His Sinful Secret (9 page)

Bed. Yes. Of course, she knew that much. Whatever came next happened in bed.

Breathless, Julianne realized she now fully rested against him and he held her easily in the circle of his arms. She realized something else too. A hard length pressed against her stomach, rigid through the cloth that separated them.

It was alarming . . . but to her surprise she enjoyed the closeness of his lean body, and the kiss had caused an odd spiral of anticipation somewhere deep inside her.

She nodded.

 

Whatever he expected, it wasn’t to become aroused so easily, so completely, by an innocent young woman he’d been forced by familial responsibility to marry.

Maybe it was the softness of her dark brown hair, the color a complement to its fragrance, like sweet honey warmed by the sun. Perhaps it was the feel of her against him, lush womanhood tempered by slender grace, the resilient firmness of her breasts tempting under the virginal white lawn of her night rail. Her eyes too, such a deep, dark indigo, reflected uncertainty, yet there was an acquiescence to his embrace he found unexpectedly moved him.

He wasn’t at all what she deserved. The blood on his hands was because of necessity, but it stained him nonetheless, and in her sheltered world, the things he’d done and seen were incomprehensible. Julianne had no idea. For his bride there was no dark memory of Spain. The struggle had been won, the battles were over, and Bonaparte in his exile. She’d been a child when Michael had left England, and though she no longer was a child in any way, she couldn’t comprehend the bloodshed and horror of war.

He found he liked that. How she was not connected to that part of his life that he couldn’t quite seem to shed.

She was like the sunrise, he decided, tasting the tender hollow beneath her ear. All gold and warmth. All warm, entrancing promise.

He was bleak midnight. Pitch-black. No moon in sight. Dark, secretive, and dangerous.

A part of him was reluctant to touch her, to soil that compelling purity.

But that was not the part of him in charge at the moment.

He desired her. It was a bit of a revelation. Not because she wasn’t beautiful—she was—but because he’d thought himself more removed.

She’d belonged all her life with Harry, who loved her. All Michael could do was offer what was left of himself to give. He was resigned to acknowledging it wasn’t much. The war had taken its toll, but what godforsaken bloodbath didn’t? If he wasn’t hardened, if he wasn’t cold, he would be of no use.

Only he didn’t feel cold at the moment. Though he hadn’t anticipated it, he was on fire for his new wife and it had nothing to do with the burn of his wound.

She’d agreed they should move to the four-poster bed set at a diagonal in the corner of the room. The barest inclination of her head registered and his heated body responded. Maybe he’d been too long without a woman. Maybe her shy enthusiasm to his kiss somehow touched his jaded soul. If he could have swept her up in his arms and taken her there in a grandiose romantic gesture, he would have, but the very last thing he needed was to reopen that damned injury, so instead he caught her hand.

“Come with me.”

The unintentional innuendo almost made him laugh, but he knew she wouldn’t understand so he bit back the urge.

Julianne didn’t resist as he guided her across the room.

The capitulation was a lesson in trust, and he trusted so few people that he marveled at it. She went sweetly and didn’t object even as he bent and lifted her slender body to deposit her on the bed linens, already turned back by the efficient Fitzhugh.

Now, how to explain the swath of bandages across his torso? Obviously her confidence in him was misplaced, since he was prepared to deflect her questions. The sharp twinge in his side as he laid her on the cool sheets was a reminder of his perfidy.

Full breasts lifted quickly under the fine fabric of her gown, and her eyes were dilated. The garment she wore was as demure as the rest of her, a simple nightdress in white that emphasized a fragile air of femininity. Superimposed on the spill of her silken hair, she was, he thought with an ingrained cynicism he couldn’t seem to control, every bit the proverbial virgin sacrifice. He wondered what she was thinking. The loss of her sexual innocence was imminent and entirely due to the implacable insistence of their parents that a mingling of the bloodlines was necessary and desirable, but they weren’t both culpable of being persuaded into this match. He could have refused, but she really didn’t have much choice. Young women were left with little recourse except to submit to their fathers’ wishes.

And that was that. He doubted Julianne ever even thought about refusing to follow the dictates of her family. The indoctrination had begun too young. Harry had been the same way, told at age ten the name of his future bride on the day of her birth, raised to a strict sense of honor and protocol and all the ducal ceremony that came with it.

There had been freedom in being a younger son, but the unexpected death of his brother had shaken Michael’s firm belief that his destiny was the perilous path he’d chosen, however convoluted it had become.

The woman currently in his bed was not something he’d ever envisioned in his future.

“My lord, is something wrong?”

The softly spoken question brought him out of his reverie. Michael essayed what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “No, not precisely. Your comment about fate came back to haunt me for a moment. That’s all.”

A small flicker of alarm went across her face as he settled on the bed next to her and positioned himself on his good side. His dressing gown was open enough she could probably see the bandages now, but her gaze was riveted on his face as he leaned forward to kiss her again.

Beguile her,
his mind whispered.
You’ve used sexual persuasion before to distract attention from questions better left unanswered.

Her soft mouth trembled just a fraction as he took it, rose-petal lips parting this time with less reluctance for the sweep of his tongue. It was leisurely, an exploration, and the heated length of his erection stiffened even more. Michael inhaled her scent as he smoothed a hand over her hip, the enticing curves beneath the cloth utterly female.

Maybe that was the key to how to deal with this. His erotic expertise pitted against her naive inexperience, and she would have no chance. It might not be fair, but then again, life wasn’t fair. Look at what happened to Harry.

Or maybe it was death that wasn’t fair. Michael couldn’t be sure. Death was a lot more familiar.

“Do not worry,” he whispered, his lips still on hers, his hand traveling upward over the dip of her waist. “We will do this together.”

“I believe that is the point, my lord. Can one consummate a marriage alone?”

He couldn’t suppress the small chuckle at the tart reply, even though it was tempered by a slight breathless note to her voice.

“No.” He agreed. “A most valid point. Which I am now about to prove to you.” His fingers found her breast, fondling the nipple in teasing play, caressing the smooth flesh of the underside with gentle strokes.

An inarticulate sigh was the response, but that was a good sign. Sighs would lead to moans, and moans to cries of passion, if everything was done properly. He knew the pattern, and a sigh this early in the game was a promising development, even if it was from an untried, proper miss.

Or was she so proper? He smiled a few moments later as she didn’t object when he pulled free the ribbon on her bodice. Instead she was yielding against him, long lashes pillowed on her smooth cheeks as her breath went in when he parted the confining cloth and exposed one perfect, firm breast. Not large, not small, just exquisite in every way. His mouth trailed along her collarbone, went lower, and traced the subtle rise of mounded flesh as he sought her nipple. His lips closed around the taut peak and his tongue gave a light, playful swirl.

“Oh.”

What a sexually telling single syllable. He suckled her breast with persuasive adhesion, softly and then with more force, and her slim hips shifted in a restless motion. Small hands came up to tentatively rest on his shoulders, the touch light but arousing.

It wasn’t what he’d expected, but he found her state of virtue intriguing. He was used to women who wanted to please and be pleased and knew exactly what to do. Julianne had obviously never even been kissed in an intimate way before. It didn’t surprise him all that much that Harry hadn’t touched her. She’d been barely eighteen when his brother died, and no doubt they were rigorously chaperoned when they saw each other.

At least she wouldn’t be comparing them in the bedroom. In every other facet of life he wasn’t sure how he’d measure up to Harry’s ebullient and easy appeal, not to mention his more simple approach to life. To his older brother, he was certain marriage meant a home, wife, and the subsequent children produced from the match, but for Michael having a family was a more abstract concept. He wasn’t sure how to be a husband and even less so about being a father.

However, a swift pregnancy to satisfy his mother and father’s need for a surrogate for their lost beloved son was probably best, and then exile to the country for Julianne while she was in her confinement.

It was gratifying to know the mission to get her with child would be his undoubted pleasure.

“I’m going to undress you.” He murmured the warning against the valley between her breasts, his hands beginning a leisurely exploration of her body as he eased her nightdress aside inch by delicious inch. “Don’t be alarmed. I just want to look. And taste,” he added.

Her brows drew together.

She had no idea what he meant, he realized with a wicked inner sense of amusement.

The removal of her sleeping gown was a matter of a bit of skin exposed here, an ease of the material downward in small increments there, of mouth and hands in persuasive investigation that brought small inhales and sexy sounds as he began a systematic assault on her senses and nerve endings. He slowly bared tantalizing breasts, a slender rib cage, slim hips, and, of course, the dainty triangle of dark hair between her legs.

Michael finally slipped the garment completely off his bride and tossed it by the side of the bed.

Now to really capture her attention. It was not his plan to shock her with something she might deem unnatural, but he truly wanted her to both enjoy their first intimacy and to be overwhelmed by the experience.

Always keep your opponent off balance
.

Words to live by. While Julianne wasn’t precisely the enemy, she wasn’t going to be an ally either. If all went well, she’d never share the most important part of his life or even know it existed.

His mouth followed the smooth plane of her stomach in lingering perusal. “Uhm.”

She shifted, obviously uncertain as his hands ran down the inside of her pale thighs, the skin like satin under his questing fingertips. At his gentle push she tensed in resistance, but once again that ingrained sense of obedience must have asserted itself, for she finally parted for him.

Since he was no more experienced in wedding nights than she was, this was unique. However, he was in charge, he had a vested interest in her participation and enjoyment, and
distraction
was the word of the day.

Always the master spy,
he thought in mocking self-disapproval as he inhaled the fragrance of the beginning of arousal. Deviousness tended to be easier than a direct approach, or so he’d learned over the past years. If he had to be married—and he was, so there was no debate involved—it might as well be as pleasant as possible for both of them.

A wedding night was an initiation. It made sense to use the most persuasive way he knew to make sure she understood the pleasure possible and looked forward to his bed, because he doubted they would spend much time together otherwise. Keeping a distance between them was important for a myriad of reasons, not the least of which was how he intended to send her away as soon as she conceived.

With that in mind, he gently parted the soft folds of her sex and ignored her sudden squirm of protest and outraged exhale of breath. The small bud hidden in the protective sheath looked pink and perfect and . . . delicious. His reprobate soul must be asserting itself, for he’d never entertained the thought that a virgin might be more delectable due to her untouched state.

Michael leaned forward and pressed his mouth to that most sensitive of all places and was rewarded by a shocked cry. He held her firmly by her hips as she tried to pull away, and after a moment she went very still.

Good, he had her attention.

She tasted sweet and was satin soft under the pressure of his questing lips and tongue. With each lick and nibble she quivered, the reaction becoming more pronounced as he teased and tantalized, doing his best to bring her innocent body to sexual climax. An experienced man, the telltale signs of her growing need did not escape him, and when she spread her legs wider and lifted her hips against his mouth, he experienced an inner flicker of surprise at her swift, uninhibited response. Her fingers slid restlessly through his hair.

“Oh . . .”

It happened faster than he’d expected, the telling cry of her climax ringing through the bedchamber, her slender body shuddering into a tense arch. Michael kept her there for as long as possible, taking in each gasp of pleasure and surprise with satisfaction. When she went limp he lifted his head and smiled at the sight of Julianne’s flushed face, her eyes half closed under the lacy fringe of her lashes, her breasts quivering with each quick breath.

He was hard as hell, his own need a driving force despite the persistent ache in his side. At least now he knew she was as ready as a woman could be for the necessary deflowering, well lubricated from her release. He slid off the bed and discarded his robe with an impatient shrug.