The Sherbrooke Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 1)

“Oh no, no,” he said, but he didn’t fall on her this time. He pulled her legs apart and came down between them and lifted her to his mouth. “I won’t allow you to hold back from me this time. No, I won’t allow it. Do you like that, Alexandra? Dear Lord, you’re hot. Yes, you’re trembling. Please, tell me what you’re feeling.”

She moaned and dug her fingers in his hair, pressing him closer and closer still and she felt his warm breath on her flesh and it was too much. She screamed, her back bowing off the bed.

Douglas felt her nails digging into his shoulder, felt the frantic clenching of her muscles, and he was drawn into her pleasure, deep and deeper still. He didn’t wait for her to calm. He thrust into her, lifting her as he rose. “Wrap your legs around my waist,” he said once, then again, for she was oblivious, held in pleasure and surprise.

Her arms were around his neck and her mouth found his and as he came sharply up into her, his hands big and warm on her buttocks, she kissed him again and again, moaning softly, wringing all semblance of control from him.

He carried her to the large carpet in front of the hearth and just as he knew he would soon be lost, he also knew that he wouldn’t be able to stand with the force of it, he lowered her to her back and came so deeply inside her he touched her womb.

When he came to his release, Alexandra was beyond anything in her experience. He heaved in her arms and she stroked him, feeling powerful and warm and she said without thinking, “I love you, Douglas. I’ve loved you forever.”

He groaned, then fell to the side, drawing her against him. She felt the heat of the dying fire against her back and legs. She felt the strength of his arms around her waist. She felt the warmth of his breath against her temple.

But she felt cold in the next moment, for she realized what she’d said to him. She realized that he had remained quiet. She realized the power she’d given him. She felt his seed, wet on her thighs, and tried to move.

“No,” he said, his voice low and slurred. “No.” He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to his bed. “No,” he said again as he pushed her between the covers. “I want my seed to stay inside you.” He came in with her then, and covered them, holding her close. In the next moment, he was sleeping, his breath deep and rhythmic.

There was nothing like a young fool, she thought, and gave it up, nestling her face against his chest, feeling the hair tickle her nose. At least he hadn’t tried to run from the room. She kissed his collarbone, letting her tongue glide downward to the small male nipples. She licked him and he sighed, deeply asleep, his arms tightening around her back, and she watched her breasts pressing against his chest, and she knew there was no going back now. She slept.

CHAPTER

17

“WHAT ARE YOU doing?”

Douglas turned to see Alexandra standing in the doorway. “I’m seeing exactly how bad this situation really is.”

“But you’re going through my clothes!”

“How will I know what you need if I don’t? Curse that meddling twit of a sister of mine, but she was saying that if she was to attend that damned soirée, she must have a new gown. Then the chit shook her head and said no, she couldn’t. Mind you, she spoke in the most mournful sainted voice you can imagine. Yes, she milked it wonderfully, saying it wouldn’t be right, not since you didn’t have anything new to wear. Then she had the gall to look at me as though I were abusing you. I, who assured you that you could wheedle me!”

“Just stop it, Douglas! I don’t need or want any new gowns, it’s ridiculous, and Sinjun should be smacked.”

“The girl was right in this instance. Come on, Alexandra, be reasonable, if you please.”

“All right, perhaps I do need a new ball gown, but I have my own money, Douglas, I don’t want you to—”

“What? That infamous thirty pounds again? My dear girl, that wouldn’t purchase the bodice for a flat-chested girl. Merciful heavens, the amount of groats alone to cover your upper works will empty my pockets. No, don’t squawk. Be quiet. My mind is made up. I’ve arranged for a seamstress from Rye to arrive later this morning. She will take your measurements and then I will select a proper gown for you for the little soirée next Wednesday. From the looks of the remainder of these gowns, I will need to take you to Madame Jordan in London.” Douglas snapped the door to the armoire closed. He pulled it open again, and began pawing through her slippers. “Ah, as I thought. You need coverings from your toes to the top of your head.”

“Douglas,” she said, desperation in her voice, “I don’t need for you to buy me things, truly. All that talk about wheedling, it was silly jesting, nothing more. Sinjun was just meddling, as you said. You’re right about the ball gown and I thank you, but no more, please. I don’t think—”

“Be quiet.”

“No, I won’t be quiet! I am not one of your retainers you can order about

. Listen to me, I don’t wish to be beholden on you, I don’t—”

“Ah, so you would rather shame me wearing your damned rags. Blessed hell, woman! I will not be called niggardly; I will not allow people to think I keep you on a skinny string. I imagine the gossip about us is confused enough without adding the fact that my wife looks like a dowd.”

“But you don’t particularly care what people think,” she said slowly, eyeing him. “I’m not a dowd. I only resemble a dowd if I have the misfortune to stand beside Melissande. In truth, my gowns just aren’t quite up to snuff.”

“Well, the chances are you will be standing next to her, so we must do something. I have also decided that I will have your breasts kept well covered, no matter the cost. Not flattened down or bound or anything like that, but camouflaged just a bit, giving only a hint of your endowments. Perhaps even a hint is too much. I will have to give this more thought. There are too many gentlemen who would ogle you and make you uncomfortable. Further, I won’t accept any argument from you. Don’t you realize that if you allow your gowns to be at all low-cut, gentlemen will be able to see you all the way down to your toes?”

“That’s absurd!”

“No. You’re not all that tall, and the result is that most gentlemen would have the advantage of staring down at you. I will not have your breasts on display for all those bounders to salivate over, so you can just stop arguing with me.”

“But I’m not arguing with you!”