Confessions From an Arranged Marriage (16 page)

Not that she much cared. Coherent thought was beyond her capability. All she could do was grind herself into his touch in pursuit of some unknown, unnamed goal. Her eyes closed, her breathing deepened. She yearned.

With a jingle of harness the carriage jerked to a halt, along with all the delicious sensations of Blake's touch.

“We're here.”

“What?” She felt she'd awoken from a beautiful dream.

“Come,” he said and his voice sounded as wobbly as she felt. He swung her down to the street and only his hold on her waist prevented her tripping on the cobblestones. At a pace that bordered on the unseemly, he took her by the hand and hurried her into their building, up the sweeping staircase to their apartment.

“Milady is unwell,” Blake informed the footman who met them in the hall. “She must go to her room at once.”

“I will send in her maid,” said the servant.

“No need,” Blake snapped and dragged her down the passage.

“This is your room,” Minerva objected. “What will he think.”

“I can guess and I don't care. By God, Minnie, do you have any idea what you do to me?”

She liked the sound of that. “I think it may be the same thing you do to me.”

“Good. Turn around.”

Before she could argue, he was at her back, undoing buttons. He kissed her nape, rousing blissful shivers as he slid the silken sleeves down her arms and the gown rustled to the floor. She arched backwards against his chest. “More,” she said.

“Oh yes, Minnie. There will be plenty more, I promise. And there's a whole lot more of you I want to see. Starting with your hair.” Fingers, blunt yet deft, threaded into her head, seeking and discarding pins, loosening the plump braids, combing out the locks and arranging them down her back. “Like a golden stream,” he murmured.

There was something exciting about having him behind her. Without the sight of him, the touch of his hands and lips and his caressing tones affected her acutely. Hard to imagine there'd been a time she'd loathed the very sound of his voice. Now each word he uttered gave her a sensual thrill. She closed her eyes to enhance the feeling. Unusual too was the acceptance of a certain passivity, letting him do what he would and lead the way. She stood quite still while he wrestled with the laces of her stays and raised her arms obediently when he tugged them over her head. Blake knew his way around a woman's clothing. Shift and drawers followed, leaving her almost naked.

With a hand trailing around her waist he walked in front of her and looked, from her blue kid slippers, her white silk stocking and garters, past the fair hair covering her sex, and lingering at her breasts. Fingers reached out and stroked one with an air of reverence and wonder, evoking a delicious shudder. “Minerva.” The word spun like a silken skein. “Truly a goddess. You are well named.” His thumb rubbed rough over her nipple and the ache in the breast echoed that of her inner passage.

Finally their eyes met and instead of being embarrassed as she might have expected, she felt beautiful and powerful because this magnificent man was regarding her with unmistakable desire. And though being naked in his fully-clothed presence made her feel vulnerable in a delightfully wicked way, she reached for the end of his neck cloth and pulled.

“I want to see you too,” she said, her cool tone belied by her racing heart.

He smiled his beautiful smile and, without breaking eye contact, removed his coat and tossed it onto a chair. “Whatever you wish, Minnie.” And at that moment she knew she really liked him to call her by the silly name, and also that she'd never, ever admit it.

“Don't call me that,” she said, but in a gravelly voice that sent a contrary message.

“Here, Minnie.” He handed her his neck cloth and started on his waistcoat.

“Let me help.” And while she slipped silk buttons from their holes she tilted her head to invite his kiss and somehow their mouths were still joined as he shrugged the waistcoat off. She would have undone the buttons of his trousers but he stopped her.

“Not yet,” he said, his breathing a little rough and his eyes darkened to indigo. Instead he raised his arms and she tugged loose his shirt and helped pull it over his head.

Never had she seen a more wondrous sight than the muscled contours strewn with golden hair. She stepped back a pace to admire him and extended a trembling hand.

“Touch me, Minnie. I want you to touch me. Everywhere.”

“Yes,” she breathed and felt warm skin over flesh that jumped beneath her palm as she explored his athlete's broad shoulders and chest, the flat disks of his nipples, down the ridges of his abdomen to the iron-hard flat stomach. Her own chest felt heavy and full. In a burst of pent-up longing she reached her arms about him, hugged him hard, pressing her face into the center of his breast, feeling soft hair beneath her cheek and a piquant masculine scent in her nostrils.

His hand came up to her head, stroking her hair with careful tenderness. “I think,” he said, “it's time we went to bed.”

He stripped off the covers and she lay on her side on cool linen, watching him remove his boots before he joined her.

“Why are you still dressed?”

“It's your first time, Minnie. It'll be better for you to go slowly. If I'm not . . . free, I'm less likely to do something I regret.”

“What?” Minerva felt quite pouty about not seeing the rest of him. Now that she'd got this far she was curious to see a man's prick. Especially Blake's prick.

“Never mind. You'll understand eventually. Relax and leave it all to me. I promise you'll enjoy this much more if you're truly excited.”

“I'm already excited. I was excited when you touched me in the Hôtel Mouchy. I was excited in the carriage. I'm excited now. How excited can I be?”

He swooped in for a hard laughing kiss. “Much more than you are now. The fact that you're testy and capable of sensible speech means you've a long way to go to be ready.”

“I'm sure I'm ready now.”

“Did I say
sensible
speech? For such a clever girl, Minnie, you talk a lot of nonsense.”

Rather than bite off his head for this outrageous statement, Minerva decided to let it go. She had to admit that in the present instance Blake knew what he was doing. Diana had suggested Blake would prefer an experienced lover, but he seemed to be quite content with her ignorance for the moment. She'd feel more confident applying her theoretical knowledge once she had some experience with the fundamentals. And though she was now looking forward to the event so much she couldn't conceive of any pain, Diana had warned her the first time might not be pleasurable.

His mouth quirked in a grin that made her stomach flip. “I've told you before, Minnie, you think too much. It is now my duty as your husband to render you mindless.”

Over the next who-knew-how-many minutes Blake proved he had talents beyond the sporting, unless lovemaking was a sport, in which case he could add it to his list of championships.

With hands, lips, and body he caressed every inch of her skin, bringing her to a state of mindlessness and beyond. Whoever would have thought breasts would be so sensitive to touch? That a man sucking on one's nipples would send needles of bliss shooting down her torso? That the rough cloth of his trousers against her naked skin would thrill her so? When his fingers once more entered her private core she moaned with joy, thrusting upward to meet his stroke and grabbing his wrist to warn him not to stop, not to dare stop. With wicked skill he teased her, building a rhythm as his finger worked the route to her inner passage while his thumb flicked on that hidden nub, which swelled to giant proportions in her head until it occupied her brain to the exclusion of all else.

“Please, please,” she begged, straining against him, tense with desire for something just beyond her grasp.

“Be still, let go,” he whispered.

She focused her entire mind on that one aching spot.

“Let go,” he said again and softly kissed her mouth, and she did, and flew off into a dark, silent place where only pleasure dwelt.

When she returned to the world Blake was propped on his elbow and his expression could only be called a smirk.

Though growing late, there remained sufficient light to see clearly. It was odd to be in bed when it was barely evening. She glanced down at his trousers. Boldly she placed her hand on the prominent bulge. It twitched under the cloth and he let out a groan.

“Does that hurt?” she asked, surprised. She would have thought otherwise.

“Lord, no. It's too good. I'm going to remove these now.”

He swung off the bed and made short work of the buttons. As he slid trousers and drawers down, his prick—the only word for it she could recall—sprang free. It was a bit larger than she expected and extremely buoyant.

“May I touch it?”

“Better not, if we intend to dispose of your virginity today. You, my lovely little Minnie, have brought me to a sorry pass.”

He nudged apart her legs and, telling her to bend her knees, settled between them. With his splendid body covering hers she felt deliciously surrounded. The hair on his chest softly rasped her breasts and set her nipples atingle. He rocked in the cradle of her thighs and rubbed his prick, hard yet soft and very hot, along the damp crease of her entrance and she felt desire return. She wriggled a little, and bobbed her head up for an encouraging kiss. Down there she felt an emptiness that needed to be filled. He guided his member into place, probing at the entrance to the unbreached passage. She gasped with excitement, and then with pain as he entered. He felt too big and it hurt. All pleasure vanished and she whimpered.

“I'm sorry, Minnie,” he whispered against her lips. “I'll make it quick.”

She supposed he kept his word, but the first sharp thrusts felt like a dagger. They seemed to go on and on, as the pain eased to dull discomfort. At last he stiffened, threw back his head with an incoherent cry, and collapsed on top of her. She felt a gush of heat inside her, his seed she realized.

Instead of feeling sated bliss as she had after he'd pleasured her with his hand, she was a little irked by his weight. Far from mindless, thoughts whirled through her brain. His legs were hairy. The pleated silk lining the bed canopy had a small stain. She might be enceinte. Fond as she was of her nephews, she had no desire to produce progeny at Diana's pace. Besides, she had lots of things she wanted to do before pregnancy slowed her down.

Blake rolled off her and onto his back. He was panting softly and looked quite happy. Minerva tried to be reasonable. He had taken the trouble to make her happy earlier. And it wasn't his fault she was virgin and it turned out to be true that the first time hurt. But she didn't know if she could bear to ever do it again. Supposing it always felt this bad?

She lay beside him for a while and felt worse and worse. Even though her attempt to catch a Bonapartist had been an abject failure, she would have accounted the day a success, if an unorthodox one, up to the last quarter of an hour. Blake and she had felt like a real honeymoon couple, laughing and flirting and making love. Now she was full of doubts that she would be able to enjoy the marriage bed and satisfy her husband with his endless experience of beautiful, skilled courtesans. Especially when she remembered Diana saying that men were more satisfied when a woman enjoyed it.

She couldn't stand to think that he was lying there considering her inadequacy. She had boundless confidence in her ability to manage the public business of a lady of influence but discovered a most undesirable streak of uncertainty when she considered herself as a bedmate. If she'd pleased him, why didn't he say anything?

His breathing changed. She bolted upright. He was asleep!

The servant should have been in to light the fire and the lamps and draw the curtains. Minerva felt her cheeks grow warm because the household must know what she and Blake had been doing. She'd never really thought about how much servants knew of the most intimate habits of their masters. They must have noticed that Lord and Lady Blakeney had not, until this moment, shared a bed on their honeymoon. A fresh source of humiliation.

She got down from the bed, pulled on her shift in the fading light, and found a candle and tinder.

Peeved as she was, her heart danced a little jig at the sight of Blake stretched out, his skin golden against the pure white sheet. Nursing the flicking light she bent over the bed, the better to admire his glorious naked male body. A story of Greek mythology came to mind, of Psyche so overcome by the beauty of her sleeping husband, the God Eros, that she dropped wax on his chest and almost lost him forever.

She straightened and took a step back just as he opened his eyes and blinked at her. “Minnie,” he said, barely awake. “I nodded off. What time is it?”

He rolled over with the easy athleticism that was even more pronounced naked than when he was clothed, and sat on the edge of the mattress.

She looked away, suddenly shy. Instead of being thrilled by their state of undress, she felt exposed and awkward. “I don't know. It's almost dark.”

He retrieved the loose top sheet from the pile of bedding and pulled it over his lap. “How are you, Minnie?” He smiled and held out a hand to her. She took it, a little stiffly. “Are you sore?”

“I'm all right.”

He dropped a kiss on her palm. “It'll be better next time, I promise.”

“It was fine.” She felt like crying and she wasn't about to let that happen, having no idea how Blake would interpret such a sign of feminine frailty. She had no idea herself. Her emotions baffled her.

He stared at her, warily she fancied. “Are you hungry? I am.”

“I suppose.”

“Shall we dress then, and see what's for dinner?”

He stood up, holding the sheet around his waist with one hand and giving her a quick awkward embrace with his other arm. She endured it briefly and without reciprocation, then tore herself away.