Regency High Society Vol 6: The Enigmatic Rake / The Lord And The Mystery Lady / The Wagering Widow / An Unconventional Widow. Anne O'BrienЧитать онлайн книгу.
to bed, my wife. You have talked enough for one night.’ He rose to his feet.
Sarah mirrored his actions. ‘You have told me nothing of yourself. Whilst I have so little to tell, but have burdened you with all my past history. I feel like Scheherazade and her stories to fill a thousand and one nights.’
‘Fortunately you do not have to tell a new tale every night and your life is not at stake, dependent on my enjoyment. Besides, the beautiful Scheherazade enchanted her royal master, did she not?’ He touched her cheek with light fingers, savouring the silken texture of her skin. ‘I shall enjoy you, my own Scheherazade. And I swear that I will do all in my life to make you happy.’ Easy words to say, he realised, easy vows to make, but it was suddenly important that he keep that promise.
He led her to the bed. Blew out the candles, knowing instinctively that she would want the reassurance of the dark. Ever practical, Sarah drew back the fragrant linen and removed her own lace négligé. A prosaic little action, he thought, a calm acceptance of the situation as she turned to face him. Without a word he stooped to lift her, to place her against the soft pillows. Cushioned by the near dark, illuminated only be the warm glow from the dying fire, he could sense nothing but a composed acquiescence. She had married him and so would come to his bed. No fear, no denial, but neither was there any anticipation. She would give her body to him because it was a legal necessity and therefore he would require it.
It became for him a matter of some urgency to change that.
He slid out of his heavy robe and joined her, to do nothing more than put an arm around her and pull her close until her head rested against his shoulder, her body against his side. She did so, willingly enough, turning into him, allowing her hand to rest against the hard expanse of his chest. Of course she was not innocent of intimate relationships between man and woman. Not ignorant of the physical act or the pleasure to be experienced in a marriage bed. Yet Joshua Faringdon was aware of a distinct unease. His lips curled in a gentle self-mockery in the anonymity of the darkness because, for once in his life, he was uncertain how to proceed with this reserved but compliant woman whom he had made his wife. He let the problem drift and unravel in his mind as Sarah softened against him, her hair curling against his skin, the lingering perfume filling his senses.
They did not know each other well. That was the problem. They had not come together out of love or even lust, but from the binding of a legal document. But why should he feel this sense of disquiet? It was her fragility of spirit, he decided, her willingness to take herself to task when she believed her actions to be wanting, her inability to believe that he should need to possess her, to desire her for herself. So he must persuade her of her desirability, that she was capable of giving him pleasure, just as she was deserving of accepting it from him. So he would give her gentleness. Kindness. A soft awakening to what he could bring her.
So this was the task he set himself when he turned to her at last, angled his body so that he might look down at her. His kisses were whisper soft, his touch light and undemanding as he began his progress over the contours of her face with his lips. The delicate line of forehead and jaw, the softness of temple and the little hollow beneath her ear. The flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat. And he explored her lips. There had been few kisses between them in their brief association. Now he had the time to claim and explore, his tongue brushing along the edge of her lips, increasing the pressure of his mouth just a little so that hers would part to allow him to seek and enjoy. She sighed, complied, her breath fragrant against his face.
‘Tell me if I do anything that you do not like, that you do not wish for,’ he murmured against the delectable curve of her throat where the pulse had begun to beat more strongly. He did not think he had ever said that to any woman, presuming that he could seduce through skill and finesse. But Sarah was different. ‘You have to accept nothing at my hands that does not bring you pleasure.’
‘I like your kisses,’ she whispered against his chest. ‘They make me feel warm. As if I had drunk two glasses of champagne.’
‘Good.’ A soft laugh against her hair at her artless admission.
So with this tacit permission, his deft fingers unfastened the ribbons to push the cream confection from her shoulders, absorbing as he did so, his hands brushing over her skin, the fact that she was warm beneath his touch and not as unrelaxed as he had feared. So far so good. Then with hands and lips he set himself to discover more fully this woman whom he had so wilfully taken as his wife, to lure her unquiet mind into tranquil pathways, allowing her to enjoy all that he could bring to her. Delighted by the feminine curves beneath his fingers, he was enticed to touch and caress, following the delicate swell and hollow of breast and waist and thigh, from soft skin to softer yet. Until she shivered against him, and turned in his arms to offer what he might wish to take.
Of course she knew what would be required of her. He wanted her, was hard and ready for her. What man would not respond so strongly with so deliciously feminine a partner? He pulled her close, holding her firmly so that she might know the strength of his hunger.
He lifted himself above her, yet careful to take his weight on his forearms to hold back from crushing her. Her response was immediate as her thighs parted quite naturally to hold him, to allow him access. It was no difficulty at all for him to enter her, slowly, pushing gently as she opened for him. Keeping a firm hold on the instinctive desire to drive on and possess her, to fill her completely, even though there was no pain of virginity to overcome. Although Sarah stiffened at first, the smallest resistance to his invasion in so intimate a fashion, she sighed and arched a little against him, lifting her hips in the timeless feminine response. A gesture of acceptance and invitation that he was quick to recognise, and she lifted her arms to close around him, to hold him fast. A supremely innocent gesture that effectively destroyed all his self-control. So he thrust deep. Again and again, conscious of the slick heat of her, her body more than willing to receive him, even if her mind remained aloof and watchful. When his urge to complete the matter could not be withstood, she moved with him, arching her hips against him, all soft compliance and acceptance. Until he climaxed, chest heaving, muscles taut with strain.
A perfectly satisfactory completion of their new relationship.
And yet… And yet what? As he held himself still, deep within the impossibly soft heat of her, he knew that Sarah had not come to her own fulfilment. Suspected that she had never been close, hedged round by reserve and restraint, afraid to abandon her self-control, which, in her eyes, would make her vulnerable to him. So he felt a wave of disappointment coat his own satisfaction. She had not been unwilling—indeed, she had been wonderfully soft and pliant—but neither had she shown any true enjoyment, giving him no intimation of whether she had experienced any pleasure in their intimacy or not. She had not told him that she didn’t, but neither had he gained any sense of her complete involvement in the act. He had taken her body, but she had been a passive onlooker, willing but uncommitted, with no indication of her own thoughts or feelings But then, as he turned his face against her throat to breathe in her perfume, he was left to wonder if Sarah ever would.
Withdrawing from her, he moved to lie beside her and pulled her close beside him again.
‘Well?’ he murmured the word against her hair when she still made no sign, no comment. What the hell should he say to a woman who was so quiescent?
Sarah promptly stiffened in his arms, as if to be asked her opinion of so momentous an event would frighten her to death.
Joshua sighed. Could his pride and his masculinity take it, he thought, on a touch of humour? ‘Was it too bad?’ he asked, the humour clear in his voice, hoping to lull her into a warm response.
Sarah did not notice, but answered the question rather than the intent. ‘Not at all.’ Her voice was tight and strained. As if he had asked her opinion of a visit to the theatre to watch a particularly bad play and she did not wish to hurt his feelings. ‘I enjoyed it. You were very kind. I hope you found me satisfactory.’ It was so bleak a statement it touched his heart. He could think of nothing to say that would make any sense. It had been a long day and it was clear that the lady was not receptive of reasoned thought, only strained emotions. With time, he hoped, it would improve between them. So he resorted to kissing