Vicar's Daughter to Viscount's Lady (14 page)

‘Elliott.’ She managed to say it out loud this time. A protest, a plea, a gasp of embarrassment? All three, perhaps. Arabella could not understand what he was doing to her body, but it was sending her rapidly past the point where shyness was even an option. ‘Elliott, what are you
doing
?’

He looked up, his lips curving. ‘Making love, Arabella.’

‘You are making me…I do not know. I want…’

‘This?’ He kissed her on her mouth, one hand still cupping her breast, his thumb fretting hard over the impossibly tight knot of the nipple while his other smoothed down over her hip, pushing the nightgown
aside. She became aware again that his hands were hard, as though he worked with them.

His mouth was demanding, his tongue thrusting, insistent that she open to him, insistent that she tangle her own tongue with his. He sucked it into his mouth, holding her when she would have withdrawn, nervous of this intensity and the knowledge of where it was leading, then nipping at her lips with tiny, biting kisses.

In the pit of her belly there was heat and an ache and a pulse that had her pressing against him in a blind search for relief, only to find that she was straining against the blatant jut of his erection through the heavy silk of his robe. But there was no room to withdraw her body, hardly any room in her head for the confusion of thoughts. How could she feel like this for a man she scarcely knew yet and did not love? Was she utterly wanton or was Elliott a warlock, conjuring lust out of her ignorance and shyness? But perhaps, just perhaps, it would be all right…

He moved, scooped her up and laid her on the bed, naked, exposed and quivering with shock. ‘Don’t cover yourself,’ he ordered, his voice almost harsh, as she reached for the covers to drag them across her body. He kicked off his slippers, shrugged out of his robe, then stood, his hands on his lean hips, looking at her. And Arabella stared back, seeing him naked for the first time, breathless with discovery and terrified desire.

R
afe had taken her virginity in the hayloft of the parish tithe barn. It had been shadowed, the gloom pierced by shafts of sunlight where roof tiles had slipped, the light full of floating dust motes. Bella had hardly been able to see his face, or the details of his body as he stripped her, undid his breeches and pushed her on to his coat spread on the pile of loose hay. He had kissed her, ravished her mouth, handled her breasts with avid hands, pressed her legs apart and taken her with the unsubtle urgency of need.

She had not seen then, not really understood his body, but now, in the warm glow of a dozen candles, she could see very clearly the anatomy of a fully aroused man. It took her breath away with a mixture of fear and desire and shock at just how beautiful Elliott was. How hard and lean, how fit. How did he get those muscles, that flat belly, those calloused hands?

He knelt on the bed beside her, his hands skimming down over her body, making her catch her breath. Then
he placed his hands on her thighs and eased them apart and she shut her eyes, shamed by the heat and dampness that betrayed her arousal.

‘Arabella, look at me.’ She felt his weight coming down over her and shifted her hips instinctively to cradle him. Of their own accord her hands curved over his shoulders, and she made herself open her eyes. She thought she was a little more relaxed this time—did Elliott notice? His face was shadowed as it hung over her, the candle flame sharpening the cheekbones, sending blue sparks from his eyes. The image of Rafe slid over his features like a mask and she closed her eyes again to shut it out. She would not let that spectre ruin this, not now. ‘Bend your knees up to try and relax,’ he urged and she struggled to obey, feeling him nudging closer into her slick, hot folds. ‘We have as much time as you need.’

Now. I must not cry out however much it hurts. I must try to forget that, caress him, discover what he likes, stop being so passive…

‘Arabella!’ Elliott’s voice was so sharp that her eyes flew open. She found his intense gaze locked on her face. ‘Why are you crying? What is it?’

‘I…I’m not.’ He rolled off her and she rubbed her hand across her eyes. It came away smeared with moisture. ‘Oh. I am sorry, I did not mean to. I was trying so hard not to—’

‘Hell and damnation.’ Elliott sat up. ‘No, I’m sorry. I did not mean to shout at you, let alone swear. Arabella, I thought you were responding to me.’

She felt her face flame. ‘Yes. I was. I was determined. It is just…’ How could she explain her cowardice?
It was her
duty
to lie with her husband. And she wanted to. She could not allow the fear and the pain to prevent her. Every other wife managed it. Perhaps they allowed themselves to be swept up in that turmoil of feeling before
it
happened. If only that was all there was to it, that heat and desire and longing.

But she owed Elliott an explanation and then, no doubt, he would do as his brother had done and ignore the cries she tried to stifle and take her.

‘Arabella?’ He reached out and touched her face, his big hand gentle as the fingertips caressed her cheek. ‘Tell me.’

It was so difficult. His tender gesture made it worse, somehow. She did not deserve that he touch her like that, reach out for her when she was rejecting him. ‘I can’t explain,’ she blurted out. ‘I cannot…’

The soft light faded from his eyes. ‘You must try, Arabella.’

‘I
am
trying so hard,’ she protested. ‘You don’t understand. Let me—’

‘I understand perfectly well that you are not ready to be my wife, despite what you say,’ he said harshly, getting off the bed and scooping up his robe. ‘When you are, then perhaps we will have a marriage. Until then, Lady Hadleigh, I will not trouble you.’

The door to his dressing room clicked shut with controlled care. He was angry, she realised. Very, very angry. She had made him think she was ready and she had not had the courage or the self-control to convince him when it came to it or the words to explain what had happened before.

It hurt, apparently, when a man was very aroused and
then denied satisfaction, so she had gathered from Polly the vicarage laundry maid’s cheerfully robust chatter. So there was physical discomfort for Elliott to add to the realisation that he had married a woman who could not even be relied upon to do her marital duty.

I cannot bear this
, Bella thought. She sat up and looked at the closed door.
Sooner or later we must talk. After all, he knows now how useless I am in bed. I must get it over now.

‘Damn and blast and bloody hell!’ Elliott belted his robe, stalked across his bedchamber and splashed brandy into a glass. Arabella had been ready for him, her body had shown that. She had finally responded to his lovemaking with a sensuality that had surprised and delighted him—and then she had become stiff as a board and started weeping. He added a few more choice epitaphs and swallowed a mouthful of fine French spirit as though it were cheap ale.

She was
trying so hard.
Her words jabbed into his brain like hot pins. He had almost forced himself on her. And he had been angry with her. Called her
Lady Hadleigh
in that cold, hard voice.
Damn.
He had made a mull of this and it was not going to be easy to make it better, restore her confidence in him. Why couldn’t he have married a trusting little virgin who would be easy to tutor, or a widow who knew what she was doing?
Because this is your duty
, his conscience told him. He had not chosen this wife, but she was the one he had and he must make the best of it.

Elliott went back to the door and leaned against it,
listening for the sound of sobs. But it was too well made for sound to carry. And what if she
was
in there, weeping her heart out? She would not welcome attempts at comfort from him, of all people.

Against his shoulder the panels moved. Startled, he looked down and saw the handle turn. He stepped back as the door swung open. ‘Please, Elliott,’ Arabella said, standing shivering in her flimsy scrap of a négligé. ‘Please do it.’

‘Do it?’ He must be gaping like an idiot. Elliott took her hand and drew her into the room, closed the door and snatched up a blanket that was draped over the back of a chair. ‘Here, you are cold.’ He tried to wrap it around her shoulders, but she wriggled free, walked to his bed, threw off the négligé then climbed on to the wide expanse of green satin and lay down.

‘Elliott, I am determined. I must accustom myself and learn. Please—’ She gave a gasp as her head met the pillow and she looked up at the mirrored underside of the canopy. ‘That is indecent!’

‘
I
didn’t put it there,’ Elliott said, goaded. ‘Arabella, I am not going to
do it
with you on the verge of tears and lying on the bed like a virgin sacrifice in some pagan temple.’

‘It is my duty,’ she said. ‘And—’

‘Well, you certainly know how to reduce a man to the state where he couldn’t if he wanted to,’ he interjected bitterly, aware of his aching erection subsiding in discouragement.

‘
Please
, Elliott, let me say this,’ Arabella said with a desperate earnestness that cut through his own preoccupations
and silenced him. ‘I know I am a coward. It will hurt, I expect that, but it was a little better last time. And the more I think about it, the worse it is going to be. So, really, I would much rather you just did it again now. I will get accustomed, honestly I will.’

‘Hurt?’ He stared at her, then picked up the blanket and laid it over her cold white body. The brandy was still on the nightstand. He took another swallow, handed her the glass and sat down on the end of the bed. ‘Drink. Arabella, were you so stiff because you expected it to be very painful? Is that why you were crying? Did I hurt you on our wedding night?’

‘Yes, but it was not your fault.’ She sat up, dragging the blanket to cover her breasts. ‘I am such a coward. I knew it would hurt. It was just that the first time…I hadn’t expected it to be so bad, you see. And so much blood was frightening.’

Dear God.
Elliott closed his eyes.
You selfish, randy, thoughtless swine, Rafe. A notch on your bedpost, that is all this girl was to you. A virgin and you brutalised her for sport as though she was a hardened whore, left her torn and pregnant.
Had he damaged her permanently?

‘Have you healed?’ he asked gently when he managed to open his eyes with some confidence that the blazing anger would not show in them.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I did. I am fine now, truly, Elliott.’ The wide hazel eyes fixed on him, determined, and, through the fear, trusting. ‘It really was not so bad the other night.’

If Rafe had come back to life and walked through the door at that moment, Elliott realised, he would have
punched him on the jaw. ‘Not tonight,’ he said, making up his mind. ‘You are cold and upset. I am…tired. But I promise you that next time it will not hurt. Not at all. And you will enjoy it.’

‘Enjoy it?’ She looked so bemused by the concept that he almost laughed.

‘You have my word.’

‘But you do not understand.’ She bit her lip, then took a deep breath. ‘You see, even before he…before I was expecting it to hurt, I was no good. I am clumsy, you see. Inept. Probably frigid.’

‘What?’

‘I am very sorry. I am trying, but it is difficult, knowing that whatever I do you will be disappointed. I expect you had a mistress who was very skilled and beautiful—that’s why I wouldn’t mind if you went back to her.’ He saw her throat move convulsively as she swallowed. ‘Well, no, I
would
mind, but I know it is my fault so I would never reproach you.’

‘Who told you that about yourself? Rafe, of course.’ The anger became a red haze, then he saw the look in her eyes and made himself be calm.

Bella saw the fury in Elliott’s eyes subside and drew in a shuddering breath. She must not cry, that would only make him angry again. She had told him, confessed to her failure as a wife and now he had the worst confirmed. No, not quite that—soon she would be as big as a whale, even clumsier. He had been kind about her looks, but then he was a kind man and had been trying to put her at her ease.

‘Arabella,’ Elliott said, ‘Rafe was selfish, grasping and insensitive. He set out to seduce you with every intention
of abandoning you, right from the first. He did not care about you, not one iota. When he had what he wanted, the last thing he needed was a woman who thought herself in love, who expected things from him, who clung. And the easiest way to prevent that was to be as cruel as possible, to hurt your heart and your mind as he had already hurt your body by his heedlessness.’

‘He was lying?’ But Rafe had lost his temper with her—could that have been feigned?

‘Yes. That is what Rafe did. I do not. I will not lie to you, Arabella. You are not a classical beauty, but I think you lovely, graceful and charming. I desire you. When I tell you that you must believe me or call me a liar.’

‘Oh.’
Lovely?
‘I believe you, Elliott.’ The truth was in his eyes. ‘But—’

‘You were a virgin. Of course you had no idea what to do, how it would be—how it should have been. It was up to him to be gentle, to be thoughtful, to show you with patience what your body needed and how you could please him too.’

‘I should not have known instinctively, then?’

‘No, of course not. Your body knows some things, but your mind does not. Can you swim?’

‘Yes. Mama taught us in the millpond, long ago.’
When Papa had been away one long hot summer. Mama and Meg and little Lina…

‘Did it take a little while to learn?’

‘Of course.’

‘And what would have happened if she had grabbed you and thrown you into deep water?’

‘I would have panicked, flailed around and
drowned, I suppose. Elliott, do you mean that making love is the same?’

‘Yes.’ He leaned back against the bedpost, careful not to touch her, she realised. ‘Just the same.’

The relief was incredible. It had not been her at all. The concept that she might be able to please her husband, that making love was something that might give her pleasure, was breathtaking. ‘So, kissing is like paddling close to the shore?’

‘It can be. It can be like diving into deep water, too. Arabella, we can take all the time you need to learn. All I ask is that you are honest with me and tell me how you feel.’

‘Could we start now?’ she asked, greatly daring. ‘Can I try to make love to you?’

‘Yes.’ It sounded as though he was having trouble breathing.

Before she could think about it too much Bella wriggled out of her nest of blankets and down to the end of the bed. ‘Then you must take off your dressing gown.’

‘You do it.’ That was daunting. Bella tugged at the knot, then pushed the robe back over his broad shoulders. ‘Would you like me to lie down?’ Elliott enquired, the corner of his mouth twitching.

‘Yes, please.’ He was teasing her a little, but he was not laughing at her. Confronted by six foot and several inches of large naked man, Bella wondered where she was supposed to start. The top seemed safest and she knew that kissing was something she could do.

She lay down along Elliott’s right side, put a tentative hand on his shoulder and leaned across to kiss him on the
mouth. It was disconcerting to be on top and to feel the heat of his body below hers, the spring of hair tickling her breasts, but it also felt safe not to be trapped under a man’s weight. Elliott had kissed her neck, her shoulder; perhaps he would like it if she did the same to him.

Bella let her mouth roam and discovered that he tasted good, smelt better and that there was a pleasure to be had in the feel of satin skin over hard muscle. Elliott appeared to like what she was doing too, until her hand carelessly brushed his nipple. Instantly it hardened under the palm. ‘Oh. I’m sorry—’

‘Don’t be,’ he said, touching her in the same way. ‘You see? You could use your mouth,’ he suggested.

Breathless, she slid lower, licking and kissing. How odd that to pleasure him—and the way his body tensed told her that she was doing that—gave her pleasure too. Her breasts felt swollen and acutely sensitive as they moved against Elliott’s body and she felt a growing ache of pleasurable need low in her belly.