The Wyndham Legacy (Legacy 1)

Tears seeped from her eyes and onto the fist stuffed in her mouth to keep all sound within her. She would die if he knew how he hurt her.

“I don’t like it, Duchess. I don’t like surprises and I don’t like losing control. Is that what you wanted me to do? Lose control so that you would breed a son for this cursed earldom, for your cursed father who gave you what you wanted? Was it a deal the two of you struck? Well, it doesn’t matter what your plots and plans may be. It won’t happen again, not this way, in any case. I will see you later.”

As soon as the adjoining door closed with a sharp snap, she sat up and snuffed out the candles on the table beside the bed. There were more on the dresser and she rose. There was his seed on her and her steps faltered for a moment. She bathed herself, then snuffed out the other branch of candles.

She was sore, but it was a wonderful sore, a drawing sort of feeling that made her feel again those hidden places that were deep within her. She pulled her nightgown over her head and got back into bed, burrowing beneath the covers.

She lay awake for a very long time. He didn’t come to her again that night.

When she awoke, the sunlight was bright in her bedchamber. She blinked and yawned, her mind blurred, for she was feeling again the warmth deep inside her, remembering the softness, the frenzy, the utter losing of herself within her and within him.

“Good morning.”

Slowly, she turned her head to face him. He was seated on the side of her bed, fully dressed in a riding habit and glossy black Hessians. One leg was crossed over the other. The softness was gone, the deep warmth naught but a senseless dream. She’d been a fool, naught but a witless fool.

“Did you sleep well?”

She nodded. “Yes, very well.”

“A man who knows what he’s doing can bring a good night’s sleep to a woman.”

“And vice versa?”

He frowned. “Yes, that is also true. And yes, I slept very well. Of course a man is much easier to please than a woman.” His frown deepened. “I didn’t wake up during the night. If I had, I would have come back to you.”

He fell silent now, obviously brooding, swinging a booted foot. “You surprised me.”

She waited. She wanted desperately for him to tell her that he was pleased, that he found he now wanted her. That he hadn’t meant what he’d said last night.

“Yes, you were a great surprise. So wild you became when I put my mouth on you. When I came inside you I thought you’d throw me off you were so frenzied.”

Surely he shouldn’t be speaking so baldly about it, not now, not in the sunlight, but he was Marcus and he was her husband, and so she said honestly, “I felt things I’ve never imagined could be. I couldn’t help it.”

“No, I daresay that if you could have stopped yourself from being so very frantic and savage, you would have.” He paused then, and she wondered what he was thinking. Then she wanted to scream at the unfairness of it. He’d said it last night. In a thin voice barely above a whisper she said, “You shouldn’t have been so surprised, Marcus, that I acted like a harlot. After all, didn’t you believe my gown last night was a tart’s gown, like a gown my mother would have worn? Why shouldn’t I react to a man like my mother undoubtedly did to my father? You called me savage and wild. Perhaps lewd and promiscuous would do as well, given the bastard I am, given my mother was a rich man’s mistress, his bought whore.”

“I do not find you amusing. What you are doing,” he said coldly, “is giving over to melodrama. It doesn’t suit you.”

She only shook her head. She’d said it and he hadn’t denied it, just steered clear of it. He rose and began to pace the bedchamber. She saw he was carrying a riding crop. He was slapping it against his right thigh as he paced. He turned then, saying, “That damned impertinent Spears was hovering over me this morning, indeed, it was he who woke me because in my dreams I could hear his breathing and see that vicar’s disapproving face of his, and he wa

s exhorting me not to be a sinner, and when I woke up there he was.”

She said nothing.

“Silent? Yes, of course, you’re always silent. That way, you never put yourself on the line, do you? You never have to take a risk. Well, it doesn’t matter. Spears knew I’d been in your bed, doubtless doing despicable things to your fair person. He was concerned. No doubt Badger was outside the door anxiously awaiting a full report. I told him to go bugger himself. He drew himself up proud as the Prince Regent, only without the huge belly, and said in that insubordinate bland voice of his that he would fetch his lordship’s bath. Then, I daresay, he left to confer with Badger, the disloyal sod.”

He lightly slapped his riding crop against his open left hand. “Should I have told him that you were more than willing for me to be with you? Should I have mentioned your screams, the way you lurched and trembled and quivered when I touched you? No, I suppose not. Leave him with his belief that you are the Madonna reincarnated. You’re silent. No matter. Your red-haired maid is wrong. You’re beyond passable. There’s no need for any stretching at all. You’re bloody beautiful with that black hair of yours all tangled around your face, and your mouth looks red and swollen. Was I too rough with you?” He leaned down and planted an arm on either side of her. His breath was sweet and warm on her cheek. “Perhaps a bit swollen, but very soft too. I have things to do else I’d stay and kiss you and if I did, then those covers would be around your dainty ankles and I’d be freeing my sex and coming into you so fast you would surely faint from the boorishness of it. No, if I did that, I doubt strongly that you’d behave as you did last night. Yes, you would swoon.”

She looked up into his blue eyes and said, “Perhaps not.”

He jerked, looked uncertainly at her mouth, then forced himself to straighten. “I will see you later.”

He was gone then and she was left to wonder what was in his mind. She’d surprised him a bit. That was something, she supposed. Maggie came in then, doubtless sent by Marcus, and soon she was bathed and perfumed and powdered and dressed in a becoming, quite modest morning dress of white cambric muslin with two deep flounces at the hem. The gown fell gracefully to her ankles where the ribbons of her white slippers were tied in a small bow over her white stockings. The gown also looked exquisitely sweet with its small puffed sleeves. A well-bred just-out-of-the-schoolroom gown fit for a shy debutante. Why had she ever considered the bloody thing? She knew the answer to that. She’d bought it when she didn’t know a blessed thing about what went on between men and women, more to the point, what Marcus would do to her and make her feel.

She sighed and pulled the bodice down as far as she could, but there was no cleavage in sight. There were two rows of lace that reached nearly to the pulse in her neck.

Maggie said, “Whatever are you doing, Duchess? Don’t ruin the line of this lovely gown. Ah, I see. You want to entice his lordship. Well, cleavage is all well and good, but not necessary, not with your other assets.”

The Duchess laughed, a rueful, perhaps even wistful laugh, and Maggie fell silent for a moment, but only for a moment. “Now, you heed me. At least long hair is back in fashion. All those mincing little coiffure fools with their snapping scissors won’t be balding any more ladies’ heads. Let’s keep the fat braids on top of your head with the tendrils dangling down to your shoulders. Those silly little ringlets you’re supposed to pile over your ears don’t become you, not as they do me. I was made to wear them, what with my brilliant glorious red hair, but you weren’t.