In My Wildest Fantasies

Chapter 17

Shortly after three, the wedding breakfast and reception drew to a close, the houseguests began to pack their belongings and prepared to bid farewell to the bride and groom, as well as their hosts, the duke and duchess. For a time, pandemonium ensued, while footmen scurried up and down the palace stairs with trunks and bags. Carriages lined up outside the front entrance, pulling away one by one with organized, ceremonial aplomb.

By teatime, the palace itself breathed a sigh of relief. The rooms settled back into a quieter, sleepier atmosphere. The chairs sat empty, the fireplaces went cold, the champagne was all gone.

After saying goodbye to Aunt Grace-and convincing her that all was well now that the earl had learned the truth about her marriage-Rebecca retreated to her room to pack her own things, for she was to move to different lodgings in the family wing, not far from her husband's. The duchess's maid, Alice, continued to assist her.

Alice was folding Rebecca's dressing gown and gently placing it into her trunk, when a knock sounded at the door. Rebecca crossed the room and answered it.

There in the corridor stood her husband, still dressed in his wedding attire, and despite everything, she responded immediately to his stark beauty, the mesmerizing lure of his confident stance and moody expression.

It galled her that he could have this effect on her after everything that had occurred between them that day, but she supposed he would always be that impressive man she had first seen on a big black horse in the forest. The man who had awakened her to her passions.

She stepped aside and invited him in. He directed his gaze at Alice. "The duchess needs you," he said.

"Yes, milord." The maid hurried from the room and swung the door shut behind her.

Rebecca strolled to the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed and sat down.

"It appears we have something to discuss," she said, not bothering to hide the anger and resentment she felt over the way he had treated her earlier, when he had been keeping a secret, too.

He casually unbuttoned his jacket as he moved toward her. "I thought we did enough talking this morning."

"Did you indeed? Then what are you doing here?" She was already fully aware of what he wanted, however, and was infuriated by the traitorous rush of excitement coursing through her veins as he stood tall and powerful before her.

"If you will recall," he informed her, as he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it clear across the room to the chair by the window, "we were married this morning, so I believe a consummation is on the agenda. We are to soldier on, remember? And duty decrees an heir."

"If you will recall," she said with a sharp bite to her voice, "we already consummated the marriage. So you may at least strike that off your list."

He grinned wolfishly. "I seem to recall you mentioning your desire for such pleasures again and again."

She glared at him with burning, reproachful eyes. "That was before I found out you were a hypocrite."

His fingers froze on the buttons of his waistcoat, and his expression darkened with suspicion. "How so?"

"Who, sir, was using whom?" she asked, her tone ice-cold with accusation. "You might have told me you were being pressured to marry, but you did not tell me why. Do not bother to play innocent. I know all about your father's will."

For a long moment he stared down at her, then he tore at his necktie, pulled it off and tossed it lightly onto the bench beside her. "Then it appears we have everything out in the open now, doesn't it? You wanted me to save you from marrying your neighbor, and I wanted you to save me from losing my inheritance. We trapped each other, plain and simple. So now we can move forward with this convenient marital arrangement without pretenses or romantic expectations. There are no more secrets. At least I hope that is the case."

"It is."

"You're sure?" he asked, pulling his shirt off as well, so she was forced to look at his smooth muscular abdomen, directly in front of her face. "Because I still have my doubts." He tossed the shirt to the chair with his jacket.

"There is nothing to doubt," she replied, realizing she was somehow on the defensive again. "I've told you everything."

He bent forward and braced his knuckles on the bench on either side of her, his face a mere inch from hers. "But do I believe everything, is the question."

Her breath was coming short, and she was very close to losing her composure. For the longest time he remained there, brushing the tip of his nose over hers, wetting his lips…

"What does he look like?" he asked.

"Who?"

"Your betrothed."

She huffed with annoyance. "He was never my betrothed."

"I'm sure he would argue with that. I would most certainly put up a fight if I had been told you were mine, then another man took possession of you."

"I am no one's possession."

"Yes, you are. You're mine."

She should have been offended. She should have slapped his arrogant face. But she was capable only of sitting on the bench, using every ounce of will she possessed simply to hide how shaken she was in the presence of such ostentatious masculinity. He was a powerful, imposing man. It was what had knocked her off her feet to begin with.

"Surprised to hear that from your perfect-gentleman hero?" he asked, looking like he was enjoying this far too much.

"Not in the least," she replied. "Didn't I say you were a scoundrel that first night in the ballroom?"

"Indeed you did." Appearing somewhat amused, he straightened and stood over her, looking down. "Perhaps occasionally, you do know how to judge a man with some accuracy."

She let out a long-held breath, relieved when he backed away, then moved around the bed. She did not turn around, but heard the bed creak and knew he had climbed onto it.

"Incidentally," he said, "I didn't marry you to keep my inheritance. I married you to appease my father so that he would not require my brothers to be rushed into hasty marriages."

She stood up and turned to face him. He was lying back with one leg crossed over the other, his muscular arms tossed behind his head on a soft, feathery pillow, recently fluffed.

Gazing freely at his thick biceps and his toned, strapping body, she found herself able to focus on little else but the shivery thrill dancing down her spine.

"So you are a martyr," she replied. "A sacrificial lamb, forced to give up your independence and chain yourself to a life you never wanted. No, wait, you are a hero to them," she added with sarcasm. "Isn't that what they think?"

His blue eyes clouded over with disdain. "Not all of them."

"No, of course not." She moved gracefully around the bed, closing a hand around the ornately carved bedpost, running her open palm over the smooth, flowing grooves in the mahogany. "Vincent would never thank you for anything, would he? And he's the only one with any sense, isn't that right?"

She stood over him, taking in his tempting virility while she remembered her mother-in-law's advice. Just love him…

She pulled the pins from her hair and shook it loose down her back, then climbed onto the bed. "I know what you're doing, you know." She straddled her husband's hips and sat down upon his enormous erection, swiveling her hips, rubbing against him. "You're trying to make me hate you, trying to prove you are right and I am wrong, that I was mistaken to believe you were good and reliable, and that our marriage is doomed like every other."

He took her hips in his hands and thrust himself about, meeting her smooth, erotic undulations with proficient movements of his own.

"Maybe I am," he said, "but admitting that doesn't change anything. We still deceived one another, and we both have very good reason not to trust much of anything in this marriage. So there we are. Doomed."

"Forever the pessimist."

"There will be fewer disappointments that way."

She wiggled and squirmed over his amorous erection, growing harder by the second. "And fewer joys." Leaning forward, she pinned his arms over his head. "I might as well inform you now," she said. "I am not going to let you do what you are attempting to do."

"And what is that?" He lifted his head off the pillow and tried to kiss her.

She pulled back, just out of reach. "To spoil this marriage by pushing me away."

"I'm not pushing you away at the moment, darling. I would very much prefer it, actually, if you would come closer."

She did as he asked. She leaned down and kissed him, letting go of his arms so he could cup the back of her head in his hand and thrust his tongue into her mouth.

"And how exactly do you intend to keep me from spoiling this marriage?" he asked, when she dragged her lips from his.

"I'm going to allow you to make love to me."

He laughed. "Allow me to make love to you? I'm not the one on top."

Then his eyes narrowed, and he flipped her over onto her back and reached down to unfasten his trousers.

"Who's on top now?" she asked, while she wriggled her hips and tugged her skirts up to her waist.

He shoved his pants down. "I am, and don't forget it. You are mine now, Rebecca. No other man shall ever have you. Unbutton your bodice."

She understood what he wanted and needed from this. He wanted to prove that she belonged to him, that he was still in control of his emotions and his life and the future of this marriage.

Perhaps she could have been more sensitive to that, or more resistant, but all she wanted was to give herself to him body and soul, because it was all true. She did belong to him, and she wanted him to know it.

"Give me a chance to get my skirts out of the way," she said breathlessly. "You could help, you know."

Panting with impatience, he leaned to the side on one elbow while he unbuttoned the bottom of her bodice, working his way up while she started at the top.

As soon as it was free, she sat up and yanked it off her shoulders. At the same time, he was unfastening her skirts and drawers and wrenching them down over her hips.

At last, their clothing was out of the way. Very quickly he positioned himself between her legs and moved until he found the precise location for his purposes, then thrust inside, smoothly and easily, for she was slick and wet and ready for him.

She gasped with unrestrained lust, aching for more as he plunged deep and hard, again and again. He worked in and out of her, pounding furiously, moving inside her with voracious passion.

"I cannot understand this," he said, squeezing his eyes shut, surprising her with the passionate confession. "This madness. I cannot fight it. I must have you, Rebecca. Completely."

Nor could she understand it, as sensation overwhelmed reason. She could not even begin to contemplate the forces at work in this room. She had been so angry with him earlier for his arrogance and the withdrawal of his gentler affections, and for his lack of forgiveness, when he was as guilty as she.

Yet she still wanted him and would do anything for him. All she knew at this moment was the tremendous power of her impending orgasm, coursing through her nerve endings to the very center of her being. Pleasure assailed her, and she released a muffled scream into her husband's mouth as she felt at the same time the hot gush of his climax pour into her.

He collapsed heavily upon her, and they lay there in the dazzling afternoon light, their desires fulfilled, their bodies damp with perspiration, limp and weak, but magnificently sated.

"I am yours," she whispered in his ear as she ran a finger up and down his smooth, slick back. "I was never Rushton's."

"Don't say his name again," he softly said. "Ever. Just the sound of it infuriates me."

She could barely breathe under the tremendous weight of him. "Nothing would please me more than to never say it again, or hear it. But you must promise me something, too."

He rolled to his side and faced her, waiting in silence for her request.

"You must promise to at least try and forgive me for our unfortunate beginning, as I will forgive you. I want you to love me in return," she said. "If not today-someday."

He rested his head on his arm. "We are still strangers, you know."

"But we won't be forever. Every day will bring us closer if you will let me love you, which you must, because no matter what has happened between us, now that I have found you, I cannot live without you."

He rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. "Do not rely on me for your happiness, Rebecca. You must find other things to occupy yourself besides me, because I cannot be responsible for all that."

She sat up. "You are not responsible for my happiness."

"But you just said you cannot live without me."

"It was an expression of love," she told him, "and I warn you, I will say other things like it in the future. I want us to be everything to each other."

He spoke in a calm voice, his gaze steady. "That is not the kind of love I ever imagined myself wanting."

"What other kind is there?" she asked, unable to understand how he could think or feel any other way.

He stared at her for a long time. "I honestly don't know, and I am not sure I wish to find out. It is not a question I wish to explore."