moment, the pain had struck. Deep, sharp, and real. First physical, but next emotional. He had thrust himself inside her as though she was his possession, regardless of how she felt.
She had wanted to call out to him, to tell him to stop, to wait, but her voice had failed her. Instead, she lay pinioned beneath him as he plunged and withdrew. Thankfully, it did not take long for his control to break, for his body to jerk convulsively as his warm essence spurted into her tender body.
He had held her a long time after it was over, seeming to revel in the stillness. There were sweet, light kisses pressed on her neck, her cheeks, her lips. His tenderness and care had brought forth a rush of emotions she couldn’t define. She snuggled into his hard warmth, craving the connection that had eluded her when their bodies had been joined.
His announcement that they would repeat the act had put her in a total panic. Thankfully, he had fallen asleep before he could make good on his promise, still holding her tightly in his arms. She too had tried to rest, but it was impossible. Cautiously she waited until she felt his possessive hold slacken. Seizing her chance, she uncurled herself from his grasp and scurried to the relative safety of her side of the bed.
She lay there for hours, practically memorizing each delicate fold in the opulent silk bed hangings above her. She tried to remain still and silent, yet could not prevent the sighs that continued to escape. Fortunately she mastered any tears that threatened, for she honestly knew not why she wanted to weep.
From disappointment? Pain? Or something even more profound? She believed they were forming a solid relationship yet when he possessed her body she had felt a distance from him that was as wide and vast as the ocean, a distance from herself that she could not identify or understand. It had been a strange, frightening feeling that effectively pushed all chance of pleasure aside.
A sudden movement in the bed froze her thoughts. Dorothea stiffened, holding herself perfectly still, fearing even to breathe. Finally Carter ceased his rustling, rolled closer to the center of the massive bed, and fell back to sleep with astonishing speed, his scent and warmth surrounding her.
Dorothea listened to his deep, steady breathing and tried to do the same, but sleep was impossible while her heart pounded with such confusion and self-doubt. Had she made a dreadful mistake? Had she chosen the wrong man to be her husband or was she simply not suited to be a wife? Perhaps if there was a deep abiding love between them she would have felt more of a connection. As it stood, they were practically strangers.
Strangers who were now married, bound to each other for life. Strangers who shared embarrassing physical intimacies, yet knew so little of each other. Blinking quickly to hold back any tears, Dorothea scolded herself for being so maudlin, so melodramatic.
She deliberately closed her eyes, but her body was so tense, her mind so full, the blessed escape of sleep would not come. After another hour, or maybe two, she gave up the pretense and crept from the bed. She suspected one of the several interior doors in this bedchamber led to her own rooms, but feared her clumsy rustling about the chamber would wake Carter.
And she had a fair suspicion of what would happen then. She believed if she told him no, he would respect her decision and not force her. But he would demand an explanation, and that she was not yet prepared to give. It was all still too new, too raw, too confusing.
In the dim candlelight, Dorothea found the washstand. She carefully poured some clean water into the porcelain basin. She wrung out a cloth and ran it over her body, then pressed it between her legs, washing away the remaining traces of semen and blood. The water was cool, but it helped ease the burning, the soreness.
Desperate for something to cover herself, she picked through the mountain of clothes strewn about the floor. She found her chemise, but several of the front ribbons were missing. Tossing it aside, she grabbed the marquess’s wrinkled shirt and pulled it over her head. The long sleeves came down to her fingertips and the bottom fell to the tops of her knees. It was perfect.
Surprisingly, the soft, warm linen felt comforting as it draped around her skin. Wrapping her arms around her waist, Dorothea hugged herself and breathed deeply. The garment smelled of Carter, which might have made it objectionable when in fact it did just the opposite.
The familiar scent brought a sense of comfort, a reaction she could not fully understand.
Padding barefoot to the large wing chair in the corner, Dorothea curled herself into a comfortable position and forced her body, and her mind, to relax. She suspected she would stay there until dawn broke, yet amazingly she soon fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Carter heard the knock on his bedchamber door, but he did not want to acknowledge it. His head was hazy with the memory of an erotic dream of Dorothea and he wanted to savor the image as long as possible.
She was a Siren, his brand-new wife. A beautiful, passionate temptress with a body made for sex and a spirited temperament that fired a man’s blood, assaulted his senses.
Deflowering a virgin was heady business, Carter decided. And unchartered territory for him. His previous lovers had always been experienced women. The novelty of tutoring a woman as passionate as Dorothea in the art of lovemaking had kept him painfully aroused for the majority of yesterday afternoon.
That was why he had left the carriage and ridden his horse when they stopped at the first posting inn yesterday, remembering well his vow not to take his wife’s virginity in a coach. Likewise, he had taken himself away so soon after they arrived at Ravenswood Manor. He had not wanted to turn into an uncouth beast, ravaging his innocent bride in the middle of the day, consummating their union for the first time in a hasty, rushed manner.
It had been the correct decision. He had relished the opportunity to explore her lovely form, to tease and excite her, to watch her climax as he readied her body for his possession.
His arousal had been painful in its intensity when he bedded her last night, yet her untried body had satisfied him as no other woman had ever done. She had been so wet and warm, so impossibly tight. He had practically spilled himself the moment he became fully sheathed inside her. Miraculously, he had somehow managed to control himself long enough to seek a full and satisfying climax.
Remembering it now made him rock hard. Reflexively, his arm reached across the wide expanse of his bed. Perhaps it was time to awaken. Time to awaken and experience again this heady bliss.
But when he opened his eyes, the bed was empty. Only the faint scent of her lavender perfume lingered, mingling with the earthy, appealing smell of sex. Annoyed, Carter sat upright.
The knocking persisted. “Come in!” he barked, his mood worsening. Where was his wife?
His valet, Dunsford, stood in the doorway. “Shall I have hot water brought for you to shave, or would you prefer a bath this morning, my lord?”
“Where is Lady Atwood?” Carter demanded, ignoring the questions.
The valet was so startled he took a step backward. “I, um…am uncertain.”
“Has she had her breakfast?”
“I regret to inform you that I am unaware of her ladyship’s schedule, but will be happy to ask Mrs. Simpson,” the valet offered in a voice laced with stiffness.
“Never mind,” Carter replied, tossing back the covers. “Have Mrs. Simpson instruct Lady Atwood to meet me in the drawing room in an hour.”
What Carter really wanted was to have his missing wife summoned to his bedchamber, but he would not embarrass her in front of the staff with such a blatant request.
After bathing and eating a hearty breakfast, Carter’s mood was much improved. He arrived at the drawing room before his wife and settled in comfortably to await her arrival.
She came precisely at the appointed time. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw he was already inside. He smiled and stood on his feet. Dorothea shut the elaborate gilded doors behind her, yet took only two steps into the room. Her hands twisted together nervously at her waist.
Carter thought the gesture naively endearing.
“Good morning,” she said softly. “Mrs. Simpson said that you wanted to see me.”
“Good morning.” He came forward and dipped his head, intending to kiss her lips. She turned as he drew near and he ended up kissing her cheek. “I missed you in my bed this morning.”
“I thought it would be strange if I awakened there with you,” she said quietly.
“I would hardly have minded,” he replied, his eyes searching her face. “We could have once again recaptured the pleasure of last night.”
“Ah, last night.” She lifted her hand to her mouth and began to chew on her fingernail. “It was very…um, emotional, was it not?”
