she sobbed as release flooded her very being. 'Ohh, I hate you for this!' And she shuddered with the final spasms of her defeat.
He lay atop her for some minutes, his heart hammering, his breathing rough. It had been so long. So long since he had known the pleasure of her body, and the sweet fulfillment that only she could give him. He wanted to wrap his arms about her. Tell her the truth. But he couldn't because he couldn't trust her. She was a hot-blooded and deceitful little bitch. No better than his stepmother had been. She would yield her body to gain her own way. He rolled off India, and arose from the bed. 'Good night, madame,' he said, and returned through the door in the wall from which he had come.
India lay astounded. She was battered, and probably bruised. Every bit of her ached, and yet she felt quite relaxed and shamefully satisfied. He had called her a wanton, a little whore. He had almost made her feel like one. The single kiss he had given her had been a fiercely passionate one. Her fingers touched her mouth. His lips had triggered a reminiscence that she could not quite pull up from her memories. She began to cry softly, not even understanding why she was weeping.
He had behaved like a complete bastard, and she had not expected it at all. A quick assertion of his marital rights and nothing more was what she had assumed. That this cold, stern man was capable of such heated passion astonished her. India crawled beneath the down coverlet, curling herself into a tight knot. She realized that she was trembling, and the tears were hot on her face. What had she done in agreeing to this marriage, and what other surprises had her husband in store for her? She wanted to be loved. Loved by a man who no longer existed, and not by Deverall Leigh, the earl of Oxton.
He heard her weeping, and every instinct made him want to go to her, but he would not. She wept, the deceitful bitch, only because he had been rough with her, but God help him, she had inflamed his senses. The touch of her skin, the familiar scent of her. They had all conspired to drive him to madness. She would probably hate him in the morning, but he didn't care. Why should he care about how she felt? She had deceived him and then deserted him. He didn't know if he could ever forgive her, but he didn't care. He was going to fill her belly again with his seed, and this time he would not let her steal this child away.
Chapter 21
India awoke the following morning still feeling as if she had been in a battle. She could see a thin ribbon of light through the crack between the two draperies. She listened carefully but heard nothing, and so she quickly arose and slipped her nightdress back on before Meggie could find her without it. It had been the oddest wedding night that anyone could imagine, she decided, climbing back into her warm bed. He had, she concluded, been neither cruel or brutal, just simply very determined in his approach to her. Still, she could see she was going to have to teach him better bedchamber manners. While he had been careful to see she obtained her share of passion, she realized upon reflection, he had forced it from her, rather than coaxing it. He obviously knew little about making love to a woman, and that was going to have to change, India concluded.
She did not see her husband until evening when they met at the highboard for their meal. She had spent her day helping Meggie and Diarmid to unpack her belongings. She told him so, and then inquired about his day and activities.
'I oversee my estates,' he told her. 'I am not a man for court now that I have the responsibilities of Oxton. We support ourselves here through our flocks and our orchards. Perhaps you noticed the fruit ripening as you arrived yesterday. With your dower horses, I hope to breed racing animals, madame. Are the horses Irish stock?'
'Yes,' she answered, 'they are. The Irish lands were given to my mother on her eighteenth birthday by my father, the marquis of Westleigh. Her estate manager is the former owner of the land. He chose a fine stallion, Nightsong, and the mares personally. Now the estate will be turned over to my younger sister, Fortune, for her dowry.'
'I am grateful to you for the stallion and the breeding stock,' the earl said to his wife. 'Now, madame, I have something to discuss with you. The servants in this house are all old, and have been in service here since my late father's youth. It is past time that they were retired to their cottages on the estate, and most wish to go. It will be your responsibility to staff the household. Can you do it?'
'With the help of the present staff, yes, I can,' India said, flattered that he was vesting this decision in her. 'Diarmid More-Leslie will become the majordomo of the household. I will ask Dover to teach him his duties before he retires. Will that meet with your approval, my lord? It is your home first, and I would not offend you in any manner.'
The barest ghost of a smile touched his mouth for just a brief moment. 'If you will but consult me before any final decisions are made, madame, that will suit me well,' he said.
They ate the rest of the meal in silence. Then India arose to excuse herself. 'It is my custom to take a bath before I retire each night,' she said softly. 'Will you be joining me later, my lord?'
'Aye,' he said, and nothing more.
She curtsied, and went to her apartments. He was such an odd man, she thought. Meggie had her bath ready. Undressed, she climbed into the warm, scented tub and washed herself, being careful to pin her curls atop her head. When she was dry, and in her nightdress, Meggie and Diarmid together emptied the tub and stored it away before bidding her a pleasant night. When they had gone, India arose, removed her gown, and laid it carefully upon a chair before climbing back into her bed and snuggling beneath the down coverlet.
The curtains were drawn once again. The firelight lit the room. Meggie had forgotten to light the tapers on either side of the bed, but India didn't mind. She dozed half seated against her pillow, awakening when she heard the sharp click of the door in the paneling. As the previous night, the earl entered her bedchamber naked, but this time she had a small opportunity to observe him. He was well made, she could see, with no deformities. There was a dark mat of hair upon his broad chest that extended into a narrow treasure trail leading to his groin. His masculine parts were also extremely well made, she noted, large and healthy.
Lifting the coverlet, he climbed into bed beside her. 'I am pleased to see that you followed my instructions,' he told her.
'Asking me to be naked in my bed for your attentions is hardly an onerous order, my lord husband,' India answered him.
'Lay back,' he said, throwing the bedcoverings aside. 'I wish to examine you in more detail, madame. I did not have the opportunity last night to do so. I would see what Glenkirk has sent me.'
'Like one of my mares,' she mocked him sharply.
'Precisely, madame,' he told her, and took up her hand.
'Our situation is intimate, sir,' she replied. 'Will you not call me by my given name, and permit me to call you by your name? In public, formality is required, I understand, but surely not here in my bed.' He was kissing each of her fingertips, having examined her hand in great detail.
He put one of her fingers in his mouth, and began to suck on it slowly, drawing on the finger deeply, his tongue working its way about the slim digit. His other hand slid between her thighs, and began to play with her sex. When she was wet with her arousal, he took his finger and pushed it into her mouth, and, without being asked, she began to suck upon it. 'That is how you taste,' he said softly. He sucked harder on her finger.
Her eyes were wide with shock, but her blood was pulsing with excitement. This cold and correct husband of hers was the most sensual man she had ever encountered. Even her beloved Caynan Reis had not been so strongly animalistic. India shivered, and pulled the finger from her
