The Captain's Christmas Bride Page 11

  ‘Never mind,’ she said in a voice that didn’t sound as though it belonged to her, it was so husky. ‘It wasn’t as if it was my first time, was it?’

  He reared up and looked down at her. With what looked surprisingly like concern on his face. ‘That’s why I wanted to make it a bit more...’ he shrugged ‘...tender, I suppose, tonight. But you...the way you looked at me, all resentful and angry. It...it made me want to just...’

  She lifted one hand to pat his shoulder. ‘I know. We strike sparks off each other, somehow, don’t we?’

  ‘Sparks?’ He huffed out a laugh. ‘It’s more like lightning striking a powder keg.’

  She didn’t know what else he might have said, had she not yawned.

  ‘Here,’ he said, getting up and turning back the covers on the side of the bed he’d been lying on. ‘Get in. You’re all gooseflesh.’

  Charming.

  Though at least, she supposed, he was attempting to be considerate. Which was certainly unusual, for a man.

  She half-rolled, half-shuffled across the bed, and pulled the covers up to her chin. To hide all the acres of gooseflesh from his discerning, offended eyes.

  In next to no time he’d dived in on the other side, put his arms round her, and hauled her into his side.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, when she stiffened in surprise. ‘I’m only warming you up.’

  And he was lovely and warm.

  In spite of the newness, and the strangeness of the situation, a wave of sheer exhaustion had her snuggling down and closing her eyes. Another yawn roused her, briefly. But then she simply couldn’t keep awake a moment longer.

  * * *

  It was dark when she woke again. For a second, she wondered why it felt as if she was sleeping on a hillside. A very warm hillside, that was wrapped all round her.

  And then drowsily realised it wasn’t grass tickling her legs, but the rough hair of the man who had his arm round her waist, whose greater weight had made her roll into the depression in the mattress and fetch up against his side.

  The candles had burned down. The only light in the room came from the fire that was still smouldering lazily in the grate.

  The arm about her waist moved. A large hand reached up to cup her breast.

  ‘Mmmhhh,’ her husband growled appreciatively into her ear. Sending a shiver of excitement flashing down her spine.

  He kept on kneading, gently. All the while kissing her ear. Or just breathing into it.

  And before long she didn’t feel sleepy any longer. Indeed, she was so awake, and aroused, she couldn’t keep still.

  But when she would have rolled over, to face him, and kiss him, and press her eager body up against his, he prevented her.

  ‘No,’ he murmured. ‘Stay like this.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she whispered frantically. ‘I need... I need...’

  ‘Here, then,’ he said, gliding his hand down her body, until it came to rest exactly where she needed him to touch her.

  And touched her. Stroked her.

  ‘Oh...’ she sighed. ‘Yesss...’ as he slid one finger inside her.

  ‘You’re so responsive,’ he said, with a tinge of amazement. ‘I’ve hardly started trying to rouse you, and you’re ready for me.’

  ‘Nobody could be more surprised than me,’ she said, with a touch of bitterness. ‘I’ve never...that is...not even...’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘You can talk.’ She huffed indignantly. ‘You’re just as keen.’ She flexed her bottom against the proof that he was, indeed, as aroused as she.

  ‘It’s a mystery, right enough,’ he agreed, grinding into her. And delving a bit deeper. And then adding a second finger to the one already inside her.

  ‘Don’t,’ she moaned. ‘Don’t keep doing that, or...’

  ‘You can’t pretend you don’t like it.’

  ‘No, I...that is... I like it too much,’ she panted. Writhed against the pressure he exerted with the heel of his hand. ‘I’m going to... I don’t know what it’s called, but it’s going to happen,’ she cried. ‘Oh, oh, heavens!’

  He clamped her tightly to his body as waves of pleasure swelled up and rippled through her. Murmured soothing words into her ear as she drifted back to sanity, removed his fingers, then his hand and turned her into his embrace, kissing her mouth. Gently.

  So gently, she wondered if this was the same man who’d done nothing but growl at her, and criticise her since they’d become betrothed. What was more, he was still hard, and ready. He must want to...and yet he was taking the time to kiss her.

  To be gentle.

  She reached up, and ploughed her fingers into his hair.

  She kept saying she hated him, but how could she, when he kept on being so...considerate? Even though he had every right to be angry with her. And it wasn’t just in bed, either. From the very first, he’d demonstrated a kind of innate chivalry that no other man had ever shown her. He could have ranted and raved at her the moment he’d pulled off her mask. Instead, he’d sort of...yes, she could see it now—he’d swallowed it all back down, and just declared he would make it right by marrying her. He’d even tried to shoulder some of the blame when they’d gone to see Papa. And had acted—in public—as though he was besotted with her, so that everyone could think it was a love match between them. So that nobody would ask awkward questions about why they were marrying in such haste. Every step of the way he’d protected her from the consequences of her stupid, rash, desperate behaviour.

  Nobody had ever done that for her before. Not even Papa. If she ever fell short of his exacting standards he didn’t hesitate to tell her so. No matter who might be listening. Which was why she’d learned, as a very little girl, to always be on her best behaviour.

  But now...Alec Dunbar was making her feel...

  Was it possible he could be the kind of husband who...?

  He sighed then, and smoothed her hair from her face in a way that felt almost tender.

  And then began to roll away from her. Even though he hadn’t experienced the wonderful release he’d just given her.

  ‘Don’t you want to...?’

  ‘You can surely tell I want to.’ He flexed his hips against her so she could feel his manhood, hard, and hot, and ready.

  ‘Then why don’t you?’

  Chapter Seven

  He heaved a sigh. Rested his forehead briefly against hers.

  ‘I told you I wanted to give you the kind of wedding night a lady like you expects. Your first experience, out in that greenhouse affair...’ He shook his head. ‘You got more than you bargained for. Part of it was because I’d been at sea a long time. And since I’ve been ashore, I’ve had no chance to get myself a woman. Lizzie put paid to that with her damned letter. And then when I got here, and all Lizzie’s friends kept fawning over me...and all of them so pretty. And I couldn’t—wouldn’t—touch any of them. I suppose it was like dangling a juicy steak in front of a dog chained in a kennel. I was worked up into such a pitch of frustration, that when I thought a mature, experienced woman was giving me the signal, I went straight into action without pausing to get the lie of the land. And the result was, I hurt you. I know I did.’

  She didn’t know what to say. No man had ever apologised to her. Let alone explained what had been going through his head.

  Not that she could like what had been going through his head. No chance to get himself a woman? All Lizzie’s friends so pretty? While she was more in the nature of a juicy steak?

  Still, she had to give him credit for making the attempt to apologise.

  ‘What’s done is done,’ she said in a practical, no-nonsense tone.

  ‘And I’m about to do it again,’ he growled, stopping her mouth with another of his hungry, demanding kisses.

  If he’d g
iven her the chance, she would have told him she had no objection. If she was a juicy steak, then he was...ooh, a rich plum pudding. He didn’t need to flatten her to the mattress, or pin her arms above her head. She’d have put them round his neck as he licked, and suckled at her breasts.

  Though there was something thrilling about the determined way he was holding her in place. The weight of his leg across her thighs, when he started a more thorough exploration of her body than he’d attempted so far.

  By the time he entered her again, she was so desperate for that nameless crisis of pleasure he’d brought her to before, that it rippled through her after he’d only thrust deep a couple of times.

  He stilled. Waited till she’d calmed down.

  Then began to glide slowly, in and out of her. As though he was savouring the sensation of being inside her. There was no racing to the finishing post, this time. Instead it was languorous, and indulgent. Like floating naked in the lake on a hot summer’s day. Enjoying the contrasting sensations of cool water, and hot sun that made every inch of her tingle with various pleasures.

  Only nothing measured up to the pleasure he was creating now, with his slow, gliding thrusts, the lazy sweep of his hand up her flanks, round to the curve of her buttocks.

  Oh, the feel of him—if only he’d let go of her wrists, which he’d shackled with one of his great powerful hands. She wanted to explore him, too.

  Well, she couldn’t touch him with her hands, but there was nothing to stop her tasting him, was there? She raised her head and swiped her tongue up the column of his throat, swirling it round his Adam’s apple.

  He gave a guttural cry, drove deeply into her one more time, then shuddered with the force of his own release.

  It created an answering surge of pleasure deep inside her, making her grind up against him as it crested.

  Plum pudding? Plum pudding smothered in custard, she sighed. Or maybe brandy sauce.

  He groaned, and rolled away.

  ‘I think we should try to sleep for a bit...’ he panted ‘...before doing that again.’

  What a strange thing to say. She turned over and curled up on her side without saying a word.

  Though, after a moment’s reflection, she worked it out.

  She’d worn him out.

  But he wanted to do it again, as soon as he could.

  Her mouth curved into a smile of purely feminine triumph.

  If they’d been in love, she might have confessed that she wanted to do it as soon as he could manage it as well. But it wouldn’t do to admit it. She had no wish to appear besotted with him. A woman who allowed her husband the upper hand too soon invariably ended up crushed. She had only to think of Nick and Ellen. Which brought another unpleasant thought to mind—she might have vowed to stay faithful to her husband, but she had no guarantee he would do the same.

  No—as things stood, it was as well to let him think he was the one in greater need of...of steak and plum pudding.

  * * *

  It seemed a pity to wake her again. Her little face was all scrunched up in the pillow, her hair half-up and half-down as though she’d been on deck in a hurricane. Alec’s lips twitched in a half-smile. Last night had felt like going through a hurricane, to him, too.

  He closed his eyes and inhaled her perfume, just to see if he’d imagined, last night, that she smelled just like a wife should. But, no. She definitely didn’t smell like sin this morning. Not a bit like she’d done when she’d been wearing a mask and dressed like a whore. All he could smell was pure woman.

  He gently removed a hairpin that was about to slide into her ear. Her hairstyle was so elaborate, she must have a maid to put it up in the morning, and another to take it down at night. He probably should have let her take it down before taking her to bed, so she wouldn’t wake up feeling like a hedgehog—with hairpins all over.

  But then again, if he’d given her time to prepare for bed, she’d have had time to think about what they were going to do. He’d seen the look on her face, seen her mind working nineteen to the dozen, trying to come up with reasons why they shouldn’t. No, on the whole, it had been better to storm her before she could muster enough objections to repel him.

  His smile broadened. Far from repulsing him she’d practically torn the shirt off his back.

  And speaking of shirts, he needed a fresh one. He’d have to go up to the room he’d been allocated on arrival, and collect his belongings. Even though he’d come to this room last night, as though he had a perfect right to do so, nobody had moved his things down here.

  He shrugged into as many of his clothes as he could locate, scattered as they were about the chilly room. The fire was almost out, but there was still a little coal in the scuttle. Kneeling down at the hearth, he shot the last of the fuel onto the embers, and blew gently, to rouse them to life.

  There was a movement from behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see if he’d woken...his wife. But, no, she’d just turned over.

  He’d worn her out. He grinned.

  Unless she usually slept like the dead. His smile slipped. For he didn’t know.

  Well, then, he’d find out.

  As long as he managed to stay in her room every night.

  He got to his feet, a determined frown furrowing his brow.

  The only hope he had of getting to know his wife, and thereby standing some chance of coming to a working arrangement with her, would be to dog her steps night and day. Especially night. Which was why it would be as well to move into this room with her. No fashionable marriage for them, not yet. Not until they’d come to a better understanding than the one they had now.

  Understanding? He trotted up the stairs to the tiny room under the eaves where the flustered housekeeper had placed him when he’d turned up unannounced. He didn’t understand anything about her. About women in general, come to that. They were almost like a totally different species to men. And since he’d lived in a world totally populated by men, since he’d been a snotty-nosed midshipman, he’d never had a chance to study them.

  All the more reason to keep a close watch on her. As close as he could. He certainly wasn’t going to get the upper hand unless he could learn how to keep her in line.

  If that was even possible. Even her own father had admitted she was out of control.

  Although nobody would know, to look at her. She hadn’t wept, or screamed, or torn her hair, the way he’d heard some women did when crossed in love. She’d carried on her duties as hostess, with a smile on her face for everyone. And remained completely composed when she’d walked down the aisle to him.

  Her mask of poise had only been in danger of slipping once. When she’d walked past the man she’d been attempting to compromise, he’d felt her tense. But she hadn’t slowed, or given him—his lip curled in scorn—a languishing look, or anything of that nature. He’d only noticed her brief reaction because he’d been half-expecting it.

  In many ways, he admired her ability to put on a brave face. It was just that it smacked of deception. The kind of deception that had tumbled them both into this mess.

  It only took a minute or two to gather up his things and stow them back in his valise. He put his overcoat on over his shirt and breeches for the return trip. His room was like an icehouse. And the corridors weren’t much better.

  At least he’d got the fire going in her chamber. Their chamber, now, he vowed, stowing his dunnage in the little dressing room which led off the bedroom where his wife was still fast asleep.

  She looked very tempting, lying there with her hair all over the place, her cheeks flushed. If he got back into bed, and started kissing his way down her spine, he was pretty sure she’d welcome him. The way she’d done last night when he’d woken her. Half-asleep and not really knowing who he was, she’d almost purred like a contented cat. Yes, she’d kept her claws sheath
ed, unlike the first time he’d taken her, as his wife.

  But—he ran his hand over his chin. He had a full night’s growth of beard now. And her skin was so delicate, he’d probably leave her grazed and sore. Besides which, did he really want her to enjoy making love so much when her mind was fuddled with sleep?

  So he’d shave first. Let her sleep a little longer. Then make sure she was wide awake, and completely sure who, exactly, was making love to her next time.

  There was a bell-pull by the head of the bed, which he went and tugged. He would warrant the first person up here in the morning would come bearing a can of hot water. His wife had always appeared at the breakfast table looking neat as a new pin.

  In the event, two maids came in answer to his summons. One carrying a can of hot water, and the other a tray bearing a silver pot, and a cup and saucer.

  Only the one.

  It seemed that while he was determined to make this marriage work, she, the instigator, was still trying to retain her independence.

  He thrust the empty coal scuttle at the maid with the can of hot water.

  ‘Fill this up, if you please,’ he growled.

  She bobbed a curtsy, and blushed as he took the hot-water can from her, as though embarrassed to come across a man in Lady Julia’s room.

  But, hell, they were married! What did the servants expect? That he’d tup her, then scurry off to the chilly room up in the eaves?

  ‘Oh, you’re up.’

  He turned to see his wife struggling into a sitting position, as the maid with the tray set it on the night table beside the bed. Lady Julia bit her lower lip as her eyes darted from the can of hot water in his hand, to the blazing fire, to the overcoat he’d slung over his shoulders.

  ‘Do you...?’ She swallowed. Clutched the sheets up to her neck. Though her shoulders were still visible. And completely bare.

  ‘Do you like hot chocolate in the morning? Betty can soon fetch another cup. There’s plenty in the pot.’

  Too little, too late.

  ‘I prefer ale.’