Scandalous Love (33 page)

Mrs. Veig's face
softened. "Come this way, then. Your bags have already been brought up the
back way."

Nicole followed Mrs.
Veig, apprehension freely filling her now. How would she manage a home like
this? And this was just one of the many fantastic residences he kept! How could
she possibly oversee such a huge staff? Why, she wouldn't even know where to begin!
Suddenly she regretted that her education had not been more conventional—that
she had refused to bother learning about household management except in its
most rudimentary aspects.

Nicole's gaze roved
ahead of her, up the endless flights of curving stairs, her hand running along
the smooth teak railing. A red runner trimmed in gold covered the stairs. Huge
paintings, some landscapes, some portraits, many done by masters, gazed down at
her from the walls.

They did not pause on
the second landing. "There are more apartments here, but His Grace's
suite—and yours—are on the third floor," Mrs. Veig explained.

The housekeeper's words
jarred Nicole back into the present and the crisis about to confront her. In a
half an hour Hadrian would be at her door. Her stomach turned over nervously,
yet her pulse leapt, too. If only she could be confident that she could,
indeed, control her desire for him. But she had no confidence at all, for as
furious as she was with the events surrounding this day and with Hadrian, she could
never deny that he was the most spectacular male she had ever laid eyes on.

But she would die of
shame if he had his way with her tonight.

Nicole finally entered
her bedroom through a grandiose sitting room done up in pink and white tulle
fabric. There was a study to the left, the walls papered in a cherry stripe,
and two vast walk-in closets and her dressing room. Again, the theme everywhere
was pink and white; even the marble floors of the bathroom were a pale rose. It
flashed with sadness through Nicole's mind that pink was probably Elizabeth's
choice of color. It occurred to her that every time she entered these
apartments she would be reminded of the dead girl—and Hadrian's love for her
and his grief. Hadrian, who was now her husband—but not out of choice.

Nicole suddenly despised
pink.

Five maids were madly at
work unpacking her things, including her own thirteen-year-old Annie. Already
only two of her five trunks remained unopened. The rest of her belongings would
be coming later in the week.

More than apprehension
was filling Nicole now. She trembled, feeling desperately sad. "Thank
you," she said to the maids and housekeeper. "This is fine. I can do
the rest later." She wanted to be alone.

Everyone turned to look
at her in shock with the exception of Annie, whose eyes had been as big as an
owl's since she had first entered the palace. The housekeeper finally spoke,
her tone gentle despite the admonishment. "We've plenty of staff to be
doing that, Your Grace. When you want anything, just pull the bellcord."

Nicole nodded.

Mrs. Veig dismissed the
maids, except for Annie. "Is there anything else you'll be wanting?"

"Just a bath."

"It's drawn,"
she said. "Good night, then."

Nicole felt disoriented,
dazed. She sank down on the bed, a huge upholstered, canopied and curtained
affair that looked as if it dated back several centuries. The coverlet was a
pale pink velvet, smooth to her touch. Then she saw her sheer white bridal
nightgown laid out neatly on the bed. In less than half an hour Hadrian was
going to come here, intent on claiming his rights as her husband!

"Are you all right,
mum?" Annie asked, still wide-eyed. Then she blushed. "I mean, Your
Grace?"

"Please, Annie, the
formality isn't necessary." Nicole was on her feet. She went to the heavy
white drapes and pulled them back, but she could see nothing. The night was
pitch black and foggy. Only a few lights illuminated the circular graveled
drive, which glistened like polished shells in their glow.

"Annie, I wish to
be alone," Nicole said. She was still trembling, more now than before. She
had to think—and quickly.

Annie nodded and
hurriedly turned and headed for the nearest door. She opened it only to find
herself in the sitting room. Blushing, she found the door to the hallway and
shut it quietly behind her.

Nicole turned to stare
at the pink and white bed.

She stared at the wispy
nightgown laid out there, one designed to inflame a husband's sexual appetite.

She remembered his
kisses, his touch.

Nicole's trembling
increased. She was suddenly aware of being exhausted to the point of feeling
faint. She sat down hard on a red chaise, wishing she had more time, wishing
she could think clearly. But she could not think at all, her thoughts were
confused, a jumble. She only knew that after all that had transpired today she
must not allow Hadrian to trample over her and claim his conjugal rights, not
tonight. And tomorrow she would think about the future and how she would handle
it and him—and herself.

She wondered if she
dared to lock Hadrian out of her rooms. Nervously Nicole approached one door,
aware of the loud ticking of the clock on the wall to her right. She did not
think there was much time left before Hadrian would knock upon her door. She
did not feel up to another confrontation with him. She was so tired. She knew
he would be angry if she did lock her doors, but it would be so much easier to
lock him out and face him in the morning than to let him in and fight him
tonight. Quickly Nicole turned the lock on the door that she had entered her
bedroom from, then she went to the one that opened on the hallway and locked
that, too. Her unease heightened as she backed away into the middle of the
room.

This was not the way to
begin a marriage, she realized. It was probably the worst possible way to begin
a marriage. Before she could take a step back to one of the locked doors, he
knocked.

Nicole froze. Not
already! She prayed it was a maid and not her husband. "Yes?" Her
voice was unsteady.

"It is I,"
Hadrian said.

Nicole hesitated,
debating unlocking the door. A sudden cowardice assailed her. If she let him in
... it would be easier to keep him on the other side of the door, so much
easier. She tried to think of something to say to him and could think of
nothing that was soothing.

"Nicole?" he
asked. There was impatience in his tone. "May I assume that you are
ready?"

"No," she
blurted. "I am not."

There was a short
silence. She strained to hear what he was doing, but she heard nothing. Then he
tried the knob, saying, "Do you again seek to delay? That would not be
wise." He stopped.

She imagined his
expression, stunned to find himself locked out of her room. She wrung her
hands. "Hadrian," she began. "I am very tired. I think—"

"I begin to
understand," he said softly.

At his tone, Nicole
froze.

"Open the door, Madam."

This was one great big
mistake!
"Hadrian,"
she cried, regretting such a foolish strategy of trying to bar him from her
room, "I am very tired—tomorrow we shall talk."

There was no response.
Seconds ticked by. Nicole was amazed when she realized that he was actually
walking away! Her ploy had worked!

Shaking wildly, she
slumped down onto a small, plush sofa in front of the gleaming pink granite
mantle. She had an inkling that she had just escaped a very harrowing
confrontation—maybe she had even escaped with her very life.

Her heartbeat, still
erratic, finally began to slow. She laughed, the sound a bit shaky. She clapped
her hand over her mouth, as more laughter, much of it hysterical, threatened to
burst forth. God, she had chased him away. And it had been so easy!

Suddenly a click focused
her attention on the door. It glided open, revealing the Duke's powerful, rigid
body, a key in one of his clenched hands.

For the first time in
her life, Nicole almost swooned.

"Don't you ever
lock me out again," he said. His tone was much too calm.

Nicole stood absolutely
motionless. Her heart was beating in a frenzied, frightened rhythm. Hadrian
filled the doorway and she could feel the heat of his anger emanating from him
in thick, undulating waves. He was clad only in a velvet-lapeled dressing gown.
His calves and feet were bare. It dawned on her that he was naked beneath the
robe, and she began to back away. His expression was fiercely angry.

"Do you understand
me?" he ground out. A vein pulsed in his temple. His eyes were black.
Nicole saw that his fists were clenched at his sides. She watched him slip the
key into the pocket of his gown.

"You have no
right," she said in a bare whisper, her courage almost failing her
completely.

"I have every
right. And if you wish to start our marriage on this note, then so be it."
His gaze swept her hard. "You are a very reckless woman, Madam."

A dozen responses and a
dozen pleas coursed through her mind. "You were forewarned. It is you who
are reckless. To take me as your wife when I distinctly refused you!"

His eyes widened. A
pregnant silence hovered between them.

Nicole wished she had
responded in any way but the one she had chosen.

Hadrian could not
believe his ears. He was so furious he did not trust himself to speak for a
long time. He stared at his frightened yet wildly hostile bride. If he were
less
of a man he would turn
her over his knee as if she were a wayward child and deliver a few hurtful
wallops. Of course, he would never be so abusive.

It was the humiliation that
had finally gotten to him. First the humiliation in front of all of society: he
could imagine the gossips now, their glee as they discussed how madly in love
the poor Duke was with his hateful bride. But the final blow had yet to come.
For he had had to go to Mrs. Veig in order to get a key for the lock to his
bride's room. By now he was certain that every servant in his employ was
speculating upon why the bride had barred the groom from her rooms on their
wedding night. A flush tinged the Duke's high cheekbones. There would be gossip
about them even in the privacy of their own home! It was time to put a stop to
this nonsense once and for all.

"You made yourself
quite clear the first time, when I proposed directly to you. Do you have a
death wish, Madam? Did I not distinctly ask you to
keep your distress to
yourself?"

"Do you think that
will make it go away?"

He had truly had enough.
Exercising great will, he turned with outward poise and closed the door behind
him. He turned back to face his wary, watchful bride. "You have precisely
one minute to shed your wedding gown, Madam, and if you do not, I shall remove
it for you."

"You would rape
me?"

He smiled coldly.
"I have no intention of raping you. Or should I remind you
again
of
a certain avid aspect of your nature? I suggest you begin with the buttons. You
have forty-five seconds left."

She drew herself up
straighter, her voluptuous breasts heaving hard. "I won't, Hadrian. I
won't share a bed with you tonight."

"I am not giving
you a choice."

"How stupid of me
to think that you would! Your Grace! How stupid of me not to realize that such
an all-powerful lord as yourself would not even consider giving a woman—his
wife—a choice! You did not give me a choice as far as marrying you, so why
would you give me a choice now?" Her eyes snapped with anger, but they
also sparkled with tears.

He could give in to this
argument or not. He chose not to. "Thirty seconds, Madam."

Nicole looked as if she
would scream incoherently with frustration. Abruptly she threw her hair over
one shoulder, rage in her every movement. She tore open the top buttons on the
back of her dress, the small pearls breaking free of their threads and
scattering across the floor. No woman could unbutton her gown herself, under
normal circumstances, but his wife was so mad that she had nearly superhuman
powers. He watched her yank violently on the beautiful fabric, popping off all
of the rest of the buttons. Wisely, Hadrian did not make a comment.

Nor did he move. During
their confrontation, lust had been the last thing on his mind. He was only
pursuing this because of the struggle for power between them. He was determined
to make Nicole his wife in every sense of the word and end this ridiculous
resistance of hers once and for all. Now his body responded instantly,
aggressively, to the sight of her ripping off her own gown. It was a sight he
would not forget for a long time, if ever.

Nicole wrenched her torn
dress down over her hips, and down her long, endless legs. She stepped free of
it, kicking it at him. Panting harshly, she raised her wild gaze to his.

He had not moved,
watching her unblinkingly.

But she was not through.
Already she was shedding her many tiers of petticoats and kicking them away
with her silver high-heeled shoes until the room around her was littered with
frothy, sensuous silks and chiffons. With the same kind of superhuman effort,
she pulled the top laces at the back of her corset free and wrenched it from
her body. She threw it directly at him. Reflexively Hadrian caught it.

They faced each other.
Nicole was still in a frenzy and her heavy panting filled the room.

"Are you
finished?" Hadrian asked quietly.

"Are you
satisfied?"

Again, Hadrian thought
it wiser not to respond.

The silence lengthened.
Nicole's frenzy diminished. Hadrian watched the sanity returning. He watched
her panting slow and ease until her naked breasts merely trembled. He watched
her straighten. He watched the awareness come into her gaze, watched the tinge
of pink cover her cheeks. Unable to help herself, she crossed her arms to cover
her bosom.

He could have made a
comment, but he did not. He held out his hand. "Come here," he said
softly.

Nicole raised her gaze
to his. He saw more tears glistening there. Instead of giving him her hand—in
surrender—she turned her back to him, clutching herself. She shivered.

He approached her
silently from behind. "It does not have to be this way," he said
gently.

"Does it not?"

His hands closed on her
naked shoulders. Her skin was smooth, silky, warm. "No, it does not."
He leaned forward as he brought her back against him. She tensed at the contact
with his body. Hadrian lowered his mouth to the crook of her neck.

She was motionless. His
lips played delicately over her skin, yet there was nothing delicate about the
way his phallus strained against her buttocks. "Oh, God, don't," she
moaned.

He ignored her. He pried
past her crossed arms to cup her breasts. He pressed fully into her. He
continued to kiss her neck from behind.

Nicole gasped, but it
was almost a sob. It was a moment of surrender and Hadrian knew it. He turned
her swiftly and lifted her in his arms, carrying her to the bed. Just before he
came down on top of her, their eyes met. Here were still wet with tears, but he
saw the sparks of desire, too. He kissed the wetness from her lids, still
deliberately holding himself in check—the most difficult act of willpower he
had ever experienced in his life.

Nicole's head slipped
back into the abundant luxury of silk and velvet pillows and she arched up into
his body. "Hadrian," she whispered, her hands suddenly twining in his
hair.

It was the moment he had
been waiting for—for his entire life. His passion exploded. He clenched her in
a rock-hard embrace, his mouth on hers, devouring and demanding. Nicole opened
to him completely.

Their tongues rushed at
one another. Her thighs locked around his hips. Hadrian's hands coursed down
her long, curved body, seeking out the heat and the wetness— the welcome—of her
femininity. She greeted him with a rapid thrusting of her hips. Suddenly he was
temporarily insane. He lifted her hips and buried his face in her heat. Never
in his life had he done something so outrageous before. She gasped and he began
to worship her with his mouth, kissing her intimately, wildly, and then his
tongue was stroking over and between and into every fold of delicious flesh he
could find.

She climaxed violently
and he felt every shudder against his face. She climaxed a second time, gasping
his name, as he continued to nuzzle her. Hadrian rose up over her powerfully. The
muscles in his shoulders, chest and arms bulged and strained. He grasped her
face with both large hands. "Look at me!"

Her eyes flew open. They
were dark and hot with desire—and still moist with tears. Their souls met.
Hadrian entered her.

Their bodies heaved and
bucked frantically on the pink velvet bedspread. Silk and satin and brocade
pillows spilled to the floor. The posters of the three-centuries old bed
groaned, the salmon pink canopy shook, the tasseled trim leaping madly. And
almost as one, their cries, male and female, split the night.

Nicole tried not to cry.
But a few tears slipped down her cheeks. She did not know if they were tears of
despair or tears of joy. Was it just sheer emotional exhaustion?

She turned her head to
watch her husband.
Her husband.
Her pulse quickened at the very idea.
She lay naked atop the pink velvet of her bed; he was stoking up the fire in
the hearth. He was also unclothed. His back was to her, and unwilling yet
mesmerized, she leaned upon one elbow to openly stare at him.

He was magnificent. A
sigh she could not contain escaped her. The muscles in his broad shoulders and
his sinewed arms rippled as he added wood to the flames. His back was long,
slabbed with more glistening, chiseled strength. His buttocks were high and
hard and powerfully male. Her gaze slipped curiously. He straightened and
turned instantly, his glance meeting hers.

He knew what she had
been doing. A blush crossed her features. Hot awareness thickened in her veins,
ran to her loins. She shifted restlessly.

"Do I meet with
your approval?" he asked quietly.

Nicole gazed into his
eyes. The fire leapt behind his bare, golden body. It was an illusion, wasn't
it, the warmth she saw there? With a volition of its own, her gaze slid over
him again, over his broad, thickly hewn chest, over his trim hips, over his
heavy, large manhood, now flaccid and damp. "Yes," she heard herself
whisper.

He moved to her. She
tried to keep her eyes away from his, but it was impossible. Their glances were
locked together. He sat down on the bed beside her. To her surprise he slipped
a hand in her thick, wavy hair, stroking it. For the second time in her life,
she almost swooned, but this time, with heady pleasure.

She tried to read his
thoughts, tried to penetrate and comprehend the warmth—for surely it was
warmth—that she saw in his eyes. She was so afraid she was seeing what she
wanted to see, but the hope was impossible to chase away. And then, as he bent
his head down to hers, it ceased to matter. Not at that moment. She waited an
eternity for the feel of his lips. When it came, she sighed. She sighed, and
she surrendered.

Nicole awoke, too
exhilarated to be tired, despite the fact that she had barely slept at all—due
to her insatiable husband. She stretched with satisfaction and glanced at his
side of the bed, only to find that he was gone.

She sat up. She was
still naked and it felt glorious, despite the fact that she was also terribly
sore from so much excessive passion. But she smiled. She smiled and smiled and
smiled.

Oh what a fool she had
been! She knew that now. She had been utterly stupid to resist marrying
Hadrian. To resist marrying the man she loved so much that it hurt.

It was better being with
him than being apart from him. Much, much better!

Slowly, she got up from
the bed. She saw that it was past midmorning—she had slept shamefully late. She
found her robe on the floor and slipped it on, then went to the drapes and
pulled them open. A heavy gray day greeted her. Winter was on its way.

She wondered where
Hadrian was.

She wondered how he
would act towards her now.

She moved into the
marble bathroom and began to run the water. Thoughtfully, she sat on the side
of the tub. She must not delude herself, she knew. Just because they shared
such a splendid passion for each other's bodies did not mean that he loved her.
She could not forget that Elizabeth was not even dead a month. Yet, in time,
his grief would lessen. And she, Nicole, would still be here, his wife.