Claiming His Wife (30 page)

Then once his son or daughter was
born... would he be a good father?  Would he be able to keep
his sons from running wild?  Instill in his heir the right
amount of responsibility?  Teach his other sons that they
mattered, even though they weren't the heir?  He certainly
didn't want them to feel the way Wesley's younger brothers had felt
under their father's iron fist.  Then again, he didn't want to
be like Wesley's father at all.  What if it was a daughter?
 What would he do with a daughter?

A hand on his arm jerked him out of
the spiral of thoughts that seemed to engulf him whenever he
started to think about his future progeny.  Lord Harrington's
clear blue eyes were filled with fellow feeling and understanding.
 He clapped Edwin on the shoulder. 

"You'll be just fine, son.  Just
fine."

Simple words really, and yet they
brought Edwin a large measure of relief.  After all, Lord
Harrington was the man he looked up to the most when it came to
fatherhood.  If he believed in Edwin, then maybe Edwin could
as well.

Chapter 12

Enough was enough.  The inane
social niceties were driving Wesley absolutely up the wall.
 Normally he eschewed conversing when he was out in Society,
unless it was with a particular man or woman that he actually
wished to speak with.  Being trapped in a room filled with
gawkers who wanted to congratulate, gossip about, or seduce him and
his new wife made his skin crawl.

The disappointed women
were the worst.  Their underhanded, catty comments seemed to
slide right off of Cynthia, but they were infuriating Wesley.
 Worse, there wasn't much he could do about them, other than
remain glued to his bride's side and do his best to deflect.
 If they were men, he could call them out.  Then again,
if they were men, they'd be direct instead of backbiting.
 

"It's too bad the Countess didn't
bring you to London," a beautiful young matron was saying to
Cynthia.  Wesley couldn't remember her name.  She was
beautiful, but obviously spiteful.  The man she'd come in
with, whom he assumed was her husband, was talking with a different
buxom beauty across the room.  "A little bit of town bronze is
always helpful when it comes to marriage.  So many poor young
women from the country become married without truly understanding
Society... it leads to so much disappointment on their part when
their husbands don't behave as they expected once back in
Society."

The flirtatious glance she
gave him made it clear what she meant.  The invitation in her
eyes did not appeal to him at all.  It just made him furious
that she was implying to Cynthia - on her wedding day - that Wesley
would not remain faithful and that she shouldn't expect him to.
 Even if he and Cynthia hadn't made their deal, he would have
been furious.  Cynthia was worthy of more than a husband who
chased other women.  Wesley was that worthier husband and he
didn't like that the woman was implying he wouldn't be.
 Especially because he certainly didn't need his bride getting
any bright ideas about the sincerity of his promise to her - the
little minx would certainly retaliate and then Wesley would have to
kill someone.

"Oh, the Countess was too afraid to
bring me to London," Cynthia said brightly, stealing the woman's
attention back to herself before Wesley could completely lose his
temper and tell her exactly what he thought about her brazen
blandishments.  "I'm sure I would have created quite the
scandal... I have the most awful manners.  Especially when it
comes to things I consider mine.  Why, I tried to stab her son
Matthew with a fork when he poached one of my potatoes at dinner."
 She giggled and batted her eyes, making Wesley practically
choke.  "Imagine if I'd done that at a dinner party to a
Duke!"

His unapologetic hussy of
a wife pressed against him, beaming at the other woman, but Wesley
could see the hard look in her eyes, despite the silliness of her
demeanor.  The message had gotten across, making the young
matron look a bit leery.  After all, this country girl had not
only understood exactly what she'd been saying, but had indicated a
penchant for violence!  

"Yes... that would have been quite
unfortunate," she said, rallying, although she still eyed Cynthia
warily.  "Excuse me... I ah, see my friend needs
me."

Wesley forced his face to a stern
countenance, hiding his mirth, as the woman hurried away.  He
bent his head slightly, his arm wrapped around Cynthia's hips,
giving the impression that he was saying sweet nothings in her ear.
 The image wouldn't hurt, and perhaps it would help keep more
of the harpies away.

"That wasn't well done, baggage, what
if she gossips?  My mother will be horrified."

"I'd rather horrify your mother than
have to deal with any more women like Lady Vetch," Cynthia said
tartly, turning up her cute little nose.  Wesley had the most
insane urge to kiss it.  Marriage was getting to his head.
 "If she tries to poach you, I will use something much sharper
than a fork."

"It doesn't matter if she wants to
poach me," he replied, trying not to think about how adorable her
possessive jealousy was.  "What matters is that I have no
interest in anyone but you.  She can want whatever she likes,
it makes no difference to me."

"Well it does to me."  Cynthia
scowled at him.  "I'm a Countess now.  They'll respect
me."

"Or you'll stab them with a
fork?"

"Exactly."

The worst part was, he wasn't quite
sure whether or not she was serious, and he was definitely sure
that he didn't care.  In fact, part of him was highly amused
by the idea of a fork-wielding Cynthia, chasing away amorous
would-be paramours.

Staring up at her new husband, Cynthia
had to admit, she hadn't been expecting the twinkling amusement in
his eyes.  While he was wildly exciting when it came to
amorous pursuits, and she was incredibly attracted to his
dominating authority over her, she'd honestly thought that she'd
set herself up for a wedding day spanking.  Not that she
wanted one, but she wouldn't have regretted it for a moment.
 Lady Vetch had been the most recent in a long line of women
hinting to her that she shouldn't be upset if her new husband chose
one of them as his lover.  If the woman gossiped and it kept
any more hussies from appearing on the scene, all the better.
 

Cynthia hadn't even been
deflowered yet, she was certainly not sharing her husband.
 She would keep him busy enough in the bedroom.  There
were so many things she wanted to learn!  He wasn't going to
have time to attend to any other lady's desires.

Not that he'd seemed all that
interested in any of the importuning women, but still.  If
Cynthia had to put up with his stuffed-shirt ways and wicked
punishments, she was certainly going to reap the benefits of being
married to him as well.  She hadn't wanted another spanking
over top the welts that decorated her bottom, but it had been worth
the risk.  Especially since he seemed more amused than
anything else, which was a relief for her poor bum.

She was probably the only bride in
history to have absolutely no desire to sit down, no matter how
much her feet hurt or how tired she felt.  Every single part
of her bottom was sore, and the welts left from the birch stung
when she pressed on them.  She knew because she'd poked at
each and every one of them this morning while she'd been admiring
them in the mirror.  At long last, she'd had some physical
evidence of what she'd gone through!  The sight had fascinated
her to say the least, although she was less enamored of how it felt
when any pressure at all was placed on her tender
cheeks. 

"I think it's time we left,
baggage."

"Oh but..."  Not that
she wanted to put off the good stuff, but she'd missed out on the
last round of éclairs to go through the room, and the footman she'd
snagged had promised to bring her some.  Plus, she'd barely
gotten to speak to Matthew and Vincent.  

Unfortunately, the Earl
was not impressed by her protest.  His stuffed-shirt persona
was firmly back in place, not a hint of amusement to be seen. He
swept her up into his arms, one arm behind her back and the other
under her legs as she gasped with shock. Titters and whispers swept
through the room as he headed straight for the door, and Cynthia
sighed.  Apparently she wasn't going to get her éclairs after
all.

Of course, she was going to finally
find out what all the fuss of being a married woman was about.
 That perked her up.  She gave a cheery wave over
Wesley's shoulder, spotting Edwin and Eleanor, who were both
laughing, and the ever-scandalized expression of Irene as Wesley
swept past.  

"Wesley, put Cynthia down this
minute!"

"Sorry Mother," he said, blandly, as
he reached the door, turning to look over the crowd.  Most of
them looked utterly overjoyed at this new display of the Earl of
Spencer's unusual behavior.  "Thank you all for coming, my
bride and I are going to step out now for a private discussion, but
stay as long as you like and enjoy yourselves."

"Here, here!" Several of the men
shouted, raising their glasses of champagne and drowning out the
Dowager-Countess' protests as Wesley pushed through the door.
 

"You're going to be in trouble later,"
Cynthia said, rather admiringly.  She would have never dared
ignore Wesley's mother in such a fashion.  It was quite
impressive.  

Her new husband made an
exasperated noise and eyed her.  "You're more afraid of my
mother than you are of me, aren't you?"

"Wouldn't you be?"

That made him laugh.  Cynthia
watched, fascinated.  With one arm around his neck to help her
stay in position, this was the closest she'd ever been able to
observe him.  She could see the pulse in his neck, the way his
throat worked as he laughed, the small dark hairs that curled
around the shell of his ear because they were too short to be tied
back... With her free hand, she reached up to stroke his
hair.

Immediately he stopped, in the middle
of the hall.  The sounds from the ballroom had mostly faded
away and there wasn't a servant to be seen, giving them momentary
privacy.  The heat in his eyes when he looked at her made her
heart beat faster. 

"What are you doing,
sweetheart?"

Her mouth went dry at the growling
rasp in his voice.  Beneath her dress, her nipples tightened
into little points, rubbing against the fabric as his hands
tightened on her. 

"Touching you?" she asked,
doing it again, and this time letting her finger slide down the
side of his throat. 

A muscle in his jaw clenched and then
suddenly she found herself pushed up against the wall, her legs
dropped down and no longer in his arms.  But her feet didn't
touch the ground either; his leg was wedged between hers, and he
was tall enough that she could just barely feel her toes brushing
the floor.  All of her weight rested on her core, and even the
sharp pinches flaring in her bottom as it was pressed against the
wall didn't stop the flash of pleasure that streaked through her
like lightening.

His lips devoured hers,
his hard cock digging into her stomach, and Cynthia clutched at
him, reeling from the suddenness of his passion.  The gloves
had come off, and she suddenly realized how much control he'd
always retained in his dealings with her.  Control that he
obviously no longer felt such a keen need to hold onto now that
they were married.  She'd been poking a tiger in his cage,
only to find that he'd slipped through the bars and now kitty
wanted to play.

Cynthia whimpered as he rocked against
her, making her clit pulse as her weight moved over it.  The
hardness of his thigh was almost painful against her soft folds,
even through the cushioning fabric of her wedding dress.  His
tongue was dancing in her mouth, sliding against hers as if dueling
for possession of the space, until she could barely breathe.
 It felt like all of her intimate parts, from her breasts down
to her pussy, were swollen with arousal.

When his hands cupped her buttocks,
making her rock even more firmly against his thigh, the welts
fizzed with pain and made her writhe in intense, torturous
pleasure.  

It wasn't until she heard
ripping fabric, as the train of her skirt came loose, and the Earl
pulled away that she was able to come back to herself.  Her
lips felt swollen from his rough kisses, her breasts heavy, and she
stared up at him, dazed as she gasped for air.  

"I am not deflowering you against a
wall in a hallway," he said, clipping off the end of each word in
his frustrated angst, glaring at her as if it were her
fault.

Maybe it was.  But how could she
have known that such a small touch could incite such a
disproportionate reaction?  Definitely something to remember
later, if by some miracle her brain was still working.

Wesley hauled her up into his arms
again, this time holding her in such a way that her own arms were
trapped against her sides.  Gritting his teeth against the
temptation to throw caution to the winds and just take her here and
now, he strode down the hallway as quickly as he could.
 Fortunately, for both their sakes, his bride remained
absolutely silent as he kicked open the door to his room.