His Wedding-Night Heir (20 page)

from her shoulders. The loosened fabric fell away, baring her

to the waist.

Nick raised his head and looked down at her, the grey eyes

brilliant and intense. He began to touch her again, to stroke

the delicate scented mounds he'd uncovered, teasing their rosy

crests with the tips of his fingers, urging them into hard,

aching pleasure.

She moved restlessly, feeling her breathing change and catch

in her throat as his lips followed the path of his hands. His

mouth closed on her nipple, suckling it gently, tantalising it to

sweet agony with the flicker of his tongue.

She heard herself moan softly, her body arching upwards in

mute longing.

'Yes, darling,' he whispered. 'Yes.' He threw back the covers,

tossing them to the end of the bed, and his hands moved down

her body, freeing her completely from the folds of her gown.

He lifted her, holding her close, letting her discover the

abrasive sensuality of his nakedness against hers, as he kissed

her again in a fierce, passionate demand that made few allow-

ances for her comparative innocence.

It was as if he recognised the molten need within her. and

knew that she did not wish to be spared.

She began to caress his shoulders, her hands urgent as they

moved down the muscular length of his back. How long had

she wondered how it would be to touch him—imagined how

he might touch her?

And now every dream was becoming a physical, sensuous

reality.

Cally was feverishly aware of his hand caressing her hip,

moving inward to the flat plane of her stomach, then down in

slow, languorous demand to the shadowy joining of her

thighs. Found her small, startled cry stifled by his mouth as

his fingers gently created a passage for this new intimacy—

persuaded her, wordlessly, to accept this ultimate exploration

of her secret, ungiven self.

She was lost immediately, her shocked body transported to a

different dimension, twisting, almost sobbing under the

clever, silken fingertips that were so expertly gliding on the

moist inner heat of her at one moment, then, in the next, strok-

ing the tiny hidden bud which was somehow the centre of all

the pleasure that had ever been and bringing it to tumescent,

irresistible arousal.

She wanted him to stop—she wanted him never to stop.

She realised dazedly that it was as if the last remaining knot of

control inside her was being slowly, relentlessly undone. And

there was nothing she could do to prevent it. To save herself.

As the final thread parted, she was aware of the first tremors

of delight building inexorably within her, and cried out in a

kind of fear. Then, suddenly, her whole being was shivering—

convulsing in endless sensations of almost agonised rapture.

And there was no longer any room for fear.

She could hear herself moaning. Felt each blissful pulsation

reverberating in every nerve-ending, every drop of blood that

she possessed.

At last, the exquisite savagery tearing her apart began to fade,

and as she lay stunned and helpless with delight, her body

totally relaxed in the final echoes of rapture. Nick began

gently to ease his way into her.

Gasping, she looked up into his taut, absorbed face. The grey

eyes were pools of silver as they met hers.

'Am I hurting you?' His voice was quiet, but urgent, and she

turned her head in instant negation, still holding his gaze,

astonished that it should all seem so simple, and so right.

Knowing herself finally claimed, and totally possessed.

Amazed at her own capacity to welcome and absorb such

awesome strength and potency.

Some undreamed-of female instinct told her to lift her legs

and wrap them round his hips, enfolding him. drawing him

into her more deeply, and she heard him groan softly in

response as he began to move, his rhythm slow and powerful

at first, then increasing. And Cally moved with him, her hands

grasping his sweat-slicked shoulders, blindly mirroring every

driving male thrust.

He said hoarsely, Darling—my sweet angel. She heard the

sudden rasp of his changed breathing, then his body

shuddered scaldingly into hers.

The silence that followed was profound-—endless. She won-

dered if he'd fallen asleep. But eventually he moved, lifting

himself away from her.

He said softly, 'Are you all right?' and she nodded jerkily, but

she wasn't sure that it was true. She'd just had her first

experience of sex, and it had been wholly sensational—the

stuff that delirium was made of. But Nick would have made

sure of that, she told herself, biting her lip. After all, he had a

reputation to maintain.

Lovemaking, she thought numbly, with no pretence at love.

Not that she could blame him. She'd hardly been a challenge,

she derided herself bleakly, remembering Adele's jibe. More a

total push-over.

Now she felt strangely lost, and was suddenly aware that tears

were not far away, tightening her throat and tingling behind

her eyelids. Because for him it had simply been a means to an

end, with any attendant pleasure merely a bonus. And one day

she would be left with only the memory of that pleasure to

haunt her—hurt her. Along with so much else, she thought

with desolation.

'Haven't you anything to say?' Nick's tone was lazy as he

reached out a long arm and scooped her towards him.

The conqueror, Cally thought. Reviewing yet another triumph.

She pulled away a little.

She said in a small, quiet voice, 'If you've finished with me, I

thought I'd have a bath.'

'I'll get some champagne,' he said softly. 'And we'll take one

together. During which we'll discuss whether or not I've

finished with you.'

She could hear the smile in his voice and resented it. How

many women did he need, begging for his favours? she asked

herself wildly. He'd made her behave like—like an animal.

Aloud, she said, 'I think I'd prefer to be on my own.'

There was a pause. 'Cally,' he said, 'what's the matter?'

She rolled away, presenting him with her back. What do you

want to hear?' she asked tautly. 'The sex was amazing—

mind-blowing. On a wow factor of ten. All those things. Or

would you prefer a round of applause?'

There was another silence, this one frankly ominous. Then,

'Oh, I think any plaudits should come from me,' he drawled.

'You clearly have a great natural talent, sweetheart, which I

look forward to exploiting. And bloody soon too.'

'That may not be necessary,' she said. 'After all, I might have

beginner's luck and already be pregnant.'

'It's possible,' he said.

'So,' she added, 'we'll just have to—wait and see.'

'An interesting suggestion,' Nick said, too pleasantly. 'But I've

waited long enough. Besides, we can't guarantee to reach the

target first time around, and I would hate to think I'd taken all

that trouble just to be disappointed.'

Every word bit, and Cally found herself wincing inwardly.

She said, 'Meaning?'

'Meaning,' he said icily, 'that you'll continue to share a bed

with me, with all that entails, until that possibility you men-

tioned becomes a bloody certainty.'

He swung himself off the bed. reaching down for his robe.

'And now take your bath, or your shower. Scrub yourself all

over with carbolic, if you think it will help. You won't keep

me away.'

She made herself turn—look up at him. 'Nick—please...'

'Yes,' he said. 'I do please. I want you, Cally, and I intend to

have you whenever and however I desire.' His smile was like

the lash of a whip laid across her shaking body. 'You see, my

sweet, you still have a lot to learn, and I'm going to enjoy

teaching you. How you feel about it is entirely up to you.'

He strode over to the communicating door, and went out,

slamming it behind him. Cally was left staring after him, one

hand pressed to her mouth. She'd gone too far, and she knew

it, and wished the words left unsaid.

She'd spoken out of a kind of bravado, in a belated effort

to protect herself. To justify, if it was possible, her abandoned,

passionate surrender to him.

Why hadn't she obeyed her first instinct and curled up in his

arms to bask in their mutual satiation? she wondered despair-

ingly. Instead, she'd tried to salvage some remnants of pride,

and it had rebounded on her badly.

She was almost tempted to follow him, but what could she say

without betraying all those things that must not be said?

Things like—I love you, Cally thought, and wanted to weep.

It was beginning to look like rain. The July morning had

started brightly, but now grey clouds were massing in the west

and a chill wind had risen, sighing among the trees in the

Home Wood.

Cally supposed she should turn back to the Hall. Baz hated

wet weather, and she'd come out without even a jacket for

protection. But this couple of hours each day, when she wan-

dered round the countryside on Baz's amiable, elderly back,

was her own personal time, when she could get away, just for

a while, from the burden of being Lady Tempest. The down-

side, of course, was that she also found herself alone with her

increasingly unhappy thoughts. And problems that would not

go away.

It was as if her life with Nick was split into two separate and

distinct halves, proceeding on parallel lines, but never

touching.

There was the daytime life where, among other things, she

was being gently inducted by Frank and Margaret into the ef-

ficient running of the Hall. Where she picked flowers from the

garden and arranged them in vases and bowls. Where she en-

tertained visitors to tea, some of them genuinely friendly, oth-

ers merely curious to take a look at Sir Nicholas's errant bride.

Where she dealt with correspondence with the help of Janette

from the village, a former City secretary now living in rural

bliss with her husband and young family.

She found herself being invited to join local clubs and so-

cieties, and to serve on the committee for the annual charity

fete, which was always held in the Hall's grounds.

On Nick's instructions, she sent out invitations to lunch and

dinner parties, and weekend guests, and steeled herself to play

hostess—with, she'd come to realise, surprising success.

On the down side, Adele was still occupying the Dower

House, and finding excuses to come up to the Hall too

regularly to suit Cally, who was usually left shaking with

anger after her visits. But without an electric fence it seemed

impossible to keep her out.

And Cally was powerless to prevent Adele's knife slipping

beneath her ribs either.

'You're looking tired, my pet,' she'd remarked solicitously

only the previous day, encountering Cally in the garden on her

way up from the stables. 'But don't worry. I hear on the village

grapevine that Vanessa Layton's coming back this week, so

Nick will soon have an alternative outlet for all that incredible

masculine energy.'

And she drifted off, leaving Cally to stare after her with

murder in her heart.

But at least she knew now. and could be on her guard, she told

herself. Although there was little she could do about the

situation. Nick, as he'd demonstrated with chilling force over

the past weeks, was his own man, and would do precisely as

he wished.

Adele, she thought, sighing, vicious little jibes notwithstand-

ing, was the very least of her difficulties. Her relationship

with Nick was the problem that overrode all others, and filled

her mind and heart, waking or sleeping. Or rather, the lack of

it.

The harsh words they'd exchanged a few weeks before had

been their last real conversation, she acknowledged miserably.

When he was at the Hall they met at mealtimes, which were

conducted in silence, apart from a few polite and formal ex-

changes.

Probably, Cally admitted, for the look of the thing. Although

she suspected the Thurstons were already aware that the atmo-

sphere could be cut with a knife most of the time.

Each morning Nick went for an early-morning ride on

Maestro, his chestnut gelding, before leaving for the day, but

it was never suggested that Cally should join him, and he

avoided the routes she used with Baz.