A Desperate Wager (8 page)

Five days later, Sarah stood in the vestibule of St George’s Church, Hanover Square in a primrose-coloured dress, trimmed with beads and pearls. It had a fashionably high waistline and a square neckline, with a lace fischu to cover most of her décolletage. Her bonnet was made of straw and pretty yellow ribbons. The maids had pushed fresh spring flowers into the hat, making it look like a pretty floral bouquet sitting atop her bright red curls. She loved it, despite knowing it was slightly over-the-top.

The footman had lifted her into the church and her father stood at her side, coughing, and giving her sidelong glances.

“He is a good man,” her father repeated the words he had said a number of times already that morning.

“
I know, Papa. He may not love me, but he will care for me.”

It was all she could ask from a marriage if she was honest. And her father seemed to relax.
Truth be told, she was doing this more for him than for herself. He had to go to the grave content in the knowledge she was being well cared for.

Organ m
usic played, and she began to walk slowly, ever so slowly, down the aisle of the church, determined to do it herself. He father walked patiently at her side but when the refrain started to be played for a third time, she grimaced at Nathaniel.

Let them wait
,
he mouthed to her. She grinned at the man who cared naught of the foibles of the
ton
. She was nearly there. Nathaniel whispered into the ear of the vicar, who nodded. They both took the remaining steps towards her and stopped.

“
You looked as if you were tiring,” he whispered.

“
I was. Thank you.”

“
You’re welcome.”

T
he vicar began the words of the wedding service as a chair was brought to her to allow her to sit through the service. She looked up into the eyes of the man who would be her husband before the hour was up and saw pride. Awareness jolted through her. He understood how hard that walk down the aisle had been and how much strength she’d had to muster to make it possible.

Now, there
really was no turning back.

Sarah lay in her new bed—the bedchamber of the Duchess of Kirkbourne. A room that could be accessed by a door leading from the bedchamber of the Duke.

They spent the rest of the wedding day entertaining family, then the evening had been spent in the drawing room, reading companionably.

Of course, Sarah had been too nervous to actually read. She smiled to herself. Nathaniel must be as concerned about their wedding night as she was because every time she had glanced over her book at him, he was staring at her over the tome he was reading on the 1745 rebellion in Scotland.

When she had smothered a yaw
n, he had offered to carry her to their suite of rooms, then left her to prepare for his arrival, winking at her over her maid’s head and sending a bolt of feeling through her. She suspected it was part excitement, part dread.

Tilly had just finished helping her into bed and n
ow she lay against her pillows rubbing at the welts on one of her thighs, waiting for him, not knowing whether she could or would please the duke who had been all but forced into marriage to her.

The door clicked open and he entered, wearing a dark blue robe and, she suspected, nothing else. He looked freshly shaven and his skin glistened
. He approached as slowly as one would approach a horse that had not been broken in.

Sitting on her bed, he lifted a lock of her hair, which hung loosely around her shoulders. Tilly had wanted to plait it but Sarah had refused.

“It is so beautiful,” Nathaniel said quietly, almost as if he was in awe. Heat infused her at the molten gaze he swept over her face and down to rest on her breasts. She lifted her hand to his cheek and rubbed it. All her fear and trepidation dissipated despite the fact that all air seemed to have escaped her lungs. But it was not fear she felt. Whatever new experiences tonight held, he would not hurt her. That she knew. Anticipation was the feeling that surrounded her—and a desperate desire to know what secrets the blue robe hid.

He withdrew a small vial of oil from his robe pocket and placed it on the bedside table.

“What is that?” she asked.

“
Oh, the discussion we had in the garden. It stops me from hurting you if I can’t make you ready for me.”

“
I see.” She really did not see and his explanation in the garden had not really helped. But she trusted him and that was enough. And he had said if
he
could not make her ready. That was sweet. He was already taking her pleasure upon himself.

He nuzzled her neck as he loosened the tie of his robe.
“Believe me, wife, I have every hope that I shall not need it.” Then he pushed the bedding off her and pressed his lips to hers. A few chaste, tender kisses and it was Sarah’s turn to take the initiative. She had liked the kisses where he used his tongue.

She speared her hand into his dark curls and probed his mouth with her tongue. He tasted of brandy, but it was not overwhelming. She satisfied herself that he was not drunk and had not felt the need to be in order to bed her.

He moaned as he opened to her, pressing her back against the pillows—his bare chest pressing against her flimsy nightgown. His heat radiated through her. As their tongues duelled, Sarah pushed his robe off his shoulders. He allowed her, moving his shoulders and arms to help, before pushing them around her and enveloping her—pulling her deeper into the erotic kiss.

She had never experienced so many feelings, physical and emotional. She wanted to explore the chest that pressed against her
, but she dared not. What if he thought her wanton?

The kiss seemed to last for hours and, as his hands roamed over her back, she gained confidence, moving her hand up and down his naked side, before smoothing it over his rounded buttock. She had her hand on a man’s bare backside and it was… well… absolutely wonderful. She squeezed and he emitted a deep growl. She moved her hand onto his hip
, and he placed a hand over her’s to stay it.

She broke free and pressed a kiss to the dimple on his chin, then she sprinkled light pecks up his jaw and down his neck. Just as he had done to her in the garden. When she reached his shoulder
, she followed the urge to sink her teeth slightly into the skin.

“
Damn, that’s good.” His praise spurred her on, and she bit down again. He pulled at the neck of her nightgown, seemingly unaware of the ripping sound. She would have taken it off if he had asked, she mused momentarily before the most delightful sensation assaulted her.

He pressed his lips to her rose-tipped nipple and sucked it gently into his mouth. She gasped, unable to comprehend the miasma of feeling that one movement evoked. She tightened her grip on his hair and pressed her body up to his mouth. She had thought his fingers dancing over her nipple in the garden had
been good. It had been mere child’s play in comparison to this. She thought she may very well swoon at the sensations and the need now throbbing in her most intimate area. What was that feeling? Was it normal?

With his spare hand, Nathaniel tweaked the other nipple, sending a whole other flood of sensations through her body. He laved and suckled at one breast before moving on to the other. She
arched her back every so often when he swiped a certain sensitive spot with his tongue.

She felt boneless under his caresses. Now his hand crept lower, the rent in her nightgown increasing with every new bit of skin explored. He reached past the point where she had full feeling but though muted, she was still aware of his every touch.

He brushed his fingers through the curls at the apex of her thighs, and her breath hitched. There was definitely more sensation there than she had ever thought. Then again, no one had ever touched her like this. It was muted, but it sent strange feelings into her belly.

When he pressed a finger between her legs
, she moaned softly. He lifted his mouth from her breast.

“
You can feel that?” She nodded.

He stared at her, confused. His touch drew another moan from her.

“Did I rip your nightgown?”

“
Yes,” she managed. His touch was sending fire through her veins.

“
I shall buy you a better one,” he growled before taking both sides of the muslin in his hands and ripping the last part of it, revealing her legs. His gaze was heated until it swept across her thighs. Frowning, he spoke in almost a deadly whisper. “And we shall discuss those welts on your thighs later.”

Heat and desire drained from her
. She grabbed the shreds of her night attire, trying to cover herself. She reached for the sheet, but he caught her hand.

“
No. No. I did not mean that. I…”

“
They are unsightly, I know.” She wanted to cover them…cover her shame. Cover the things that must repulse him.

“
They are something you should not have to live with.”

“
I stood for too long today. I should not have tried to walk down the aisle. Too much walking makes them bad.”

He sighed.
He glanced back at her thighs, his jaw working as he ground his teeth in displeasure. She needed to cover them so he could not see the marks that upset him so.

“
Do they hurt?”

“
No.” It was the truth. They may be slightly uncomfortable on occasion, but they were not at all painful.

“
I am sorry for drawing attention to them. Let us finish what we started. You were enjoying my touch, were you not?” The look in his eyes brought warmth back to her, and she surrendered once again to her husband’s expert ministrations.

Nate’s blood boiled but not from passion, though the sight of his naked wife surrendering to his touch would soon solve that problem. Why in hell was the skin on her thighs in such a terrible state? He could see scars where welts had healed, and the current welts looked painful and were an invitation to infection.

But he could kick himself for upsetting her. He had not meant for her to think he blamed her or that they were too unsightly for him to still find her attractive. If he became any more aroused, he was likely to explode.

He pressed his lips to hers again, coaxing her to relax as his fingers played in the damp heat between her thighs. The oil may not be necessary. When she curled her fingers into his thick hair, he knew he had recovered some of what he had lost with his thoughtless remark.

She moaned into his mouth, as she used her tongue to explore his mouth. She was no shrinking violet once she became lost in a kiss. Her hips moved slightly into his touch. Had she more ability to move, he believed she would be rocking hard against his fingers. He pressed harder, compensating for her.

“Nathaniel, it feels…strange,” she purred into his shoulder. She had broken the kiss and was now just holding onto him as if awaiting something. Could he really make her climax? And did she know about such things, or was this just a natural reaction? He suspected the latter. He pressed his index finger inside her but her reaction did not change. She showed no evidence of surprise.

“
Do you feel that?”

“
I feel…something. It is nice.”

Nice? It should be better than nice. He added a second finger as his thumb massaged her tender pearl. He curved his digits, hoping to find that one angle—that spot that would—there it was. She threw her head back and gasped.

He smiled to himself. This was better than a courtesan who knew exactly how to make herself climax. It was like a treasure hunt and they were embarking on it together. He pressed harder and stroked deeper. She lifted her head and pulled him in for a kiss. While one of her hands gripped the curls at his nape tightly, the other roamed his back, his side, his hip, his thigh. As she pressed the flat of her hand up his thigh, He tensed slightly.

He wanted her touch
, but it had been a while since he had lain with a woman. From the day of his betrothal, he had vowed to be faithful to Sarah until he found out if her injury would allow them to have a faithful marriage. That was something which was looking more likely by the second.

She pulled out of the kiss, the swollen red lips pursed in concentration as she ran her thumb up his hard shaft. When she reached the head
, she curled her fingers around him, using the pad of her thumb to explore, spreading the moisture already spilling from the tip. His head spun. He could not believe that his innocent new bride was drawing such wonderful pleasure from his body purely by instinct. And somehow it was better that the masterful manipulations of a well-practiced courtesan or mistress who was only bedding him for money.

He placed his free hand over hers and showed her how to pleasure him, how to stroke, how hard to grip, how fast to make the motion. Biting his lips
, he allowed himself a few moments to accept her gift. But it was a few moments too long. He was physically hurting with need to be inside her.

“
Let go,” he ground out, his voice sharper than he meant.

“
Sorry,” she muttered, pulling her hand away as if his manhood was on fire. Which he supposed it was, but just not in the way she thought. He should explain.

He would later.

He stroked her a few more times then pulled out his fingers, grabbed the bottle of oil and spread a small amount over his erection. He really did not think he needed it, but it was her first time and while his instincts told him she was wet enough, he would rather be too cautious than hurt either of them. Better to be safe than sorry.

“
I am not wet enough?” she asked, a look of dismay clouding her features.

“
I think you are, but this is just a precaution.” One auburn brow lowered as she considered him sceptically. He wiped the remaining oil on the side of the bed sheet and cupped her face. “I want you so badly right now. But bedding you is different to bedding other women. I am not as sure of what I am doing and do not want to hurt you. I promise it will get better. Once we are more comfortable together, I am sure it will be more pleasurable.”

Damn, this was not the tender lovemaking he had envisioned for his wedding night. He supposed he had expected something from one of Sarah’s gothic novels. And here he was, like an awkward virgin tumbling his first maid. She seemed to soften and smiled.

“If it helps, I am enjoying it. When you touch me down there, it is lovely. It is like a tension that I want to let go but I want it to continue forever. Does that make sense?”

Something leapt in his chest. This was not an awful experience to be endured for her. He was at least doing something correctly.

“Yes, it makes perfect sense, my love.” He moved between her legs, lifting them carefully and bending them at the knee. They stayed where he placed them and did not slip back onto the mattress. She looked so beautiful, just lying there, her red hair flowing over the white pillows, as it had in his lust-filled imaginings over the past few weeks.

She watched him, her eyes fixed on the hand holding his erection, bending it forward. As he nudged her opening, her eyes flicked up to his face—a
flash of wariness. He smiled and she relaxed. “If it is painful or you are uncomfortable, let me know. Though there may be pain when I tear your maidenhead.”

She nodded and he pushed in an inch. She did not flinch
, and he wondered if she could even feel it. Another inch and still no reaction. Her body was tight and wet. He probably had not needed the oil after all. Another inch and he breathed deeply. He held her gaze, and her lids fluttered. He pushed into the hilt and paused. Her red lips made a little ‘o’ shape but she had not cried out.

He pulled out and pushed back inside in quick succession.

“Oh my, that is… oh!” She grabbed his upper arm. He withdrew and thrust again, and her grip grew tighter. She was most definitely not in pain. He started to move in a steady rhythm. “I wish I could move with you.”

He wished she could too. She was so tight and warm and her eyes blazed with passion. He rocked harder, pushing as deep as possible. Next time he would find a way to go deeper. She would like that, he suspected. He would have to change the angle of her hips. But for now, he had to make her climax.

He lowered onto his arm to balance himself then he moved his free hand and teased her sex between them.

“
So good,” she whispered. He pressed harder still and she moaned. Devil take it. She may be unable to move her hips but she was one hell of a sensual woman. His body was not willing to wait on her. He could help her find completion afterwards if necessary. He moved harder and faster, leaving the little pearl so he could stabilise himself. “Oh Nate, it…”

The rest of her words did not need to be said. Her body told its own story as her muscles surrounding his hard length pulsed. She stiffened, her head pressed back against the pillows. A gentleman would slow, allow her to have her climax, but he was beyond being a gentleman. He was so close. He was…