“Why don’t you have a bath, too?” she suggested. She smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “And while you enjoy a good long soak, I’ll order dinner.”
“I’ve ordered it,” he said. “They should be up with it soon. I thought we might dine here. It would save the bother of dressing for dinner.”
She studied his face, and slowly her mouth eased into a smile. “Perhaps you’re not quite as hopeless a case as I thought. What about Sherburne?”
“I sent a footman to Chudleigh with a note,” he said. “I informed Sherburne I’d see him at the wrestling match. Saturday.”
She stepped back, her smile fading. “I see.”
“No, you don’t.” He rose. “You’re coming with me.”
He watched her chilly composure ebb as she took in the last sentence and decided to believe him. Her soft mouth curved upward again and silver mist shimmered in her eyes.
“Thank you, Dain,” she said. “I should like that very much. I’ve never seen a proper wrestling match before.”
“I daresay it will be a novel experience all round,” he said, gravely eyeing her up and down. “I can’t wait to see Sherburne’s face when I arrive with my lady wife in tow.”
“There, you see?” she said, unoffended. “I told you there were other benefits to having a wife. I can come in very handy when you wish to shock your friends.”
“There is that. But my own comfort was my first consideration,” he added as he edged away. “I shall want you about to cater to my whims and soothe my sensitive nerves and…” He grinned. “And warm my bed, of course.”
“How romantic.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “I believe I shall swoon.”
“You’d better not.” Dain headed toward the door she’d entered. “I can’t wait around to pick you up. My bladder is about to explode.”
With the world securely in order, Dain was able to devote the leisurely bath time to editing his mental dictionary. He removed his wife from the general category labeled “Females” and gave her a section of her own. He made a note that she didn’t find him revolting, and proposed several explanations: (a) bad eyesight and faulty hearing, (b) a defect in a portion of her otherwise sound intellect, (c) an inherited Trent eccentricity, or (d) an act of God. Since the Almighty had not done him a single act of kindness in at least twenty-five years, Dain thought it was about bloody time, but he thanked his Heavenly Father all the same, and promised to be as good as he was capable of being.
His expectations in this regard were, like most of his expectations, very low. He would never be an ideal husband. He had almost no idea how to be a husband at all—beyond the basics of providing food, clothing, shelter, and protection from life’s annoyances. And getting brats.
As soon as offspring came into his mind, Dain slammed his dictionary shut. He was in a good humor. He didn’t want to spoil it by fretting, and working himself into another fit of insanity over the inevitable. Besides, there was an even chance the brats would come out like her rather than him. In any case, he wouldn’t be able to prevent their coming because there was no way he could keep his hands off her.
He knew a good thing when he had it. He knew that tumbling his wife was about as close to experiencing heaven as he’d ever get. He was far too selfish and depraved by nature to give it up. As long as she was willing, he wasn’t going to worry about consequences. Something horrible was bound to happen, of course, sooner or later. But that was how his life worked. Since he couldn’t prevent it, whatever it was, he might as well take his motto from Horace: Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero. Seize the day, put no trust in the morrow.
Accordingly, with matters properly sorted out and settled for the present, Dain joined his wife for dinner. During the meal, he further revised his dictionary. To her odd list of accomplishments he had already added a comprehension of the art of boxing. At dinner he discovered she possessed a knowledge of wrestling as well, gleaned from sporting periodicals and male conversations. She had reared not only her brother, she explained, but ten boy cousins as well—because she was the only one who could “manage the lot of ignorant savages.” Yet not one of the ingrates would take her to a professional match.
“Not even Polkinhorne’s bout with Carr,” she told Dain indignantly.
That famous match had also taken place in Devonport, two years ago.
“There were seventeen thousand spectators,” she said. “Would you please explain to me how one female would attract notice in such a crowd?”
“You are bound to attract notice, even amid seventy thousand,” he said. “You are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, as I distinctly recall telling you in Paris.”
She sat back, startled, her smooth cheeks turning pink. “Good grief, Dain, that was a flat-out compliment—and we’re not even making love.”
“I am a shocking fellow,” he said. “One never knows what astonishing thing I’ll say. Or when.” He sipped his wine. “The point is, you will attract notice. In normal circumstances, you would have a lot of drunken louts bothering you and distracting your escort. But since I shall be your escort, there will be no bothering or distracting. All the louts, however drunk they may be, will keep their eyes upon the wrestlers and their hands to themselves.” He set down his wineglass and took up his fork again.
“The tarts had better do the same,” she said, returning her attention to her food. “I am not as big and intimidating as you, but I have my methods. I won’t tolerate such annoyances, either.”
Dain kept his gaze on his plate and concentrated on swallowing the morsel he’d just very nearly choked on.
She was possessive…about him.
The beautiful, mad creature—or blind and deaf creature, or whatever she was—coolly announced it as one might say, “Pass the salt cellar,” without the smallest awareness that the earth had just tilted on its axis.
“These large sporting events tend to attract Cyprians in droves,” he said. “I fear you’ll have your hands full…” His mouth twitched. “Fighting them off.”
“I suppose it’s too much to ask you not to encourage them,” she said.
“My dear, I wouldn’t dream of encouraging them,” he said. “Even I know it’s very bad ton to—to cast lures at other women while one’s wife is about. Not to mention you’d probably shoot me.” He shook his head sadly. “I only wish my self-restraint were enough. But the vexing thing is, they don’t seem to want any encouragement. Everywhere I go—”
“It does not vex you,” she said with a reproachful glance. “You are well aware of your effect on women, and I’m sure it gratifies you no end to watch them sigh and salivate over your magnificent physique. I do not wish to spoil your fun, Dain. But I do ask you to consider my pride, and refrain from embarrassing me in public.”
Women…sighing and salivating…over his magnificent physique.
Maybe the brutal bedding had destroyed a part of her brain.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking of,” he said.
“Did I not pay a king’s ransom for you? Why in blazes should I waste money and energy luring other females, when I’ve bought one for permanent use?”
“A few hours ago, you were prepared to desert me,” she pointed out. “After only three days’ marriage—and before you’d consummated it. You did not seem to regard money and energy any more than you regarded my pride.”
“I was not thinking clearly then,” he said. “I was at the mercy of my delicate nerves. Also, I’m not accustomed to regarding anybody else’s feelings. But now that my mind has cleared, I see your point, and it’s a sound one. You are the Marchioness of Dain, after all, and it will not do for anyone to laugh at you or pity you. It is one thing for me to behave like a jackass. It is quite another, however, when my behavior reflects ill upon you.” He set down his fork and leaned toward her. “Have I got that right, my lady wife?”
Her soft mouth curved. “Perfectly,” she said. “What a keen mind you have, Dain, when it is clear. You go direct to th
e heart of the issue.”
The approving smile shot directly to his heart and curled warmly there.
“Good heavens, that sounds like a flat-out compliment.” He laid his hand over his melting heart. “And on my intellect, no less. My primitive, male intellect. I do believe I shall swoon.” His gaze slid to her décolletage. “Maybe I’d better lie down. Maybe…” He lifted his eyes to hers. “Are you finished, Jess?”
She let out a small sigh. “I daresay I was finished the day I met you.”
He rose and moved to her chair. “Anyone might have told you that. I can’t imagine what you were thinking of, to keep plaguing me as you did.” He lightly trailed his knuckles along her silken cheek.
“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” she said.
He took her hand and drew her up from the chair. “I begin to doubt you are capable of any kind of thinking,” he said. He wasn’t either, at present. He was too achingly aware of her skin, flawless porcelain white, and of the small, graceful hand in his own.
He was painfully conscious of his great, clumsy bulk, and his crude ways, and of his darkness, inside and out. He still had trouble believing that only a few hours earlier, he’d been pounding into her, slaking his bestial lust upon her innocent body. He could scarcely believe his lust was aroused again, so fiercely, so soon. But he was an animal. She had only to smile at him and the monstrous, brutal need swelled inside him, smothering intellect and demolishing the woefully thin veneer of civilized male.
He told himself to calm down, to talk, to woo. She wanted to be seduced, and it was the least he could do. He ought to be able to. He ought to have that much control. But the best he could do was lead her to the bed, instead of grabbing her and throwing her down on the table and himself on top of her.
He drew back the bedclothes and sat her down upon the mattress. Then he gazed at her helplessly while he searched the turgid mire of his mind for the right words.
“I couldn’t keep away,” she said, her grey eyes searching his. “I knew I should, but I couldn’t. I thought you understood that, but it seems you didn’t. You got that part wrong, too, didn’t you? What on earth have you been thinking, Dain?”
He had lost track of the conversation. He wondered what she read in his face. “What did I get wrong?” he asked, essaying an indulgent smile.
“Everything, it seems.” Her sooty lashes lowered. “And so it’s no surprise that I misjudged.”
“Is that why you didn’t keep away? Because you misjudged me?”
She shook her head. “No, and it’s not because I’m addled upstairs, either. You are not to think I’m mad, Dain, because I’m not. I know it looks that way, but there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. The intellect, as you of all men ought to know, is no match for the intensity of the animal drive. I’ve been in lust with you from the moment I met you.”
His knees grew wobbly. He crouched down in front of her and took a firm grip of the edge of the mattress. He cleared his throat. “Lust.” He managed to keep the one syllable low and steady. He decided not to try any more syllables of anything.
She was searching his eyes again. “You didn’t know, did you?”
Dissembling was utterly beyond his powers. He shook his head.
She brought her hands up to cup his face. “You must be blind. And deaf. Or terribly confused. Everyone in Paris knew. You poor man. I don’t want to begin to imagine what’s been going through your mind.”
He managed to laugh. “I thought it was me they knew about. That I was…besotted. I was. I told you so.”
“But, darling, you lust after every female you see,” she said ever so patiently. “Why should Paris work itself into a frenzy about that? It was because of my behavior, don’t you understand? They saw I was too infatuated to keep away, as a sensible, strong-moraled lady should. That’s what made the business interesting to them.”
Darling. The room was whirling merrily about him.
“I wanted to be sensible,” she went on. “I didn’t want to bother you. I knew it would lead to trouble. But I couldn’t help it. You are so…virile. You are so thoroughly a male. You’re big and strong and you can pick me up with one hand. I cannot describe what an extraordinary sensation that is.”
Virile he understood. He was that. He also understood there was no accounting for tastes. Until she’d come along, he’d always been attracted to largish women. Very well, then. Her tastes inclined to big, strong men. He was certainly that, too.
“I’d heard all about you,” she said. “I thought I was prepared. But no one had described you properly. I was expecting a gorilla.” She drew her index finger down his nose. “You were not supposed to have the face of a dé Medici prince. You were not supposed to have the physique of a Roman god. I wasn’t prepared for that. I had no defenses ready.” With a small sigh, she brought her hands to his shoulders. “I still haven’t. Physically, I cannot resist you at all.”
He tried to find a place in his dictionary under “Dain” for dé Medici princes and Roman gods, but the phrases fit nowhere, and merely contemplating them made him want to howl with laughter. Or weep. He couldn’t decide which. He decided he was becoming hysterical. He wasn’t surprised. She had a knack for doing that to him.
He stood up. “No need to worry, Jess. Lust is no problem. Lust I can deal with very well, thank you.”
“I know.” She eyed him up and down. “You deal with it to perfection.”
“In fact, I’m prepared to deal with it this very minute.” He began heaping pillows against the headboard.
“That is most…understanding of you,” she said, her glance darting from the pillows to him.
He patted the heap. “I want you to lie here.”
“Naked?”
He nodded.
Without the smallest hesitation, she stood up and undid the sash of her dressing gown. He watched the robe fall open. She gave a lazy shrug.
Femme fatale, he thought as, entranced, he watched the heavy black silk slither down past her slim shoulders, over the creamy skin and achingly feminine curves, and fall with a sensuous hiss at her feet.
He watched the graceful movement of her slight body as she climbed onto the bed and settled back against the pillows, unashamed, uninhibited, unafraid.
“I almost wish I could be naked all the time,” she said softly. “I love the way you look at me.”
“You mean the panting and salivating?” He untied his own sash.
“I mean that sleepy, sulky look you get.” She laid her hand upon her belly. “It makes my insides hot and muddled.”
He flung off his dressing gown.
She inhaled sharply.
His swelling shaft sprang up, just as though she’d called to it. Dain looked down and laughed. “You want virile. Virile you get.”
“And big and strong.” Her voice was husky. Her softened grey gaze traveled up and down his frame. “And beautiful. How the devil was I to resist you? How could you think I could?”
“I didn’t realize you were so shallow.” He climbed onto the bed and straddled her legs.
“I suppose it’s just as well,” she said. “Otherwise…” She slid her hand up his thigh. “Oh, Dain, if you had guessed what was going through my mind when I met you…”
Gently but firmly he removed her hand and set it upon the mattress. “Tell me.”
“In my mind, I took off all your clothes. I couldn’t help it. It was a dreadful few moments. I was terrified my reason would snap, and I’d actually do it. There, in the shop. In front of Champtois. In front of Bertie.”
“You took off my clothes,” he said. “In your mind.”
“Yes. Ripped them off, actually. As I did a short while ago.”
He bent over her. “Do you want to know what went through my mind, cara?”
“Something equally depraved, I hope.” She stroked his chest. Again he took her hand away.
“I wanted…to…lick you,” he said slowly. “From the top of your head…to the tips of your toes
.”
She shut her eyes. “Depraved, yes.”
“I wanted to lick you and kiss you and touch you…everywhere.” He kissed her forehead. “Everywhere it’s white. Everywhere it’s pink. Everywhere else.”
He trailed his tongue over one sleek eyebrow. “That’s what I’m going to do now. And you must lie there. And take it.”
“Yes.” One sibilant sound of acquiescence and a shiver—of pleasure, apparently, because her soft, ripe mouth curled upward.
He brushed his lips over that small, cat-in-the-cream-pot smile, and said no more, but gave himself up to realizing his fantasy.
The reality, he found, was sweeter, and the taste and scent of her more intoxicating by far, than the dream.
He kissed her nose and savored the satin of her cheek. He inhaled her and tasted her and discovered her all at once, all over again: the perfect oval of her face, the slant of her cheekbones, the skin so fine and flawless that he’d wanted to weep when first he beheld her.
Perfection, he’d thought then, and it had nearly broken his heart, because he couldn’t have her.
But he could, for now at least. He could touch his lips to that perfection…the heartbreaking face…the tantalizingly dainty ear…the smooth column of her neck.
He remembered how he’d stood in the shadows and hungered for the white skin exposed in the lamplight. He trailed his parted lips down over the snowy shoulder he’d gazed at from his hiding place, and down her right arm to her fingertips and back up again. He made the same lingeringly possessive path up and down her left arm. Her fingers curled and her breath came in sweet little sighs that murmured in his veins and made his heart thrum like a violincello.
He lavished kisses over her firm, round breasts, rising and falling with her quickened breathing. He trailed his tongue over the taut, blushing nipples and savored her tiny moans briefly, then made himself move on, because there was more, and he would take nothing for granted. He’d experience it all, because the world could end tomorrow, for all he knew, and Hell open up and swallow him.
He continued downward, washing kisses over her smooth belly and the luscious curve of her hips…down the outside of her slender, shapely leg, to the slim ankle and on to the tips of her toes, as he’d promised. Then slowly he worked his way up again to her satiny inner thigh.