The Sherbrooke Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 1)

“This is worse. Men don’t seem to care who sees what. They have no modesty.”

“This conclusion, I gather, is from your vast well of experience? Never mind. Get used to me seeing you, whenever and wherever I please. As for poor Finkle, with all those ‘oh dears,’ you and my valet could sing a duet. Come along, there’s warm water in your room.”

She came along, the counterpane trailing after her like a very long bridal veil.

She dug in her heels in the doorway. “I will bathe myself, Douglas.”

“Nonsense, I need to see that you’re all right. I am the one responsible for wounding you, though that is not the appropriate thing to say about the rending of your maidenhead, but no matter. I did it and I will tend you.”

“You will go away. I cannot allow this. It is too embarrassing.”

Douglas frowned. “Do you so soon forget what I did to you last night, madam? Do you so soon forget how you squealed with pleasure? Believe me, I was looking at you then. Now it’s different, but just a bit. Be quiet.”

“No.” She fidgeted. “It was dark last night. You said the blood is natural?”

He heard the fear in her voice, and softened his own. “Yes. I should have warned you, but I didn’t.” He frowned, remembering how he’d felt so utterly stripped of everything comfortable, everything known and accepted at the power of his release, so completely unfamiliar to himself, an alien feeling he hated, that he’d reeled away from her and from the scene of his fall.

“Go away, Douglas.”

Douglas picked up the bowl of warm water and set it on the tabletop next to the bed. He laid the washcloths next to the water. Then he turned to her. Alexandra tried to run but the counterpane tripped her up and she fell into his arms. He picked her up and dumped her onto the bed. He unrolled her, then said, “I am tired of playing Caesar to your Cleopatra, though you continue to unroll well. I am weary of telling you to be quiet and to hold still. I don’t wish to tell you again.”

She lay there, her head turned away, her eyes tightly closed, as he pushed her legs apart and bathed of

f the blood and his seed.

Douglas felt calm and in control even when his fingers touched her flesh and she quivered. He remembered he’d felt just as calm, just as in control when he’d tended her during her illness. No savage lust for him then and none for him now. It was finished, thank God. He was back to normal. When he decided to take her again, it would be accomplished with reason and logic and a modicum of involvement. No abandon, no frenzy. She would not disturb him again to the point that he lost himself entirely. He took one final swipe, then tossed the cloth aside. He turned back to tell her to get up when he looked down at her and discovered that he couldn’t seem to look away from her. His calm fled from one short breath to the next. His task was done and so was his control. His vaunted control was a valueless memory. Now he couldn’t stop looking at her, his fingers twitching at the closeness of her body. Her flesh was soft and pink and warm and he found that he’d begun to tremble. No, he wouldn’t tremble at the sight of a naked woman. He never had before. His fingers dug slightly into her inner thighs. He wanted to stroke her, and he wanted to caress her with his fingertips and his mouth. And her breasts, he wanted to cup her breasts, to fill his hands with her breasts, he wanted to suckle her, to rub his cheek against the soft flesh and hear her heartbeat against his face.

He sucked in his breath. It was worse than it had been the previous night, this crippling lust, this alien urgency that turned him into a wild man, a man he didn’t recognize, a man the logical side of him could not approve of. He felt blood pounding in his head, felt his muscles, his sex, tighten and throb. His sex was hard and he was filled with such desire for her that he was shaking with it. He tried to find a shred of reason in his brain, but there wasn’t any, not even a thread. “Damnation,” he said, and fell on top of her, parting her legs wider as he came between them.

“Lift your hips,” he said, then lifted them with his big hands. He was panting now, close to shattering, so close to releasing his seed, and he couldn’t understand it, couldn’t begin to explain it, and then, suddenly, he thrust into her.

Alexandra cried out in surprise.

Douglas froze over her, but for just an instant. She was hot and very small, and he could feel her flesh accommodating to him; she was accepting him smoothly, so there must have been some desire in her for him as well. There was no force, only the soft acceptance of her, and he could feel every movement she made and it was exquisite and he felt everything he understood spinning away from him and he arched his back and thrust deeper and deeper still. She was crying and it was those small broken sobs that brought him a semblance of reason. He was pressed against her womb, so deep, yet it wasn’t enough for he wanted his tongue in her mouth, wanted to have her breasts heaving and pressing against his chest.

“Alexandra.”

She opened her eyes.

“Please, hold very still. Am I hurting you?”

“Not really hurt, it’s just that I don’t know what will happen and it is frightening.”

“I promise the next time it will be very slow. I swear it to you, but not this time. Please, don’t move. If you move I will go insane. Do you understand?”

She looked at him, at sea.

“Just say you understand.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Don’t move. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It is beyond my experience. This isn’t acceptable to me or—” He felt her muscles clench around him and he groaned and tensed and heaved. He cursed and his eyes closed. He pushed deep then withdrew only to thrust forward, his hands digging into her hips as he lifted her higher.

He yelled when his climax hit him, yelled like a madman, yelled like he’d never yelled before in his life. Then he was flat on top of her and he was kissing her, wanting to consume her, tasting her tears, tasting the warmth of her mouth and still he was moving inside her, and he simply couldn’t believe it, couldn’t comprehend it and it just wouldn’t stop.

When finally he calmed, he stilled above her. He’d done it again. He’d lost himself again and forgotten who he was and what he was. And it was this woman who had brought him to this ludicrous pass and he wouldn’t accept it. He frowned. She was crying, her face pale, her hair tousled around her face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and pulled out of her. “Next time, I swear it will be slow and you won’t be afraid. I’m sorry.”