A Rakehell's Heart

“Ah, we’re back to debauchery again. Come here.” He drew her into his lap and supported her with an arm about her waist. “Do you think debauchery is something violent and unpleasant? It isn’t. It’s…” He searched for the best way to put it, a way she might understand. “It’s delectable pleasure shared between lovers. Between husbands and wives.”

The closer he pulled her, the more she stiffened. “God frowns on such things,” she said.

“That’s a lie. That’s a pile of rubbish the Sisters of Mercy poured into your ears because they don’t know any better.”

Her eyes widened. “They’d never lie. They’re religious women.”

“Do you think they know everything?” he said, moving his fingers up her spine. “I assure you, they don’t.”

“But they are good sisters.”

“Then why did you want to leave their convent? You said you weren’t happy there.”

She squirmed as he pulled her resisting form against his chest. His fingers wove into her hair, and this time he did tug a little to make her be still.

“What do you know of marriage?” he asked, dreading her answer, if she even had any. “What did the sisters tell you of passion and intimacy, and the wedding night?”

She hid her face against his arm. “Must we talk about it?”

“I’m starting to think we should, yes. Are you afraid?”

“Yes.” The soft word ended in a whimper. “Something awful is going to happen.”

“Is it?”

“Don’t you know? You’re going to hurt me. On our wedding night, you’re meant to hurt me. It’s the way women are punished for their weaknesses and sins.”

He choked back a furious laugh. “Who taught you that blasphemous nonsense? All of it is lies.”

She looked at him, fear warring with hope. “Lies?”

“Damned lies, princess.”

Her lower lip trembled. “The sisters wouldn’t lie. They’re not supposed to.”

He tipped up her chin. He could smell the sugar-flower sweetness of her, and see the deep concern in her eyes.

“Listen, Cassandra. I know you don’t know me very well. I know I’m little more than a stranger who creeps into your room uninvited, but I promise I’m telling the truth. I swear it on the graves of my ancestors. I swear it on whatever is most precious to you. There won’t be any ‘hurting’ on our wedding night, or our wedding day, or the week after our marriage, or any time during our life together.”

She shook her head with a sad expression. “I know that is a lie. You said lies are necessary in marriage. At the very least, you’ll hurt me when I displease you. You’ll strike me or yank my hair.”

His eyes narrowed. “Have you had your hair yanked a great deal? Where, at the convent?”

At her diffident nod, he decided to send envoys on the morrow with a message from Prince Gideon of Hastings, that the sisters had better act with more kindness toward their charges, lest they find their convent burned to the ground. He wanted to go there himself and strangle whoever had pulled Cassandra’s beautiful hair.

“Tell me what else causes your flinching and shrinking,” he asked. “Does your father strike you? Have you been abused?”

“No, but...” She swallowed. “I’ve seen him strike others. He has a terrible temper. I don’t remember much of my mother, except that she was afraid of him. I saw him push her to the floor and strike her more than once.”

Gideon rubbed his forehead, at a loss of what to say. How could he get her to trust him when she’d endured such an upbringing?

“I’ll never push you or strike you,” he said when he found his voice again. “Or pull your hair in anger.”

He meant every word, but she didn’t believe him. He could see it in the way she scrutinized his eyes, trying to peer into his soul. His conscience wasn’t crystal clear, but neither was he an abusive brute. “You’re still afraid,” he said.

She didn’t deny it, only gazed down into her lap so her ebony curtain of hair hid her face.

“Do I behave in a frightening fashion?” he asked. “Do I seem violent or uncontrolled?”

“No, but...”

“I admit I may turn you over my knee now and again if you displease me, but I’ll never abuse you. I don’t want my wife quailing away in terror every time I’m near. It defeats the ideal of marital harmony. Nor will I bully our children. You see, I wasn’t raised that way.” He leaned down to catch her gaze. “Do you believe me?”

Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks. “I want to believe you. I so truly want to.”

“Then do.” He drew her close, sheltering her in his lap as he had last night when she fainted, only now she was awake—and upset. Emotions assailed him as she sobbed into the side of his neck. Irritation. Sadness. Wonder that he, the licentious Prince Gideon, might become the first trusted man in her life. The only trusted man. It seemed a heavy burden for a free spirit like him, but he couldn’t push her away.

He didn’t want to.

“There, there,” he murmured, patting her hair and massaging her nape. “Thank goodness we had this talk before the wedding. There shouldn’t be tears in the bridal bower.”

She mopped her cheeks with the gathered collar of her shift. “I don’t want to be afraid, but I’ve heard so many awful things about marriage. Are you certain you won’t hurt me tomorrow, on our wedding night?”

He considered what to say, since there was a chance he’d cause at least some unease when they consummated their vows. He was a large man, and she was very small, and a virgin. “If I do hurt you, it won’t be intentional,” he said. “There may be a bit of discomfort, but new things often feel strange.”

She looked at his lips, then into his eyes, innocent and inquisitive as a wild woodland creature. He shifted, certain she had no idea the effect her gaze was having on his libido, and his rising, throbbing cock.

What was this impulse he felt? Not just lust. It was more. Possessiveness. Protectiveness. A physical imprinting on her honey-sweet scent, her smooth cheeks, her lush black hair.

“Will you tell me something?” she said. “What is it, to be...intimate? Is it only a kiss?”

He closed his eyes, awash in erotic pain. He couldn’t show her the extent of it, not tonight. But perhaps...

Perhaps it would not be out of order to give her a taste.

By the time he opened his eyes, a blush had bloomed on her cheeks, heightened color he could see even in the dark.

“Intimacy is more than kissing, darling,” he told her. “It’s also more easily demonstrated than explained.” He cupped her cheek, running a thumb over the last of her tears, and was pleased that she didn’t flinch or shy away as she had before.

“You’re going to demonstrate now?” she whispered.

“What if I did? Do you believe I’d hurt you?”

She shook her head, holding his gaze. “No, Sir. You said you wouldn’t.”

“By God’s grace, my princess can learn. Of course I won’t hurt you, but I may make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

“Oh.”

Her beleaguered “oh” didn’t give him much in the way of encouragement, but her body leaned into his. His cock was one great, pounding throb by now, and he moved his hips back, rearranging her so she didn’t have to deal with that revelation yet.

“Look at me,” he said. “Let me kiss you as I did last night. It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Is it proper to be intimate before I’m your wife?” She curled her fingers around his arms, making them clench. How he wanted to spring into action, to push her back and raise her maidenly shift, and...

No, he couldn’t. Not yet.

“You’re far too concerned with propriety,” he said. “And we’ll be wed in a matter of hours.” He circled her neck with one palm in a loose, guiding grip. “Here, let me show you how fun a kiss can be. There’s no pain involved.”

As he leaned forward, she responded more cooperatively than she had th