Chapter Thirteen

TWO AFTERNOONS LATER, Trevor stumbled upon Nicole in the nursery on the second floor. He'd only been visiting different rooms in the big house, trying to elicit any happy memory from his childhood. He'd discovered few, as they had only rarely spent time at the abbey as a family. And, too, most of his happy memories were anchored to his father, and the majority of these were lodged at Wentworth Manor.

But quietly pushing open the door had shown his wife sitting upon the cushioned window seat, her knees drawn up to her chest, and her gaze somewhere out the window itself. She hadn't heard him, didn't realize his presence at all that he was allowed several moments to watch her, to enjoy her unguarded expression, shown to him in bare profile.

And while he appreciated, as always, how very alluring, how very beguiling his pretty wife was, he was not immune to the melancholy found in her countenance. Trevor leaned against the door jamb and crossed his arms over his chest while he considered her, wondering first and foremost why she'd chosen this room in which to find solitude, as that seemed her only cause just now. The view out this window would show only the gray skies, threatening rain once again, and naught but the east yard. The parkland setting on this side of the abbey was indeed trim and tidy, but he imagined offered no great escape, all rolling lawns and short, pruned trees.

This room, even less so than certain others, shared no memory with him, and he wondered if he'd perhaps already graduated to the heir's chambers when his family had begun to spend a few weekends here. The green and yellow paint and paper, the carved wooden cradle, an armoire decorated with clock and cat and mouse in an obvious ode to Hickory Dickory Dock, none of this was familiar to him.

He stared for many long minutes, so entranced by this version of his Nicki. She was by nature, a very animated person, even when taking pains to ignore him. Her persona of the other day, during the dancing lessons had captivated him, teasing him with her sweet smile and graceful movements, enthralling him as he'd held her in his arms once again.

But this, now, this was a version of Nicole he'd never met, quiet and still and fragile.

"A nice quiet place to sit," he mused, finally alerting her of his presence.

She startled, but not greatly, and truth be told, seemed none too pleased to see him. A sigh was noted, escaping visibly.

Trevor feigned ignorance of this and stepped fully into the room. Nicole loosened the arms wrapped around her knees and leaned her head back upon the side wall, within that window seat, watching him. Her gaze showed no hostility, only an insubstantial light to match the gloominess he'd attributed to her posture.

He sat in the tall arm chair, between the window and the armoire, stretching out his legs, crossed at the ankles. Should she decide to give up the room, she'd be forced to trod over his feet, as they nearly met the legs of the cradle, which sat at the end of the long and narrow bed.

She hadn't spoken, had made no response to his initial statement, seemed content now to stare not again out the window but at the short wall opposite her in that spot, where her feet touched.

"No dance instruction today?" He wondered.

Nicole shook her head, moved her gaze out the window once more. Away from him. He'd missed dinner last night, he and Ian having been waylaid longer than expected with Mr. Adams in a fairly helpful discussion regarding the shuttered mine. The night before that, the day she'd waltzed so brilliantly with him, she'd been quiet at dinner, perhaps with this melancholy, he imagined in hindsight.

As he'd intruded upon her, he thought the making of conversation then fell to him. "Ian and I had—"

She turned, just as he'd started speaking, and cut him off. "Why have you come, Trevor? Why now? Why at all?"

Trevor met her gaze. Gone the melancholy he'd suspected, replaced by something stronger and greater than curiosity.

"As I've said," he said, keeping his tone even, casual, "I have done you wrong, and I intend to make it right. I had hoped—"

"If I had come to London," she interrupted again, "if I had come to find you, say only weeks or months after we'd wed, would you have given me the chance? Would you have suffered my presence? I think, more than likely, you would have thrown me out of whatever house I'd found you in, or you would have abandoned it yourself."

He could detect no anger in either her pose or her words. Her head was yet tipped back against the wall behind her. But something stirred her words, some emotion he could not name.

"You might be right," he allowed, half a shrug lifting his shoulders.

"And had that been the case, it's certain that there would have been nothing I could have done to persuade you to give me your ear, to hear me out, to at least give our marriage a chance," she supposed.

Having now a fair idea where she was going with this, and knowing it would not end well for him, he nevertheless spoke truth, having no trouble recalling exactly the height and breadth of his anger at the time, and for a long time afterward. "That may well be true, also."

"But I'm expected now to suffer your presence, when I've made it very clear that I am not interested in you, or our marriage, or whatever it is that truly brings you here."

It was not a question.

He knew it would serve him well to keep his own tone level, unthreatening. He knew he might only benefit from showing her how far he was willing to bend to repair what damage he'd done, but for the life of him, he still found himself rather grounding out his reply. "Was the love you swore on our wedding day, at this very house, not a real and true thing, then?"

She did not hesitate, did not demur. "It was absolute truth." She looked him straight in the eye. "At that time."

"And no more?" He knew the answer she'd give, and pressed on, "Or never to be resurrected?"

She shook her head. "I won't allow it." And here was an emotion, still not anger—which he so rightly deserved—but resolve.

He nodded, considering her words, and his next, staring at her while he steepled his fingers, his elbows on the arms of the chair. He wondered, "If you had somewhere to go—a place to hide, to flee—would you have left by now?"

"Lesser House is my place to hide," she surprised him by saying. "But then you came, and now—yes, if I could, I would run from you."

"Why? Why run? Why not give it a chance?"

She shook her head again, slowly this time. He thought her teeth might be clenched, until she said, "I owe you—and this marriage—nothing. And frankly, I'd not put myself through it again."

So few words with that response, but oh, so much information. He felt incredibly small and hateful just then, for what he'd done to her. "You still plan to seek an annulment?" He would never allow it.

"I feel I have no choice, if you will not leave. As I'd said on the day you appeared here, I don't want to be married to you, but I'm willing to stay so, if I can be left alone here."

He could tell her he loved her, likely had been in love with her since before they married, but would she believe him? He thought not. In her shoes, he would certainly question any similar statement from her. He needed to show her, needed her to know it before he revealed it as truth.

"So if I wish to stay married to you, I must do so from a distance."

With her gaze fixed steadily on him, with some fearlessness that he'd truly not have thought her possessed of, she said, "Very similar to the choice you gave me, is it not?"

Trevor let an entire minute pass while he contemplated his next move.

"Will you allow me to stay until after the harvest ball, at least?"

He'd caught her off guard, he could see. Perhaps the disinterested, wounded mien she conveyed today was meant only to befuddle him, but here, just now, she showed something else. Her perfectly arched brows dropped, settling over her green eyes that showed for the barest of seconds, a wariness.

"I suppose that should be all right." Thin veins stood out in the creamy skin of her neck, suggesting once again that her jaw was tightened.

Somewhere inside, he smiled with gratification. Six weeks then. That was more than enough time to show her that he loved her, to show how damnably sorry he was for what he'd done to her, to their us.

But then she'd had enough, he supposed, watching her remove herself from the window seat, standing, and then surprising him by stepping over the lower part of his legs, not waiting with any harsh glare directed at him to move his feet.

She said nothing else, did not turn at the doorway, just walked away.

Trevor sat for a few minutes, replaying the conversation in his head. It was indeed sorrow, he decided, that he'd detected in her voice. He stood and glanced around the room, his hands on his hips, trying to discern still what had brought her here, to this room.

He turned and considered the window seat again. He walked over to it, and sat where she had, taking in the view. As he'd suspected, it showed not much more than the lawns, in need of greater attention, and only a few squat trees directly beneath, close to the house itself. In the distance, the sky showed blue but that was the going and not the coming weather. It would certainly rain, he decided, and soon. Trevor stood, having no answer to what might have drawn her to this spot, even if only occasionally. But then his gaze was snatched by something on the side wall, within the depressed area of the window seat. Leaning close, Trevor read some scraggly scratched words, carved into the paint, Trevor Wentworth was here, 1796.

He smiled, though still had no recollection of this room, nor even this event, that had seen him defacing the wall.

"What a little beast," he called the very small child of himself, considering the damage done to the wall.

His smile stilled then.

Was this what brought her to this room? To this spot?

WITH SOME NEW AWARENESS, and with a clock rather ticking in the back of his mind, Trevor approached dinner with a renewed energy to win over his own wife. Oh, but she did not make it easy, being as taciturn and unreachable as she had been in the afternoon. This, then, had him shifting his plan altogether. It was too effortless at their dinner, with only the two of them, for her to practice her guardedness, even as he knew that was not her actual character.

After the delicious but very quiet meal, he saw her only to the bottom of the stairs, and even withstood her foregoing wishing him a good night, knowing tomorrow was indeed, another day, with more potential. Going forward, he would make grand use of all the times she was in mixed company, where she displayed more evenly her true self, and would be hard pressed not to be polite to him—or, he hoped, more engaging.

So it was at breakfast the next morning, when Trevor had been at Hyndman Abbey now a week, he invited Nicole to drive out to the mine with him and Ian, as they had plans to inspect what remained. As she'd taken such an interest in the affairs of the estate, he was sure this would be to her liking.

It was not.

"Thank you, my lord," she said, glancing up from the newspaper before her, which was likely several days old, "but you and Ian go on without me. I've too much indoor work to attend today."

Deflated, but not deterred, he suggested they might wait until she was available, if that suited her.

It did not.

Vaguely, as if she hadn't a care for this pursuit, she shrugged, "Truly, my schedule all this week is quite full. Pray, do not wait for me." And she turned the page, studying some article while she sipped her morning chocolate.

And when he and Ian had returned from the mine, and he requested Timsby's presence in the ballroom, that they might have another hour of instruction for dancing, his valet informed him that they had done so already today, while he and Ian had been gone.

"We've got a right fine start on the waltz now, my lord," Timsby said with no small amount of pride. "The countess was fabulous, taking special care to show Henry the motions."

Trevor was sure that he made some appropriate reply to this, but truth be told, he was examining his own feelings toward this, that he'd now been thwarted twice by his wife, whether intentionally or not, in a matter of hours.

He walked into the library at tea time with greater resolve, bound and determined to engage Nicole in some fashion and have her drop this ridiculous fa?ade of disinterest.

But she wasn't there. And she didn't show. At quarter past the hour, Trevor casually inquired of Franklin if she might be summoned, perhaps reminded of the time.

"She might be," said his unflappable butler, "save that she's not here, my lord."

Frowning, wondering how that might have escaped his notice, he asked, "Where is she?"

"Gone to town, I believe," replied Franklin.

Lorelei's head spun around, her pinkie lifted away from the thin porcelain tea cup. "Oh no, Franklin. I thought she was abed, said she had a headache after dancing this morning."

Henry spoke up, raising his gaze from his book. "I saw her out in the stables, but she weren't getting the gig ready, but her favorite mare. I think she went riding."

Annoyed now, Trevor glanced at first Ian, and then Timsby, to see if they might offer yet another possible location for his errant wife. Ian shrugged and his valet gave him a look that Trevor interpreted to mean, I'm new here, so I'm sure I have no idea.

Later, he was surprised that she bothered to show herself at dinner, making no apology for having avoided him all day.

Adopting an air of indifference, he remarked, from across the long table, "We missed you at tea this afternoon."

Nicole lifted her glorious green eyes from her soup. "Did you?" She asked, her expression blank.

When he said nothing immediately, she applied herself again to the first course, which gave Trevor leave to grind his teeth unnoticed. Dammit, he knew it was an act, the coolness she strove to achieve. She was making it very difficult for him to win her over. How was a man expected to court his wife if she would not make herself available for the wooing?

By the time dinner had ended, and he had again chastely and frustratingly seen her to the bottom of the stairs, Trevor had come to a decision. He hadn't wanted to resort to this, but he felt, certainly with time being a factor, that he had no choice but to seduce his wife. Oh, he absolutely wanted to seduce his wife. He wanted nothing more than to once again feel her untried but so very provocative lips pressed against his; he wanted to crush her to him and vow he would never risk losing her again; he wanted so badly to explore all the promise of their once upon a time petting and kissing, of which he'd only dreamed on for months and months.

If only he had something to offer her—aside from himself, in which she currently was pretending a complete disinterest—something that only he could give her, something she would certainly not be able to refuse.

As he stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching her ascend, so far out of his reach, a compelling smile came slowly and surely, with the idea forming in his head.

NICOLE HAD ONLY MOMENTS ago climbed into bed, scrunched down upon the pillows against the headboard, her knees lifted to hold the book she was reading when a knock sounded at the door. She called for entrance, assuming Lorelei had forgotten something.

Instead, she watched as the door opened to reveal Trevor and not her maid. She gawked in mute panic as he smoothly closed the door behind him. Nicole froze, huddled as she was within the bed, the book now forgotten.

She felt indignation rise then and sat up in the bed, dropping the book to her lap.

"What do you want?"

He seemed reluctant to speak, seemed intent only to stare at her, and she resisted the urge to bring the bed covers up and over her flimsily garbed upper body. Thankfully, her loosed and brushed out hair swept forward over her shoulders, hiding much of her thin night rail from his gaze.

"Trevor, why are you here?" Nicole persisted.

"I wanted to discuss something with you," he answered finally.

"You want to talk? Now?"

"It seemed to me this conversation required the benefit of complete privacy." He shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers and met her guarded gaze evenly. "I can give you something you want."

Nicole was quite sure her eyes must appear as huge saucers inside her face, and she hated that her voice was wobbly when she replied. "You have nothing I want, Trevor. Please leave."

"Hear me out." He moved around the side of the bed, startling her by sitting on its edge, very close to her that she scooted a bit away from him. Casually he lifted a hand to touch her hair, letting it glide through his fingers, seemingly unaware of her shoulders tensing. Very bluntly, he said, "I need an heir, Nicki."

She stammered through two attempts to speak before her words were coherent. "Trevor I have told you that I would prefer to have no relationship with you—"

"But wouldn't you rather have a baby?" He went on as if she hadn't spoken. And then when she said nothing more, he said evenly, "There needn't be love between a couple to create a child."

"I know that," she said weakly. He needn't have reminded her that he harbored no love for her.

But finally, she had her answer—this is why he'd come now to Lesser House. It hadn't after all, anything to do with her, really. It hadn't been love or even hope that had driven him here. As always, all his decisions were made with the estate and the title as his first priority.

Leven. Always Leven.

Oh, but it was too much, Nicole thought. This couldn't be happening. A baby. Her very own little person to love. Trevor's baby.

Their baby.

She was very afraid of the temptation he'd placed before her. A baby in itself was a mighty persuasion. But at the moment, the making of the baby was what frightened her most. For so long, she'd managed to put this very yearning from her mind. But it had never left her completely, as proven by his kiss in the library. Until that moment, any memory of his kiss or his touch had served only as a sometimes antidote to her loneliness.

"What exactly are you asking?" She thought she should have everything clarified before she considered it further, before her hopes were raised, or subsequently dashed.

"I am asking for the opportunity to plant my seed inside you. To beget an heir."

She swallowed visibly. "And if it doesn't work?" She worried the blankets between nervous fingers, but her eyes remained fixed on him, trying to read him, ever an impossible feat.

Trevor cleared his throat. "To be frank, it normally does not happen on the first attempt. It sometimes takes several or many occasions."

Nicole drew in a deep breath, exhaled and then bit her bottom lip in consternation. She lifted her hands, pressed her fingers into her eyebrows and forehead. She needed to think without him watching her. A baby seemed to be the main takeaway—a child she could shower with love. She lowered her hands and raised her eyes to him again. "You would live here while you made these... attempts?"

"Yes," he said and then a boyish grin lightened his beautiful features. "It would make the coupling easier."

"And if I...did conceive?" Now her eyes only considered her hands upon the bed linens, but her stomach churned, not altogether unpleasantly.

"Then there would be no further need for coupling." After a small space of a second, he added in a husky voice, "Unless we both decided to continue."

"To make another baby?"

"Or for other reasons," he said, his hand once again near her hair, his fingers pulling gently at the locks, as if to test its softness. Nicole closed her eyes against this trauma. She decided to disregard his last remark. Other reasons might encompass many things. She was afraid to imagine what power he could hold over her. Immediately her mind shifted back to that kiss in the library. Adamantly, she struck the thought completely. She would not revisit that now. Not the way he'd made her feel.

But a baby. Her very own baby. Oh, but, "Would you take the child from me then, to raise in London?"

He was convincingly taken aback by this question. "Nicki, I would never take your child from you."

Another minute passed, in which time he continued to twirl the long strand of her hair around his deft fingers while Nicole battled intensely within, wrestling with good ideas versus dangerous ones, and considering silly things such as angels and demons, wondering which Trevor might prove to be if she agreed to this absurdly unprecedented scheme.

But still...a baby.

She cleared her throat. "How—how would we go about this?"

"I would come to you as a husband does a wife," he said simply.

"You would live here. But you would still keep generally to your own rooms? And you would leave still, after the Harvest Ball? Nothing would change?"

"Unless you wanted it to, Nicki," he said, his voice, intentionally or not, seductive, caressing her. He took her chin lightly in his grasp and turned her to face him. She dared to meet his eyes, almost shaken by the smoldering desire she saw there. "Do you want to make a baby, Nicki?"

"I—I would like to have a baby," she answered carefully, breathlessly, insinuating that the making of the baby was certainly not at the top of her wish list. "When—ahem—when would we...when would you want to start?"

Trevor leaned closer. "Now," he said against her lips.

"Now is not very good for me," she whimpered frantically. Oh, God! I am not strong enough for this. He has barely touched me, and I am melting. God help me.

He persisted, despite her small hands come between them to push him away. "If you are nervous now, Nicki, think of the wreck you should make of yourself after another day or so, with time to dwell upon it. Just let this happen."

Tears glistened in the darkness of her eyes. "I am afraid." For so many reasons.

Gently, Trevor laid her back upon the pillows, bending over her. "There is nothing to fear. The other day, in the library, I was reminded that you seem to enjoy my kissing."

And that was exactly what she was afraid of.

"However," he whispered as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her exposed collarbone, "just say the word, and I will stop now."

Nicole clamped her lips together, thus preventing prudency and self-preservation to speak. His lips pressed more firmly, then breathed across her throat and neck, climbing to find her mouth.

A baby. A child of her own. Forcibly, she chanted this repeatedly in her head. That was the purpose, and the reason, and the goal. She needed to focus only on that.

But then Trevor was stretching out alongside her, his body touching her hip and thigh and toes, and Nicole could not stop the whimper that escaped.

He returned to her lips, collecting that sound, and kissed her as he had so often in her dreams, but too rarely in her life. Tentatively, she touched a hand to his shoulder, pressing her fingers into the flexed muscles as he held himself poised over her. His tongue teased her lips, until her sigh opened them, and she joined her own with his. Trevor covered her mouth fully, slanting above her while one hand traced a tantalizing line from under her arm, down the side of her night rail and over her hip. The hand disappeared, sliding between her and the bed, cupping her bottom to bring her closer to him.

He paused the kiss, asked against her lips, "I want to glory in every inch of you, but I feel I should ask if you'd prefer the candle snuffed."

I want to glory in every inch of you, did not seem to her to relate to their purpose here, procreating. These words sounded so much less necessary, so...amorous.

She didn't know how to answer him, though. As she felt she was on the verge of tears—though for the life of her could not say that they would be cries of sorrow—she imagined she might like the room darkened. But as her hands skimmed over his shoulders and arms, she knew she wanted to see him, so much of him.

But for the threatening tears. "Dark, please." Her voice sounded husky, shaky.

Trevor did not release her, nor move too far away, only extended one arm across her, his thumb and forefinger pinching out the bedside candle. When his face was close again, his lips tickled against hers. "We'll use our hands to see."

Nicole's skin prickled with excitement at the very idea.

And so he did, sidling against her once more, cupping her face in his palms, pressing his lips to her tenderly, almost unmoving, inviting—daring—her to forward their union. Nicole could not resist, indeed lifted her head off the pillow and met his kiss. She wrapped her arms more tightly around him, threading her fingers into his soft and thick hair and showed him everything he had taught her about kissing. Opening her mouth, she thrust her tongue at him, heard him groan as he responded and fitted himself more intimately against her, pressing a hardness into her hip. She kissed him with a calmness that belied all the screaming inside that warned she should not, that she should instead push him away, away from her arms and her bed and her heart.

She couldn't say exactly when the mantra inside her head, reminding her of the reasons behind her submission, shifted from a child of her own to Trevor is loving me. Truth be told, she could also claim no surprise for the change. But soon, she knew that aside from the delicious things his kiss was doing to her body, the joy that welled within was associated, right quickly, more to the latter rather than the former.

She felt her night rail being pushed away from her shoulders, felt his lips touch the skin he exposed. This gave Nicole only a moment's pause, until the exhilarating sensation of his wet mouth on her bare flesh overtook everything else. She let her head fall back and closed her eyes once again, reveling in the feel of him, and the delightful sensations his touch evoked.

While he continued to trail kisses along her shoulder and collarbone, his hand rose up between them and cupped her breast. His hand was large and firm upon her, cupping and lifting, her breast filling it. His thumb grazed over her nipple and Nicole marveled at the wonder of this, so much uproar in those previously unused, unknown parts of her body.

She moaned in his arms, never having felt such glorious passion as this, having not suspected that it lived in her. When he lowered himself and his teeth tugged at her nipple through the fabric of her shift, Nicole died a little death. Her breathing spasmed, a sound escaped, sounding to her ears much like a purr.

"Enough of this," he growled suddenly, his voice rough and breathless as he stood from the bed.

Nicole gasped, tortured by the removal of his warmth and heat, and his intent, until he pulled her to her feet in the darkness, and offered instant relief when it seemed his only purpose now was to remove their clothing. Neither too rushed nor with aching slowness, Trevor lifted her night rail up and over her head, tossing it away onto the unseen floor.

She stood naked then before him and was thankful now for the lack of light. The sparse moonlight, drifting lazily in from the tall windows at the other side of the room, showed only their shapes, and just a hint of silver to color to their persons. When he didn't touch her immediately but let his gaze rake over her in such a way as to suggest his night vision might be much stronger than her own, Nicole shifted her weight from one leg to the other.

And then Trevor lifted her hand and touched it to his chest, then directed it downward, specifically putting it on to the hem of his white muslin shirt. Of her own accord, Nicole applied her other hand as well and took up the hem at the opposite side. Taking one step closer she raised the hem and the shirt up just as Trevor lifted his arms. Her fingers grazed the underside of his arms as she pushed the muslin up and away until Trevor took hold of it and discarded this in the same careless manner as he had her nightgown. He faced her, and because she really could not see well enough, Nicole closed her eyes as she set one hand high on his chest. He stiffened beneath her, his pectoral muscles shifting with a tantalizing motion. He was hard and smooth. A carnal curiosity bade her touch him with both hands, skimming them over his bare skin, in a harmonized motion, out and away, over his shoulders, at the same time.

"Jesus," he breathed hoarsely and attacked her again, crushing her to him, shattering her brief composure with the feel of her naked breasts so magnificently pressed to his chest. He wrapped a hand around her neck, held her firmly, close to him while his mouth devoured her, and he ground his hips against her. Nicole gasped into his kiss, overcome and enlivened at the same time, understanding what the hardness he pushed against her represented, and aware of her tremulous response, gathering between her legs. Their passion ignited further boldness in her that her hands found the top of his breeches, held still at his hips. She had bare knowledge of men's clothing, save for what wash day had shown her, and reached for the ties in the front, some urgent whisper inside her telling her she needed him naked now as well. She needed to feel all of him against her, stoking the fire he'd started.

Trevor gave aid to her efforts, deftly loosening the strings and removing his breeches. That pale moonlight showed only the shape and size of him, creating both reservations and questions about how, precisely, this worked. But he granted no time for either to manifest, stepping closer again as he settled his hands on her hips, kissing her again into a fine frenzy.

He did not hold her close again though, which left Nicole wondering if he thought to spare her sensibilities, with his new nakedness. And just as a certain wantonness induced her to reach for him, to discover him, he intercepted her hand, whispering, "Not yet," against her lips. Instead, he directed her hand between her own legs, his hand fitted over the top of hers, his long fingers pushing her slender ones into the curls.

This struck Nicole as magnificently sensuous, both of them touching her. Trevor guided her fingers, showing her a back and forth motion that elicited a strangled and wondrous moan, stirring her need of him to heights she couldn't have imagined.

"I want you wet for me," he murmured, nipping at her mouth, pressing her fingers deeper into the folds, where she was indeed wet.

Nicole opened her mouth against him, but could make no sound, nor even return the favor of his sweet, tempting kisses.

He moved them, pushing her backward even as their lips still met and their hands still gave her such delight. The back of her legs touched the bed. Trevor sent his thigh between her legs at the same time he lowered her, his knee guiding them onto the mattress, his arm sliding around her back to catch her fall.

And now she felt him, as he came on top of her, felt his erection stroking just where their fingers had, and she heard herself moan again with need. Trevor abandoned her lips to find her breasts with his mouth. At this unforeseen touch, Nicole sank into the mattress, trying to halt the wild and unexpected rush of excitement stirred by his mouth covering her breasts, his tongue licking at her nipples. Soon though, she was arching her back and holding his head close as he brought each nipple to perfect arousal. He showed her the connection between different parts of her, how the attention given to her breasts created a swirling, wanton heat between her legs. Nicole began to rub against him, opened her legs so that he touched her more intimately, so that this building thing inside her grew stronger and stronger.

The head of his cock met with the very center of her and Nicole somehow knew this would complete her and deliver her what her untutored body craved right now. She moved her hips to draw him inside her, heard him growl, suggesting he liked this, and she shifted again. Trevor stilled, his lips returning to hers as he flexed his hips and answered her want of more, entering her slowly. With his elbows and forearms on either side of her head, pressing into the mattress and pillow, he watched her as he pushed further inside her. Nicole stared back, her fingers digging into his sides with this new sensation and wished now for so much more light to see him, to see if he felt what she did, how beautiful and perfect and right this was. She saw only that his eyes were shiny in the darkness and that he breathed through his mouth as he watched her.

Nicole did the same, her lips forming a little o to force even breaths, even as hips continued to move against him. He surged forward then, stopping at the resistance within.

Trevor dropped his forehead to hers. "The very last thing I want to do is hurt you again, sweet. But I—it needs to be done."

Nicole had some vague notion of what he spoke, having been informed during a very awkward and awful discussion with her governess years before. She nodded, hearing his words again. The very last thing I want to do is hurt you again, uttered with a tortured and sorrowful tone. Trevor rose, planting his palms on the bed, being high above her and pulled himself out almost all the way before pushing back in to the point he'd reached before. He did this several times while Nicole acquainted herself with his chest, running her hands over the solid muscles, liking the way they bulged and shifted as he rocked in and out of her. He surged forward with a great thrust, filling her completely, bringing forth a startled cry. Tears pooled for the surprising extent of the pain and Trevor stopped moving altogether, poised above her, waiting.

Breathing raggedly now, slightly worried now she might not enjoy what else might follow, she nodded again, giving him an encouraging smile, having some inkling that they weren't done yet.

He began to move again, just as slowly and as tortuously as he had before, sliding in and out of her, soon enough making her forget the pain and feel only him. She cried in earnest now, but only on the inside, so in love with the idea that she belonged wholly and truly to Trevor now.

And all that he'd aroused in her only moments ago returned, announcing itself as a fire coursing through her, lighting and searing many parts of her. He moved faster, wedging a hand under her bottom to show her how to meet his thrusts. Slick, wet noises accompanied their bumping and scraping, arousing Nicole yet more, until every sensation surged and swelled and roared inside her.

This, she had not expected,. Her eyes widened, looking to Trevor for confirmation and then unable to keep her eyes open so that they shuttered close, her lids twitching, her toes curling as her orgasm crashed over her. At one point she lifted herself off the mattress while it rolled over her, her fingers clawing at the bed covers. What she felt was nearly indescribable, something she hadn't imagined existed, and while it ravaged her, heightening every nerve and tingling so many places within, she tried desperately to know and feel and claim each part of it, having some belief that surely it must be short-lived, lest it consume her.

Her husband continued to pump, faster and faster still, even while Nicole was spent and amazed, until he lunged one last time against her and went still with a low grunt and a drawn out, brutal sigh.

They were motionless, Nicole half sitting, half lying, her legs limp now against the bed, Trevor between her legs, his breath so choppy now while he held himself perfectly unmoving inside her. Nicole was acutely aware of him throbbing within her and moved again. He shook his head, side to side, though could not lift it. Nicole went still, considering all these naked and perspiring entwined limbs.

"Honest to God, if I'd known..." she couldn't complete the thought, didn't know where she'd been going with the beginning of that statement. Maybe, if her breath came with less harshness, she'd have finished with, I'd not have let you leave on our wedding night.

Her breath caught. Oh, but...he'd known. Surely, he must have known. And he'd abandoned her anyway. Oh.

How could he have known this would be the result of what he'd started with that first kiss in the garden at the Clarendon ball, and not want to see it finished? Unless you...unless you didn't actually want it, save to make your heir.

Oh.

Thankfully, just then, he shifted, allowing Nicole to scooch away from him.

She lifted her leg around him, rolled up onto her side and closed herself off to him.

She wanted so badly to cry. That such a beautiful thing should be wasted on two people so at odds with each other. However would she survive this? Giving her body and ultimately so much of herself to this man she loved still so much. To know that he could not forgive her, that he would not love her.

With her eyes so tightly closed, she could only feel him rising up on one elbow at her side. She winced when a tear slid away from her eye despite her efforts to withhold it.

"Why do you cry, Nicki?" Trevor asked, breaking her heart for the gentleness he employed, wiping away her tears with his thumb. "Did I hurt you so terribly?"

She had deluded herself, but only briefly, that making a baby had been all she desired. Inwardly, she'd given up this pretense fairly quickly, soon after he'd begun to touch her. But now she had no choice but to face it head on. She wanted him, and his touch, and his loving, and while she would absolutely delight in a child of her own, she was honest enough with herself to admit she hoped she hadn't conceived this night and hoped she wouldn't conceive so long as he remained at the abbey.

But had he harmed her? He had not. He'd been perfectly clear about his objective, had stated unequivocally that there was not love.

She could only shake her head, drawing a deep breath. Yet, dear Lord, how it hurt! Not physically—that had been brief and quickly forgotten—but inside, she ached for this man to love her. But he would only love her body, and simply to beget an heir. He would show her no affection outside of this room likely, perhaps remain only that carelessly attentive though detached earl. He would enslave her body and eventually her heart but never return the favor, she feared.

"I was hoping we made a baby," she said by way of excuse for her silence, but her voice was unsteady. "Shall you return to your rooms now?" She asked, wanting him gone that she might sob into her pillow, worried that it was unavoidable, but unwilling to let him see it.

He seemed to tense at her side, she felt the slight shifting of the mattress beneath her, but she dared not open her eyes. His hand, settled upon her naked hip, disappeared.

He stood from the bed. She knew he stared down at her for many long seconds. She could feel his blazing, surely contemplative gaze upon her. When she thought she could hold her breath no more, he finally left the room.

And sometime later, it occurred to Nicole that his plan had been twofold, and certainly one part had been successful. Of course, she wouldn't know for some time if he had planted fertile seed, but he'd managed to remove forever any possibility of an annulment by way of non-consummation.

She had no choice in the matter then, but to cry herself to sleep, unable to staunch the flow of tears, nor the very breaking of her heart once again.

IN HIS OWN BEDROOM later that night, still awake with thoughts of Nicole all around him, with their lovemaking still firing his limbs and his loins, he cursed and railed at the night.

He was a fool. He was mad. He was so in love, or more in love. He shouldn't have coerced her. He shouldn't have left her. He should be holding her now, watching her sleep.

God dammit.

Could he do nothing right where she was concerned?

Just barely before the sun had risen, he finally found slumber, disturbed and uneven though it was. And when he rose only a few short hours later, he knew slightly more peace. He convinced himself everything would be fine. She was so gloriously, so surprisingly passionate, he thrilled at the thought of their life together. Still, some niggling forethought or foresight should have anticipated her later behavior. She'd just made love in the most miraculous fashion, and to a man she wasn't quite sure she could trust, one she likely believed intended to break her heart again. Of course, she'd been emotional.

He should have stayed with her.