Vicar's Daughter to Viscount's Lady (Transformation of the Shelley Sisters 2)

She looked up. His eyes were closed, his head thrown back on the pillow as if he was in pain, but the low growl that came from his throat was one of pleasure and when she let him show her how to move her hand it became a gasp.

I am touching my husband and he is enjoying it. I am not inept, not clumsy. It felt so good, so right, but she had no idea what to do next. ‘Elliott?’

He opened his eyes and looked at her, the deep blue almost black, the lids hooded, his lips slightly parted. For a long moment they looked into each other’s eyes and then he rolled, taking her with him until she lay beneath him. ‘Slowly, this time,’ Elliott murmured and began to enter her.

It was slow, and for the first time Bella discovered that there was pleasure, that her body would open to caress his and that she could move to find the right angle to cradle him. And then, mysteriously, it was too slow and she wanted him, wanted that hard, possessive thrust. ‘Elliott, please?’

The dark eyes smiled into hers as he moved, took her fully, and set up a rhythm that rocked her up, up into a place that was full of sensation, tension, aching need. She felt his hand slide between their bodies and touch her and the tight knot unravelled into sensation so acute that everything went black, she lost herself and fell.

And Elliott caught her and she felt him cry out and go rigid and then there was peace.

Bella found herself again, tucked against Elliott’s side, her cheek on his shoulder, his arm around her.

‘Arabella?’

‘Mmm?’

‘Do you need me to tell you that you have pleased your husband?’ She could not see his face, but she could hear he was smiling.

‘I do not think so,’ she said, her own smile ending in a kiss against the smooth skin below his collar bone.

‘Would you like to go back to your own room?’

Oh. No, I would not. I want to stay here with you and perhaps… But it was not fashionable for wives and husbands to share a bedchamber and no doubt Elliott wanted his privacy and his rest now. After all, what had been a miracle for her was simply what he would expect as the minimum from a lover. He had been very patient with her.

‘Thank you, I think I would.’ Bella made her voice as polite and distant as she could. She must not spoil all that had been gained tonight by seeming needy or clinging.

Elliott was still for a moment, then he got up, lifted her in his arms and carried her through to her own bed.

‘Goodnight, my dear,’ he said as he bent and kissed her, and was gone.

Chapter Fifteen

Elliott built on the lessons of that revelatory night during the next week. There were kisses when he came upon her alone, on the mouth, the hand, the nape of her neck if he surprised her, and at night long, passionate kisses when he came to her room and showed her how to listen to her own body and to read his. But he left her afterwards alone in her bed. She wished he would stay so that perhaps they could talk, relaxed and intimate together. She could tell him her feelings and perhaps he would reveal more about his hopes and fears and plans. But viscountesses did not hang upon their husbands’ sleeves and expect to behave as though they were partners in a love match.

And it was wrong and ungrateful to expect more than Elliott had already given her.

‘My lady?’ Gwen asked, her hand with the hair-brush suspended as she saw the expression on Bella’s face in the glass.

‘Oh, nothing. Just a foolish thought about something I have no courage to do. I will go out and visit tenants today again, so my walking dress, if you please.’

The visiting was going well, she thought as she sat in the gig, one of the grooms at the reins and Gwen beside her. She would like to learn to drive, but Elliott would not hear of it, not while she was pregnant. And even on the estate she must take Gwen as well as the groom.

‘You are mollycoddling me,’ she had said, trying for a light tone, hoping he might say that he would come and drive her himself so they could be alone and she could watch him at work.

‘I am trying to look after you,’ was all he would say before he strode off. Breakfasts were becoming increasingly precious. Dinners were formal, just the two of them. More lessons in conversation, table manners, formality that continued into the evening and careful discussions of neutral topics over the tea tray, with the pulsing awareness of the bedrooms

upstairs always at the back of her mind. And then the wonder of lovemaking and the lonely comfort of a luxurious bed.

‘Mrs Trubshaw’s, my lady,’ the groom said, pulling up in front of a cottage with a sagging roof and an overgrown garden. ‘You said you wanted to start here today.’

‘Thank you, John.’ Bella got down and made herself think about something she did have some control over. Mrs Fanshawe had told her all about the Trubshaws. Father had run off when pursued by the gamekeepers for poaching and had not been seen for seven months, the eldest daughter had a wasted leg and could only get around on a crutch, the son was rapidly heading along the same path to crime as his father and Mrs Trubshaw was pregnant with the baby due at any moment.

‘A challenge, this household,’ she murmured to Gwen, who was carrying the basket Bella had packed that morning. Cheese, bacon, butter, some clothing, baby blankets and money should all help, but only in the short term.

The boy answered the door, dragging it open and staring sullenly at the visitors. ‘Good morning. Is your mother at home?’

‘Aye. My lady,’ he added as Gwen raised a hand to cuff him. Bella took a deep breath of fresh air and walked into the smelly, stuffy cottage.