The Earl's Untouched Bride (30 page)

Before he could do more than push himself to his knees, Heloise had flung her arms around his neck.

'Oh, thank heaven you made it safely! I was so afraid you were going to fall,' she said, pulling back just far enough to be able to gaze up into his face. Her eyes were full of concern.

Charles looked down into her tear-streaked face with a sense of wonder. She cared about him. Oh, maybe not as much as he cared for her, but nevertheless...

Taking ruthless advantage of her momentary weakness, he wrapped his arms about her and hugged her to his chest.

'I am fine,' he said, and in fact he could not remember when he had ever felt better. 'But what about you? Are you hurt?'

'Only a graze on my leg where my foot went through the stairs.'

'Let me see.' As he pulled her onto his lap, he suddenly registered that she was wrapped in what looked like a large, dusty sheet.

'What on earth is this?' he asked, pushing a swathe of material away from her leg. He winced as he saw the gash on her shin, and the blood which smeared her skin right down to her toes. Her bare toes.

'It is a curtain. I hope you do not mind, but I was so wet and cold, and I did not know how long it might be until somebody came to rescue me, and then I found the tinder box, and there was already some kindling in the grate, and I am sorry, but I also smashed one of the chairs, but only the littlest one, to get a fire going...'

Looking over her shoulder, he saw various items of feminine attire draped over a semicircle of chairs arranged in front of the fireplace. A muddy gown, a dripping petticoat, torn stockings...

His hand stilled.

'Are you completely naked under that curtain?' he asked throatily.

She nodded, her cheeks flushing. 'That is why I could not have climbed down to you. I was going to explain that if I let go it would just fall away, for I have no pins to secure it, nor a belt...'

She had simply wrapped the curtain round her shoulders like a cloak, and was maintaining her modesty only with the greatest difficulty.

'Your feet are cold,' he said, having forced his hand to explore in a downward direction, when all it wanted to do was slide upwards, underneath the curtain. Her ankles were so slender, he noted, gritting his teeth against the sudden surge of blood to his groin. He could almost encircle them with his fingers.

The rest of her was not cold at all
—
not any longer, she thought. As his hand gently stroked her injured leg, it sent fire coursing through her veins, making her feel as though she was melting from the inside out.

'And I fear I am making you wet again,' he said, suddenly pushing her off his lap.

Guilty heat flooded her face as she wondered how on earth he could know what his touch was doing to her. But when he stood up and stripped off his jacket she realised he had not been saying what she thought he had at all.

For as he draped it over the back of the chair which already held her stockings, he remarked, 'My waistcoat is a little damp, too, but apart from my neckcloth
—
' which he deftly unwound and hung beside her petticoat'
—
my shirt is quite dry.'

Her mouth went dry when he untied the laces and pulled it over his head.

'Here,' he said, holding it out to her. 'Put this on. You will be more comfortable and.. .er... secure than wrapped in that curtain. Which looks none too clean, by the way.'

She got up and moved towards him. The flickering firelight seemed to caress the planes of his face, the powerful sweep of his shoulders. His hair was a little mussed from having pulled off his shirt, his shoes were caked in mud, and his breeches were grass-stained. For the first time since she had met him he did not look in the least forbidding.

As her eyes strayed to the enticing expanse of male flesh bared to her avid gaze, her lips parted. Instead of taking the shirt he was holding out, she found herself reaching out to touch the very centre of his chest. The hair which grew there was coarse and slightly springy. His body was so intriguingly different from hers.

Where she had soft mounds of flesh, he had slabs of hard muscle. Her hand slid over, and down, until Charles abruptly stopped her exploration by clamping her hand under his own.

'What are you doing?' he rasped.

Shocked at her own temerity, she tried to pull her hand away. But he would not let it go. Keeping it firmly pressed to his waist, he declared, as though in wonder, 'You want me!'

She could not deny it. But nor dared she admit it, only to suffer the humiliation of being rejected all over again. She turned her face away, biting down on her lower lip as she wondered how on earth she was going to come up with an explanation for what she had just done.

'You don't need to be shy with me. I'm your husband,' said Charles, taking her chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger and turning her face upwards. 'If you really do want me, I will be only too happy to oblige.' He smiled, and lowered his head to kiss her.

His mouth was so gentle. For the first time he was kissing her as she had always imagined a lover would kiss his woman.

And it was all she could ever have dreamed of. As he let go of her hand to pull her closer she slid it up his side, finally feeling she had permission to explore the rugged contours of his body. He was so big, so powerful. Yet so gentle as he lifted her and laid her down on a rug by the hearth.

She basked in the wonder of his touch, not even registering the moment he unwound the curtain from her body until he reared up to gaze down at her nudity.

It was too much for her. Shyly, she pulled a corner of material over her hips, stammering, 'I cannot...we cannot...it is broad daylight! Somebody might discover us!'

'Nobody will even think of beginning to search for us until we do not appear for dinner,' he pointed out. He could not bear it if she were to draw back now. 'We have hours. Hours and hours...' he murmured, bending to kiss her into submission again. But she was no longer so pliant under his ministrations.

Eventually he knew he would have to make some concession to her shyness. In desperation, he got up, went to the window, and tore down the one remaining curtain.

'Here,' he said, draping it over them both as he lay down beside her. Though he would have enjoyed being able to look at her while they made love, the most important thing was that he got her past this first hurdle.

She wrapped her arms tight about his neck, pressing her lips to his throat as though in gratitude, and he sighed with contentment.

She had been so scared when he had got up and walked away, a frown on his face as though he had grown impatient with her. It was such a relief when he came back she could have wept. She would make no more foolish protests. Whatever he wanted to do, whatever he asked of her, she would comply.

Even though to begin with she felt a little shocked that there were so many places on her body he wanted to kiss, or lick, or nip with his teeth, or pluck at with his clever, sensitive fingers.

But before long he'd roused such a tide of sensation in her that it swept all modesty aside. She writhed and moaned, kicking the curtain away as her whole body throbbed with heated pleasure. Then his fingers plucked once more, sending her shooting high into a realm of such exquisite sensation she cried aloud at the glory of it.

'Ah, yes,' he murmured into her ear. 'You liked that.' He was elated by her response. He had hoped she might grant him some concessions eventually, after a long period of wooing. He had been prepared to play on her sense of honour, reminding her she had a duty to give him heirs, if nothing else worked. Yet she had just yielded completely. And it was typical of her to give so much when he deserved so little. Especially considering how he had insulted her on the night he had taken her virginity. He should have been gentle and considerate of her inexperience. Instead of which...

'I was less than chivalrous last time,' he ground out. 'I will not be so careless of your needs in future, I promise you.'

She was so beautiful, lying in sated forgetfulness in the aftermath of what he knew must have been her first orgasm.

'But I have needs of my own,' he said, moving over her and into her, revelling in the soft warmth of her welcome.

Her eyes fluttered open as he began to move gently, her hands lifting to his waist as, unbelievably, she began to respond to him all over again.

He forced himself to go slowly, introducing her to the next level of lovemaking with an entirely different repertoire of moves.

'Charles!' she cried, and he felt her throbbing with release.

Hearing his name rise to her lips as she came to completion was all that was needed to send him tumbling over the edge. And, when he was spent, a feeling of such intense peace washed over him he dared not say one word for fear of shattering their first experience of harmony.

It took Heloise quite a while to come back down to earth. Charles had given her such intense pleasure. She could never have imagined her body was capable of anything so wonderful.

She turned her head to look at him. He had fallen asleep. Not surprisingly, she smiled. For he had done all the work.

'He likes to have the mastery between the sheets,' she remembered Mrs Kenton gloating, fanning her face, and just like that her joy was snuffed out. He was always like this in bed with a woman. It was nothing special to him.

And, she recalled, a feeling of sick dread cramping her stomach, he had only done this to 'oblige' her. She had approached him, blatantly stroking his chest, with her mouth hanging open at the sight of his semi-nudity. He knew they would not be rescued for hours, so it had seemed like as good a way to pass the time as any other. And he had needs, as he had pointed out as he had taken what was on offer.

She turned onto her side, pulling the curtain up over her shoulder, wondering why she should feel so cross. After all, not many nights ago she had worked out for herself that he would need a woman soon, and then made that spectacularly unsuccessful attempt to seduce him. She should be crowing in triumph, not blinking back tears. For she had got what she wanted, had she not?

It made her feel even more cross when he awoke with a smile on his face. When he saw that she was sitting hunched in front of the fire, the curtain clutched to her chin defensively, he cheerfully broke up another chair, tossing the pieces onto the fire until it was ablaze. It annoyed her that he was so much more successful at coaxing warmth from, a fire she had only managed to get smoking damply. And it made her resentful when he began to tell her all about how this room had been used by former countesses to take tea, since it overlooked a particularly pleasing view of the lake, as though she were a guest he had to entertain.

It was a relief when, as dusk fell, she heard footsteps approaching the tower. Charles went to the landing, informing the servants who had come looking for them what had happened, and telling them to fetch a ladder. Hastily, while his back was turned, she fumbled her way into her damp clothing under cover of the dusty curtain.

Charles wished there was something he could do to ease his wife's discomfort. He could see she felt guilty for having enjoyed herself so much with a man she did not love. She had only married him to escape the horrific subjugation she would have suffered at Du Mauriac's cruel hands. It was futile to point out that plenty of people enjoyed the sexual act without any emotional involvement whatsoever. What they had just shared fell far short of her ideal.

She had succumbed to a fleeting moment of desire. Probably brought on by relief at surviving a frightening ordeal. He had disrobed before her, she had already been naked, and nature had taken its course.

He wanted to tell her that this mutual attraction was only the beginning. That love could grow from here. But she did not look as though she would be receptive to anything he had to say
—
not yet. She was clearly quite annoyed with him for taking advantage of her moment of weakness.

But he was not in the least repentant. They were lovers now, and there was no going back. She could not pretend his touch repelled her any more. They could have a good marriage. For even if she did not love him, he loved her
—
more than he had thought it was possible to love any woman, he reflected, as he helped her down the ladder. He would show her, he vowed, sweeping her up into his arms when she made
to leave the tower on her own two feet, how good marriage to him could be. No bride would ever be as spoiled as she would be.

Ignoring her shocked gasp, and the amused looks of the two footmen who were holding the ladder, he kissed her, lingeringly, full on the mouth. And quelled her feeble protests that she was capable of walking back to the house.

'You are far too weak to make the attempt. You have not eaten anything all day. And you spent the entire afternoon making love.'

She subsided into his arms with that mutinous little pout he was beginning to love so much, saying not a word until he laid her down on the sofa in her own sitting room.

And then, when she drew breath to make the first of what he was sure would be a litany of complaints, he forestalled her.

'Sukey! See that Her Ladyship has a hot bath, and tend to the grazes on her shins. Then put her to bed and bring her some hot soup, bread and butter, and some of that apple pie she enjoyed so much at dinner the other night, if there is any left. And don't forget a pot of hot chocolate. I,' he said, dropping a kiss on his wife's parted lips, 'will return when I have had my own bath and a shave, and put on clean clothes. And, Giddings?' He turned to address the butler, who had followed them up the stairs on seeing the bedraggled state of his master and mistress. 'No visitors for the next two
—
no make that three days.'