Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

G race climbed down from the coach outside the old steward's house, still heartsick over the painful encounter at The Willows that afternoon. In the two days since their wedding, she and Lucien had not shared a bed, and even the countess's best wishes were edged with concern. Grace had hoped to drive back some measure of her sorrow by being welcomed by the Harcourts. She would have given anything to be embraced by Jane or Penelope, to have someone assure her she'd done the right thing. But she sensed that the precipitous London wedding had rattled Lucien's family nearly as much as it had done her own.

His mother had continued on to her cottage in Galen's Well, saying newlyweds needed time alone. The rest of the family had, apparently, left Everdene Hall immediately after the messenger Lucien had sent ahead informing them of the elopement.

A note in Simon's scrawled hand was the only greeting they received, stating that he and Penelope were delivering Cassandra and Jane for a visit with friends met on the voyage from Italy. He then planned to go on to evaluate a stud he was considering adding to the Everdene stables. Simon and Penelope would not return to Everdene for a fortnight. They would celebrate the marriage then.

Yet, something in Lucien's expression when he shared the news made Grace suspect some darker tension simmered beneath the note's surface.

She tried to smile and greet the staff installed at the smaller brick residence as Lucien made cursory introductions, but it seemed he knew what that cost her.

"Tomorrow is soon enough to begin taking charge of the household," he said. "Today, you will want time alone to unpack and settle yourself."

Under the circumstances, she could hardly expect a tender interlude like most bridal couples shared. Yet, after the night he'd come to her bedchamber in the townhouse, some part of her imagined that she might hope for more than this dismissal. Her new husband was an enigma. At one moment, controlled, commanding a room and everyone in it. The next…there had been something almost charming about his discomfiture with Sibby Rose and Scrap. A hint of vulnerability that had called to her.

"I have a pressing appointment with my solicitor, so I will be gone for dinner," he said, consulting his pocket watch. "I will come to you at ten of the clock if you find that agreeable."

He was just leaving her? She felt a frisson of alarm but reined it in firmly. What had she imagined? That he would spend this first day they'd been truly alone with her, as bridegrooms were wont to do? Apparently Lucien meant to begin as he would go on.

"Ten." She almost imagined him noting it down as if it was one more obligation in his appointment book.

Lucien bowed and strode away.

The maid assigned to attend her was named Ruby, an affable country girl, eager to please as she took things out of Grace's trunk.

"His lordship gave strict orders you are to have every comfort. A bath, supper served in your chamber, books lining your shelves."

Every comfort, it seemed, except familiar company in these strange new surroundings, she thought. She lifted her chin and set herself to spreading her belongings about this room, longing to make it more like home.

They'd worked for nearly two hours when Grace saw Ruby remove a flat rectangle bundled up in a shawl. Before the maid could unwrap it, Grace took it from her hands.

The startled girl flushed. "My lady?"

"I will finish the rest on my own," she told Ruby, then tempered her voice. "Thank you so much for your help."

The maid gave her an uncertain smile, bobbed a curtsey and left.

As soon as the door was shut, Grace sat down at the dressing table. She unfolded the silk until it lay open on her lap like the petals of a flower, at its center, a framed sketch she had made of her brothers and mother four summers ago. It was only a fair likeness drawn by a girl with some small talent. But it captured the joy in her loved ones, the warmth. A frozen moment when all had been right with her world.

She propped it on her dressing table then set the toy soldier beside it.

It was so very, very quiet here. Almost as if the house were a tomb and those inside it were unable to wake up.

The Willows had always been bustling with noise and people. Even the times she'd squirreled herself away in the study, it had been with the understanding that, at any moment, her brothers could burst in and carry with them delicious chaos, quarrels for her to mend, injustices to put right, toads and rocks and any number of treasures to be admired.

It all felt so strange, as if the events of the past week had happened to someone else and she was watching some other Grace from a distance, vaguely perplexed.

At least she had the books she'd brought for company, letters she could write. She sat down at the desk, drew out a sheet of stationary. Dipping her quill in ink, she tried to form the words to sooth her brothers. But what could she say to ease the anger, the hurt, and their feeling that she'd deserted them? The one thing of which she was certain: they would all be changed when next she saw them. Avery and Ethan. Bennet. She would be changed as well. Blinking back tears, she set down her quill.

She'd never felt so alone.

The night's preparations had been fit for a bride. A bath with scented rose petals, hair brushed until it shone, a gauzy nightgown donned. Even the coverlets had been turned down, before a blushing Ruby curtseyed and left Grace alone with the ticking clock. Was this to be her life? Grace wondered. Lucien even scheduling the hour he would come to her bed?

She read and reread passages of a novel, unable to recall what they said from one page to the next. When she finally heard the low rumble of masculine voices beyond the door to Lucien's bedchamber, she grew more on edge than ever. She recognized her husband's voice, though she could not make out what he was saying. His valet answered, no doubt readying Lucien for bed…knowing what the night would hold? Her cheeks burned.

She attempted to focus on her book, but she surrendered, staring into the fire until she heard the valet leave. Lucien's room went quiet for what seemed an eternity, her nerves on edge.

She was almost ready to go to his room herself when she heard footsteps nearing the adjoining door, the handle turning, the panel opening. Her heart raced as Lucien entered her room. He was garbed in a silk brocade banyan of midnight blue fastened with gold silk frogs. His hair was slightly damp from his own ablutions, and he was freshly shaved. He looked every inch a prince, carrying an inlaid chest in his hands. Pandora's box? She wondered.

"Good evening, Lady Everdene." The syllables rolled over his tongue as if he were savoring the finest whiskey.

Her mouth suddenly went dry, her heart racing. "My lord," she answered, a shiver of anticipation and unease mingling as she imagined what was to come.

Lucien gripped the box in his hands, trying to think what to say. That Grace was so beautiful she took his breath away. That he'd been counting every moment until he could strip away the last barriers between them, take the lovely body that had haunted his thoughts since the moment he'd left her, naked in her bed. That she deserved every luxury he could give her, the softest linens, the warmest fire, to be made love to with a tenderness he could never hope to possess, drawing out pleasure to an exquisite edge. He wanted to tell her that and more. Yet all that would come out was, "I trust you have had sufficient time alone to unpack and settle into your role as mistress of the household."

"I did. Quite too much time, actually." Her hand fluttered to her throat. "I mean, I finished unpacking long ago."

Lucien glanced around the room. "Everything is to your satisfaction?"

"It is." She rose from the chair by the fireplace, setting the book down. "Though I confess, I have had trouble convincing myself that this marriage is real."

"I bring proof that it is," he said, opening the chest. Light sparkled on countless gems. "I had my solicitor deliver the Everdene jewels."

She crossed to the dressing table, looking down at the glittering adornments, but there was no joy in her eyes at the sight. "They are very beautiful."

"Are they not to your liking?"

"I'm just not sure why…they're here?"

"Because you are my viscountess."

"I'd rather be your wife…"

Her words, uttered so soft, undid him, melting part of that shard in his heart, affecting him like the strongest of aphrodisiacs. "After tonight, I will leave no doubt in your mind that you are." He drew her toward him. His lips found hers, her mouth stiff with nervousness. But she softened as he coaxed her lips apart.

She fit so perfectly in his arms, her breasts pressing into his chest, causing his skin to hum with that energy in the air before lightning strikes.

"We are both in uncharted seas," he murmured, "but I find myself eager to explore, chart every island and shore, every soft, secret harbor that promises pleasure. Tonight, there are no boundaries we cannot cross, as long as you are willing." His ran his finger down the column of her throat, looking into her eyes. "Do you know what happens between a man and a woman, Grace?"

She laughed, startling him, and he drew back, frowning.

"You find the question amusing?"

"Forgive me, but I couldn't help myself. Surely, you knew my mother? She thought it inexcusable that young girls were sent out into the world without the slightest knowledge about their bodies, or notion what to expect with their husbands. In fact, she not only made certain that I understood, but many of my friends as well. She made it her crusade to dispel myths about how one fell pregnant."

"I'd imagine that stirred up quite a tempest among your friends' own mamas at times."

"Yes. Especially when she insisted that even our own…instincts…were not to be feared or ignored." Her cheeks went pink. "Yet now…I expect it is a trifle more complicated than she claimed. I am not quite sure what it is I should do. I?—"

"What do you want to happen? Tell me."

He waited with a patience that only made her more nervous. Could he really expect her to say the words aloud? Was that a gift? Or a burden? He saw her lick her lips, swallow hard. Knew she was struggling to answer. "You have seen all of me," she said at last. "I want to see all of you."

His cock hardened, every primitive male instinct in his body straining to break free. He wanted to crush her in his arms, strip her nightgown away with one fierce yank, bury himself inside her as he'd been longing to do. But he kept tight control. "As you wish," he said. "Tonight we choose how much to conceal or reveal."

He led her to the bed, then paused, taking her hand and placing it on the topmost gilt silk fastening at his chest. "Go on, sweet…I want you to."

Her breath hitched.

Grace slipped the first knot of silk cording through its loop, then the next, and the next, her fingers unsteady as she reached his narrow waist, lower. When the last fastening was undone, the garment gapped open, revealing a slice of hard masculine body. He was naked beneath the robe, and she trailed her gaze from the pulse in his throat, to the dark dusting of hair on his chest, following it as it arrowed down his flat stomach in a dark ribbon, leading to mysteries below. She spread the cloth open, then ran her hands up to his shoulders to slip the garment off. His body seemed made for sin.

He stood there, shameless as Adam in the Garden of Eden, firelight limning his body. He was beautiful, all powerful muscles, long bones and sinew. He seemed so patient, and yet, his arousal left no doubt he was eager for this joining, his shaft erect in its nest of dark hair.

"Touch me," he urged, half command, half plea.

She did so. His jaw knotted as she ran her fingers over his chest, learning him by touch. All that power, strength, so still. He was coiled like a tiger one breath away from pouncing. She reveled in the contrast, steel sheathed in silk, his skin so hot, smelling of bay rum and soap. She reveled in the thrill she felt, her own power to elicit such a reaction from Lucien. She wanted to snap that control, make him feel the need she felt. Remembering the spear of desire she'd experienced when he'd touched her nipples, she skimmed her fingertips over the flat disks, heard his breath hiss between his teeth.

He reached for her, divesting her of her nightgown. A chill ghosted over her bare skin, but only for an instant. His fingertips traced the curve of her breast, lightly at first, circling her nipple, but not touching the hard point until she was aching. He drew her so tightly against him she could feel every plane, so hard, so blatantly male. His mouth found hers, hot, skilled, his hands drawing her into currents that swept her away into a world of sensuality, of yearning, every nerve seeming to cry out for what he alone could give her.

She twined her arms about his neck. Her breasts flattened against his chest, the hair teasing her with its delicious texture, his shaft a hard ridge between them. He kissed her, his tongue slipping between her lips, stroking there, as if a prelude to what their bodies would soon join in. Sliding his big hands down, he cupped her bottom and pulled her onto her tiptoes, tighter, until his shaft was cradled against the place that ached to be filled. It seemed impossible that something so large would ever fit inside her, and yet, she wanted it to, so much.

He slid his mouth to her ear, his voice hoarse, tickling the tender flesh. "I want you very badly, Grace. All of those miles from London, I was picturing things that may shock you."

A delicious shiver rippled through her as she whispered, "Show me."

He smiled, a smile so sensuous her knees melted. He slid his hand down her arm, the tips of his fingers slightly rough on the sensitive skin as he reached the inside of her wrist where her blood was rushing. "Come to bed."

He scooped her up as he'd done before, but this time he followed her down, the mattress sinking under his weight.

His mouth was on her throat, his teeth skimming the fragile skin in tiny nipping kisses, his tongue teasing her as he trailed kisses down to take her nipple between his lips. She gasped as he suckled her, and she threaded her fingers through the black silk of his hair, holding him to her breast. One long leg curved over her thighs and he half covered her with his body.

She shifted, restless, eager as he smoothed his hand past her waist, along her hip, down her thigh. He circled his fingertips against the intimate place behind her knee, then gently eased her legs apart, and charted a path upward, to the soft down, and the place that felt slick and swollen.

When he found the pearl at the top of her sex, stirring it with the tender-rough pads of his fingers, she gave a little cry, the sensation almost too intense to be pleasure, and yet, it was.

"Oh…oh, my…that feels…"

"It can be even better, if you'll let me…"

"Yes…" Anything…everything …

"Open for me, Grace. I need to taste you."

She thought she'd known what to expect. But this? Lucien settling his big body between her legs. The slow, hot journey of his mouth downward, the dark silk of his hair brushing her belly, his broad shoulders spreading her wider, all of that heat and strength pressing against her inner thighs.

He threaded his fingers through the soft tuft, his fingers opening the petals of her sex. Dear God, what was he doing? He stared at her most secret places, his breath teasing the sensitized flesh. He smiled, a tiger's smile, his gaze blazing with a heat so intense it thrilled her, frightened her. She stiffened, clutching handfuls of the sheets to anchor herself in a world tilting off its axis. Something altered in Lucien's face, and he kissed the downy mound, then drew away. She made a soft sound, needing him to fill an aching emptiness, and he slipped his finger inside her. Grace arched her back, deepening the sensual invasion. His thumb circled the sensitive nub his breath had warmed moments ago.

Tension built, and she strained toward it, lost in waves of pleasure as he slid a second finger into her sheath, thrusting and withdrawing, stretching and opening her. He found a place inside her, deep, that she hadn't even known existed, and she cried out, and he renewed his efforts, his thumb circling, teasing, taunting the nub at the top of her sex, driving her higher on the crest of something she could not name.

She lifted her hips, desperate to get closer, the sensation building until she gasped his name, the pleasure breaking over her in huge waves. He pulled away, and she moaned in protest, but he was atop her, his shaft hard against the slickness. He reached between them, guiding his blunt tip to her entrance, then braced himself on his elbows above her. He pushed into her, just an inch, then paused, sweat beading his brow.

"There will be pain."

"I know." She slid her hands down his back, urging him deeper.

He shifted his hips forward, shallow thrusts, then deeper, filling her inch by inch. She felt the tearing, the sting.

One last thrust and he was buried deep. "Are you…well?"

She nodded, not able to put into words the feelings rioting inside her. Pain, yes, but far more pleasure.

"You feel…so tight…so perfect…Wrap your legs around me." She did so, twining her legs around his narrow hips, lifting herself against him. Her arms drew him even closer, and he kissed her, as he began to move. He was trying to be gentle.

She could feel what it cost him to keep his desire tightly leashed, sweat glossing his skin. "Lucien…I want…I need…more…"

He drew back, just far enough for her to see the taut planes and angles of his face. "More?"

"More of this…more of you…just…more…"

He cursed low, kissing her fiercely, then set himself into a rhythm, driving deep, all but withdrawing, then driving deep again. She clutched him, grasped the hard curves of his buttocks, arching closer and closer, urging him with her hands, her body, her soft cries.

When she could bear no more, she pressed her teeth to his neck and Lucien gave a groan of surrender, his own body like iron against hers as he grasped for his own pleasure.

He reached between them, circling the sensitive bud with his thumb, and she felt a new crest rising, one far more overwhelming than the first. "Come for me, Grace. I can't wait any longer…"

The climax burst over her, and she sobbed in completion, felt him drive deep, pulse inside her. He arched his head back. A raw, animal sound tore from his throat, his body shuddering in release. When the last tremor of pleasure fell still, he collapsed atop her, his breath rasping, his body slick with sweat. He buried his face in her neck, and she could feel the hammering of his heart against her breasts. After a moment, he rolled off of her, both of them laying on their backs, their breath still rasping. She felt the loss of him, his weight, his warmth, the emptiness and ache where he had been inside her. She wanted him to gather her against him, wanted him to hold her, but the space between them seemed to fill with a distance she could not name.

"There," he said, pulling the coverlet over her. "It is done."

"Done?" She stiffened, hurt.

He was ruining it. The excitement, the passion, the breathtaking pleasure she'd found in his body and her own.

"Next time there will be no pain."

She wanted to believe that was what he meant, but there was a tightness in his voice that made her wonder if there was more he was not saying.

"I have never been with a virgin. I hope it was not too uncomfortable."

What was she supposed to say? That she'd felt as if he'd split her in two? That it stung and burned and then all she had been able to do was hold on while he seemed to launch her into worlds unknown? Swirling heat and exquisite sensation where her body strove to keep up with the pleasure he gave her? That she had felt wild with it, giving herself so completely? But now, with his coolness, this distance he'd put between them, she felt as if she were suddenly lost, more alone than she had been when he walked through the bedchamber door.

She caught her lip between her teeth.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, stood and scooped up his banyan, covering his nakedness then crossing to the washstand and dampening a cloth. When he returned to the side of the bed, his face was once again impassive, so distant it chilled her.

What was he thinking? Had she been a disappointment? She hated how much she needed reassurance, needed him to hold her. The room was so unfamiliar, the wound of leaving her home, her brothers too fresh.

"You will be wanting this," he said, retrieving her nightgown, the folds appearing even more fragile in his strong masculine hand. Once she had slipped the filmy garment on, he passed her the damp cloth. His gaze dipped to the place still tender after his possession. "You are sure that you are…quite well?" He looked as if he wanted to say more.

"Quite. A trifle cold."

He crossed to the hearth. Taking up the poker, he stirred the embers into a brighter blaze. He stood with his back to her, his head bent, staring down into the orange flames. After a moment he turned, "That should warm the room. Now I will leave you to your rest."

"Will you not stay?" she asked softly.

"No." Lucien clamped his jaw tight, then turned and strode out the door.