“I was mentally wounded that you wanted to look at nude sketches of my sister-in-law and not of me,” she pouted.
He grimaced. When had he mentioned that particular request? He couldn’t recall. He unfastened the three buttons of his waistcoat. “It was not Emma that I wished to see, just the progression of her belly as her breeding advanced.” He stooped and stirred the water with his fingers, but captured her eyes with his gaze. “I hope never to see nude sketches of you, dear Franny, unless they are drawn by my own hand.”
She moved her breast toward his fingers, allowing the tips of his fingers to follow the contour to the pebbled peak. “Do you have your brother’s talent?” she asked.
He almost choked. “My brother has many talents, but if you refer to his particular one with a paintbrush, I’d have to say no. However, if you will model for me, I will endeavor to practice very, very hard.”
She leaned back in the water till petals kissed her chin, then she arched her back allowing the rosy tips of her breasts to break the surface, but those bloody flowers clung to the most interesting parts. He reached to pluck a soft velvet petal from her tip, and briefly fondled the pebbled perfection underneath. Then she submerged them again.
“Are all American virgins as forward as you, or am I extraordinarily lucky?” He slipped out of his waistcoat, then quickly tossed it behind him, God knows where. Hodgins would be undoubtedly tightlipped tomorrow.
She smiled. “You’re extraordinarily fortunate. I’m only this way because you forced me to take such extreme measures to encourage you to notice me.”
“Nonsense,” he protested. “I noticed you that first night when you presented yourself in bed linens.”
“Then you hid your interest well.” She sighed. “Even though I was forced to adopt such extreme measures, I did enjoy the results of my more forward attempts at seduction.” She cupped her breasts with her hands much as she had on the ship. This time, however he wasn’t hindered by sea sickness, or ham-stringed by a mistaken belief that he couldn’t have her. A bulge formed in the front of his trousers.
“So if you find me too forward,” she said with a sly grin, “then it’s of your own doing.”
He unfastened his cuff links and set them aside. Another issue for Hodgins. Then, he rolled up the sleeve on one of his arms. Lifting the copper lid on the bottom part of the tub, he sunk his hand in the water capturing her foot.
She laughed and splashed at him, but he slid his hand all the way up her leg to its juncture. Urging her legs apart, he cupped her mound. She stilled and gazed up at him with impossibly large brown eyes. He traced her slit with one finger and entered slowly wiggling back and forth.
Her eyes closed and her head tilted back. She gripped both sides of the tub and gave him full access.
“There, you little minx.” He added more fingers to the intimate water play. “Two can play this teasing game.”
“William, if you continue, I fear I may drown. But please don’t stop.”
He withdrew his hand. “I can’t fit in that bath with you, Franny. If you want more, you’ll have to come out.” He shook his hand and started unfastening the buttons on his shirt. She opened her eyes and watched him.
“I like watching you undress,” she said. “I think I should like to watch you undress every night.”
“You’ll tire of it soon enough,” he said. “ ‘Sweets grown common lose their dear delight.’ ”
“Shakespeare?”
He nodded. “What I lack in fairy tales, I make up in poetry. It was one of Nicholas’s obsessions.” He pulled his arms out of his shirt and sent it the way of the waistcoat. Her lips formed a moue of appreciation. She might eventually become disinterested with his undressing, but he would never lose interest when she looked at him like that. Ogling. Is that what Nicholas called it?
“ ‘Familiar acts are beautiful through love,’ ” she quoted.
He paused in the act of removing his boots. “You can quote Shelley? I’m impressed,” he said, pulling off the first boot.
She glanced about the room. “Why are we here, William?” she asked.
He suspected the water was losing much of its heat so he tried to hurry his disrobing. “Long ago, my great ancestor led a revolt on the king’s behalf—”
“No. I don’t mean the abbey. I meant why are we in this room and not the one that connects to mine?”
He pulled the second boot free, and then picked up the towel and stretched it wide. “Come out, your lower lip is trembling.”
She bit her lower lip. A scared expression flitted across her face. “Perhaps you could close your eyes while I stand?”
He sighed audibly, then tilted his head to look down at her. “Franny, my dear. In the next twenty-four hours, I plan to explore your luscious body so thoroughly that there will not be an inch that I have not tasted, stroked, or kissed. I intend to pump you so full of seed that the suggestion that we have not been as man and wife will be laughable at best. And I intend to pleasure you in such meticulous detail that you will never entertain a thought of leaving me. Now stand.”
She did, quickly and without complaint. His breath caught. She resembled a garden nymph, rose petals clung to her moist skin in the most intriguing of places, fragrant lavender heads pressed her belly and rode her fleece. “My God, you are beautiful. We should have done this long ago.”
She nodded, too nervous to speak, he imagined. He swathed her in a towel, allowing her to hold the fabric closed in front of her. He used another to briskly rub her dry and dislodge the floral elements. He thought he saw her shiver.
“Are you cold?”
“Not cold . . . nervous,” she replied.
And probably a bit scared, he thought. How could he have thought she was an experienced woman when her innocence radiated all around her? In one swooping motion, he lifted her in his arms, kissing her in reassurance. Her arms tangled about his neck, encouraging the kiss to mount in passion. He had intended to carry her to the bed but the doctor’s warning sounded in his head. He glanced about the room, and carried her to the table he used as a desk, and set her on the edge.
Placing himself between her legs, he quickly dispensed with the buttons on his waistband letting both his drawers and trousers slide down his legs while he responded to her urgent kisses. Probably afraid to look down, he thought. Just as well. His thick cock felt double in size, which of course was a problem, given her untried cunny.
He slipped a hand down to the spot he’d fingered earlier and lightly ran a finger about the circumference. He felt her stiffen.
“Relax, dear Franny. They call this the honey pot, you know. Which means this”—he rimmed his finger around the button he sought—“would be the queen.”
While she continued to cling to his shoulders, her head fell back, her breathing shallow. “The queen doesn’t have a stinger,” she said.
“No. No. Of course, she doesn’t.” Strange pillow talk, but Franny was proving to be a unique woman. He continued to tease the bud with his thumb, while he slipped one finger into her tight sheath, then two. Franny gasped, then sighed. He could hear the sound of his movements in her juices. It was time.
“Wrap your legs around my waist, Franny.” She complied.
He fitted himself to her opening. “This may hurt a bit but not for long. Are you ready?”
He felt her nod against his shoulder. “Hold on.”
He fitted his hands beneath her lovely buttocks and lifted her off the table. Determining it was best to be quick, he let the weight of her settle on his straining cock, while he thrust upward. Her back stiffened. His scarred shoulder muffled the sound of her shout. He held her suspended on his grateful and eager cock, allowing her sheath to adjust to his thickness. When he could wait no longer, he shifted to his left, pressing her spine against the paneled wall while he thrust repeatedly into her tunnel.
Lord, she was so tight. She pressed him on all sides, drawing him in, urging him on, higher, deeper. He twisted his hips, adding more power to his thrust, but when he could no longer control it, his seed exploded into her womb again and again. His knees threatened to buckle, he sagged against her, feeling the combined product of their intimate act sliding down to coat his genitals.
He shifted her back to his desk, letting the wood take her weight while he withdrew. They both held each other, waiting for their heartbeats to slow, their breath to deepen.
“Dear heaven,” she gasped. “I never imagined . . .”
“A woman’s first time is often marked with pain.” His fingers traced patterns on her back, learning every nuance. “The next time will be more enjoyable, I promise.”
She pushed back slightly, her eyes widened. “Dear heaven!”
He smiled and pushed her head back to his shoulder where it belonged.
“That’s it, then?” she asked. “There will be no question?”
He kissed her neck. “There can be no question. You are mine and no one will take you away.”
SHE WAS HIS A FEW MORE TIMES THAT NIGHT AS WELL. They certainly didn’t rise for breakfast, and would have missed lunch as well if William hadn’t wanted to see the completed renovation in the light of day. She felt quite sated, used, and absolutely wonderful.
She hadn’t realized from her courtesan’s journal how truly intimate the act of mating, the taking of another into one’s body, was. How could Bridget do it with strange men? She couldn’t imagine sharing that closeness with anyone but William.
He looked different, younger, and most certainly happier. He kept glancing her way, then shaking his head as if to some silent jest.
“Why do you look at me that way?” she asked, watching him dress, which was not nearly as exciting as watching him undress, but pleasurable nonetheless.
“I just can’t believe my good fortune,” he said. “I had no idea when I journeyed to America that I was to meet my perfect match.”
“Yes, it truly is an amazing twist of fate.” She thought for a moment, wondering if it was pure fate or had someone else played a hand. “William, had you ever met my parents before that the engagement ball?”
“No. I’d heard of the Winthrops, of course, but prior to the correspondence from my solicitors I’d not known of your existence.”
“Then I suppose it is a matter of good fortune.” She stretched back on his pillows, flaunting her naked body for his pleasure. “My good fortune.”
They’d tried several positions last night, many she recognized from Bridget’s journal, but her favorite was still the first. She had dug her fingers into the hard muscles of his upper arms, feeling their power and protection, and then he rammed into her, claiming her for his own. Her core clenched just remembering the moment.
He picked her discarded towel off the floor, then tossed it over her, a smile on his lips. “If you keep that up, our guests will be storming the doors as neither of us will have left this room for days. Hodgins might be out in the hallway as we speak.” He glanced to the door.
“I’ll slip back through the passage as soon as you’ve gone,” she said. “Tell me though, you never answered my question last night about this room. The connecting door to the master’s bedroom would be more convenient than the secret passageway.”
“That was my father’s room, the old Duke of Bedford. The one that gave me this.” He touched his shoulder. “He lived his life to tell me that I was never good enough to assume responsibility for the dukedom, no matter how hard I tried to prove otherwise.” He paused, a wistful expression crossed his face. “It was the strangest thing. Sometimes I thought he was proud of us, that he cared. Then the next moment, you could see pure hatred in his eyes.”
He leaned down and stroked her face. “Then he died, and I discovered he hadn’t been a very good steward of all that had been entrusted to him. That’s what led me to you.” He smiled, but only for a moment. He straightened.
“I just couldn’t move into his room. Too many unpleasant memories remain. After the ball, after the London season, when we return here next summer, perhaps then my feelings will have changed.” He kissed her. “Go along now. I don’t know how long I can last if I know you’re up here waiting for me.”
HE LEFT AND SHE SLIPPED INTO THE NIGHT RAIL AND wrapper that she had worn to go through the passageway last night. Mary waited for her on the other end and assisted her in dressing for the remainder of the day.
“There’s talk that the ghost of the abbey has awakened. Several people heard him last night moaning and groaning,” Mary advised with a grin on her face.
“Oh?” Fran felt her cheeks warm, thinking perhaps she hadn’t fully closed the mantel door last night.
“I’d say it’s about time,” Mary said. Fran smiled, thinking how blessed she was with her maid.
Fran stopped by the nursery first to ensure everything had been cleared from last night’s sobering activities with William. The room could still use a nice airing out, but nothing of consequence remained to suggest William was less than the Duke he strove hard to be.
It was time now for her to be the Duchess he wished her to be.
As if wakened from a long sleep, Fran suddenly recognized all that needed to be accomplished for the abbey to be brought to a standard worthy of a duke in the few days before Bertie’s arrival. She needed to speak to the cook about the possibility of adding herbs, spices, and more honey to her repertoire. She wanted to check the guest rooms to see they’d been properly refurbished. And, she wanted to visit the old Duke’s bedroom to see what changes she could make that might cleanse the room of memories.
She was on her way to find Lady Rosalyn, to settle the past disputes between them and request her opinion on some changes she wished to make, but Randolph found her first. He pulled her into the library to talk.
“I’ve been waiting all morning to speak to you, Francesca,” he said. “I wanted to apologize. I had thought you were forced into this marriage, but I could tell from the dinner last night that you have strong feelings toward Bedford. I hope he is good to you, Fran. I should never have interfered.”