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She put her hands on his shoulders and slid them down his arms, feeling the strength of him as she moved to caress his back, moving lower until she felt the rise of his buttocks.
That was as far as she dared while he untied the drawstring of her chemise and slipped his hand inside to stroke her naked breasts.
She moaned and arched and he inched closer, cradling her against him, before he broke the kiss and put his lips over her nipple, licking it gently with his tongue. It was like nothing she had ever known. Thrilling. Exciting. Arousing.
She closed her eyes and arched again, panting, while he continued to pleasure her with his lips and tongue. His hand moved beneath her petticoat and crept up her thigh to touch her intimately.
“What are you doing?” she gasped.
“Trying to ensure that you’re ready for me,” he answered in that deep, soft voice.
“By touching me there?”
“Yes,” he whispered. He shifted lower and kissed her shin, then moved his lips steadily upward.
“Oh!” she gasped when he reached the inside of her thigh.
Surprise quickly melted into desire. Her knuckles whitened as she held tight to the sheet and let his tongue go where it would, do what it would. She felt no more shock or shame, only a delicious building tension.
Rising, he put his hands on either side of her and hoisted his body between her legs. His mouth returned to hers, taking it not so tenderly this time, but with a fiery, heated passion that kindled a similar blazing desire in her. She ran her hands over his shoulders, his back, his ribs, his chest, thrilling to the feel of his hot flesh and taut muscles, the welcome weight of him as he shifted his hips.
Again he pleasured her breasts, and now she arched to meet his licking, teasing tongue. Panting, she groaned as he stroked her below. And then his finger slid inside.
Her eyes flew open and he raised his head, his breathing swift and ragged. “I think you’re ready. Are you sure you want this?”
She was ready for anything her husband might do. “Yes!”
He reached down and placed himself where his finger had been. Then, slowly, he eased himself inside.
It didn’t hurt.
She smiled with joy and relief until he leaned down to take her mouth with his. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around him and encircled his neck with her arms. Breathing became gasps and small groans. She closed her eyes, the delicious tension building more and more, as well as a growing sense that something was about to happen, like the uneasy calm before a storm.
He moved faster. She, too, began to move, rising to meet his thrusts. Gripping him harder, tighter. No longer kissing, their gasping breaths joined until, in a shattering moment, the tension broke, sending wave after throbbing wave through her body. At the same time, he groaned like a man about to expire, his body bucking.
He stopped and, panting, lay with his head in the crook of her neck while she slowly, slowly returned to a place where she could think. And speak. “Is that...all?” she asked in a breathless whisper.
He pulled away and moved to lie beside her. “It’s enough for tonight. And now that we’re so intimately acquainted, you should call me Dev.”
“And you should call me Thea.”
“Good night, Thea,” he replied, rolling onto his side, away from her.
“Good night, Dev,” she said, also turning onto her side.
But she couldn’t sleep. After a while, she got up and washed, then crept back to bed, trying not to disturb him as she lay wide-awake. He needed his rest, for he must surely be exhausted.
* * *
But Dev was not asleep then, or for a long time afterward. He was trying to decide what, if anything, he should do.
Although he’d agreed to marry Thea Markham out of guilt, remorse and his distaste for the marriage mart, she also intrigued him. Her passionate responses had thrilled him, too, perhaps because she was so serene and practical and resolute at other times. But when it appeared she may have feigned her desire, he’d begun to question all the reasons for his decision and been prepared to seek an annulment—until she’d looked at him with apparently sincere longing. Then, and despite whatever reservations he still harbored, he’d been unable to resist his lustful urges, just as his father always said.
What should he do now? Stay married and trust that her desire was as genuine as it seemed and that their marriage could succeed despite its unusual origin, or give up the hope that any union based on such a foundation could be happy and seek an annulment?
In the end, he decided only one thing: until he was sure of his course of action, he should not touch his wife again.
No matter how much he wanted to.
Chapter Four (#ulink_d6b117b7-957a-59cc-845f-3104bf33aee6)
Seated in the barouche the next morning, Thea kept her gaze on the passing countryside while they continued their journey back to Dundrake. The rugged beauty of the lakes and mountains, and the play of the light and shadow caused by the sun disappearing behind clouds, were a wonderful change from the squalid areas of London where she’d been living. Sometimes she would catch a glimpse of a waterfall or wild river, the water rushing over rocks. Occasionally they would pass a farmstead, the yard alive with chickens and geese, and sometimes a dog or a child quietly watching the fancy coach pass. Or they passed through a small village dominated by a little stone church, a smithy and a few shops around a green where some farmers and their wives were buying and selling.
Yet Thea couldn’t completely enjoy the scenery. She was too distracted by the grimly silent presence of the man sitting opposite her.
After finally falling asleep last night, she had awakened to find that Develin was already up, washed and dressed in expensive, well-made traveling clothes. He bade her a good morning and said little else. Unsure what to do or say to her husband, she quickly washed and dressed. She was relieved that, in spite of the intimacy they’d shared, he’d kept his gaze averted. It was different being alone with him in the brighter light of morning than it had been in the candlelit room last night.
At breakfast, he’d been polite but still nearly silent.
Perhaps he was simply tired, exhausted from the events of the day before and especially the night that followed. After all, she was weary, too. She’d lain awake most of the night wondering if she’d pleased him as much as he had pleased her and trying not to contemplate the other women with whom he’d been intimate.
“We’re nearly at Dundrake Hall,” her companion abruptly announced, his tone matter-of-fact. “The next curve should see us at the gates.”
Thea’s heartbeat quickened. What would his servants think of her? And his friends? Although she was educated and knew how to behave in polite society, she was a stranger and no beauty. She fervently hoped she could hold her own with the ton, or at least not be an embarrassment to her husband.
Despite her self-assurances, her pulse increased again when the coach rounded the curve and she had her first glimpse of the imposing iron gates of Sir Develin Dundrake’s estate. They looked like they belonged to a prison.
Perhaps one of the horses would throw a shoe or an axle break and delay their arrival. All she needed was a little more time to prepare herself.
Unfortunately no disaster impeded their progress.
When they reached the gate, the door to what had to be the gatekeeper’s lodge opened. An old man, gray-haired and bent-backed, hurried toward the gates from the wattle-and-daub cottage.
“Ah, it’s Sir Develin back, eh?” he called out in a thin, reedy voice as he peered inside the barouche. “And not alone, neither. I wish you joy, Sir Develin.”
“How the devil—?” her husband began, echoing her own surprise before a frown darkened his features.
The cat was clearly out of the bag, the news arriving via a visiting relative, peddler or tradesman perhaps. However their marriage was discovered, curiosity and speculation were no doubt going to be the reaction that greeted her introduction as Lady Dundrake, and likely not just among the servants.
She had had worse receptions. She suspected Develin had not, though, as his subsequent actions proved.
He leaned out the window and rather forcefully asked, “Is there a difficulty, Simpkins?”
“No, sir, no!” the gatekeeper replied, his gaze now fastened on Thea, who wished she had a better bonnet.
“Then open the gates,” her husband snapped before he returned to his seat, where he frowned and crossed his arms.
Since she was Lady Dundrake, it was time to begin to act like it, she told herself, so she gave the gatekeeper her best smile as they drove by.
Her smile disappeared when she saw the house. The Georgian structure with its grim gray stone and several gleaming windows had seemed vast and imposing when she approached it from the garden. It seemed vaster and more impressive from the front, with a wide stone portico and stairs and ornamental plinths and cornices. Dundrake Hall must have cost a fortune and taken years to build.
“My father did have a few good qualities,” her husband noted as the coach rolled along the gravel drive. “He had excellent taste and knew how to get what he wanted from a builder.”
“The house was your father’s design?”
“Yes, all of it, inside and out.”
“Did not your mother...?” She fell silent when she saw the warning look that flashed across Develin’s face. Clearly his mother was a subject to be avoided, at least for now.
So she stayed silent as the coach reached the house, where the servants were lined up like a firing squad in maids’ uniforms of dark dresses and white aprons and caps, or fine green livery for the footmen.
She took a deep breath and managed to sound composed when she asked, “How many servants are there?”
“Twenty-five or thirty, depending on the season. Mrs. Wessex can tell you how many are currently employed. She and Jackson, the butler, have been with the family since before I was born,” her husband replied.
Mrs. Wessex must be the housekeeper, and it was no comfort to Thea to find out she had been at Dundrake Hall for so many years. Servants of such long standing might very well look askance at a wife who had apparently appeared out of nowhere. “I daresay they’re surprised that you’re returning with a bride.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “They’re used to my impulsive decisions.”
“That is not quite the same as bringing home a wife they know nothing about.”
“I’m sure they’ll manage.” His brow furrowed. “You did say you knew how to run a household.”
Although there were some things her husband should never know, it was probably better to be honest about this. “Yes. I’ve just never actually done it before.”
* * *
She’d never run a household?
He really shouldn’t be surprised, Dev supposed. After all, there was much he didn’t know about her and little that he did. And of course, if her family had their income drastically reduced in recent years, she wouldn’t have had the opportunity to learn the intricacies of running a manor.
Yet she seemed so supremely competent, he still found her admission unexpected.
He also began to wonder what else the woman who was now fully, completely his wife had been less than forthcoming about. What other things might he learn that would make him even sorrier he’d agreed to her proposal and made love with her last night?
He should have ignored her shining, longing eyes, the temptation of her body, the sultry sound of her husky voice and stayed away. He should have used his head.
One of the liveried footmen stepped forward to open the door. Dev disembarked and took a better survey of the gathered servants. No doubt they all wanted to see the new Lady Dundrake, who was still wearing that horrible pelisse and bonnet. Gad, even the scullery maid was there.
He shouldn’t have been in such haste to leave Gretna Green. He should have insisted she get new clothes made before they returned—another mistake it was too late to correct. All he could do now was pretend not to notice.
He slid a glance at Thea and caught her furtively straightening her bonnet and adjusting the collar of her pelisse. Perhaps she wasn’t as completely impervious to the call of vanity as she had seemed and seeing the servants arranged like soldiers on parade might be intimidating even to a woman not easily intimidated.
A memory suddenly arose, strong and vivid, of the day he’d been waiting outside the vicarage while his father criticized the rector’s last sermon. Some of the boys from the village had been taking turns jumping over a mud puddle. When he’d wandered closer, the oldest studied him a moment, then shrugged and let him join the game.
He’d slipped and fallen headlong into the puddle. When his father had seen him, dripping and muddy, the knee of his trousers torn, he flew flown into a temper, charging him with acting like a little ruffian and looking like one, too. He’d made Dev wear those torn, muddy clothes for a week.
He had thought he’d never forget that humiliation, but he had, until today.
He opened his mouth to say something encouraging. Before he could, though, Thea’s expression altered. It was like seeing her transform from vulnerable young bride to impervious Amazon.
Obviously his wife didn’t need any reassurance from him, he thought as he got out of the barouche and reached up to help her from the carriage.
Thea disembarked with the poise and expression of a visiting empress, and as if she were attired in the finest Paris fashion.
The pride he could understand, but her haughty demeanor was unexpected and unnerving, and not the way to impress the servants.
He led her toward the tall, distinguished-looking older man at the head of the line of servants. Jackson’s expression was as stoic as usual, his manner betraying neither surprise nor curiosity. “Jackson, this is my bride. My lady, the butler.”
“Jackson,” she repeated with a slight—very slight—inclination of her head.
“My lady,” Jackson intoned, bowing.
Dev pressed his lips together and continued toward the housekeeper. As always, Mrs. Wessex was impeccably neat, in a dark dress with not a single spot of lint, her ample waist encircled by a leather belt holding a large ring of keys. A pristine white cap sat atop her equally white hair.
“Mrs. Wessex, my bride,” he announced. “My lady, this is the housekeeper.
“My wife has no maid,” he added as Mrs. Wessex dipped a curtsy. “We shall have to hire one immediately. I’ll leave that in your capable hands, Mrs. Wessex.”
Thea’s grip tightened on his arm and this time, it did not lead to a passionate response. It was painful.
“I trust I am to be consulted on the selection,” she said with cool authority, a tone not likely to endear her to the servants any more than her behavior.
This was not the time or place for criticism, however, so he merely nodded and said, “If you wish.”
“I do.”
Annoyed, Dev decided it would be better to postpone the rest of the introductions. “It’s been a tiring journey, so the rest of the introductions can wait until later,” he said to no one in particular.
“Since the servants are all assembled here, I see no reason to postpone,” Thea replied. “If you’d like to rest, I’m sure Jackson and Mrs. Wessex can tell me who everyone is.”
She made it sound as if he were old and feeble and easily fatigued. Gad, what sort of woman had he married? “Of course if you’d prefer to meet the servants now, you may. Mrs. Wessex, please do the honors, then show my wife to my lady’s bedchamber. I have business to attend to.”
That wasn’t strictly a lie. As the owner of a large estate as well as a town house in London, he always had some business to attend to, of one kind or another.
He strode into the house and, without bothering to remove his hat and greatcoat, continued to his study. After throwing his hat and coat onto the nearest chair, he poured himself a stiff drink from the decanter of brandy on the side table, glanced up at the portrait of his father and muttered, “Yes, Father, this time you’re right. I was too impetuous.”
He downed the brandy in a gulp, then slumped into one of the worn wing chairs.
He’d married with the notion that he was making amends, but that act could well prove the old adage that two wrongs don’t make a right.
With a scowl, he rose from the chair and went to his desk. He was no helpless victim. He was Sir Develin Dundrake, baronet, heir to an estate and the toast of the ton. There was no need for him to continue this unfortunate liaison. After all, he had the best solicitor in London and he would write to Roger at once.
* * *
After the introductions had been completed and the servants dismissed, Thea was given a brief tour of the main floor of the house. There were two wings leading in opposite directions from the entrance hall. One wing was composed of the formal drawing room done in shades of Wedgwood blue and white, a large dining room with mahogany furniture brightly polished, a slightly less formal sitting room and the morning room, a very pretty chamber papered with depictions of songbirds. Like the room in which she’d first met her husband, this, too, opened onto the terrace. The other wing held the library, study, a large ballroom with mirrored walls and immense chandeliers, an anteroom for refreshments and the billiard’s room. Mrs. Wessex didn’t say the house was set up as if to separate the female members of the family from the male, but it certainly seemed that way. Nor did Thea give any sign that she’d been in the study before.
Not surprisingly she was not shown the lower level, where the kitchen, pantry, buttery, servants’ hall, laundry and wine cellar were located. Nor would she be shown the topmost level, where the servants slept, no doubt with the maids on one side and the male servants on the other.
