Chapter Forty
Nathaniel helped Frances into the carriage, doing his best to shield her from the rain with his hand, which helped not at all, but he’d already given her his jacket.
He climbed in as a gust of wind slammed the door shut and made her shiver, so he spent the rest of the ride with his arm and many blankets around her, trying to keep her warm rather than kissing her, as she’d hoped.
Once at Sutton House, he told Stevens to light the fires before greeting him.
“They were lit, sir, as soon as the storm—”
Nathaniel didn’t even wait for Stevens to finish. He simply lifted Frances up in his arms and carried her over the threshold as if her many wet layers weighed nothing, and didn’t put her down until they reached her bedchamber.
In her wildest fantasies, Nathaniel would carry her to the bed and kiss her until her lips were swollen and red, like Iris’ had been when they’d found her in the library with the baronet.
Instead, Nathaniel put her down in front of the fireplace and looked right through her. She clutched his jacket to her, even if she couldn’t tell if she was freezing or about to combust, but Nathaniel attempted to remove it as if she wasn’t even wearing it.
“Your clothes are wet,” he explained, his tone apologetic, but his hands never stopping. “You need to remove them and put warm, dry clothes on.”
She would argue he was being silly, but one of her father’s hunting friends had succumbed to exposure when he insisted on having dinner with everyone outside before changing after he’d fallen into a lake.
“I am quite capable of doing that myself,” she assured him.
She wouldn’t be able to stand him undressing her now, like she was a child rather than a woman. Even if she would enjoy the lies she could tell herself about it while he had his hands on her.
“Of course, my apologies.”
He stepped back, but she could feel his eyes on her. She assumed he was regarding her like a parent, supervising to make sure she did as she was told, but when she looked up, there was hunger in his eyes.
“Unless there was another reason you wanted to help,” she offered delicately.
His hands were on her back before she even turned around.
She’d never felt so much when someone undressed her.
Sarah’s hands were often freezing, but Frances never felt them past the top button.
With Nathaniel, his fingers grazed her back for each one.
He was failing miserably if his goal was to warm her, as his fingers were like ice, but they felt wonderful on her skin.
She was building up the courage to say something, or ask what this meant, but then she felt Nathaniel’s lips.
First in the middle of her back, almost tenderly, but when he heard her moan in response, he continued, his hands undressing her while his lips devoured her shoulders, her neck, her jawline.
She tried to turn, but he resisted, then took a rather large step back, breathing heavily, looking at her like he’d just come out of a daze.
“I’m sorry, I—”
Somewhere in her mind, Frances considered letting him finish that thought, which would lead to accepting his apology and summoning Sarah to help her prepare for bed.
But her mind wasn’t as in control as it should be, with her heart pounding and the blood pulsing so loudly in her ears that she couldn’t hear herself think.
She could still feel his breath all over her, his lips and his fingers searing her skin, even as she saw him standing a foot away.
She was not tentative as she bridged the space he’d created between them and kissed him, to let him know there was nothing to apologize for.
He didn’t push her away, or she promised herself she would have stopped; instead he held her closer.
When she finally needed to breathe, she took a step back and was about to apologize for taking advantage of his physical needs when he’d made it perfectly clear how he felt, but then his lips were on hers again, his hands making it quite impossible for her to get away, if ever she was mad enough to want to.
She would task any woman to have a single coherent thought when Nathaniel Sutton was holding her in his arms and kissing her like she was the very breath his lungs craved.
Her dress fell into a pile on the floor as Nathaniel brought her closer to the fireplace, his fingers sliding through her hair, undoing pins and tossing them haphazardly about the room.
She laughed and he smiled, moving her hair so it no longer covered her eyes.
She barely had a moment to slap his hand away in horror when she remembered that she wasn’t like most girls who became more beautiful once they let their hair down, wavy locks falling over their shoulders.
Because when her hair wasn’t covering the upper right side of her face, she was a monster.
Nathaniel reacted with shock, as she knew he would, then made to move the hair back again, to get a better view of her deformation.
She tried to stop and push him away, but this time he did not let her.
He was stronger than her and effortlessly revealed her deepest shame.
Only, instead of retreating in horror, it seemed like he was tracing it, first with his fingers, then with his lips, almost venerating it in a way that brought a rush of tears she tried to hide.
He brushed them away gently with his thumbs, then went back to kissing her, which she very much preferred, even if it wasn’t mind-numbing enough to make her forget the mark that marred her face.
Until he did something with his tongue, and all reason left her.
Once her chemise fell to the floor, Frances half-expected Nathaniel to tell her to get dressed, but he lifted her up without breaking the contact of their lips and carried her to the bed, where he one-handedly pulled back the covers before placing her down.
He either knew how terrified she was that he would come to his senses and leave her, or he was as loath as she was to end the kiss, so he managed to divest himself of his clothing with minimal interruption.
Once they were both under the covers, neither of them wearing a stitch of clothing, Frances realized that she had no idea of exactly what came next.
She probably should have been nervous, but she was more concerned that she would die if she couldn’t bring Nathaniel closer to her, to feel him on every inch of her skin.
She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, feeling the muscles as he strained to pull her closer to him as well, his weight enveloping but not crushing her.
She didn’t realize her legs had wrapped around his waist, of their own volition, until she felt him at her opening.
“Oh God, Frances, I…”
She stopped him, both with her lips, and by pulling him back down onto her.
It was like she had no control of her body, or at least her brain didn’t, acting solely on instinct as she lifted her pelvis to meet him, arching her back as he held himself up on a forearm, while the other seemed to be reaching for something, until it found her breast and completely changed course.
He held onto it both like he wanted to absorb it into his hand, and like it was the most fragile and precious thing in the world.
“Nathan—" His name turned into a gasp as he replaced his hand with his mouth, licking and teasing her nipple as heat pooled between her thighs.
She shuddered, overwhelmed with feeling and emotions, before his mouth crushed hers.
Her hands gripped his back as he entered her in the most exquisite moment of discomfort that while slightly unpleasant at first, gave her the urge to pull him closer.
Deeper. Not that he’d let her. He withdrew himself, not completely, but enough to give her relief as he looked down at her face as if she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
She nodded, getting a half-smile before he repeated the process, slow at first, then progressively faster, their breath getting more and more shallow until he cried out in satisfaction and something inside her exploded, every part of her tingling.
While their breathing slowed, she savored that feeling of fullness, of having him inside, filling her, until he removed himself and lay on his back, one arm still around her, behind her neck.
Frances wasn’t sure if Nathaniel pulled her to him, or if she just craved that closeness, but she listened to his heartbeat, the steady rhythm of it, with her head on his chest, determined not to speak for fear it would break the spell, until she fell asleep.
Nathaniel stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, with Frances’ head on his chest, his fingers running slowly through her hair, tormented by the knowledge that he loved her. This stranger he’d been tricked into taking as his wife, who had worked her way into his heart.
How had he believed he could be married to the woman, get to know her heart and her mind—now her body—without falling in love with her?
He’d promised he wouldn’t do this sort of thing, but that kiss had made him lose his mind.
He could only imagine what he must have looked like to his siblings at the ball, but Frances surely thought him a madman, how he was so concerned about her health and well-being one minute, then taking advantage of her the next. She’d trusted him.
He hadn’t expected to consummate the marriage.
If he had taken even a moment to think about what he was doing, he would have remembered it was Frances’ first time, that he should have been gentler, guided her through it, pleasured her before indulging himself.
But reason had left him the minute his lips found hers. And now he’d ruined it.
He would be better next time.
Assuming she would let him.
He remembered the rain, and the chill he’d been trying to protect her from, so he lifted the covers over her bare shoulders, but not before tracing them with his finger, watching the goosepimples form.
Then he pulled her closer and wrapped more of his arms around her, because the sheets couldn’t compete with the fire burning inside his heart.
Frances was nothing he’d ever expected, and there were many conversations that needed to be had, but for once, Nathaniel enjoyed the luxury of falling asleep with the woman he loved in his arms.
He’d figure the rest out in the morning.