Chapter Nine #4
Bea had never thought she would be with a man again.
After having Thomas, she had thought that was it—that no man would ever want her again.
Apart from the likes of Lord Wintour. She had thought she would never desire another man either.
And yet, here she was…married, in bed with her husband, the only man she had ever found attractive.
And he was holding her, tenderly stroking her arm.
‘Are you sleeping?’
She shook her head and slowly peeled open her eyes, raising her head to look at him. He was lying on his side, his piercing eyes watching her.
Their legs were still entwined, his solid thigh over hers, his fingers moving to graze over her hip. Her heart pounded, because as she stared up at him, it felt intimate—to still be lying here pressed against each other like this, now the lust had been satisfied, and foolish hope flourished inside.
‘Are you all right?’
She nodded, her throat thick with emotion.
She didn’t know what to say or do—how to act.
Now that he’d got what he wanted from her, perhaps he wanted her to go.
Maybe he was waiting for her to fall asleep so he could leave.
After all, that is what he had done last time.
Should she get up and pull her clothes on?
‘I ought to go.’ She went to raise her body off the bed and his muscular arm came over her, holding her fast.
‘Go where? It’s the middle of the night.’
‘I’m sure you want to get some rest and I should go and check on Thomas.’
‘I am not tired and Thomas is asleep. The only place you are needed is here.’
She swallowed. She wasn’t sure why she felt so awkward.
This was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? To feel close to him again.
But now she felt vulnerable—she’d completely let down her guard and her heart was defenceless against him.
Her old fears were rearing their heads. She was afraid she had fallen in love with him again, as she had after their night together before, when she’d foolishly lived in hope, dreaming of him coming back to her.
But he never had. Instead, her world had descended into a nightmare without him.
‘This was only your second time. Did you enjoy it, Bea?’
She studied his handsome face. Was he waiting for praise?
‘It was good,’ she admitted.
He raised his brows. ‘Just good? I thought it was better than good. Even better than the last time.’ And he swept her hair away from her shoulder and placed a kiss to her skin there. She shivered.
At the ball, when she had told him what those women had said about her, he had been angry on her behalf. He had been on her side and said that they would get through this together. Foolish or not, she was starting to believe it.
Did he have feelings for her?
He had said that she made him feel like he could be Duke.
High praise indeed. Words she had longed to hear from the man who had had such an impact on her life, transforming her from a girl into a woman.
A mother. A wife. Soon-to-be duchess. His words had given her faith in her position here.
Her ability to do all those roles. But he had not mentioned love.
He desired her, she knew that. But was this just about sating his body, taking what he needed from her, or was there more to it than that?
Just because they had been intimate, that they had found pleasure in each other’s bodies, didn’t mean she should get her hopes up.
To think the marriage would work because the sex was incredible would be foolish.
A marriage also needed trust and respect.
His fingers stroked possessively over her bottom like he owned her, and she felt as if she needed to bring back some control to the situation.
Tell him to stop. Otherwise she would be urging him inside her again.
She would lose herself to him entirely. She feared if she let him make love to her again, he would for ever be embedded in her heart.
‘What about you?’ she said, suddenly defensive. ‘You know I’ve only ever been with you. Have you slept with other women, since we did this the last time?’
She sensed him tense and his hand stopped stroking her. Her heart slammed in her chest. He must have done, but she didn’t really want to know. She didn’t want to picture him doing this with anyone else. Women like her, who he’d met one night, bedded, then never thought of again.
And then a thought struck her. What if any one of those other women had come to him saying he had fathered their child—would he have married them? Would he be doing this with them right now?
‘No.’
She pulled back, to get a better look at him. ‘No?’
‘No, there has been no one since you, Bea.’
‘What?’
He grinned. ‘Do not act so surprised.’ He began to stroke the curve of her bottom again.
‘I told you, after that night, I had a hard time getting you out of my head. I threw myself into buying and running the mill. I did not have the time or inclination to take another woman to bed. I did not want one—not until I saw you again.’
She could scarcely believe what he was saying. He hadn’t slept with another woman since her—for fifteen long months?
‘Why? Did you think I slept with beautiful serving maids in inns on a weekly basis?’ he said.
She raised a shoulder, before letting it drop again. She bit her lip.
He frowned, removing his hand from her skin.
He shifted his position on the bed. By the coolness that had invaded his voice, she could tell he didn’t like the distrust in her eyes.
He sighed and shook his head, pushing the covers off him and sitting up.
‘Bea, your opinion of me is even lower than I had thought.’
He swung his legs off the bed and got to his feet, and she sat up, too, holding the covers up to her chest. Part of her was glad that he had let go of her, that she had escaped his tempting touch.
That she was no longer bared to him, pinned down beneath the weight of his legs.
But guilt beset her. Was she wrong to doubt him?
‘I’m sorry, it’s just you were so experienced that night. I thought… I thought you must do that kind of thing a lot.’
Not bothered about covering himself up, her eyes drifted down, raking over his perfect body. Smooth golden skin over solid muscle.
‘Also not true,’ he said, placing his hands on his hips.
She reeled at the force of his words.
‘There were a few women at Oxford, yes. And some on my Grand Tour. But they were drunken tumbles, hurried encounters, nothing meaningful, nothing memorable, nothing real.’
The breath left her.
‘Nothing like this.’ He came back down to sit beside her on the bed and took her hand in his.
‘Nothing like how it felt with you tonight. It was never as good as this. Or our night at the inn. I know I haven’t always behaved as admirably as I should have, Bea.
I know I probably do not deserve your trust, but will you just…
please, try not to think so badly of me? It wounds me.’
She reached up and wrapped her hand around his neck. ‘I don’t, Edward. I don’t think badly of you.’
She pulled him down on top of her, drawing him in for a kiss and he came over her, retrieving the covers from her hands and casting them aside.
She was aware of his new arousal nudging into her hip.
He was going to seduce her again—she knew it.
And she wanted him too now, no longer so afraid of her expanding heart and her overwhelming feelings after the gentle words he had spoken.
He raised himself up and turned her in his arms, so she was lying on her stomach.
He came over her and her thighs parted restlessly and then he was right there, where she wanted him to be.
He surged inside her again with one ruthless thrust and she groaned, grappling with the bed frame, helplessly trying to grip onto something.
He did it again, taking her so thoroughly, she struggled for control. Her hand curved round his thigh, holding him in place, his groin pressed tightly against her buttocks.
When his hands covered her own, wrapping around the wood, she knew he was as lost as she was, perhaps trying to ground himself as he took his time filling her up again and again.
Soon his movements became quicker, fiercer, more demanding.
He moved his hand to curve around her thigh, to touch her intimately, giving her even more pleasure and it tipped her over the edge—she felt her body unravel and she wildly cried out his name.
He surged one final time and she felt the force of his thick release inside her, before he collapsed on top of her.