Chapter 21 #3
And to her shame, she welcomed his kiss, welcomed his easy intimacy. He was her husband. She was his wife. There was nothing wrong in it. His kiss was full of delights, tender and thorough at the same time. It blotted out everything but thoughts of their last joining.
He shoved her wrapper off her shoulders, and she shifted to twine her arms about his neck. She was heedless of how that crushed one of her breasts against him until he slipped his hand inside her chemise to cup the soft weight.
“My sweet querida,” he muttered against her lips, teasing her nipple into a hard button with little tweaks of his thumb and forefinger that made her blood race hot and silky through her veins.
My love, she thought in answer. My sweet love.
Dragging her chemise down to bare one breast, he covered it with his mouth and drew hard, the rasps of his tongue sending exotic pleasures shooting through her. She clutched his head to her and rained tender kisses in his hair, which seemed to make him only more ravenous.
Then everything moved too quickly. He was laying her back on the bed, half-covering her body, his hands stroking up her inner thighs beneath her chemise. A sudden panic hit her. She was on her courses ... he could not ... he mustn’t ...
She caught his wrist frantically. “No, Ian, you mustn’t ...”
“Don’t do this to me again, querida,” he begged as he lifted his head to stare at her with bleak, haunted eyes. “You can’t mean to stop me this time.”
“I don’t want to, truly I don’t. Not anymore. But ...” Here a violent blush stained her cheeks. “But I ... my ... oh, dear heavens, this is so embarrassing.” She swallowed. “My courses came today. That’s why I didn’t feel well enough to come down for dinner.”
Ian hovered over her, looking blank. Then as what she’d said sank in, he groaned and dropped his head onto her shoulder. “Damn it, was ever a man so cursed?”
She lay still beneath him, stricken by remorse. “I-I’m sorry. I should have said something sooner ... I truly did want to ... you know ...”
“There will be other nights.” He pressed a perfunctory kiss to her cheek as if anything more might test his endurance. Then he drew back and raised an eyebrow. “There will be other nights, won’t there?”
She knew what he was asking, and now she knew her answer. It was time to make their marriage what it should be. Her attempts to force his hand weren’t working, because deep down he distrusted her motives. She’d realized that when he’d grown so angry over her column.
So she must show him that her motives were pure, that she loved him so much it didn’t matter what he told her. That was the way to make their marriage a true one.
“Yes,” she said softly. “And my courses are generally of short duration. In a few days we can—”
“Enough, querida.” He smiled wryly. “Unless you want to torment me further, do not tell me what we can do in a few days, I beg you. A few days seems like an eternity.”
“For me, too,” she said shyly.
He sighed and sank back on the bed beside her, staring up at the canopy. He was quiet a long time, so long she wondered what else she could say to reassure him. Then he spoke in clipped tones. “I suppose this means you aren’t with child.”
“No. For that, too, I’m sorry.”
Rolling to his side, he propped his head up on his elbow. “It’s nothing to be sorry about. That’s one of those matters only nature can control. But we have plenty of time.”
So why did he look so disappointed? Why did he seem compelled to sire an heir with all due haste?
He shoved himself up to sit beside her on the bed. “I’d best leave you now. You need your rest.”
Not ready to lose his company yet, she sat up and took his hand. “You could sleep here tonight.” She traced the long lean fingers, the broad palm with the tiny scars probably gained when he was a soldier.
“Sleep and not touch you?” he said softly. “Impossible. Forgive me, querida, but the last time we shared a bed without making love, I got drunk to endure it. And I fear I’d have to do the same tonight. So I’d best return to my room.”
He rose to leave, and she said, “Ian?”
“Yes?”
“I meant what I told you. I’m done fighting you. I’m your wife, and I mean to be your wife in every way from now on.”
He cupped her cheek. “Sleep well, my dear.” He paused, then added, “If you feel up to it in the morning, we’ll visit my tenants so I can introduce you to them.”
She smiled. “I’d like that.”
“It’s all I can think of to take our minds off other things,” he admitted ruefully.
Then he was gone. Feeling bereft, she rose and went to the desk. Her article still lay where Ian had tossed it. She sat down at the desk and read it over again. But the lines now seemed silly, like a child sticking its tongue out at her tormentors.
For the first time in years Felicity’s bitterness toward Pelham was gone.
In its place was the most profound pity.
For Pelham, because he could never have a woman care for him without browbeating her into it.
And for his wife, because she must live with the wretch.
Nothing Lord X could say would alter that situation one whit.
She deliberated a moment longer. Then she took up her pen and crossed through the lines about Pelham and his wife.