Slightly Married (16 page)

She had always passionately wanted children. It was perhaps one reason why, at the age of nineteen, she had been ready to accept Joshua's offer even though she had felt no romantic sentiment toward him. It was definitely one reason why, when she turned one and twenty, she had suggested that John openly admit their secret attachment to the earl and countess—already of one year's duration by that time—and risk their ire by marrying her. In the four years since then, culminating in this year of total separation while John was in Russia, she had fretted at the passing of her childbearing years.

“No, leave it loose, Edith,” she told her maid when the girl, having brushed out her hair, was preparing to braid it as usual for the night. “And I will not need my nightcap.”

She met her maid's eyes in the dressing room mirror, and they both blushed. Edith turned away to hang up the gray silk evening gown Eve had just removed.

The advent of Becky and Davy into her life had been a blessing indeed, Eve thought as she moved into her bedchamber and closed the door behind her. She had taken them in only because she could not bear the thought of children being homeless and unwanted. But it had not taken many days before they had come to seem like her own children. They still did—they
were
her children. She had exasperated the marchioness after they had left Miss Benning's and gone to other shops to purchase various accessories by stopping to buy a pretty little bonnet for Becky and sturdy boots for Davy—and then, of course, she had had to buy a little sailor hat for Benjamin.

She missed them all dreadfully, she thought as she set a candle down on the table beside the bed. The days without them were already seeming to be endless. But perhaps these weeks would give her another child—a baby this time, child of her womb, to suckle at her breasts and cry every few hours for the comfort of her arms and the nourishment of her milk. It was too wonderful a thought to be dwelled upon. And of course there would be
only
these few weeks. She must guard against hoping too much.

There was a tap on the door and all thoughts of conception and babies fled as Aidan came into her bedchamber, wearing a royal blue brocaded dressing gown and slippers. He looked as large and grim and formidable as ever. He also looked overwhelmingly attractive, though she did not know why. He was certainly not a conventionally handsome man. And he was too broad and too large for a godlike physique. But she could hardly wait for him to touch her again, to be inside her again, to make love to her again.

Perhaps, she thought, it was because she had had yet another of those tantalizing glimpses behind the facade—this time at a man whose grimness hid suffering. He was a man who had devoted his adult life to duty—to family, to king, and to country—yet he saw himself as a killer. She felt a sudden and quite unexpected wave of tenderness for him.

D
ON
'
T LET
A
UNT
R
OCHESTER BULLY YOU INTO HAVING
it cut,” he said, coming toward her and taking a lock of her hair between his middle and forefingers. “It is lovely as it is.”

It was, too. It was a shade of midbrown that did not attract as immediately as blond or red or black might have done. But it was thick and shining, and now that it was loose he could see shades of honey and gold glinting in it. And it waved in ripples over her shoulders and partway down her back. She looked amazingly enticing in her prim white nightgown, her long, slim legs outlined against the fabric. He had wanted to think of her with no more personal interest than he would feel for a casual mistress, but he had been very aware, crossing from his own dressing room through hers and coming into her bedchamber, that she was his wife. That it was not just sex they were about to have but conjugal relations—the term he had used to her earlier.

He lowered his head and kissed her openmouthed. She smelled of roses and soap. But she set her hands on his shoulders and set a little distance between them before he could deepen the embrace.

“As I have told you before,” she said, “I will allow no one to bully me, not about my hair or anything else. Not even you.”

“We are not back to your clothing bills, are we?” he asked. It had not occurred to him that she would try to pay them herself. He was still incensed at the insult, which she probably did not even realize she had dealt.

She sighed and shook her head. “Not now,” she said. “We will fight about those tomorrow.”

“A good thing too,” he said. “Tonight we will love. Tell me, Eve, are you one of those women who fear nakedness? Will you swoon quite away if I unclothe you? And if I remove my dressing gown before blowing out the candles?”

He was not wearing anything beneath it, but he would not force her to look at him if she preferred to perform in darkness and under cover. They had done neither yesterday, of course, but yesterday they had coupled with almost all their clothes on.

She shook her head.

He dispensed with her nightgown as soon as he had opened the buttons down the front of it. Although he had never been a great admirer of slender women, he found her very beautiful. She was slim and lithe and porcelain skinned. She was shapely in the right places. Her breasts were not large, but they were firm and uptilted, her nipples pink and puckering with the chill—or perhaps with embarrassment or desire.

He undid the silken sash of his dressing gown, shrugged out of the garment, and let it fall to the floor. Unlike her, he was far from beautiful. Though there was no excess fat on his body, he was large, he knew. He always had to be careful not to hurt his women. He bore the scars of numerous old wounds, and there were his large nose and his dark hair and eyes and complexion, all of which must repel some women. But she had admitted to having enjoyed what she had had yesterday. He would not hide from her now.

He cupped her shoulders with his hands and kissed her again, holding her slightly away from his body. She shivered. And then he lifted his head and watched as he slid his hands down from her shoulders to cover her breasts and then move beneath them—darkness against pale femininity.

“They are too small,” she said, watching his face.

Ah. She was not confident of her sexual appeal, then.

“For what purpose?” he asked her. “For suckling babies? I doubt it. For pleasuring a man? No. They fit my hands perfectly, you see.”

She looked down as he lifted them and set his thumbs over the hardened nipples and pulsed lightly against them. Then he lowered his head, took one nipple in his mouth, and sucked, rubbing his tongue over the peak. He felt himself tighten and harden into arousal.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, her hands tangling in his hair. She arched in against him.

“We had better lie down,” he said, lifting his head. “Will you mind if the candles are left burning? I like to watch what is done. But I will extinguish them if you would prefer.”

She hesitated, and he could tell from the look in her eyes that she would prefer darkness.

“Leave them burning,” she said.

She lay down in the middle of the bed, but when he joined her there, he did not immediately top her as he had done yesterday when they had both been hot with passion. Neither did he lie beside her. Instead, he knelt on the mattress, spread her thighs wide with his hands, and then kneeled between them. She bit her lip and spread her hands, palm down, on the sheet on either side of her while he set his hands behind her knees, raised her legs, and spread his own wide beneath them.

He leaned over her then, his eyes devouring her, his hands exploring her slowly and thoroughly with all the expertise he had developed over the years, arousing her with feathering touches and light stroking, tickling, pulsing, scratching, pinching in erotic places he knew would heighten her desire. She lay still beneath him, her arms spread over the mattress, her eyes half closed, her lips parted, responding with heat and shortened breath and little moans of pleasure, but not participating. He played her with his mouth, his tongue, and his teeth as well as with his hands.

One thing was clear, at least. Her sexual experience was very limited indeed.

He slid his hands down over her slender, smooth legs, until they were behind him, finding and working the places on her feet that would arouse further need in her. And sure enough, when he moved his hands between her thighs, he found her hot and moist. He probed with the fingertips of one hand, stroking gently, parting folds, exploring between, sliding one finger up inside her, watching what he did and knowing that he could wait no longer than a few moments more before mounting her. He felt her muscles contract strongly about his finger and withdrew it.

“You are ready?” he asked, looking up into her eyes. He could read her body and knew the answer, but he would not penetrate before she had assented.

“Yes.” The low huskiness of her voice caught at his breathing.

He slid his hands beneath her to cup her buttocks, tilted her, and entered her with one firm thrust. Heat, moisture, and tightening muscles enfolded him and he closed his eyes, drew a slow breath, and imposed control over himself. He wanted to cover her with his weight and release all his tension into her with a few powerful thrusts. But he had aroused her and must now satisfy her. He stayed on his knees between her thighs, kept his hands where they were, and watched as he withdrew and entered again and again, concentrating on giving her his full length and a strong, firm rhythm. He watched, detaching his bodily needs from what he saw, waiting for her body to respond.

She was beautiful, all woman—woman in the act of sex. He could hear the wet rhythm of what they did together and smell the rawness of sex mingled with soap and roses. She moved her arms to cup his knees with her palms.

Then finally came the moans and the tightening of her inner muscles and the hard straining up against him that were signs of imminent climax. He kept his rhythm steady, pressing hard through the narrow, tight, wet passage with each inward thrust. And then she relaxed and opened like a flower to the sun and he entered her one more time, pushing deep, holding still, and finally, when she was soft and fully opened and satiated, he gave her his seed.

She was half asleep when, a minute or so later, he disengaged from her, got up to extinguish the candles, and then lay down at her side, pulled the bedcovers up over their damp bodies, and slid one arm beneath her head. He had not intended spending the night in her bed—he never had literally slept with a woman—but she was sleeping and he was tired and he knew he would want her again before morning. They had only a few weeks together, after all. They might as well make the best of the time they had.

Just before he slept, she turned onto her side, burrowed her head against his shoulder, and sighed in her sleep.

A
IDAN WAS TYING THE SASH OF HIS DRESSING GOWN
and looking down at Eve. She had woken when he had lifted her off his body, where apparently she had slept for the past hour or two after they had made love for the third time. She regretted his leaving the bed so early—surely it
was
early?

“What time is it?” she asked.

“About six,” he told her. “I am always an early riser. I have promised to go riding in Hyde Park with Freyja and Alleyne. Go back to sleep.”

Oh, riding! In the early morning! There was nothing lovelier. He was going with his brother and sister with no thought to the fact that she might wish to go too? But anyway, she had no riding habit with her.

“I thought of going to White's Club with Alleyne later this morning,” he said, “and to Tattersall's afterward. He is looking at some horses to purchase. However, if you need me . . .”

“I do not,” she said. “There are only four days to go before my presentation to the queen. Lady Rochester will be here soon after breakfast. In her opinion four days are by far too short a time to rid me of my rusticity and teach me how to curtsy correctly.”

“Is a curtsy not a curtsy?” He frowned.

“Apparently not,” she said. “And there are a thousand and one other things to learn. You may amuse yourself as you will during the days, Aidan, and not feel that you must hover gallantly over me at every moment. And the evenings too—you must not feel obliged to sit with me as you did last evening.”

He looked openly relieved. “Once you have been presented,” he said, “you will be expected to appear everywhere. You
do
understand, do you not, that this is the Season, that your days will be filled with visits, shopping expeditions, garden parties, Venetian breakfasts, walks and rides and drives in the park, picnics, and numerous other activities? And that each evening will be crammed with parties and balls and routs and concerts and theater visits? Aunt Rochester will be able to give you more details.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “But you need not look so grim, Aidan. You will not be obliged to escort me everywhere—I already know that about
ton
marriages, you see. It will be enough that I will be seen and known as your bride. Soon enough we will both be released from this—this charade and will be able to return to our own lives.”

He considered her words and then nodded briskly.

“Well,” he said, “just follow my aunt's instructions and all is bound to go smoothly for you. And follow Wulf's directions too. Wear colors as soon as your new clothes begin to arrive. He is quite right—gray does not become you.”

She turned onto her side, facing away from him, pulled the bedcovers up about her ears, and lay still. For a few moments there was only silence behind her, and then she heard the quiet opening and closing of her dressing room door.

Now why had she somehow expected that the night would make all the difference? What sort of foolish
female
notion was it that love changes everything? It was not even love they had shared last night. Women, Eve understood, often made the mistake of thinking that tender intimacy in bed must be a product of love. It had been
only
physical intimacy, utterly pleasurable for them both—she was well aware that all three times he had used considerable expertise to make sure that she enjoyed the act. He had succeeded very well indeed.