Chapter Ten

S he hadn't meant to quite literally throw herself at him. But she couldn't regret it because kissing him felt like a little bit of heaven. When his lips touched hers, she could forget about Terrence and whatever schemes were afoot. She could forget about the ghostly presence at Rosehaven. She could forget that everything between them was only temporary.

His arms had closed around her, but his hands were far from still. They moved over her back, her shoulders, her hips. And everywhere he touched her, she burned. The pins fell from her hair, one by one, as he plucked them free. When the mass of it was loose, he buried his hands in it.

But Louisa was not content to be a passive participant. She explored his body as well, marveling at the firmness of his flesh which was so very different from her own. Then he was pulling back from her. Immediately, she missed the heat of that kiss.

"I'm sorry, Louisa. I didn't intend for things to go quite so far," he explained, his voice roughened and his breathing a bit ragged.

"Do you regret that they did?"

"I should," he said. "But I won't lie to you."

"My only regret is that you stopped," she admitted, her voice little more than a whisper. "It is our wedding night, after all."

"You should have time to get to know me—"

"I know all that I need to know. I know that I can trust you. Do not ask me how I know, but I do," she insisted. "And we do not have the luxury of waiting. Terrence would challenge the validity of our marriage in order to claim everything for himself."

"This thing between us has nothing to do with Terrence. His presence is simply a reminder of what else is at stake. But you and I... this is only about us, what we feel and what we want." It was uttered firmly, but the doubt was easily visible in his gaze.

"If you think I'm trying to seduce you out of obligation, you are mistaken," Louisa said. "I know what I'm doing. And I know what I want. I'm not some shrinking violet who with no notion of what passes between a husband and wife. So when I say I want this, I know precisely what that means."

Apparently her words convinced him. He rose from the chair, lifting her easily into his arms, before striding toward his bedchamber.

Nerves, excitement, desire. The mix of feelings left her breathless, but none of that swayed her from the feeling that what they were about to do was right. And when he deposited her on the bed, Louisa raised herself up on her elbows and watched as he began stripping off his clothes. His coat and cravat were first, followed by his waistcoat and shirt.

It was a marvel to look at him. Smooth, sun-bronzed skin over firm, sculpted muscle. The dark hair covering his chest and bisecting his ridged abdomen tempted her. She wanted to touch him, to feel that beneath her fingertips. So she did. She sat up and reached for him, her fingers trailing over his skin to appease her curiosity.

But he gripped her wrist, halting her exploration. "You need to get out of that dress before this goes any further."

Accepting the challenge in his gaze, Louisa began to unbutton the bodice of her dress. When the last button was freed, she took a deep breath to calm her nerves and then shrugged her shoulders to free herself from the garment. With the fabric pooled at her hips, she shimmied herself free of it entirely. He scooped it up and then tossed it aside along with his clothing.

Layer by layer, she removed each item until she wore only her shift. Only then did he climb onto the bed with her, bearing her back onto the mound of pillows. When his lips closed over hers again, it was an entirely different thing. This wasn't simply a kiss, but an orchestrated and strategic assault. He seduced. Claimed. He was both generous and demanding at once. Thought fled entirely, and she could do nothing but give herself up to the sensations he stirred within her.

With skilled hands and expert lips, he brought her to the brink of madness, then beyond it. Waves of pleasure exploded within her. It was only then that he joined their bodies. There was a moment of discomfort, though she was so lost in the throes of her release it was barely noticeable. It was the intimacy of it, the vulnerability of giving herself to him entirely, that overwhelmed her. It was no longer just physical pleasure. There was a feeling of completeness she had never known before. But as before, he drove her to the brink of ecstasy, until she was all but mindless with it. She could do nothing then but lose herself in the pleasure he could give her—in the pleasure they could find together.

*

"They've consummated their marriage! You said it was to be in name only."

Fanny rolled over in his bed and looked at him with sleepy eyes. She was a sly creature. It was one of the reasons he had sent her to Rosehaven to sabotage his cousin's efforts to find a bride. "Explain to me how you misinterpreted that!" Terrence demanded of her.

"I never said it would be in name only. I said it would be a marriage of convenience. For one year. Then they would part ways," she insisted. "But he did tell her they would have no children."

Terrence frowned. "How, if they are going at one another like animals in rut, is that possible?"

"He said that precautions would be taken," Fanny insisted sitting up in the bed. Naked, she stretched to shamelessly accentuate her best assets—a pair of truly remarkable breasts.

Even as a man who had partaken in more than his fair share of carnal pursuits, it was an impressive sight. And a distracting one. After appreciating the view for a moment, Terrence tossed her dress at her. "Precautions? French letters fail. Withdrawal is hardly a guarantee. And none of that changes the fact that he's married her. The only way I get the money now is if he dies and I can be certain there is no heir in her belly!"

"You could always just kill them both," Fanny suggested.

Terrence didn't immediately discount the idea. It might well be his only real option. "I think the White Lady of Rosehaven needs to make another appearance. A more bold one this time. After all, everyone believes her presence is a harbinger of tragedy. What greater tragedy could there be than for a husband to be so overcome with jealousy that he kills his young bride and then himself?"

Fanny leaned back against the headboard. "You better marry me after all this. Who else would put up with your scheming and turned a blind eye while you tup every halfway pretty maid in the house?"

Terrence only smiled. He wouldn't marry her. Fanny would simply disappear like so many other young women did. Maids ran off all the time, after all. And he wasn't about to make an actress who'd slept with half the ne'er-do-wells in London the mistress of his home. But he needed her cooperation for a bit longer, and he'd let her keep her delusions to ensure her assistance.

"Get dressed so you can get to your room and change into your costume," he directed. "We've no time to waste."