Andrea Kane (28 page)

Without a backward glance, Daphne abandoned her childhood.

“Hollingsby will notify us when the agreement is ready to be signed,” she heard Pierce saying as she descended the stairs.

Her husband glanced up and saw her, instantly making his way to her side, relieving her of her luggage with a smoothly possessive motion that told the world and the marquis that she was his.

“That concludes our business, Tragmore.” Pierce guided Daphne to the entranceway. “I expect we won’t be seeing you anytime soon, except in Hollingsby’s office.” He tossed Tragmore a mocking grin. “And, of course, at the procession of Christmas houseparties next month.”

Daphne was still glowing with newfound optimism when, after a thirty-minute cajoling session in the woods, their carriage sprinted off toward Markham.

“Your fox is exhausting, Snow flame,” Pierce muttered, settling himself across from his wife. “I thought he’d never agree to abandon his den.”

“He is a bit stubborn,” Daphne agreed, stroking Russet’s fur with a reassuring hand. “Not to mention skeptical. But surely you can relate to those qualities.”

“Am I being likened to a fox?”

“In some ways, yes. You’re both fiercely independent and loyal.” She smiled, reveling in the unfamiliar sense of well-being. “I’m a lucky woman.”

A corner of Pierce’s mouth lifted. “I won’t argue, since I applaud your conclusion.”

The carriage swerved onto the main road, and Daphne glanced back at the rapidly receding mansion. “From what I overheard, I presume Father agreed with your stipulation that he sever ties with Mama.”

Pierce’s amusement vanished. “Did you doubt it? After all, I offered him the finest of incentives, the use of his bloody money without my noose around his neck.”

Daphne nodded. “I know. No, I assumed he’d prefer financial security even to castigating his wayward wife.” She paused, lowering her gaze. “I spent my entire life in that house and I felt nothing, upon leaving it, Pierce, not even a pang.”

“Does that surprise you?”

“No. Nor does it matter. Once we managed to retrieve Russet, the last of my bonds with Tragmore was severed. I don’t intend to return.”

At the sound of his name, Russet raised his head from Daphne’s lap, his sharp eyes darting about the carriage. Evidently content with what he saw, he wrapped his tail around him, curled closer in the folds of his mistress’s gown, and went to sleep.

“Your fox cub appears to be taking his transition rather well,” Pierce observed dryly. “Granted, he was leery at first, but he certainly seems at peace now.”

“He’s accustomed to upheaval. He was abandoned young—at birth I fear—and had to make his own way.”

“He and I have a great deal in common.” A sad smile touched Daphne’s lips. “So you do. Well, like you, Russet is a survivor. He’ll resettle himself in no time, so long as I’m nearby.”

“A great deal in common,” Pierce repeated huskily, reaching across to take Daphne’s hand in his.

Their gazes locked, their fingers touched, and Daphne’s heart skipped a beat at the unconcealed longing burning in her husband’s forest green eyes.

“I wonder if I’ll always feel this way when you look at me like that,” she whispered.

“Like what?” Pierce kissed her fingertips, one by one, his breath a heated caress on her sensitized skin.

“Like you are now. Like you did last night.”

“Ah, last night.” Pierce eased across to sit beside her, his palms gliding up her arms to her shoulders, tugging her to him. “I can still feel you, taste you, hear your cries of pleasure as you shuddered under me.” His fingers slid beneath her hair, stroking her nape as his mouth found hers. “Ah, Daphne, I want to drown in you again.”

She gripped his coat, moaning softly as his words brought back all the excitement, the wonder of their wedding night. Her mouth opened to his, welcoming his tongue, melding it with her own. Had Russet not been occupying her lap, she would have flung herself into Pierce’s embrace, given herself up to his magic then and there.

Pierce sensed and shared her frustration. “When we arrive at Markham, I’ll introduce you to the staff—at least the first wave of them,” he murmured against her lips. “Then, I’ll arrange for a hot bath to be drawn for you. While you’re bathing, I’ll be making final provisions for your mother.” He circled his lips against hers. “Moreover, I suggest you concentrate on soaking the ache from your muscles. Because Daphne,” he nipped lightly, “I fully intend to tax each and every one of those beautiful muscles, plus some new ones that have yet to be exhausted, again tonight.” He absorbed her tiny shiver. “Are you amenable to that?”

“Y-yes. But Pierce?”

“Hmm?”

“I think my muscles will be renewed long before nightfall.”

“Prophetic as well as insightful and passionate.” Pierce traced her lower lip with his tongue. “Very well, then. Dusk, shall we say?”

“Late afternoon would be better.”

This time it was Pierce who shuddered. “Continue baiting me like that and I’ll make love to you in the carriage, fox or not.”

“That sounds intriguing.” Daphne gazed up at him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Pierce went rigid, then abruptly checked himself. “No, Mrs. Thornton. When I have you next, it’s going to be in a bed.
My
bed. Where we can enjoy each other with total and utter abandon. With no carriage seats nor sofa cushions to inhibit our movements or our pleasure. All right?”

“All right.” Daphne was barely able to speak.

“Good.” He glanced impatiently out the carriage window. “I am suddenly very eager to reach Markham.”

The bath water did indeed feel wonderful, Daphne thought gratefully, sinking deeper into the tub. She’d insisted on bathing herself, much to the chagrin of her new lady’s maid, Lily, whom she’d selected from the profusion of female servants she’d met earlier. Lily was of middle years, kind faced and experienced, having served the late Duchess of Markham for a dozen years.

Markham itself was not nearly so stark and intimidating as Daphne had anticipated. Oh, the manor was enormous, with hundreds of rooms on thousands of acres. But there was a seed of potential floating about, almost as if the estate were sleeping and needed the right touch to awaken it.

Daphne smiled at her fanciful notion. Perhaps it was the hot water making her silly, or perhaps it was the lingering elation over the hope she’d spied in her mother’s eyes when Pierce had described his various properties to her, as well as his various contacts, who would ensure her safety day and night. At this moment, Elizabeth was readying herself for her morning trip to Rutland, where Pierce owned a small, picturesque estate of modest acreage and beautiful scenery, an estate Elizabeth was most eager to make her home.

Once again, Pierce had answered a prayer.

“Sleeping, Snow flame?”

Pierce’s deep, resonant voice jarred Daphne from her reverie. She started, her eyes flying open to see her husband crouched down beside her, clad only in trousers and an open shirt.

“Pierce. I thought you were gathering men to safeguard your estate in Rutland.”

“The arrangements have been completed. Missives are in the process of being delivered. Rutland will be well guarded by the time of your mother’s arrival.”

“You’re wonderful.”

He smiled, lowering himself to his knees and rolling up his sleeves. “And you’re beautiful.” He brushed her damp hair aside to kiss her nape. “Did I waken you?”

“I wasn’t asleep. I was daydreaming.”

“About what?” His hands dipped into the water, then glided up and down her bare arms with slow, lazy motions, breaking the surface to caress her shoulders.

“About you,” she managed.

“I’m flattered.” Submerging again, his fingers found her waist, curved about her tingling skin, stroking up and down, pausing on each upward journey, always stopping just shy of her breasts.

Daphne began to tremble violently, everything inside her going liquid. With each whisper-soft caress, her stomach knotted, her nipples tightened into hard buds of need. “Pierce—”

He kissed her nape again, shifting a bit to feather teasing kisses down her neck.

“Pierce.” His name was a plea. She was going to die from the tension.

He claimed her breasts in one fluid motion, cupping their weight in his palms, lazing his thumbs over her nipples.

A muted whimper escaped Daphne’s lips.

“It’s late afternoon, my exquisite wife,” he murmured. “Are you ready for me?”

Wordlessly, she nodded.

“Are you certain?” His hands left her breasts, drifted over her rib cage and hips, then slipped between her thighs.

She bit her lip to silence the harsh cry threatening to erupt.

“Are you, sweetheart?” He touched her, parting her with his fingers, circling with his thumb. “Are you certain?”

“Yes,” she sobbed, nearly unraveling from his first intimate caress. “Pierce!”

He was on his feet, taking her with him, sloshing water everywhere and not giving a damn. Their rooms were adjoining. Pierce carried Daphne through her bedchamber and into his, lowering them both to his bed.

“I’m drenching your sheets.” She uttered a token protest, simultaneously tugging at his shirt.

“You are, aren’t you?” Live flames blazed in Pierce’s eyes. “Let’s remedy that.” Lowering his head, he began licking droplets from her throat, the hollow between her breasts. “Better?” he breathed raggedly, brushing her hands away to tear off his shirt, fling it to the floor.

“God.” Daphne’s eyes drifted closed. “Better. And worse.”

“Ah. More droplets of water.” Pierce’s tongue flicked over her nipple once, twice, then, together with his lips, surrounded the velvet peak, drawing it deep into his mouth.

“I’m going to die,” she gasped.

“Only of pleasure.”

“Pierce.”

“I love the sound of my name on your lips.” He moved up to kiss her, opening his mouth hungrily over hers. “You taste like scented rain.” He lowered his torso over hers, crushing her sensitized breasts beneath the hard wall of his chest. “Christ,” he rasped, rubbing his skin against hers. “You feel like heaven.”

Helplessly, Daphne arched against him, feeling the hard ridge of his erection pulse against her tender flesh, impeded only by his trousers. “Now, Pierce. Please, now.” She tugged at the hindering material.

He rose to his knees, his gaze hot and restless, his face hard with desire, and Daphne caught her breath as she waited for him to shed his clothing and come to her.

In one swift motion, he raised her legs over his shoulders, opening her totally to his possession. Before Daphne could protest, he bent his head, sinking his tongue deep, deep into her moist sweetness.

From somewhere in the distance, Daphne heard her own muffled shriek, and then the world spun away until she knew only Pierce’s mouth, Pierce’s tongue, and the forbidden ecstasy he was lavishing on her senses. She couldn’t bear it, struggling for him to stop at the same time as she begged him to continue. Pinpoints of unendurable need melded into one, spiraling endlessly, converging until they exploded into a shattering starburst of sensation that convulsed throughout her body, leaving her limp and barely conscious.

Vaguely, she heard Pierce make a sound of inarticulate wonder, felt the bed give as he vaulted to his feet, dragged his trousers from his body.

“Daphne.” Her name was an endearment, and Daphne’s lashes lifted as her husband came down over her. He nudged her legs apart, then paused, whip-taut, in the cradle of her thighs. “I have to have you.”

She welcomed him, body and soul, reaching up to caress the taut muscles of his forearms, wrapping her legs around his as she gave him the answer he sought. “You do have me, Pierce. You always will.”

With a ragged groan, Pierce thrust into her, one long, inexorable stroke, stretching the tender skin that still reeled from his earlier assault.

Oblivious to the minor twinge of discomfort, Daphne sobbed her pleasure, utterly engulfed in renewed sensation. She arched to meet him, opening herself to take him as totally as her body would allow.

Pierce stiffened as he sensed her body’s resistance. “Snow flame.” He could scarcely breathe, much less speak. “Am I hurting you?”

Fiercely, Daphne shook her head, winding her arms and legs about him. “No. Don’t stop.”

Bracing himself on his forearms, Pierce withdrew slowly, shuddering as he searched his wife’s flushed face. “God help me, I don’t think I can.” Even as he spoke, he was pushing into her again, groaning aloud as her muscles clasped him tightly, lured him deeper into her velvety wetness. “Christ, you strip away all my control.” His hips were moving of their own volition, the friction of her tight passage around his rigid shaft more than he could bear. “Daphne, I can’t go slowly. I’ve got to—”

“Yes,” she whispered.

He swore softly, hooking his arms beneath her knees to bring her up harder, open her more fully to the dark craving that clawed at his soul. “If I hurt you—”

“You won’t.” She threaded her fingers through the damp hair at his nape, as unafraid as she was certain of Pierce’s need and her own. “I love you, Pierce.”

The world exploded at her vow.

His restraint splintering into nothingness, Pierce surrendered to the wildness, his urgency beating, inside him like a relentless wave pounding at the shore, to be assuaged only when its power was spent. His thrusts became savage, incessant, demanding every ounce of passion Daphne could give.

She gave it all.

With a fervor she never knew she possessed, Daphne met her husband’s body thrust for thrust, immersed in his frenzied drive for fulfillment. Drowning in sensation, she dug her nails in his back, whimpering his name with each downward stroke, moaning uninhibited pleas for more that at any other time would make her blush.

“Daphne.” Pierce’s powerful muscles went rigid, his body drenched in sweat. He threw back his head, the tendons in his neck standing out as his body reached a pinnacle of sensation too sharp to withstand, too miraculous to define. “Take me, Snow flame,” he ground out, crushing her loins to his. “Meld your fire with mine.”

His words ended on a groan, and he shuddered, once, twice, his hips moving convulsively, his fingers biting into the tender skin of her thighs.