polite small talk than anything else. Though several times he’d escorted her to a social function, it was fashionable for husbands and wives to go their separate ways, and he almost immediately excused himself and went into one of the gaming rooms.

When darkness fell, it was a bit different. He took her to bed each night so far without fail, and she
thought
she satisfied him, at least sexually, but for all she knew he was simply being diligent in his duty to beget an heir. It was unfair to not be able to know the difference, but she had no other experience.

Asking him was out of the question. He was
not
a man who invited intimate questions.

Julianne studied her reflection in the mirror. Loose, flowing hair framed her face and tumbled down her back. Her eyes looked large and dark, the candlelight enhancing the effect. The negligee she wore, designed by a French modiste, bared her shoulders and was little more than a shimmer of cloth, and so revealing there was high color in her cheeks despite her resolve to appear composed and sophisticated. The bodice was so low her breasts threatened to spill free, a single wisp of ribbon tied in a small bow holding it together. It was supposed to be the gown she wore on her wedding night, but she’d lacked the confidence to put it on and had instead worn a plain nightdress like her usual sleeping attire.

If it took a provocative gown to make him notice her more than as just an obligation to his title, then she was willing to give it a try.

She was starting to realize a few things even in her ignorance as a new bride. The first was that Michael’s distance was deliberate. Oh, it wasn’t that she expected him to fall at her feet. . . . She really didn’t know what to expect from her marriage, actually, but a concentrated effort to keep her at arm’s length wasn’t it.

Michael Hepburn wanted nothing to do with her other than in the bedroom. So if he did enjoy exercising his conjugal rights, it seemed like the best place to start to see if she could break through his determined indifference.

As much as he would allow.

The extent of his control bothered her. No. It bothered her
immensely
.

There was still nothing she knew about him except the delicacy of his touch and how carefully he bedded her.

A sound in the next room made her go still, hairbrush suspended in hand. His voice, and then the response of his valet, carried through the thick wooden door, though she couldn’t hear what they were saying. She sat there, an unwanted tingle flicking through her body at the thought of what was to come.

When the door clicked open she was still there at her dressing table, her hairbrush now set aside, her hands folded in her lap. In the mirror she watched as he moved up behind her. He wore his black robe loosely tied at his lean waist, and his lashes were lowered just a fraction over those vivid eyes.

“Coming to bed?” He touched her loose hair, just with a brush of his fingers.

“If you wish, my lord,” she responded, wondering how he would react if she refused him. Surprised? Angry? Indifferent? It was so hard to judge just how to get his attention.

“I wish,” he said with a slight smile playing on his lips. He grasped her waist and urged her to stand up. A certain heat flared in his eyes and his gaze dropped to her barely concealed breasts. “What are you wearing?”

In her opinion she wasn’t wearing anything, the filmy material merely an ornament, not a garment. “This was made for our wedding night,” she explained. “I’m afraid I didn’t have the courage.”

“I like it, I admit.” His hands lingered at her waist as he examined her bosom in a leisurely perusal, the clasp light and undemanding. “Any man would.”

It was that sort of comment that made her feel as if he constantly distanced himself. Now it wasn’t just him admiring her body through the barely there lace, but any man. It annoyed her because she didn’t understand him. What she wanted was for them to grow close, not just as lovers, but as two people who shared a life. “It’s for you only,” she said deliberately. “Who cares whether or not any other man would like it?”

Something flickered in those hazel depths, her irritation apparently not unnoticed. “It was a compliment, but perhaps ill phrased. Forgive me. I simply meant it showcases your undeniable beauty.”

That was a little better, but not much. “If I please you, I’m glad. I . . . I wish to.” Hesitantly, because she still was adjusting to the intimacy of physical closeness, she placed her hand on the hard plane of his chest through the opening in his robe. His skin was smooth like warm satin over granite. Under her palm his heart beat in a strong, regular rhythm.

“If you wish to please me, a demonstration is in order.” He lifted her in his arms then and carried her to her bed, which was different, as he usually preferred his room. “It’s closer,” he said in explanation as he laid her down and followed, his body pinning her to the soft coverlet. “And I’m hungry for you.”

He was, if the hard length of his erection between them was any indication. His mouth hovered over hers and then took possession, his tongue slipping past her lips to tangle with hers. Julianne was learning that he seemed to like it when she participated rather than passively accepting his touch, and she kissed him back, clasping his neck, the softness of his hair brushing her fingers. He licked the corners of her lips, skimmed her teeth, and then plunged his tongue deep again and again as his hands slid the whisper of silk and lace from her body. In turn, Julianne boldly worked her hand between them to pull loose the tie on his robe. Her hands explored his bare torso, the muscled strength of him impressive and a little overwhelming. With a small shock she realized the pad of bandages was gone, replaced with only a small strip of cloth.

“You smell like roses.” He whispered the words as he nuzzled her neck.

The warm feeling of his breath and lips was beguiling. She said, “You gave me the perfume, my lord. Remember?”

“Did I?” He paused for just a small moment in his deliberate seduction, and she had at least one answer to a question. Each night since their wedding she had found a small gift, elaborately wrapped, on her bedside table when she went to dress for dinner. A pair of beautiful pearl earrings, a charming miniature on a small gold stand, a lovely Chinese painted fan, silk gloves . . .

This evening it had been perfume in an exquisite, small glass bottle, the fragrance opulent and seductive like a warm summer evening in a garden.

But she’d wondered all along if he had been the one selecting the gifts. The amount of thought that had gone into the selections made her doubt it. Though a card with his signature had been left with each one, there was a generic feel, as if he might have signed seven cards and handed them to his secretary, or maybe his valet, Fitzhugh, who seemed to be the height of efficiency, with a careless request from Michael to pick up something appropriate.

It was disappointing, but she wasn’t precisely surprised.

He moved to stand up and let his robe fall to the floor. “A good choice, apparently. It suits you.”

“Thank you for the thoughtful gesture,” she said, wondering what he was really thinking. Though she was getting used to seeing him nude—and even more difficult, letting him see
her
without a stitch on—she still reacted with unwilling fascination.

His body was sleek, defined, all male, especially that part of him that was rigidly erect against the flat plane of his stomach. Julianne could see the pulse of the veins in his stiff cock, in tune with the beat of his heart, the flared tip beaded with liquid evidence of his desire. The candlelight played across the fine-boned features of his face, shadows hollowed under his cheekbones. It accented the gold glints in his rich brown hair. The combination of potent virility and the air of male power was exhilarating.

Her breasts were taut and a warm flush infused her skin under the scrutiny of his gaze as he examined her naked body, the filmy nightdress discarded at the foot of her bed. Julianne waited, watching from beneath her lashes, her breathing already altered into the faster respiration of arousal.

Was this all she could ever have of him? If so, she meant to embrace every moment.

There were some definite problems arising. Michael hadn’t anticipated one of them, and it was the allure of the entrancing beauty on the bed before him, her indigo eyes dark, those glorious breasts he found himself thinking about at inappropriate times quivering with each lift of her chest.

Her rosy nipples were pointed and erect, the tight buds an indication that she was well on her way to arousal. And he would wager his very considerable fortune that when he touched her between those long, luscious legs he was going to find her wet and ready for him.

The innocent maiden he’d married out of duty and guilt was turning out to be a very passionate woman. Not only did she embrace sexual intercourse with enticing sensuality, but she unsettled him in other ways, too. The way she had looked at him when he mentioned the perfume held a vague hint of reproof, and he had a feeling she knew he wasn’t responsible for the gifts, except for in the abstract sense that he’d paid for them. How extraordinarily discerning for someone so sheltered and young. What else might she guess?

Fitzhugh had done well at picking out items she would enjoy and appreciate, and it was Michael who had blundered with that awkward response to her reminder he’d been the one to give her the perfume. Part of it was the news of Roget’s reappearance; part of it was how distracting his wife was in general.

Just take her as often as you wish
.
She wants it, you want it, and there needs to be a child, or you’ve bound yourself for life for nothing. . . .

He listened to the inner voice with the cynical knowledge that the advice was a bit self-indulgent. It wasn’t for nothing, because it pleased his parents . . . and if he were honest, at the moment it pleased him very much as well.

Michael slid on top of her, kissed her again with ardent urgency, and began a systematic wooing of her responsive body. With lips and tongue he brought her already pointed nipples to full attention, caressing, stroking, his mouth taking deep the straining peaks. Julianne gasped, moved, arched, all the reactions satisfactory in his mind, his needy body having been primed by the sight of her sitting at her dressing table in that sheer gown, obviously designed to bring a man to his knees by someone who knew just what she was doing.

Perhaps I should give the canny seamstress a bonus
, he thought, the depth of his arousal surprising him. He’d gotten hard almost instantly.

At the moment, he was so eager to be inside his wife it consumed his world. Michael ravished her mouth as he slipped his hand between her legs, gratified when she opened them for him without resistance. She was predictably warm, wet, and so tight that when he penetrated her with one finger, the clench of her inner muscles almost made him come then and there, like a randy adolescent.

Michael moved, adjusting himself between her open legs, settling against her and holding her bottom in his hands, lifting her for his entry. His hard shaft probed moist softness and tested the give of her yielding body, and he glided forward into paradise.

“Perfect,” he muttered.

Julianne grasped his upper arms, her nails biting in, her inhale audible. Not until he was fully embedded did she exhale, and it was a long, very feminine sigh.