Chapter 9

9

T repidation accompanied the light flutter that spread through Samantha's stomach. Her pulse gave a nervous jolt when Adrian's hand clasped hers. Mouth dry, she forced her feet into motion and allowed him to lead her upstairs.

There was no sense in being surprised or anxious. Not when she'd thought about this moment and how it might play out numerous times, long before he'd even proposed, when the simplest way for her to acquire the information she'd needed had been through seduction.

And then they'd married, leaving no doubt about what would transpire between them. Only for the inevitable to be postponed, first because of the wound she'd sustained when Newton shot her, and later by the damage caused to her marriage when Adrian realized she'd been plotting against him .

Considering how long she'd had to adjust to the expectations a husband would have of his wife, she ought to feel more prepared than she did. But the truth was she'd never felt more out of her depth.

Her breath quivered as she followed Adrian into their bedchamber. After the conflict they'd had, it was especially important that this experience be a positive one for Adrian. Somehow, she'd have to get past her racing pulse and inhibitions.

So she thought of Mrs. Butler, the brothel owner who'd told her about the ins and outs of bedsport at Harlowe's request. There wasn't much to the basics, the seasoned bawd had informed her. Most important was conveying confidence and eagerness, even if it had to be feigned. No man wanted a lover who hid beneath the bedsheets.

Suppressing a sigh, Samantha pushed the bedchamber door shut, then turned the key in the lock. A shiver raced down her spine, but rather than submit to the edginess it encouraged, she squared her shoulders and raised her chin with quiet determination.

When she glanced at Adrian, wicked intent stared back at her from within his dark gaze. Her breath caught, a flicker of heat ignited beneath her skin. Unmoving, he stood before her, waiting, assessing, possibly trying to figure out how to proceed.

It occurred to her then that this was new for them both, for although she was sure he'd bedded countless women before, he'd not bedded her. Never his wife. Perhaps the fact that she held this role would add meaning to the next moments. She hoped so, for she knew in her heart that her own world was going to change.

Not daring to think extensively on this she closed the distance with Adrian, her arms circling his neck as she leaned in and kissed him. Soft and tender, a gradual reacquainting that stirred deep sensations, luring desire and need to the surface until they were both gasping for air.

What started as an almost hesitant acclimation, turned increasingly heated with each scorching touch. Questing fingers explored, pulling at fabric, searching for additional access.

Samantha's gown vanished, tossed aside along with Adrian's jacket. Air kissed her skin as the rest of her clothes were removed, the self-awareness she'd thought she'd experience, completely non-existent.

If anything, Adrian's expression, the lust burning in his dark eyes as he stood before her drinking her in, was so damn intoxicating she scarcely recalled her own name. Air hissed between his teeth, the throaty growl that followed, a primal sound filled with promise.

His palm settled against her hip, one callused finger drawing small circles against her flesh, those mesmerizing eyes of his daring her to make the next move. She leaned into his strength, hands fisting his shirt, pulling him closer, forcing his mouth back to hers.

One second, her tiptoes dug into the carpet, the next, her legs wrapped around his waist as he scooped her into his arms. She knew what came next and she wanted it now, wanted him so thoroughly she wondered at the doubt that had gripped her just moments before.

Holding her to him, he walked to the edge of the bed while her fingers undid his cravat. The knot was loosened, the long strip of pristine white linen unwound to reveal the base of his throat.

Unable to resist, she flicked her tongue against the spot, felt his hands close more firmly around her. And then she was being lowered, gently positioned upon the mattress with him between her thighs.

He braced himself on his forearm as if taking care not to crush her. His breath caressed her cheek as he trailed one finger down her middle.

Samantha gasped, her splayed hands frantically gripping the coverlet in an attempt to keep from writhing. Adrian's low chuckle of appreciation swept over her body.

Stillness followed and then he withdrew, the mattress rolling slightly in response to the shift in weight. He stood, staring down at her with delight for a couple of heartbeats before sweeping his shirt over his head.

It was her turn to stare in response to the rippling bands of muscle that came into view, illuminated by a nearby oil lamp. She propped herself on her elbows, determined to get a better look, her mouth going dry when he pulled off his trousers and smalls.

She swallowed hard, heels pressing into the mattress as she allowed her gaze to traverse his body, to fully appreciate every piece of perfection.

By all that was holy, this man would put all Greek statues to shame. And she, lucky devil, would have the pleasure of touching every inch of his glorious body.

Heavens above, she could scarcely wait.

He placed one knee on the bed and she reached for him, arms circling his powerful torso, hands flattening over toned muscle. Fingers stretched wide, she ran them across the puckered lines she knew she would find there. He stiffened, drew back and grabbed her arms, pushing them back so she lost her grip.

The fierce look in his eyes speared her breast, slicing through it with painful force. It conveyed a vulnerability born from the kind of shame that was stitched into his very essence. Which made her all the more furious about it and all the more determined to help him accept what had once been done to his body.

He himself had informed her of his father's brutal conduct. He knew the proof he'd been whipped should not surprise her, but he'd no idea trying to keep it from her would be pointless.

Despite the risk, she had to address this now, if only to make sure no secrets remained between them. So she drew a deep breath, prayed he'd forgive her, and said, "You don't have to hide your scars from me. I've already seen them."

His grip on her tightened. "How?"

"When I was scouting your house for signs of where the information I sought might be kept." She stared straight into his penetrating gaze. "I was perched on top of one of the houses across the square and spotted you through my spyglass. You were in this room, your back turned to the window as you removed your shirt."

There was something terrifying about his slow and even breaths – the predatory element of a beast preparing to strike. "That was not for you to see."

"Which is why I turned away when I realized you were undressing."

"Did you relay the information about my scars to Harlowe and Kendrick?"

"No. It wasn't relevant to the case. Besides, I considered it an intrusion of your privacy." His answering snort compelled her to add, "If it makes any difference, the sight infuriated me and—"

"I don't want your pity," he growled.

"Do not mistake pity for sympathy and a violent desire to punish your father for what he did."

He breathed deeply, not quite relaxing but letting the beast within retreat a little. "A challenge to be sure, now that he's dead."

It sounded as though he regretted not having punished his father himself while he'd had the chance. Instead of asking about it, she scooted backward to gain some freedom of movement, her hand clamping down on his shoulder when he started rising.

"Stay," she whispered, perching beside him, one leg curled beneath her, the other dangling off the mattress. Leaning in, she placed soft kisses against his knotted flesh, showing him as best she could that it didn't repulse her, that it should not cause him shame, that she accepted this part of him without judgment.

A slow sigh reduced some of the tension in his shoulders. She moved in closer, skin against skin, each touch a tender assurance of her devotion. There would be no barriers between them. Not anymore.

Her teeth grazed him and his arm came around her, sweeping her onto the bed with predatory force. One moment she was at his side, the next she was on her back, gazing up at raw desire.

She was given no chance to adjust to her new position before his mouth and hands were upon her, raining pleasure upon her body until she became a writhing mess. Devil that he was, he seemed to enjoy the whimpered pleas she uttered when he allowed the fire he'd stoked inside her to cool rather than giving her what she wanted.

Insufferable torture, that's what it was.

"I hate you," she muttered when he positioned himself between her thighs.

A rough laugh was his only response as he rose above her, his broad shoulders blocking the light from the oil lamp. Muscles flexed in response to every small movement. The tightness in his features informed her that showing restraint was hard on him too.

His wolfish gaze swept the length of her body, straight down her middle. And paused. Nostrils flared. A second passed, just enough for her to suck in a breath, before he was joining his body with hers, the sensation so overwhelming and yet so utterly perfect, tears filled her eyes.

This was what it meant to belong, to share a heartbeat, to forge an unbreakable bond. And as he started to move, taking her with him every step of the way, her soul reached toward his and held on tight, uniting them as one.