Rival Desires (Properly Spanked Legacy 1)

“Ophelia, my darling.” He wasn’t sure why he called her darling, or why he bent his head to kiss her. He told himself it was to jolt her from her confused daze, but it was her lips too, the way she pursed them when she was uncertain or troubled.

She didn’t pull away at once. For a while she responded to his kiss, bracing her arms on his shoulders. His body came alive, blood rushing to his cock, but then she came awake, truly awake, and drew her lips from his.

“I don’t want to do that,” she said. “Please.”

He sighed. “I know you don’t want to. Are you with me now?”

“Where else would I be?”

He tightened his hold on her when she tried to move away. “No. Stay here and rest, and let me hold you. You had a screaming nightmare, and then you went on and on about lighting things on fire.”

Ah, those lips. They pouted now, as if she didn’t believe him. “That’s preposterous,” she said. “I’ve never lit anything on fire in my life.”

“You were dreaming. And I promised your maid I’d stay with you, so you can’t send me away even if you don’t want to perform your marital duties. Which are duties, Ophelia. Someday you’ll have to accept me whether you wish it or not.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.” She avoided his gaze, looking down at her clasping hands. “It’s just that I feel I’m not a proper lady when I… When we…do that…thing.”

“The thing we’ve done only one time?” He took one of her hands, to still its unconscious movement. “It must have seemed very real,” he said after a few quiet moments. “Your nightmare. The fire.”

She shuddered and nodded. “I’ve dreamed about it every night since it happened. The fire starts small, and I can’t put it out, and then it’s everywhere, burning me and destroying everything, and it’s all my fault.”

“Why your fault? You didn’t start it. You were performing in the theater.”

“I know, but in my dreams, it’s always me starting it somehow.” She sighed. “I’m so tired. I’ve barely gotten any sleep the last few days.”

“We’ll have to fix that, so you don’t become even more of a crosspatch. Here, lie down with me. I’ll keep you safe from nightmares.”

He said it with confidence, but he wasn’t sure he’d be up to the challenge. Lack of sleep would explain her waspish moods, but how to take those nightmares away when the fire had changed both their lives so dramatically? Was he tied up in the horror of the fire too, in her mind and in her dreams? Was that why she held him at arm’s length?

“I won’t be able to sleep,” she said, squirming against him, her head restless upon his shoulder. “I’ll dream of fire again.”

“We won’t sleep, then. Sing for me instead. I’m married to a famous singer, and I’ve never heard a note.”

“Not famous. And I can’t sing anymore. It won’t sound fine at all, so I’d rather not try.” Her voice sounded tight, like she might start crying. His poor, miserable wife.

“Let’s talk then,” he said. “Tell me about your music school in Vienna.”

She tensed in his arms, and he remembered he’d mocked her about it earlier.

“Did you enjoy your time there?” he asked, taking care that no mockery touched his voice. “It must have been difficult to get into such an exclusive school. I imagine you had excellent teachers.”

“Excellent? Yes. The very best.”

He waited for her to say more, but her expression turned brooding.

“Was there much time for leisure, outside of music?” he asked.

She shook her head. “There was only music. Good and bad music. Sometimes I was praised, but mostly I felt my efforts weren’t enough. You can never really be the best at a school like that. There were pupils from everywhere, nearly every place in the world, and all of them were talented.”

“Did you want to be the best?”

She was silent a moment. “My mother wished me to do well. She used to say my voice was a gift from God.”

“Hmm. Do you think that’s true? Do you feel God’s presence when you sing?”

“There were times I felt quite happy at school, but there were other times I wanted to tear up my music folders and come home. My Mama would have been disappointed if I’d left, though. She wished me to have a career upon the stage. She said I used to sing even as I learned to talk. Did you know I’m named for a tragic Shakespearean character?”

“I suspected you were.”

She gave another melancholy sigh. “On the way to the wedding, my father told my mother she finally got the tragedy she wanted. Mama cried and told him to be silent. He meant me, marrying you.”

Wescott’s temper bristled. “For God’s sake, you could hardly do better than me. I don’t mean that to sound rude, you know, but I’m the Duke of Arlington’s heir. I was supposed to marry the Earl of Mayhew’s daughter. Lady June was quite put out.”