My Three Lords Page 6

  True joy comes when a wife does what her husband asks, I reminded myself as I turned toward him. Perhaps it was true, as this new position allowed both of his hands access to my breasts. As he delved into my bodice to capture my breasts, I fumbled with the unfamiliar buttons of his breeches. Alas, the time I spent with my brothers did not extend to the removal of their inexpressibles. The slowness of my fingers made my husband impatient, and he squeezed my nipples between his fingers until a sharp jolt quivered directly into my lower parts.

  “Oooh,” I moaned, my fingers going limp.

  “You like that?” he asked, tweaking me harder.

  I wasn’t certain that I did, as the sensation danced the delicate edge between pleasure and pain. A sense of weakness flooded my limbs, accompanied by the knowledge that like it or no, my nipples were his to do with as he pleased. I didn’t answer, instead hurrying to undo his buttons and free the lunging manhood inside.

  “Lick it,” he ordered. The notion undid me. Never had I heard tell of such a thing. But then my scientific curiosity came to life. What would it taste like? What would happen to it if I took it into my mouth?

  I cautiously extended my tongue and put it to the tip of my husband’s member. Soft velvet greeted me. Surprised, I licked farther and savored the salt taste of him. The organ came alive under my tongue with twitches and leaps like a puppy seeking my attention. I was reminded of how my husband had played with the gun dog on the lawn. His manhood was like a playful puppy, one that had not yet learned to control its own strength. It surged into the cavern of my mouth as though seeking a path down my throat.

  “Gentle,” I mumbled, a bit frightened by his vigorous movements. He groaned and pulled his member away. He gripped on to my head in order to control his movements better. My poor impatient husband was making every effort to restrain himself, but it simply wasn’t in his nature.

  “Never mind,” he said in a rough, blunt tone. “Bend over the table instead. I thought to spare your soreness, but find I am unable.”

  Bend over the table? I looked at the table in utter bewilderment. Did he expect me to…

  Apparently he did, as he hauled me to my feet and bent me over at the waist so my upper half was pinned to the table. I felt a rush of air as my gown was thrown up over my head. For this I was deeply grateful, since my face was hidden from view. If a gardener happened to wander past the windows, at least he would not be able to identify the girl with her posterior exposed in such a blatant way.

  I closed my eyes and told myself this was part of being a good wife. Good wives did not protest when their husbands kicked apart their legs and drove into them from behind. Good wives did not mind when their breasts were crushed against fine linen tablecloths, their nipples roughened by the fabric. Good wives did not object when… And then, to my surprise, I didn’t object at all, for a deep throb of heat sparked inside me.

  My husband’s strokes worked me against the table so my clitoris, too, felt the friction of the tablecloth. It drove me into a sort of frenzy and I waggled my hips to further the contact. That motion seemed to drive my husband mad. Stronger and more forceful came his thrusts. Each one pushed me further into my state of heated passion. I even writhed my bosom against the tablecloth to satisfy the craving of my nipples.

  “Oh, oh,” grunted my husband, until abruptly, he thrust deep and then held still, agonizingly still, as my womb filled with heat. Then he pulled himself away with a pat on my naked buttocks.

  “Now that’s the proper way to break the fast, is it not?” I envied the satisfaction in his voice, for I had received no such release. My body throbbed against the table. “You’d best cover yourself, wife, one never knows who might walk past those windows.”

  He pulled my skirt down to hide my nakedness, then went to the side table to help himself to toast and jam. I sat up and hurriedly restored my bodice to its proper state.

  “Ah, nothing like a mouthful after a morning’s ramble.” He bit into his toast with strong white teeth. “Or a mouthful after a mouthful.” A lecherous wink accompanied that sally.

  I felt mutinous. My husband had lit a fire within me and still it burned. And he, it seemed, had no intention of dousing it. I didn’t know if I should bring this to his attention. Perhaps he knew and did not consider it important. What were my wifely rights in such a situation? I opened my mouth to pose the question, but just then the figure of a young gardener appeared outside the window. For one disturbing moment I longed to run outside, fling up my skirts and let the man take me in the garden. What was happening to me?

  “In the nick of time, eh?” My husband winked and I quickly agreed. I saw no need for him to know my shameless thoughts. The Marquis would understand, I had no doubt, but not the Earl.

  “Perhaps we should confine our intimacies to the bedchamber in future,” I suggested.

  “That sounds a bit tedious to me.” Dorchester shoved another bit of toast in his mouth. “I say we test out all areas of the grounds. Care to meet me in the kitchen later?”

  I saw by the twinkle in his bright blue eyes that he teased. My husband was a boy at heart. The need burning within subsided enough that I was able to return his smile. “You like to make mischief, I see.”

  “Young troublemaker, that’s what Warrington calls me. The Duke of Warrington, don’t you know. He’s constantly after me to behave more as the heir to a Dukedom than a rumbustious schoolboy.”

  “And do you not listen to him?” I located my breakfast plate, which had traveled halfway across the table during our activities.

  “I listen. Sometimes I obey. But I keep telling him I’m still young. I suppose he’s forgotten what it’s like to be young.”

  “Is he an elderly man?”

  Dorch guffawed. “Not hardly. He’s only ten years older than I. But he assumed the responsibilities of a Duke at a criminally young age. Didn’t get to sow his wild oats. A shame, really. A nonesuch like him should have had a high old time. Instead he was always closeted with his steward and man of affairs.”

  “I’ve heard tell he refuses to marry.”

  “Yes.” For the first time since I’d known him, my boisterous husband looked downcast. I wondered at the source of his sadness. “That’s why he made me his heir. A position I never sought. If he were to find out…that is to say, if he were to marry and beget an heir, you needn’t worry. We’ll still be well provided for.”

  “Eight thousand a year, I’m told.”

  At his startled look, I blushed. Was it improper to discuss such details with one’s husband?

  “You are a frank one, aren’t you? That’s the way the Marquis described you. I see he hit the mark.”

  At the mention of the Marquis, my blush deepened. But the Earl seemed oblivious to my discomfort.

  “I wonder where the old rapscallion is off to? He gave orders for a picnic, but I’d rather go on another long gallop. Will you join me?”

  “I should like nothing better, but I’m afraid, well, how shall I put it, that I find myself indisposed.” I gave him a significant glance, but he seemed not to catch my meaning. I would have to resort to frankness. “A certain tenderness will prevent me from mounting a horse today.”

  “Oh! Well, that’s to be expected, I suppose.” He set down his plate with a clatter. Did he make any movements without a deal of noise and commotion? “You don’t mind if I go, do you? I become surly if I don’t get a nice long gallop in every day.”

  “Then go, by all means.”

  “You don’t object if I leave you alone?”

  “I’ll still be your wife when you return, I imagine.” I smiled saucily at him.

  He shook his head in a bemused kind of way. “You’re a wife like no other. I should have known the Marquis would choose someone unusual.”

  “The Marquis? I don’t take your meaning.”

  “The Marquis de Beaumont,” he repeated impatiently.

  Suddenly a deep suspicion entered my mind. “Is this his doing, our marriage?”


  “Yes, naturally. He thought we would suit. I’m no good at courting and wooing. I find all the balls and such an utter waste of time. Beaumont informed me he knew the perfect girl to satisfy my requirements.”

  “Requirements,” I answered faintly.

  “Don’t worry your head. I’m quite pleased with the Marquis’ choice.”

  “But—”

  “And don’t pester. That was one of the requirements.”

  “I see.” But I didn’t see. Why had the Marquis selected me as his friend’s bride? Was it simply to bring me into his clutches so he could seduce me under Dorchester’s very nose? Anger simmered to a boil and I barely managed a smile for my husband as he dashed off to the stables.

  The Marquis had made sure I was married to a man who cared more for his horses than he ever would for his wife. Why?

  I rose from the table and reordered my garments. When I looked presentable again, I went in search of the nefarious Marquis. He was about to receive a full dose of my much-lauded “frankness”.

  Chapter Five

  I found the Marquis in the kitchen herb garden conferring with the housekeeper. In one arm he held a large wicker basket. His dark face sported a cheerful expression, which I have to say looked alien to his cynical nature.

  “May I speak with you, my lord?” I asked him with as much politeness as I could muster.

  “My dear Countess, what a delightful sight for sore eyes. You may speak with me to your heart’s content. May I suggest you join me for a picnic on this lovely May day?”

  The Marquis didn’t seem to know he was in my black books. “A picnic? You’re suggesting a picnic?” I answered, my voice rising.

  The housekeeper made haste to depart, with a bob of the head and a bustling of skirts. The Marquis smoothly stepped to my elbow. “Do you intend to embarrass me in front of my household staff?”

  “Fine time to worry about that,” I responded. My pointed reminder of the role of Annie in my initiation elicited a rueful chuckle from the Marquis.

  “Your point is well-taken. My staff is here to serve me and they are, due to my particular needs, extremely protective of my privacy. The last thing you or I need to concern ourselves with is the staff.”

  “Well, and I do not. I concern myself with another matter.” I skipped to catch up with the Marquis, who was now hurrying me down the winding pathways of the kitchen garden. The scent of sun-warmed rosemary and thyme rose beneath our feet. Sensual and soothing, the fragrance distracted me from my anger. When we reached the edge of the garden, the Marquis took my hand and led me down the sloping lawn. I caught sight of an inviting body of water sparkling through the horse chestnuts.

  “And you shall unburden yourself of your concerns in due time.”

  “But I care not for a picnic. I just now finished my breakfast.”

  “Indeed, I’m surprised you had any breakfast at all, given the Earl’s appetites.”

  “I did not eat quite as much as I wished,” I admitted. My few bites of jam and muffin had not satisfied my hunger, which gnawed again at my belly.

  “I anticipated as much, and so I arranged for this little expedition.” His gay smile told me to cease my worrying. It didn’t work.

  “You will answer my questions, will you not?”

  “Of course, my dear. Now please take a moment to appreciate the lovely weather. Do look at the glorious sunshine and breathe in the pure air. So different from that nasty London fog, don’t you agree?”

  “You are trying to distract me from my purpose.” Stubbornly, I clung to my bruised feelings as we made our way down to the water. I followed the Marquis through a wooded copse into a sheltered meadow at the edge of a small lake. Truly, never had I seen such a delightful spot. But even though my senses rejoiced in the beauty around me, when I am angry, I resemble a dog with a bone.

  I stood with arms folded across my chest as the Marquis spread a lacy white cloth onto the grass. In the middle went the wicker basket, from which wonderful aromas escaped. Roast mutton, biscuits and strawberries. My belly emitted a growl.

  But my hunger would have to wait.

  “Please tell me why you convinced the Earl of Dorchester to offer for me.”

  “He did not need extensive convincing. He liked you quite well already.”

  I stamped my foot. “That is not a proper answer.”

  He sighed. “When will I ever learn that the usual tricks and flatteries do not work with my little Alicia?”

  “Your little Alicia? Have you forgotten once again that I’m married, and to the man you selected for me?”

  “Of course I haven’t forgotten. How could I?”

  “How could you? My question precisely! How could you? Am I no more than a puppet in your puppet show, or a pawn in your chess game?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You manipulate people to do as you wish—”

  “That’s true.”

  “Without giving them the slightest hint as to your true motives.”

  “Now that’s unjust. I did give you a hint.”

  “What?” He’d disrupted my speech and I found myself off balance.

  “It all began with the goatherd.”

  “The goatherd!” I threw up my hands. “Can you not erase him from your memory?”

  “No, because that was the moment I knew I had to have you. But I was already married. I couldn’t offer for you. And over the subsequent years I grew increasingly attached to your dear father. I knew I could never dishonor him by taking your maidenhead. So there seemed to be only one solution to my dilemma.”

  I shook my head to clear it from his honeyed, reasonable tone. “What dilemma?”

  “You’re being dense, chérie. How else was I to enjoy you, when you would inevitably be married off to someone else? You might marry a Scottish lord who would spirit you off to the north. Or you might be continually with child for the following twenty years. In short, I would have no control over the situation.”

  I gazed down at the Marquis, who stretched lazily on his elbow on the lace-edged cloth. A bee buzzed near his head, but he calmly flicked it away.

  “You considered my future to be a situation you must control?”

  “A situation I desired to control,” he corrected. “If I could manage it. When I knew my young cousin wanted to marry, all the pieces of the puzzle fit neatly into place. Dorch has always been inclined to follow my lead on important matters. He looks up to me as a valued friend and mentor.”

  “So you can manipulate him at will.”

  “Such a dismal way to phrase it. I do believe he’s delighted with the way I’ve arranged things. As you should be as well.”

  “I should?”

  “Would you be content with Dorch as your one and only lover, forevermore?”

  I turned away from him so he wouldn’t see how his words hit home. “I would have been, if you hadn’t…”

  “If I hadn’t shown you another way.”

  “Yes,” I answered, my voice choking. “And I curse you for it.”

  The Marquis leapt to his feet and was at my side in an instant.

  “But I had to, my darling girl. Could I allow my Alicia, the girl who fearlessly flouted all convention by making an assignation in the stables with a goatherd in order to satisfy her curiosity, to spend her nights in the arms of a sensual dullard?” He put his hands on my shoulders to turn me, but I tore myself away.

  “If you had let matters alone, perhaps I would have found someone entirely different to marry.”

  “And therein lay my dilemma.” He narrowed his eyes at me. I had never looked into the Marquis’ eyes so deeply, and I noticed how black they were, like thick tar. They were quite beautiful and powerful. But if a man’s eyes are windows to his soul, I wondered what manner of blackness lay within the Marquis’ spirit.

  “Darling Alicia. Why do you worry so? Everything will work itself out just as it should.” He lifted one hand and pushed back a strand of my hair. “If the love of one ma
n is good, why should not the love of two be better?”

  “Love?” I whispered, searching his face for the look I imagined would accompany such a declaration. “Do you love me?”

  Under my seeking gaze, his expression darkened. “I chose the wrong word. Let’s not speak of love.”

  My curiosity was piqued, though I admit to being relieved that the Marquis was not in love with me, for I felt sure I could never return such a feeling. “Why not? Is such a thing beyond your experience?”

  “Not at all. Love and I are not strangers. Indeed, I’m her favorite victim. Love treats me much as a harsh teacher treats a naughty schoolboy.”

  He wandered back to the picnic cloth and knelt to sample a strawberry. His air of studied nonchalance didn’t fool me. This subject pained the Marquis.

  “Do you refer to your wife?”

  “Alas, no.” He flicked the hull of the strawberry into the grass. I thought he’d reached the end of his confessions, but to my surprise, he continued. “At one time I thought I loved my wife. Her many betrayals put an end to that pleasant illusion. During the dark and tumultuous aftermath, the dreaded light of truth dawned. I love another, one whom I’ve loved for most of my life.”

  “But that’s—” I wanted to say “wonderful”, but his grim look stopped me.

  “Sadly, it’s a hopeless case.”

  “I’m very sorry.” And indeed I was. I disliked seeing the Marquis in pain. I restrained myself from asking about the object of his doomed affection.

  The Marquis stretched himself out on the cloth once again and beckoned to me. “But for you, my darling, while it may not be ‘love’, there has always been a stirring in my heart. I enjoy the sensation, and should be loath to relinquish it. You have a vibrant life about you, like that of a butterfly trapped in the net of a girl’s body. I find it quite fascinating. I want to be close to you so I can experience the fluttering of those inner wings.”