A Countess of Convenience (12 page)

She looked startled and pulled back as if trying to keep him from touching her core, but he pursued her and soon felt soft, wet flesh against his thigh. Just what he'd expected.

He rubbed against her with short strokes. She reached back, bracing her hands against the bed. Was she trying to increase the friction or to pull away from him? When she shifted her legs so that her heels could press into the mattress and her legs open widely, he knew what she wanted.

He pulled his thigh out of the way, held his manhood with one hand, and shoved it into her shining, crimson opening. He felt resistance at the same instant he heard her shrill cry of pain. He froze for a second, but her tight sheath made his need unbearable.

Grunting like the pig he was, he sought a rapid release and then threw himself onto the bed beside her.

Prudence was stunned. She had not known exactly what to expect from mating, but it wasn't this hasty, violent act. After she had gotten over the horrid embarrassment of being naked in front of a man, it had been almost pleasant. Malvern had said nice things about her and touched her in ways that felt good. But suddenly he'd become some sort of ravening beast.

Was it like this for everyone or had Malvern been unduly rough with her? Were his actions just another example of his self-centeredness? She wanted to crawl away from him and get under the covers, but hesitated to move lest she attract more of his rough attentions.

He came up on one elbow and glared over at her. “Damn you! I've never physically abused a woman in my life. Why didn't you tell me you were a virgin?"

She blinked up at him while she tried to process his words. “Wh—why would you think I'm not?"

He sat up, every muscle radiating anger. “Because your brother told me you'd had an affair with a married man."

Holding her knees tightly together, she dug her elbow into the bed and edged away from him. “Why would Neil tell such a lie?"

Malvern stood and turned, hovering over her. “I was in the market for a new mistress, and he wanted me to think you were available. Why else would I have been so forward with a friend's sister?"

She stared up at him, horrified by his words. “But if you thought I was...you could have denounced me."

"That's not the sort of thing a gentleman does, as you and your brother very well knew."

"So you truly were tricked into marrying me?” Her voice shook with emotion.

His upper lip curled back, as if he smelled something rotten. “Don't look up at me with tear-filled eyes. You know damn well I was."

"I didn't know he had told such a monstrous lie.” She completely lost control of herself and covered her face with her hands. Before she could stop the flow of her tears the bedroom door slammed.

Eventually, she staggered over to the washstand to wash the tears away. The oval mirror over the stand showed swollen eyes and red-blotched skin. She held a damp cloth up to her face.

Could Neil have told such monstrous lies? She didn't want to believe it, but how much did she really know about her brother? Most of her life, he'd been away at school or living in London.

If Neil had done all that Malvern had accused him of, then Malvern had been terribly wronged. Could he possibly be lying? Why? They were already married. And why would a man become angry on discovering his wife
was
a virgin?

She pulled the cloth away from her face and saw little improvement. After rinsing and wringing it in the cold water, she again held it up to her face. How could she get along with a husband who truly had good reason to hate her?

Malvern sat in the main room sipping wine and staring into the small fire he'd lit to dispel the evening chill. He had just consummated his marriage like a marauding Hun. Then he'd cursed at his brand new wife and left her sobbing. What in the hell should he do about it?

Apologize?

Why?

If she'd told him the truth, even after they were married, he'd have been more considerate, so it was her fault. But maybe she hadn't known all the lies Neil had told. Maybe Neil had dangled the possibility of marriage to an earl in front of Prudence and that had been enough to win her cooperation. But why had she been so wayward that night in the Metropolitan Hotel? She had to know that wasn't the way people in polite society courted.

Anyway, all virgins suffer some pain on their wedding nights. Surely other bridegrooms didn't start their married lives begging their wives’ pardon. That would set a poor precedent.

The click of the latch told him the bedroom door was opening. Prudence came into the sitting room wearing a flowing white robe over a white nightgown. With her golden hair falling well below her shoulders, she looked like an angel—an avenging angel? He braced himself.

"I just want to say,” she said in a small voice, “that I'm sorry I've been so quarrelsome with you, and I will accept whatever living arrangements you make for me."

She was apologizing to him! Would he ever know what to expect from this woman? “That's very accommodating of you."

She shifted from foot to foot and could barely look him in the eye, acting like a guilty child who was confessing naughty behavior. “I usually try to get along with everyone. But I didn't know how seriously you'd been wronged, so I thought you were just being—well—unfair—"

He held up a hand. “Stop, please. Sit down.” He gestured toward the other half of the sofa. “Have a glass of port.” He stood and moved to the tray containing the decanter and extra glasses.

She perched on the far end of the sofa and took the glass from him with a timid, “Thank you."

He sat and picked up his own glass, thinking furiously about what to say to her. “We've gotten off to a poor start, but we don't have to continue along this track."

She sipped from her glass before glancing forlornly at him. “You have every reason to hate me."

"And you have no reason to like me. Sometimes, when there's no obvious solution to a problem, it's best to ignore it."

She turned her body so she could more easily face him. “How can we do that?"

"We can pretend we just met and are getting to know each other."

Her solemn expression softened and a corner of her mouth twitched upward. “Don't you think it's improper for two people who've just met to be so informally dressed?"

He made a point of overlapping the sides of his robe as he crossed his legs and leaned back. “Not a bit. We're both completely covered. Now, tell me about your life in the country, Miss Crump."

"I'd rather hear what growing up at Malvern Manor was like."

He nodded. “It was very nice—at first. I was the pampered heir, with an adoring mother, and a doting grandfather. But my grandfather died when I was five and my father three years later. Then my mother became obsessed with training me to redeem the family honor."

"I'm sure Lady Caroline only wanted what was best for you."

He shrugged. “Possibly, but sending me off to the rigors of public school freed her to become one of the grand dames of London society."

She looked shocked by his reply. “Whatever she did, you seem to have turned into a proper earl."

Malvern grinned. “She wouldn't agree with you on that. To her I'm a wastrel lord."

"I think you take your rank quite seriously. Look at the sacrifice you made by marrying me."

He quickly raised a finger and placed the tip across her lips. “Sssh. We just met, remember. Shall we go in the kitchen and see what's been left for our supper?"

Prudence didn't know how to react to this new and much improved Malvern. She offered to fetch their dinner from the kitchen, but he insisted on accompanying her, and once there, he made a game out of sweeping back covers and opening containers. After they decided to make sandwiches from the slabs of ham and cheese available, Malvern sliced the bread.

What had made him so agreeable? Her apology? Her virginity? His sexual satisfaction? Would she have to frequently endure those violent tussles to ensure his good humor? Was a cheerful husband worth such pain?

As he placed their food on a tray, she asked, “Shall I heat some water for tea?"

"Why don't we finish that bottle of port?"

She nodded. Although she never had more than one glass of wine in an evening, she didn't suppose another dram or two would harm her.

Once they were seated at the table, she divided the sandwiches and he refilled their glasses.

She spread a napkin across her lap. “What was public school like? I went to day school while living in Manchester, and took lessons with the vicar in Huffington, but I never went away from home."

"It wasn't bad. There were lots of boys to get into mischief with and a headmaster ready to paddle our backsides when we got caught."

"Well, that taught you right from wrong.” For some reason she didn't understand, Prudence felt it her duty to defend Lady Caroline's child-rearing methods.

He chuckled. “It taught me to have a care about getting caught."

"Did you go to college?"

"Yes."

"What did you study?"

She had to wait for him to finish chewing. “At Oxford, I learned the value of having a title."

"What do you mean?"

"I no longer had to be quite so careful about getting caught.” He paused and looked at her with a curious frown. Without thinking about it, she had picked a small piece of ham from her sandwich, and was presently nibbling at it.

Thinking he disapproved of her eating in such a manner, she said, “I'm sorry,” and hastily dropped the ham onto her plate.

"We're here alone, and these are informal conditions; eat however you like. I was just wondering if something is wrong with the sandwich."

"No. Except that it's rather large and I'm not particularly hungry."

"Are you—ah—in pain?"

"Pain?” Was he referring to what they had done together in bed? How should she reply? She was feeling a bit of discomfort, but nothing severe. Should she complain to protect herself from more of his attentions in the near future? She drained her wine glass as she thought.

He cleared his throat. “I was a bit rough with you earlier, because I believed you were experienced. Anyway, it always hurts the first time, but it won't ever be like that again."

"Really?” A wave of relief flowed through her.

He refilled her glass before saying, “Haven't you ever talked to other women about this sort of thing?"

"I've never had female friends my own age. There were girls in Huffington, but Mother didn't want me to become too friendly with them. If you know what I mean."

"Having been raised by a mother who was desperately determined that I respect my rank, I know exactly what you mean."

Much to her surprise, Prudence giggled.

Malvern smiled at her. “So we've found one thing we have in common."

He took another bite from his sandwich, and Prudence propped her elbow on the table, rested her chin in her hand, and watched him. He had straight, white teeth and a strong jaw. She had never noticed how interesting it could be to watch another person chew—especially a man—especially a man who looked like Malvern.

She mused, “I've always wondered why my mother, who was so proud of her aristocratic background, married my father, a tradesman."

"Perhaps she loved him."

A wave of melancholy washed over Prudence. “I used to think she did, but after he died she was so bitter. She sometimes said things that were so—so—"

Malvern stood, came around to her side of the table, and dabbed his napkin at her cheeks. “Here, now. None of that."

Had she started crying? What on earth was wrong with her? She reached for her wineglass and tried to wash away the lump in her throat.

Before she could drink it all, Malvern took the glass away from her. “Maybe you'd better go easy on that for a while."

"Why?"

"I believe you're a bit foxed."

"Really? I do feel lightheaded."

"Come with me."

He raised his hand, and she stood, and the room seemed to dip to one side. “My goodness."

He put an arm around her shoulder and led her over to the sofa. She gave a small cry of alarm when he sat and pulled her into his lap, but then he pushed her head down to his shoulder and it felt quite comfortable.

He cradled her body with one arm, resting his hand on her hip. Then he used the other hand to gently arrange her hair so it didn't fall across her face. “You have beautiful hair, so silky."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For saying nice things about my hair."

"I wasn't being nice, just stating facts.” His hand began to rub from her hip down the side of her thigh and back up again.

She giggled.

"What's funny?” he asked.

"We've just met, remember? And I'm in your lap again, just like the real first time we met."

He chuckled. “You're right. I'm truly incorrigible, aren't I?"

"And I'm—what am I?"

"You're adorable,” he said as he lifted her chin and bent his head until their lips met.

Tender brushes grew into firm pressure and then his tongue eased into her mouth and the fire she'd felt before began to simmer. She put an arm around his neck so she could press her lips more firmly against his. She let her tongue scrape against his and struggled to twist her body so she could press her breasts into his chest.

He broke away and pushed her back just a little. “Let's slow down a bit."

Around her breathlessness, she managed to say, “I like kissing."

He grinned widely. “I can tell."

"Why don't I like the other?"

His grin faded. “That's something you have to work up to. You will like it."

She was trying to be agreeable, but she found his last statement hard to believe. Apparently her expression showed her doubt, for he said, “Let me give you a little demonstration."

He began to pull her gown up, but she grabbed his wrist. “No, not here."

"We're not going to do it all,” he said in a coaxing voice. Then the arm that was around her back came up and his hand surrounded one of her breasts. Even through her robe and gown, he caught the nipple between his thumb and forefinger and began to rhythmically squeeze, and she forgot her objections.