Married: The Virgin Widow (12 page)

“As soon as I plait my hair.”

“To hell with plaits!” Ford surged out of bed, throwing on a dressing gown of rich wine-red. “I will only pull them out again.”

For a fleeting instant, Laura glimpsed him completely naked—hard muscled thighs shadowed by dark hair, a proudly rampant sceptre rising between. She gasped for air. She gasped again, when he strode up behind her chair and hoisted her into his arms. He buried his face in her hair, drawing in deep draughts of her scent.

“If you are only dallying to fuel my desire,” he suggested in a husky whisper, “it is working very well.”

Dallying to fuel his desire? Laura struggled to catch her breath again. Did he reckon she was some sort of wanton temptress? When he discovered she was quite the opposite, would he feel betrayed by her again, in the most intimate way?

Ford carried her to the bed and laid her upon it. Then he reclined beside her and leaned over to kiss her.

“We must not be derelict,” he whispered between exploratory applications of his lips, “in undertaking our marital duties.”

Anxious as she was, Laura could not resist the sensual invitation of his kiss. His lips moved over hers, the subtle friction striking sparks of delicious sensation through her whole body. Then he captured her lower lip between his and began a languorous, velvety suckle, fuelling those tentative sparks to burn hotter. Her nipples puckered against the fine linen of her nightgown and a dewy fever kindled between her thighs.

Lulled by the sweet, wanton urges that possessed her, she responded to Ford with some long-suppressed instinct. Her lips parted, releasing a tremulous sigh. As if it were a sign he’d been waiting for, Ford pressed his kiss deeper. His hand found the sash of her dressing gown and untied it with a single deft tug.

That first breach of her cover, flimsy as it might be, let loose a swarm of sordid, distressing memories that she had locked away deep in her mind. She froze, haunted by visions of Cyrus’s cold, possessive hands pillaging her unwilling body.

Ford pulled back. “Good Lord, you’re trembling. What is the matter?“

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, dreading the disappointment she might see in his. She could not admit the truth. “I f-felt a draught.”

“Nonsense.” Ford spoke in a tone of tender concern, which Laura saw reflected in his eyes. “This room is an inferno. Or perhaps that’s just me. If you are cold,
it is my duty to warm you up. Wasn’t that one of our vows—for better for worse, for richer for poorer…for hotter for colder?”

Despite the bewildering whirl of emotions in her heart, Laura could not suppress a shaky smile at his jest.

Leaning in closer, Ford tilted his head until she could not avoid looking into his eyes. “If this is because of the way I behaved the other night, I swear you need have no fear of me. I cannot pretend it will be an easy task to curb the passion you provoke, but you have my word I will do everything in my power to bring you pleasure.”

Ford sealed his pledge with an insistent but tender kiss that somehow banished thoughts of Cyrus and held them at bay. Instinctively Laura sought refuge in that kiss and found it. The fires in her flesh rekindled, raising a protective barrier of flame between her and those skulking memories. When Ford’s hand closed over her bosom, she did not shrink from his touch.

It was not the first time a man had touched her breast, not even the first time Ford had. Yet it seemed that way, for his present attentions provoked very different sensations in her. Always before, it had felt as if something was being taken from her. This leisurely, stimulating caress seemed intent upon
giving.
It offered reassurance, bestowed admiration and lavished sweet, unexpected pleasure. When Ford lifted his hand away, Laura arched her body in an effort to maintain contact. A soft but urgent note of protest droned deep in her throat.

But Ford’s hand strayed only as far as her shoulder to ease down the sleeves of her nightgown. As soon as her breasts were bare, he disengaged his lips from hers to strew tantalising, feathery kisses over her chin and
throat. Once again he began to grace her breasts with his most ardent favors.

He grazed his cheek back and forth over them several times, a provocative variation of smooth and rough textures. Then he dusted kisses over them, working inward toward her straining nipples. Just when she could scarcely bear the sweet torment an instant longer, Ford rewarded her patience with a long slow stroke of his tongue. Laura let out a gasp of pleasure at the sensation of hot, liquid velvet. Then his lips closed over the exquisitely sensitive flesh to provide the offering she craved instinctively.

As he continued to suckle her breasts so pleasurably, Ford stretched his hand down and caught the lace hem of her nightgown. He tugged it up over her knees, then slid his fingers beneath to caress her thighs.

Deeply ensnared in this delectable labyrinth of sensation, Laura found a welcome escape from all her old fears and failures. The past and all its regrets were lost to her as if they had never been. The future stretched no further than the fulfilment of her body’s escalating desire. Within passion’s crucible, the shards of her shattered trust melted and reformed, forging a sweet certainty that Ford would sate this baffling hunger he had stirred in her.

He continued to rouse it hotter and deeper with every touch of his hand. The enticing patter of his fingertips. The deliciously wicked friction of his nails. The firm, masterful stroke of his palm. Higher and higher they ventured, tormenting her with the captivating promise of bliss. Hardly conscious of what she was doing, Laura parted her legs in a beseeching invitation, her hips straining toward the irresistible lure of his touch.

At last came the searing bliss of contact. Ford cupped his palm over the crest of her thighs, then his wanton fingers delved into the slick, sultry crevice below. At the same instant he raised his mouth from her breast to press a kiss of thrilling intensity upon her lips. As his tongue flicked in and out of her mouth, his fingers slipped and glided, fluttered and stroked below. He roused her to a perilous pinnacle of sensation, then launched her over the edge into a bottomless cauldron of molten delight. She writhed beneath him, keening her rapture in cries his ravenous mouth devoured with greedy zest.

While she was still drowning in pleasure, he eased himself over her, kneeling between her splayed legs. With one reckless, rending thrust, he plunged deep into her. A cry of mingled pain and rapture rose in her throat to collide with a growl of predatory passion from Ford’s.

Before she could entirely take in what was happening, he began to move inside her. Slow at first, the rhythmic thrusting of his hips rapidly gathered momentum to a wild gallop. His hot, ragged breath hissed against her cheek. At last, a fierce frenzy jolted his body and a hoarse, exultant roar broke from his lips. Panting and spent, he crashed down upon her

As Laura lay beneath him, a sense of warm, weightless peace flowed through her. So this was what it meant to be a proper wife to her husband. And she had done nothing different…except to want him. Could it be the burden of failure she’d borne so long was not hers alone?

“I’m sorry,” Ford whispered, his lips pressed against
her ear. “I didn’t mean to coax you over the edge too soon and for it all to be over so quickly. Give me a little while to recover and I promise you better the next time.”

Laura’s lips spread into a slow-blooming smile of long-denied fulfilment. Her husband must be well satisfied to propose having her again so soon. And to think
he
had begged
her
pardon for his fancied failings.

She reached up to stroke his hair, the first time she had touched him that night. “I cannot imagine any better.”

They made love twice more before morning.

After the most restful sleep Laura had enjoyed in a very long time, she woke to find Ford watching her with an expression of tender curiosity.

“You look like an angel when you’re sleeping.” He pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Now tell me, what shall we do today? Take a tour of his Majesty’s Pavilion? Go for a donkey ride along the cliffs?”

“Sea bathing?” suggested Laura. Her body was feeling deliciously tender after last night. The prospect of soaking in cold, salty water appealed to her.

“Sea bathing it shall be.” Ford rolled out of bed, giving his bride a splendid view of his firm, lean body. “But the first order of the day must be an enormous breakfast. I am famished!”

“No wonder.” Laura reached for her dressing gown, which had found its way to the floor along with her nightgown. “After all your exertions.”

Ford turned to answer her quip, but no words came out. Instead he stood frozen with his mouth half-open, staring at the bed. Laura followed his gaze to a smear of blood upon the sheets.

A bright blushed seared her cheeks. “Please, Ford, I can explain…”

She could explain, but would he understand? The shocked expression on his face made her fear he would not.

The sight of those bloodstained sheets made Ford’s stomach twist.

He waved away Laura’s efforts to explain. “You should have told me you were having your courses. I would have waited.”

With a sharp pang of shame, he recalled her reluctance to come to bed and his insistence. Had he given her cause to believe he would brook no delay in consummating their marriage? Reflecting on his behaviour the past few weeks, Ford feared so.

Before he could heap any more blame upon himself, Laura shook her head. “I am not having my courses.”

An even worse possibility clouted him. “Did I use you too roughly? I swear I did not mean—”

“No,” Laura snapped, as if angry to deny it.

“Then what…?” An impossible explanation knocked the legs out from under him. He sank on to the bed. “Do you mean to tell me you are still…
were
still a…?”

“A virgin? Yes.” Laura clutched her dressing gown
around her. “I know I should have told you, but I wasn’t sure you’d believe me. Now I suppose you must for there is the proof.”

A virgin and he hadn’t taken the least care, certain she was well used to the attentions of a husband. Not once, but three times—it was a wonder the poor woman could move after such handling.

“How?” Ford raked his fingers through his hair. All his old certainties turned on their heads again. “Why?”

“Does it matter now?” Laura gnawed her lower lip. “We are married. Our marriage is consummated. Can we not forget the past seven years? Yesterday in the carriage, you said we should look to the future.”

“Can we forget?” Ford slid back on to the bed and beckoned her to join him.

It was a seductive thought, but there was a world of difference between
forgetting
and
not knowing
. The latter he could not bear. What a man did not know could very well hurt him, and probably would. There were so many things he wished he’d known seven years ago.

As Laura edged on to the bed beside him, Ford offered an alternative. “Perhaps if we make a clean breast of things we can lay the past to rest and start afresh. I wish you’d told me your marriage to Cousin Cyrus was only in name.”

“It was more than name.” Laura averted her eyes and spoke in a subdued murmur. “At least Cyrus wanted it to be. He tried to…be a husband to me but he…couldn’t.”

“Cyrus was impotent?” Ford wasn’t sure why that came as such a shock to him—perhaps because he’d been so bedevilled by desire for Laura that he found it hard to imagine a man incapable of being roused by her.

“Is that what it’s called?” She twisted her wedding ring around and around her finger. “I only know he couldn’t do…what you did last night. He tried quite often at first, but less and less and as time went on. Mostly when he’d had too much to drink.”

“That would not have aided his performance,” Ford muttered. It must have driven Cyrus mad to have a beautiful, desirable young wife in his bed and not be able to avail himself of her charms. “Have you any idea what ailed him, that he couldn’t be a proper husband to you?”

“Must we talk about this now?” Laura scrambled from the bed and bolted behind the dressing screen. “I thought you were hungry. We should go get something to eat.”

Her voice had the high, tight pitch of barely controlled panic.

“Laura, what’s wrong?” Ford surged to his feet, threw on his dressing gown and followed her. “I know this is not a very pleasant topic of conversation, but—”

Ducking behind the screen, he found her pulling on a gown. A tear trickled down her cheek, leaving a faint moist trail behind it.

“My dear!” He tried to take her in his arms, but she backed away, wiping her face with her sleeve. “I am sorry to distress you with my questions, but this all came as such a shock.”

For a moment he feared more tears might follow the first one, but Laura inhaled a deep, quivering breath and composed herself. “Don’t you see?
I
was what ailed Cyrus. It was my fault for not doing my duty, not being a proper wife. I tried to be. But when he tried to make love to me, I felt as if I was going to retch.”

Her confession affected Ford the same way. “Was that how you felt last night with me?”

To his vast relief, Laura shook her head. “Surely you do not need to ask that. You made me feel things I never imagined—as if I was on fire or pounded by the surf. I must have done what I was supposed to, mustn’t I? Because you had no difficulty…with your part.”

Though she held herself back from him in a wary stance, her anxious expression begged for reassurance. Some instinct warned Ford he could hurt her very badly if he was not careful. There was a time he would not have hesitated to press his advantage, eager to repay all the pain she had caused him. None of that entered his head now.

“No difficulty at all.” Sensing she might feel cornered, he backed away. “Quite the contrary, in fact. Though I must confess, that had only a little to do with your reaction. I hope I would have behaved like a gentleman and not persisted if I thought my attentions were offensive to you.” Memories of his
ungentlemanly
conduct a few nights ago reproached him. “But that would not have hindered my ability to take my pleasure, if I’d chosen to.”

“It wouldn’t? But Cyrus said…”

Ford took a few more steps back and sat on the foot of the bed. “What did he say? That
you
were to blame because he could not perform?”

Laura gave a hesitant nod.

A grunt of bitter laughter burst out of Ford. “That is the biggest load of rubbish I have ever heard. If every man in England was rendered impotent by his wife’s aversion, most titled families would have gone extinct long ago.”

His wry quip brought the ghost of a smile to Laura’s
face, but it vanished as quickly as it came. Ford sensed there was more she had not told him about her marriage to his cousin. Perhaps because he’d never bothered to ask. That was about to change, but for now he had heard as much as his peace of mind could bear.

Was this what peace of mind felt like? Laura wondered as she bobbed about in the bracing, briny waves off the Brighton coast.

As far back as she could remember, there had been some worry nagging at her—her mother’s health, her father’s business, whether Ford would ever be in a position to marry her. Then her world had been rocked by tragedy that made all her past cares seem like nothing. In its wake had come a host of new worries about Cyrus’s advances and his temper, the effort to conceal her misery from her family. In recent years the old spectre of poverty had returned to haunt her along with the fear of Ford’s return and the trouble it might bring.

Now her mind felt as lightened and invigorated as her body, buoyed by the cold, salty seawater. There were still a few clouds on the horizon, but why spoil her enjoyment of the moment brooding about them? Hadn’t she worried herself sick about her wedding night, all for nothing? Ford had given her a taste of pleasure beyond anything she’d imagined. But his passionate lovemaking had helped her begin to see the failure of her first marriage in a new light.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” called the brawny
dipper
woman who had plunged Laura into the water a few minutes earlier. “You look to be enjoying yourself, but you’ll take a chill if you stay in much longer. Back into the bathing machine, if you please.”

Shivering in her sodden bathing costume, Laura climbed into the back of the small wooden shed on wheels. As the horses towed it back toward the shore, she stripped off the long-sleeved flannel shift and groped around in the dark to dress in her own clothes.

She found Ford waiting for her up on the promenade. “Survived the dipping, did you? You are braver than I. Give me a Turkish bath any day.”

“It felt beastly cold at first—” Laura took his arm and they began walking back toward the inn “—but once I got used to it, I found it very refreshing.”

“It seems to have agreed with you.” Ford looked as if he was trying to suppress a smile, but not succeeding. “Your face has excellent color and your eyes are sparkling.”

“Are they?” After an instant’s futile resistance, she surrendered to the giddy rush of elation his compliment brought her.

“Even brighter now.” He stared at her with such intent admiration, she was certain he would have kissed her if they had not been surrounded by people.

A moment later, he regained his accustomed brisk manner. “I made some enquiries while you were sea-bathing, about our being able to look over the public rooms in the Pavilion. I am told it can be arranged if you are interested.”

“Of course I am.” Laura had marvelled at the exotic structure during their stroll on the Steyne the previous evening. “I hardly recognised the place from how it looked when I saw it as a child.”

“The King has spent a fortune,” said Ford, “having the place enlarged, renovated and redecorated. We have come
at a good time to see it, for I’m told the latest work is nearly complete. When do you think you will feel up to going?”

“As soon as you can arrange it. Why? What do you mean
when I feel up to it
?”

It was difficult to tell with Ford’s face so darkly tanned, but Laura thought his color rose. “You know.” He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “A tour of that kind will mean a great deal of walking.”

A hoot of laughter burst out of her. “Don’t fret on that account.” She turned to whisper in his ear. “I did not break my leg, only my maidenhead, and the soak in seawater has done wonders for that.”

In spite of her reassurance, Ford remained touchingly solicitous of her comfort all that day, insisting their visit to the Pavilion could wait until later in the week. Instead, he took her for a drive through town in a hired curricle, then to a play at the Theatre Royal in the evening. He never mentioned what she had told him that morning, though now and then he seemed distant, making her wonder if he might be thinking about it. Their manner toward one another was cordial but sometimes awkward, as if they no longer knew each other despite the intimate connection they shared.

That night, Laura did not linger over changing into her nightgown. Though she unpinned her hair and shook it out, she did not bother to braid it before going to bed.

The moment she slid between the sheets, Ford reached over and snuffed the candle. “Goodnight. Sleep well.”

Without making any effort to kiss or touch her, he settled back on the pillows and lay still.

Laura lay beside him, staring into the darkness, listening to the hiss of her breath and fighting to quell the sting in her eyes. Had Ford sated his desire the previous night, leaving him spent and indifferent? Or was it something else?

She would not weep. She had prided herself on shedding less than a handful of tears since her father’s death and one of those had been only this morning. Through years of adversity she had discovered strength within herself and she had cultivated it. Just because her life had taken a turn for the better did not mean she could afford to weaken now. Even as she repeated that personal creed over and over in her mind, her eyes stung harder and moisture gathered in the corners.

“Laura,” Ford whispered, turning toward her, “are you still awake?”

Caution urged to keep still and silent, but she could not resist the hushed entreaty of his question. Swallowing the warm, salty liquid that trickled down the back of her throat, she murmured, “Yes. Why?”

“You needn’t worry.” Ford fumbled in the darkness for her hand. “I will not…bother you again until you’re healed from last night. I swear, if I’d had any idea how it was with you, I would have been gentler, taken more care.”

His furtive reassurance shattered her defences. A sob burst out of her, mixed with a gurgle of laughter. “So that’s what this is about. I thought perhaps you weren’t satisfied with me, after all.”

“Good Lord, no! What more proof could you want after last night?” Ford pressed her fingers to his lips and raised his other hand to stroke her cheek.

It came out of the darkness so suddenly she could not keep herself from flinching.

Ford groaned as if the breath had been kicked out of him. He lifted his hand from her cheek to rest on her unbound hair, fingers combing feathery furrows through it. “Did Cyrus ever…hurt you?”

She couldn’t tell him. She had vowed never to tell anyone. Throughout her marriage she’d gone to great lengths to hide the truth from her family and the servants. It was one of the shameful secrets she had kept hidden away for so long behind the stout walls she’d erected around her heart.

Though she made no reply, Ford seemed to hear through her silence. “He did, didn’t he?”

Still not able to say the words, Laura nodded, her head brushing against the tips of his fingers buried in her hair.

“Damn him to hell!” growled Ford as he gathered her into his arms, cradled her head against his shoulder and held her in a powerful, protective embrace.

As they lay there, cloaked in forgiving darkness, their bodies seemed to exchange some wordless communion. Ford’s hard, lean muscles tensed with righteous anger, while his smooth, warm skin radiated comfort and his heart pulsed with healing sympathy.

“I swear,” he whispered at last, with a depth of fierce certainty that had been lacking in their marriage vows, “I never will!”

Ford held her in his arms all that night, sometimes dozing, sometimes awake and thinking. Hard as it was for him to imagine an old duffer like Cyrus beating a defenceless woman, he knew it must be true even before Laura gave that hesitant nod. It explained so many
things that had puzzled him about her behaviour. No wonder she’d been so secretive, so wary…and so reluctant to wed him.

Dear heaven, what must she have feared when he’d barged into her bedchamber after the ball? Ford could not have felt more sickened with shame if he had intended to hurt her.

Whatever she’d done to him in the past and whatever her reasons, she had been punished worse than he had ever wished upon her. Far worse than she deserved. From the parched depths of his heart, he dredged a trickle of forgiveness. It tasted sweeter than he would ever have believed.

When morning dawned, he lay there with Laura in his arms, bathed in a deep, delicious contentment, savouring her warm, soft presence. As on the previous morning, he feasted his eyes upon the innocent beauty of her face, admiring the dainty shape of her nose, the luscious fullness of her lips, the luminous softness of her skin.