The Bride's Secret (20 page)

“It's not dark yet,” she countered, glancing up at the late afternoon skies.

“I have some things I need to discuss with you, Fordyce,” James snapped.

As the two men walked away, Carlotta stooped and with trembling hand, removed a weed.

* * *

When Carlotta saw that her husband would share the dinner table with her, she was pleased. There had been too many nights as of late when he had taken a tray in his library. But her pleasure was short lived. He sulked throughout dinner and barely uttered a word to her.

After dinner he expressed an interest in continuing her chess lessons, which he did—while drinking several glasses of brandy.

Though his skill showed no signs of weakening as the game progressed, his tongue became looser. “Tell me about this man who did not return your affections, Carlotta,” he demanded.

She began to tremble. Had he learned of Gregory? Is that why he was treating her with such thinly cloaked anger? “There's nothing to tell. He chose to marry another. End of story.”

“But
not
I take it, the end of your affections.”

“No, it wasn't. I hurt for a long time afterward.”

He pinned her with a malicious stare. “Even now?”

She looked into his fiery eyes. “Not now. I'm over him.”

“Then what other man is there, Carlotta? Is it Fordyce? For I know the lovely Carlotta must always have a man.”

She whirled at him and spat out her denial. “I have no man.”

He laughed bitterly. “Especially not your husband.”

Her heart drummed. She had known this day would come. After all, James was a man. A man could only go so long without a woman. “Then . . .
that
bothers you?”

He pounded the chess board with his fist. “Damn it all to hell, yes it bothers me! Think you I am not a man?”

Her voice softened. “I could never forget that you're a man, James.”

He stared at her with glassy eyes. “Do you hate all men, or is it just me?”

“I don't hate you.”

“You just hate the thought of me bedding you, Wife.”

“If . . . if you wish for me to be the dutiful wife, I shall be.” She began to tremble and her voice shook when she spoke. “Should you like to come to my bed chamber now?”

Chapter 20

She had known her husband would not turn down her offer. For weeks now she had read the signs. As fine a man as he was, James needed her as a man needs a woman. Since he was not the kind of man who would seek sexual release under the skirts of whores, she knew he had been without a woman for far too long. She knew enough of men to know such abstinence could cause them to be short-tempered, prone to heavy drinking and in physical as well as emotional pain.

For weeks, James had been displaying the signs. She had seen the naked desire in his eyes and had been oddly exhilarated by it.

She had also known he would never beg for her sexual favors. But he wanted them keenly. Even if he did not love her, he needed her. And he had every right under God's and man's law to take his pleasure from her body. She did, after all, owe him so much.

It was time. Time to give herself to the man who had rescued her from bleakness.

As soon as she had offered herself, his bitterness swept away, to be replaced with a seductive smile as he left his seat and moved to her, his smoldering eyes never leaving her.

His arms settled around her as she lifted her face to his for a lingering kiss, her lips parted for the intimacy she was enjoying as much as he. He fell to his knees beside her at the card table, kissing a trail of butterfly kisses down her neck. Her breathing—like his—accelerated as if she had been running. When he lowered the bodice of her gown and enclosed his mouth around her taut nipple, she sucked in her breath, but did not want to do anything which might cause him to stop what he was doing to her. She was senseless with physical pleasure. Through her fogged brain, she was conscious that she was not responding to him as a lady should. She wanted to be more distant, more respectable, but her own need, she realized with shock, was as great as her husband's.

It was as if she could not get enough of him. Her hands hungrily moved over his shoulders, down his arms, under his shirt—then down lower and lower. She cupped her hand over his bulging need and let out a little cry.

“Come, my love,” he whispered throatily, “let us go upstairs.”

Unable to remove her eyes from him, she nodded as if she had been drugged and gave him her hand.

Together, they mounted the stairs, James's arm settled around her. She thought he would leave her at her chamber to prepare for . . . for this delayed wedding night, but he did not. He followed her into her chamber, which was lit by firelight and a single taper beside her bed.

She turned around to face him. “Should you wish for me to dress in a night rail I've saved for this night?”

He shook his head, his eyes hungrily sweeping over her eager body. “What I'd like, Carlotta, is to watch you undress.”

She had never undressed in front of a man before. Not in front of Stephen, whose sexual relations with her had always been conducted in the dark. Not for Gregory, either, who preferred coming to her bed after her clothes had been removed.

Yet the thought of undressing in front of James strangely intoxicated her. Most likely because of her own acute arousal. Then she thought of the bulge she had felt beneath her hand and she became even more excited. More anxious—if possible—to feel her husband inside her.

She seductively moved to him and hooked her arms around his neck. “I shall need your assistance.”

He crushed her to him and savagely kissed her as his hands roamed over her flesh. Then she felt a rush of cold air on her breasts as he lowered the top of her gown. Next, she heard the sound of her gown tearing and watched helplessly as it dropped to the floor.

His eyes swept over the length of her, and his breath became even more ragged as he gathered her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He was too impatient to remove the silken counterpane, but laid her on it. With Carlotta on her back, James hastened to remove his own clothing. Since the candle still burned, she greedily watched as he removed first his shirt, then his shoes and stocking, then his breeches. When they fell to the floor, her breath intook and her eyes feasted on his sinewy body, which looked golden in the flickering candlelight.

His eyes riveted to hers, he mounted the bed and placed one knee between his wife's thighs as his hands reached down to cup her breasts.

She found herself raising her hips in order to feel the brush of him at the juncture of her thighs. With each of her thrusts, James's breath grew more ragged.

Soon he lowered himself into her, and both of them began to cry out with pleasure, more frantically with each maddening thrust.

She would never have believed she could be so hungry for this mating, but it was as if she had been starving, and James was her feast.

When she felt his warm seed within her she shuddered beneath him, each quivering shudder matched by the man who plunged into her until he collapsed over her, groaning with pleasure.

He soon removed his weight from her, turning to face her. She turned to him, her hands gently stroking his body. The body that had given her such mindless pleasure.

His arms encircled her as he planted moist kisses over her eyes, her nose, her lips.

Burying her head into his chest, she sighed contentedly. Then she waited for the sweet words of love she craved to hear.

Finally, he ran a gentle finger along her nose and spoke. “Thank you, dear wife. You've made me the happiest man in the kingdom tonight.” He stopped and tenderly kissed her cheek. “This has been . . . far better than ever I hoped for.”

They weren't words of love, but she would take her consolation in them. At least she had made him happy. Also, she drew a strange satisfaction in knowing how strongly he desired her.

Her husband soon drifted into a sated sleep, his big hands splayed across her hips, their bodies pressed flesh to flesh.

She continued to lie within the circle of his embrace, her own hands softly tracing over his supple muscles. She wanted to be ashamed of her own heated eagerness to take him inside her, but she could not. She had enjoyed it too much. More than that, what had occurred between her husband and her felt so right, so utterly satisfying. It was as if she had been born to give pleasure to this man.

* * *

When she awoke the next morning, James was no longer in her bed. She whispered his name, thinking he might be in the adjoining dressing room, but she heard no answer.

Clutching the sheet around her, she got up and snatched her dress from the floor before she remembered it had been torn from her. Her cheeks hot, she moved to the linen press and removed a virginal sprigged muslin dress and proceeded to dress herself. Once she was dressed, she flung open the door of her dressing room, and moved from it to her husband's adjoining dressing room, hoping to find him, but he was not there.

She opened the door to his bedchamber. He was not there, either. Her glance fell on his bed—on the rumpled covers—and her heart sank. He had come back to his own bed during the night! He had not wanted to spend the night in her arms.

Gravely disappointed, she returned to her bed chamber and collapsed in front of her dressing table. Now that she was truly James's wife, she had wanted to feel as if they were married in every way. She had wanted to wake in the morning with him beside her. She had wanted to cheerfully discuss each other's plans for the day. She would have taken great pleasure in watching him dress.

She had been foolish enough to believe that now that she had shared her bed with him, their old camaraderie would return and he would no longer put such distance between them. His secretary, his steward, the mine captain—even her own son—saw more of her husband than she did. She longed for him to spare time for the woman he had married.

She lifted her bottle of lavender water, fully intending to hurl it into her looking glass as Peggy came striding into the room, a cocky expression on her face. “Don't ye go breaking no more mirrors, my lady.”

Carlotta set the scent down and waited for her maid to dress her hair.

* * *

Nothing in his entire life had ever been as painful as leaving Carlotta's bed at dawn. He had wanted to make love to her again and again. But being besotted did not fit into his plan of winning his wife's love. Already his scheme to earn her affection by his absence must be working. Not only had his beloved Carlotta consented to share her bed with him, she had given herself to him with a hunger as greedy as his own.

As he rode Ebony over the moors, he became aroused at each memory of the magical blending between Carlotta and him the night before. He had wanted her for so long and had imagined how fulfilling making love to her could be, but he had not been prepared for how much more powerful the living, breathing, seductive Carlotta could be than the woman of his dreams.

He had hoped she could tolerate his passion for her. He had not thought her own passion could ever equal his own.

* * *

That night he came to her bed again. They had played just one hand of cribbage. He had been unable to play any more because of his overwhelming lust for her.

He had begun to put up the pins, watching her hungrily as he did so. “Shall we go to bed, my love?” he asked in a throaty voice.

Her long lashes lifted and she nodded seductively.

As they had done the night before, they mounted the stairs, his arm resting possessively at her waist. He followed her to the dimly lit bedchamber, where she turned to face him, her gaze smoldering.

He moved to her and crushed her against him, their lips meeting and melding breathlessly. Her hands stroked his body as eagerly as his stroked hers. He deftly unfastened her dress and brushed it to the carpeted floor. Then he removed her stays and reverently cupped her breast and bent to take it in his mouth as she whimpered. He was soon carried away with her rhythm as she ground into his thigh.

His hand reached down to stroke the pelt between her thighs and she moaned with pleasure as he slipped a finger into her moist crevice. Slowly, she backed into the bed and sat on its edge, her thighs parted to better receive his manipulations. She reached down to remove first one stocking, then the other, never removing her eyes from his as his finger plunged deeper and swifter.

Then she slipped her hand beneath his breeches and began to stroke his engorged shaft until he thought he would go mad. He threw off his pants and lunged for the bed and his precious Carlotta and frantically buried himself within her.

When his release came, he shuddered convulsively over her, and with maddening exultation listened as she whimpered beneath him, each of her shudders perfectly matching his own.

Once his heartbeat returned to normal, he slid off his beloved wife, careful not to disengage himself from her down low. Then he passionately kissed her. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but that was not part of his plan.

He wanted to grow sturdy again within her, but that, too, had no part in his plan. Instead, he stroked her hair away from her moist forehead and held her close until she fell into a deep slumber.

Then he left her and went to his own chambers, feeling totally bereft.

He knew Carlotta did not love him, yet. But she was growing to crave him as he had long craved her. He would have to take consolation in that. That debilitating pleasure.

Chapter 21

Carlotta was leading a small army of footmen bearing baskets when she nearly collided with Fordyce, who was attempting to post a handful of letters.

“I beg your pardon, my lady.” His glance flicked to the baskets. “Is there a function for which I have not been informed?”

Carlotta's eyes danced. “Not even my husband has been informed. I'm going to surprise him at the mines by bringing the colliers a hearty respite.”

“The footmen are assisting you?”

“Only on this end.” She lowered her voice. “His lordship, I am sure, would not wish to flaunt his wealth or servants in front of the colliers.”