The Wyndham Legacy (Legacy 1)

“Not again,” she said, for he was beginning to move and stretch her and she was still very sore, but he wouldn’t slow. “Not again,” she said against his throat, hearing his breathing sharpen and grow more urgent. “Please, Marcus, it hurts.” She felt his frenzy even before it became wild movement, before he jerked and shuddered as if in the throes of a cataclysm of something she couldn’t begin to understand. She cried out, “No, Marcus. Please, not again. There’s no need. Please, Marcus, no!”

“There’s every need,” he said, his voice raw and deep, “every need because . . .” His harsh breathing overtook his voice. He continued until he found his release. He was quiet over her for but a moment. Then he pulled slowly out of her. He rose to stand beside her bed, staring down at her. He’d lit a candle and she opened her eyes to look up at him. She was sprawled on her back, her legs parted.

“Why did you do that?”

“Why not?” he said and shrugged. She saw no anger in his eyes, no expression on his face. He continued, his voice hard as his body. “Since you already took me once why shouldn’t I return the favor? Don’t you think I’m a gentleman, Duchess?”

She struggled to pull the covers over herself.

“There really is no need. I’ve felt your body and looked at it. Do you think I’ve never seen a naked woman before? Do you believe yourself such a treat of originality? Such a feat of creation? You’re only a woman, Duchess, nothing more.” He struck a naked pose, his long fingers stroking over his jaw. “Of course, this is the first time I am really seeing you, for that first time, it was dark and I was only conscious enough to . . . well, I don’t want to be crude, do I? And this time we were beneath all those covers.”

She left the covers at her waist. She said nothing. She felt her heart thudding wildly, but she held herself quiet, knowing she did it automatically as a protection against his words, and knowing just as certainly that her silence wouldn’t keep him from saying anything he wanted to say. He was like that.

She saw that he would leave. He couldn’t, not yet, not until she was certain he understood. She said quickly, “I had to do it, Marcus. Surely you realize that. You did not seem averse.”

“I thought you were Lisette. Had I realized it was you that first time—” He shrugged and her eyes fell from his face down his body, and he knew she was looking at him and he merely shrugged again. “You had to do it. What an odd thing for you to say. Why? Surely you, of all women, of all bloody virgins, wouldn’t willingly want to take a man. You’re so cold I doubt you would ever have consented to have me inside you unless . . .” His voice stopped cold. He stared at her.

“The one time was necessary. You’re safe now, Marcus, you’re safe from yourself and your perhaps unthinking anger . . . that is, you can’t now annul the marriage.”

“So,” he said. “I thought that, but I didn’t want to believe it, even in my muddle-minded state, but I couldn’t believe that I could think such perverse thoughts. Goodness, Josephina, you even forced yourself to be impaled on me. And I helped you because I believed you to be Lisette. Yes, that worked mightily in your favor, didn’t it, Duchess? If I hadn’t come awake, wanting her again, why I never would have realized what had happened until the morning. But I saw your blood all over me and on the sheets as well, your precious virgin’s blood, a commodity Lisette hasn’t shared with a man in many a long year. But I did wake up. You’re right, there’ll be no annulment now.” He looked at her another moment, and his expression was hard and unyielding.

“Marcus,” she said, and she lifted her hand to him.

He just shook his head. “I doubt I would have annulled this marriage, Duchess, despite what you have done. I’m not all that stupid. Even I wouldn’t whistle a bloody fortune down the wind all for the sake of pride.”

“But you gave me the impression that you would, you made me think—”

He just smiled, not a very nice smile. “I was angry,” he said, as if that explained everything, excused everything. “Now, it is done. No annulment. Don’t misunderstand me, Duchess. I still believe that bloody pederast Trevor can still be my heir, or if he begets any little pederasts, then they can. Don’t believe your precious blood will flow through the next earl. Never would I give your damnable father that satisfaction. If I father a child, then it will be as illegitimate as you are—were. And, unlike you, he will remain a bastard.

“No, no annulment, Duchess. Your simple mind can now be at ease again. You have made your ultimate female sacrifice. And here I was crude enough to force myself on you again. Well, that’s a man for you. And I am your husband.”

“Do you truly want to be my husband?” She heard the plea in her voice and hated herself, for she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to dash her into the rocks, and he did.

“I wonder what that means?” he said, still stroking his jaw, his voice sounding mocking in his scorn. “Does that mean I must be civil to you at the breakfast table? Does that mean I must force myself to take you occasionally? As I did tonight? I must tell you, Duchess, that first time when I believed you were Lisette, ah, that left me blank-brained with lust and pleasure. This second time, knowing it was you, well, consider it an experiment on my part, an experiment to determine if you are as cold as I believe you to be.”

“I’m not cold.”

“You, Duchess,” he said very precisely, the hated drawl more pronounced, “hated my touching you. Don’t deny it. It was difficult for me to bring myself to climax with you yelling at me to ‘stop, stop, please Marcus, do stop.’ Very difficult. I had to keep thinking of Lisette and the way she cries out and squirms against me and caresses me with her mouth and her hands.”

She closed her eyes against him. “I didn’t hate you touching me. You woke me up and you hurt me again. Surely that doesn’t make me cold. I didn’t know how to caress you and touch you. And I didn’t yell at you to stop. I just didn’t understand, Marcus, and I was afraid.”

“Well, let me be more simple for you, Duchess. Understand this, you forced your way into my life. I cannot force you out of it now, but I don’t have to accept it. Do go back to England, Duchess. You don’t need anyone hanging about you, particularly a husband. You are so self-contained, so very independent, and now you’re a countess, no longer an ignominious former bastard. But I beg you not to take a lover. There will be no progeny from this union, as I told you. I couldn’t punish your father in life, but, by God, I will make certain that he has no children from your womb. I slipped tonight, taking you that second time, but no more. Yes, Duchess, go to London, and do enjoy yourself. You are rich and you are now titled. Even the greatest sticklers should admit you to society.

“But first, why don’t you tell me where you have stashed Lisette?”

She had won; she had lost. There was no hope for it. She said, calm as the soft summer breeze outside her window, “She is in an apartment just down the street. There are embassies along the Rue Royale and that meant men of power and influence and wealth. I gave her ten thousand francs, Marcus.”

“You spoke to Lisette?”

She nodded.

“What did you tell her? Jesus, you told her all of this debacle?”

“Yes, it’s the truth. That I was afraid you would annul the marriage and I couldn’t allow that to happen. She understood, Marcus. She is fond of you and she wanted what was best for you. She was willing to help me help you.”

“Not even a small showing of wifely jealousy, eh?”

“There was no room for it.”