Chapter Eight

A few hours later

S imon came awake to the feeling of something being off.

As he lay on his back and came to awareness, he remembered that his new wife had fallen asleep in his bed after he'd come home, for he'd had a concert last night, and though it had gone well to thunderous applause, he had worried over Hattie and wondered if she would even be in residence by the time he was done. Though he'd wanted to tell her the reason he hadn't joined her immediately that night, he wanted to keep the secret more, for he'd only just met her while he'd had the profession of a singer for years.

Was being an entertainer more important than his wife? Not exactly, but he wasn't comfortable yet in her presence to share who he truly was. But it wasn't the reason why he'd awoken her. In fact, she was talking and moaning in her sleep, and it was an interesting mix of what sounded like a nightmare mixed with a carnal dream.

"Hattie?" His whisper was overly loud in the silence of the night.

She didn't wake. In fact, she continued to mumble a broken litany about lions, apparently prowling and on the hunt. Her body stiffened. "He's coming! No time to hide. You must fight!"

Simon rolled onto his side, but since her back was to him, he couldn't hear her clearly. Gently, he rested a hand on her shoulder. "You are having a nightmare. Wake up."

Except she didn't. Her head moved on the pillow; a muffled scream left her throat, and she pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle the sound. "They are all around me, watching, closing in." Fear echoed in her voice.

Where the devil would she have been to have found herself surrounded by lions? Or was it simply an overactive imagination?

"Mmm, yes, that feels wonderful, Samuel."

Apparently, the dream shifted and now she was experiencing carnal pleasures with the damned man who had harassed her in Hyde Park directly after her nuptial ceremony with him .

Stabs of annoyance went through Simon's chest. After the surprising kiss he'd shared with her before she'd fallen asleep, she still dreamed of another man? And on their wedding night to boot? Uncertain of what he should do, a tiny moan escaped her and one of her hands drifted to a breast where she worried a nipple through the thin lawn of her night dress.

Despite himself, interest shivered through his shaft, for that was quite arousing to see. "Hattie?" Clearly, she was enjoying whatever was happening in the dream.

She jerked in her sleep, and the next sound she uttered was a distinctive whimper. "He's following me."

"Who? Mr. Toppin?"

Another whimper escaped from her. "I can hear the growl in his chest. Oh, God, the lion is coming nearer. I can no longer hide. He is intent on getting at me; will he hurt me?" She shook with a shiver. A cry was louder than the whimpers and she jerked. "The big cat his here." A stifled scream left her throat. "He's pounced. I'm trapped beneath him on the ground. Why is there blood on his muzzle?" Her head thrashed back and forth. "Who or what did he kill? What does he want with me?" Horror rang in her voice. "Simon!"

Surprise plowed into him to hear his name in her tone and with such terror propelling it into the air. He scooted closer to her, wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close then enclosed her into the circle of his arms. "Shh, it's all right. I'm here. Nothing can harm you." As he spoke, protection welled.

Though she quieted somewhat, she still whimpered in her sleep, moved restlessly, and once more, she whispered the name of that damned former suitor.

The inside of her mind must be a terrible place. Had she always suffered nightmares? What had she seen in her life that would bring on such dreams? Not knowing and wishing to bring her comfort and ease her awake, Simon lightly drifted the fingers of one hand over her breast. The heat of her seeped through the thin lawn night clothes and worked to ramp his need.

"Mmm, yes." When Hattie shifted slightly against him, her hip bumped his growing erection, and he hissed a warning. She laid a hand over his, guided him to her pebbled nipple. "Touch me here."

Was it considered permission if the woman in question was lost to realistic dreams? He didn't know, but perhaps it was too late, and he had tried to wake her. "If you can hear me, know that no one can hurt you while you are with me." As he spoke, he rolled the tightened bud, and with every pass, it was he who ran the risk of flying too close to the flames. "You are my wife, and that means you are beneath my protection always."

It mattered not that barely knew each other; this was their life, and what bothered her did the same to him. Perhaps they could talk about it in the coming weeks.

Urging his wife onto her back, her long blonde hair spilled over the pillows, and he slid his hands into the thick mass. The silky texture of a woman's tresses was one of his favorite things. Then he nipped and nibbled the skin beneath her jaw while worrying her nipple and was rewarded by a soft moan.

"Samuel…"

Bloody hell.

By the end of this night, she would say his name, damn it. With that thought in mind, he set out to explore her body. With each pass of his hands on her curves—and she did possess the most desirable curves—Hattie moved, uncurling much like a stretching cat. He hoped she would wake soon and know it was him who did that to her and not her dream lover. When he palmed her breasts, squeezed those mounds, she arched her back, thrusting those charms more fully into his hands.

He leaned on an elbow in order to better fondle them. But the hard buds of her nipples recalled his attention. As he rolled one of the tips, he dipped his head and teased the other with his tongue and teeth. Her whimpers turned into faint gasps. Those sounds slammed through his body and tightened his shaft. Was it insanity to want a woman he'd just met even if she was his wife? Hattie brought a hand to his nape and urged him upward. He obliged by claiming her mouth in a soft kiss.

As before, her lips were as soft as satin, and so plush he couldn't get enough. Again and again, he sipped from her until she parted those heavenly pieces of flesh, and he pushed his tongue inside the warmth of her mouth. She met his every stroke—clearly she retained the knowledge from earlier that night—and kept pace with his rhythm. He swallowed her next moan then gave her one of his—that was how welcoming she made him feel.

Even while unconscious.

"Mmm, I can become addicted to your kisses." She shifted, glided her fingers along his shoulders, his biceps. "You are like chiseled marble."

Too damned bad she wasn't awake. "Thank you for noticing." Taking that as an invitation, Simon covered her body with his. He wedged a knee between her parted thighs, and when she ground herself against him, his length pulsed with need. He broke the kiss merely to lick a path down the side of her neck.

"Oh…"

Again, he captured a nipple between his teeth. She moaned and pressed her fingers tighter against his nape. The lawn night dress obscured a full tasting, but the texture of the fabric with her pebbled bud beneath was a pleasant mix on his tongue.

Another whimper escaped her. "Please touch me."

He lifted his head at her whispered plea. Her eyes were closed, and a slight smile curved her kiss-swollen lips. "I shall consider that permission as well." As he slid his knee away, he replaced it with a hand between her thighs and beneath her skirting. The moment he glanced his fingers along her slick flesh, she moaned, put a hand over his, and then guided him to where she apparently wanted him.

"You are nothing as I imagined."

With very little effort, he penetrated her heat with a finger. Dear God, she was so wet, so ready. Willing women were very nice indeed, and it was quite a boon his wife was that. Though he was ready to explode, he tamped down the urge, seeking instead to make her spend. He wanted to hear the sounds she made while lost in bliss, needed her to say his name, realize he was here with her, and would see to anything she desired.

As she squirmed, he parted that flesh, coaxed that bundle of nerves out of hiding and rubbed a finger over it. Hattie whimpered, and a moan came with it. She gasped and her breathing grew labored; those sounds set fire to his blood. It had apparently been far too long since he'd lain with a woman as his engorged length pressed urgently into her thigh.

"Fall over the edge, Hattie." He manipulated that nubbin within an inch of its life, and the longer he increased the friction on the slippery button, the more anxious she grew, shaking, writhing, straining.

His control slipped by fractions as she squirmed with obvious enjoyment. Her jaw had gone slack. She clutched his forearm and one of his biceps. Her breathing shallowed and she bucked into his hand. No doubt she'd find release soon.

"Mmm…" A moan interrupted her speech. "Oh, so close… Samuel, please…"

Bloody, bloody hell.

"Say my name, damn it. I'm Simon." As he spoke, he circled her button, faster and harder. "It's me, not him, that will send you over the edge."

"I…" Seconds later, Hattie shattered. She fractured in his arms, her body stiffening.

Too bad it was dark so he couldn't see her face. "Fall, Hattie. Ride it." He didn't relent in his torment, and this time she went pliant as a strangled sort of breathy gasp left her lips. Her back arched, and when she sucked in a breath to no doubt scream, he kissed her, took that sound into himself, bundled her into his arms and continued to kiss her until her tremors faded and she went pliant once more.

Seconds later, Simon released her and then moved a few inches away from her in the bed. What a damned fool I am. The first time he pleasured his wife, made her fall over the edge into bliss, and she dreamed it had been another man that had done it.

Shoving the thought from his mind, he peered down into her face. "Perhaps you will have uninterrupted sleep now." The glitter of her eyes lay as testament to the fact that she was, in fact, no longer sleeping.

"Simon?" She pushed herself onto her elbows. "What happened? I… I had the most delicious dream."

"So I heard." He huffed out a breath as knots of worry pulled in his gut. The conversation rapidly killed his arousal. "You are awake."

"Yes."

"When did you become fully conscious?" Did she realize what had happened?

"The moment you demanded that I say your name."

Well, shit.

"I, uh…" For the first time in his life, Simon was speechless.

She scrambled into a sitting position. "Please tell me I wasn't dreaming about someone else." There was such dread in the tone that he almost felt sorry for her.

"You were certainly lost to a dream or perhaps a nightmare." Definitely a nightmare, for hers contained lions, while his made him jealous of a man who had never been a threat before.

"Oh." Disappointment lingered in that one-word response. "I, um…" One of her hands crept to her throat. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough." He huffed. " Quite enough, believe me." That jealousy still raged in his chest, and by God, he wouldn't tolerate a cheating wife, no matter if she loved the man. She'd married him , damn it.

That meant something, didn't it?

For long moments, Simon looked at her through the shadowy darkness. Then he sighed. If the relationship were to survive, there had to be a give and take. He didn't know much of her history or what drove her to act the way she did, but he didn't want to spend the rest of his life arguing or being content with half-truths. "Tell me why you have been dreaming about lions. Have you recently been on safari or seen the tower menagerie?"

"No, none of that." His wife slumped backward against the pillows and then drew the bedclothes up to her chin. In that way, she resembled a child who'd woken prematurely due to very real nightmares. "This dreaming of lions began perhaps a year ago."

"Had you done anything to prompt it?"

"I don't believe so." Hattie shook her head. "All my life, though, I have been prone to prophetic dreams, and by that, I mean snippets of things that eventually come to pass in the future. My grandmother called it the second sight even though we don't have anything like that in the family."

"Or so you think. And even then, such things don't matter much, especially if a person is more perspective or open than another." He'd seen far too many coincidences in his life during the navy to dismiss her words. "Have your other dreams of that nature been as frightful as the ones about lions?"

"Not that I can recall." A sigh followed. "Once the scene occurs in real life, I often don't remember the dreams any longer."

"Fair enough." Simon maneuvered onto his side with an elbow planted on the mattress and his head in his hand facing her. "So why does this particular dream terrify you? And why did you cry out my name in warning while babbling about lions?"

"I suppose because it concerns you."

"How?"

"Before, the dreams were only of lions, always circling me, hunting me. Then the dreams shifted and consolidated into one lion, who had blue eyes. He was the one who pounced on me, pressed me to the ground, and when I thought he would tear out my throat, the lion changed, shifted into the form of a man…"

"What happened then?" Despite himself, Simon was caught up in her tale.

"He kissed me, set out to devour me in that way." The bedclothes rustled as she moved. "But the dream I had tonight…"

"Yes?"

"It was terrifying because I knew you were in danger. I don't know how or where or why, or by whom, I only know something or someone was threatening you, and I was afraid for you." Those emotions echoed in her voice. "But I hardly know you."

"I rather think that doesn't matter, for we are married, and that trauma alone is enough to have had a bond formed between us." At the moment, he couldn't fathom from whom he would garner danger from, but he would bear that in mind and be extra vigilant. "In the event that you need to hear it again, you have my word no harm will befall you when I'm around."

For long moments, Hattie remained quiet. Then, she sighed and stretched out her arm to rest a hand on this arm. That gentle touch sent heated awareness racing over his skin. "Why would you offer that to a woman who is naught but a stranger?"

"One could argue why I have done any number of things with you as a stranger." He lowered his voice even though they were alone in the darkness. "I have already touched you intimately, and I have married you, so why wouldn't I want to protect what is mine?"

In that, perhaps he was a lion after all.

"Yet you didn't want to marry."

"Neither did you, but here we are, for different reasons and none of them have anything to do with love." Perhaps that would come later. The longer he talked with Hattie, the more he was convinced they would probably suit. "It doesn't mean we are bad or desperate people; it simply means we were tired of how our old lives looked and needed a change."

"What if we made the wrong decision?"

"Then at least we will meet that challenge together. There are many possibilities we can follow." Daring much, Simon once more hooked a hand on her hip and tugged her into his embrace. "Please try not to worry. All these hiccups will work themselves out."

"I hope you are correct. It is exhausting to have these dreams." After a few moments, she relaxed into his arms and laid her head on his shoulder.

Even the carnal dreams of a man not her husband? But he bit back those words. "I'll wager it is," he murmured then pressed his lips to her temple. "Try to sleep and be proud, for by the morrow, we will have survived the first twenty-four hours of our forced marriage."

Hattie snorted. When she glided her fingertips along his abdomen, his muscles clenched from the unexpected caress. "Thank you for understanding. You were within your rights to consummate the marriage, yet you let me dictate the pacing. I appreciate that."

"It is the right thing to do." No matter that he was hard enough to drill through the headboard, he would wait, for there was more to a relationship than relieving a physical urge. He wanted their marriage to be a companionship, a friendship, a union in every sense of the word. Watching his friends go into parson's mousetrap had shown him the value and the blessing of having a strong woman by one's side. "There is no reason we can't work out all obstacles, and if you fancy walking in the cold, we can stroll through Manchester Square or go back to Hyde Park."

"I would enjoy that, and perhaps an early morning ride? My parents forbid it unless we were in the country, but I do love the exercise." There was such hope in her voice that a tremor went through her heart.

The fact she wasn't opposed to physical activity was encouraging, for he was a man who didn't relish lying about all day like a wastrel or a lazy lord. "I'm sure we can make that happen." And he rather liked having her in his arms. She was so soft and squishy and lush. "I've not admitted this to anyone before, but though I've been in London for a handful of years, I haven't done much touring or seen the sights." Those were activities they could do together.

"I especially adore the British Museum. So many interesting things from around the world." A fair amount of drowsiness wove through her voice.

"If you like such artifacts, I should show you my collections from my time in the Navy." He'd need to enlist the help of the butler to pull them from storage, but if it would make her happy and spark conversation, it was all to the good.

"You must have seen such amazing places."

"Some more than others, even parts of America, which isn't as horrid as some of the men in England wish for everyone to believe." He buried his nose in her hair, breathed in the lilies of the valley scent of her, and couldn't quite manage to bite back a small grin. Nothing about this day or night had been what he'd expected, and he didn't know how to feel about that. "Goodnight, Hattie."

"Goodnight, Simon."

For the first time in years, he was very nearly content, and that fact boggled his mind. Surely that wasn't possible after one day with this woman.

A puzzle for another day.