He won’t be in,
she told herself.
He has what he wants now—and it isn’t me.
Not that she had any desire for him to join her in bed, since she didn’t. Not now. Not knowing the truth as she did.
Even so, a wistful sigh slid past her lips, a tear rolling over her cheek before plopping onto the cool linen pillowcase beneath. Scrubbing a hand over her eyes, she forced aside her maudlin thoughts and set herself to the task of falling asleep.
She was dreaming many minutes later when the bed sank on the empty side, the mattress bouncing slightly as someone sat down.
Her dream stopped abruptly, her eyes popping wide. “Jack?”
He peered at her through the dim light. “Expecting someone else?” he asked in a faintly mocking tone.
Grabbing the covers, she pulled them to her chin. “I wasn’t expecting
you!
What are you doing here?”
One dark brow arched toward the ceiling. “I should think that must be obvious. I’m going to bed.”
Keeping hold of the sheets, she scooted upright and faced him in a defensive pose. “Oh no, you’re not. You’re not sleeping here.”
Unfastening the buttons at the wrists of his shirt, he drew the garment over his head and tossed it onto a nearby chair. “Who said anything about sleeping?”
Air puffed out of her lungs. “You’re not doing
that
either!”
She assumed he would argue. Instead, he heaved a sigh, then stood to toe off his shoes and remove his trousers. Bare-chested and clad in nothing but his drawers, he turned. “Don’t worry. I won’t touch you, so you can stop worrying over your virtue. I’m just going to sleep.”
“If you’re just going to sleep, then do it somewhere else. The other bedroom, for instance.”
“The
other bedroom,
if you’d taken the time to notice, is an upstairs library. This is the only bed in the house.”
Her fingers quivered on the sheets. “Then sleep on the sofa in the front room. It looked long enough, even for you.”
“I’m not sleeping on the sofa.” Lifting the covers on his side of the bed, he slid inside.
As soon as the mattress depressed again beneath his weight, she tossed back the bedclothes. “Fine. Then
I’ll
sleep on the sofa.”
Moving more quickly than she could have imagined, he reached over and caught her wrist. “No, you’re not. No one is sleeping on the damned sofa. Now come back here and get in bed.”
Leaning back on her heels, she tugged against his hold. “Let me go.”
“I will. As soon as you stop being ridiculous. It’s not as if we haven’t shared a bed before.”
No, it wasn’t. But her reaction had nothing to do with modesty and everything to do with emotion. When she’d slept with him before, she’d done so out of love, letting him inside both her body and her heart out of the mistaken belief that he returned her affection. But sleeping with him now would be like inviting a stranger into her bed. A stranger who might have the same face and form as the man she’d loved, but not the same spirit.
She was about to refuse him again when he leaned up on his knees and used his other hand to catch her around the waist. Ignoring her struggles, he tumbled her down, settling her beneath him.
For a few seconds, she couldn’t breathe, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest. Jack surrounded her, his body covering hers like a living blanket—warm, strong and so vitally male that she didn’t want to move. Forgetting herself for a moment, she savored the sensations, relishing his familiar scent and the ripe heat of his skin.
“We can stay like this all night,” he said. “Or you can have one side of the bed and I’ll have the other. It’s your choice.”
Remembering herself again, she bucked against him, only then becoming aware of the arousal riding heavily between his legs.
“Keep that up,” he warned, “and I’ll be sleeping
in
you, not just on you. Again, it’s entirely your choice.”
But she knew his desire wasn’t for her—not truly. He was a healthy man and would react that way to any woman lying half naked beneath him. He wanted sex. He didn’t want her.
Throat tight with unshed tears, she shoved against his chest with both palms. “Get off me. I’ll sleep here in the bed.”
The slightest hint of disappointment seemed to flicker in his azure gaze, as if he’d hoped she would put up more of a fight and push matters further between them. But then the look was gone, likely nothing more than a trick of the candlelight, she decided.
“You’re going to stay put?” he questioned.
“Yes,” she panted. “I told you to get off me. You weigh a ton.”
The edge of his mouth turned up in an unapologetic grin before he levered himself away.
Rolling onto her side, she turned her back to him and crossed her arms over her breasts. Closing her eyes, she did her best to ignore the yearning ache between her legs, hating herself for desiring him despite everything between them.
Meanwhile, he straightened the bedclothes, tossing them over both himself and her. Then he settled back, beating a fist into his pillow to get the proper shape.
“Good-night, Grace.”
She said nothing, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Biting her lip to keep from crying, she willed herself to sleep.
Damn and blast, how can she sleep?
Jack thought half an hour later. Worse, why had he insisted on sharing a bed with her when he was in absolute agony as a result? If he’d had any sense, he would have let her have her way and gone downstairs to sleep on the sofa. No matter how uncomfortable the furniture might be, at least he could have gotten a few minutes’ rest. Instead, he was consigned to spending the night lying beside Grace, hard as a pikestaff and aching for release.
Not exactly the wedding night I’d planned. But then nothing about this marriage has turned out as I planned.
Slinging an arm across his face, he groaned, half hoping the sound would wake her. A look through his lashes confirmed it had not. Lowering his arm again, he gazed at her through the darkness and caught the subtle shimmer of her red hair, visible even in the low light.
Reaching out, he gathered up a waist-length strand and rubbed the silky ends between his fingers in a slow, measuring glide. Without giving himself time to think, he raised the tress to his nose and inhaled, closing his eyes as Grace’s sweet rose-and-honey scent flooded his senses. He groaned again, wanting to slide closer and spoon in tight. Once there, he would slowly kiss her awake, listening to her throaty little sounds of pleasure as he roused her passions to a shattering peak.
But he’d told himself he would give her a few days to adjust to their changed circumstances. She might not like him very much at the moment, but she was still his wife. He was hoping that if he gave her a bit of space, she would come to terms with that fact and try to make their marriage work despite all her talk of separation.
And if she didn’t?
Well, he would deal with that later. Who knows, maybe he would be relieved by an amicable split a few months from now. In the past, he’d always tired of his lovers, no matter how beautiful or adept in bed they might be. So why should Grace be any different?
She won’t,
he realized with an odd sense of sadness.
It’s simply a matter of time until this hunger for her fades.
But until it did, he wanted her. And he meant to have her again. All he needed to do was let time and desire weave its spell, and she would be back in his arms.
I seduced her once. I can seduce her again.
Only this time there would be no lies between them and nothing to hide, no need for pretense or artifice of any kind. When they made love again, they would come together out of naked desire—and find pure, sizzling ecstasy along the way.
Until then, however, he was in for some very long, very frustrating nights.
Releasing her long strand of hair, he gazed at her recumbent form for a few moments more. Jaw clenched and groin aching in abject misery, he turned his back on her and closed his eyes.
J
ack was gone when she awakened the next morning.
Apparently he’d been telling the truth when he’d said that all he’d wanted to do was sleep and nothing else. Honestly, she should be grateful for his lack of interest, and for the fact that he’d obviously had no difficulty forgoing the exercise of his husbandly rights with his new bride on their wedding night.
Not that she would have let him exercise those rights, but still, he might have tried a little harder.
Knowing that he hadn’t, merely demonstrated that she’d been right about his calculating motivations. Nevertheless, the knowledge came as cold comfort. It was one thing to suspect he cared for nothing but her money. It was quite another to know for sure. With her chest tight, she tossed back the covers and rang for her maid.
An hour later, she descended the stairs dressed in a warm cerise kerseymere day dress that ought to have clashed with her hair but amazingly enough did not. The gown had been a suggestion of her new mother-in-law, who had an eye for such daring fashion choices.
With a newspaper folded open beside his nearly empty plate, Jack glanced up from his seat at the dining table when she entered the room. “Good morning,” he said in an even tone.
Unable to bring herself to return the greeting verbally, she gave a brief nod, then moved to the sideboard, where a pair of silver chafing dishes were arranged.
While she helped herself to a slice of toast and a single, coddled egg, Jack returned to reading his paper. He looked up again when she took a seat at the far end of the table.
“Is that all you’re having?” he asked, his blue eyes looking critically at her selection.
Taking up her fork, she thrust the tines into her egg with a defiant stab, letting the warm, orange yolk run over the bread. “It is. Yes.”
He stared for another moment, then turned a page of his paper.
A maid entered the room with a fresh pot of tea. After pouring a cup for Grace and refreshing Jack’s, the girl left the pot on the table, then departed once more.
Silence descended.
Jack sipped his tea and read his paper, while she applied herself to her breakfast.
“Is there anything you’d like to do today?” he inquired after she ate the last bite.
With him, does he mean?
A little frown creased the skin between her brows. “No.”
He met her gaze for a few seconds. “Fine. I’ll be in the library, then. Reading.” Draining the last of the tea from his cup, he stood and walked from the room.
Her shoulders sank the instant he was gone, misery sweeping through her like a cold wind. And cold was certainly right, she decided. The atmosphere between them was as frosty as the January day outside. How would she ever bear living with him like this for the next four weeks?
With halfhearted enthusiasm, she went upstairs to retrieve a few sheets of sketch paper, then quickly returned back downstairs again. Inside the parlor, she took a seat in front of the window and attempted a pencil rendering of the winter-shrouded grounds and attractive outbuildings. The results were so dismal, however, that she ended up tossing them all into the fireplace, where the flames turned the evidence to ash.
Returning to the bedroom, she tried next to take a nap but managed no more than a fitful, unsatisfying doze. Ringing for her maid, she bathed, then dressed in another of the new gowns from her trousseau—a watered peach satin that made a sibilant whispering sound as she moved.
Since they were keeping country hours, dinner was served early. Taking a seat across from Jack in the dining room, they ate in near silence, neither of them making more than a few attempts at conversation. Once the meal was over, he withdrew again to the library.
Then it was time for bed.
Her maid helped her into her nightgown and robe before withdrawing for the evening. Briefly, Grace considered taking a blanket and pillow and going downstairs to sleep on the sofa. But knowing Jack, he would probably just make her return upstairs as soon as he realized she was missing.
Still, something inside her rebelled at the notion of climbing meekly into bed while she waited for him to join her—even if all he wanted to do was sleep! Taking a book to keep herself entertained, she padded across to the large armchair positioned near the fireplace and settled inside.
She roused a long while later to the sensation of his arms coming around her, the fire burned so low the room was cast in heavy, nearly black shadows.
“Hush,” he murmured in his deep, divine voice. “I’m just going to carry you over to the bed.”
“…sleep here in the chair,” she mumbled.
“Sleep in this chair and you’ll wake up with a sore neck.”
Too tired to protest further, she let him gather her into his strong arms. Moments later, cool sheets and downy soft feathers enveloped her as she sank onto the mattress. Covers were pulled up around her, his big hands tucking her in tight so that warmth spread through her body with a toasty bliss.
She was floating on the edge of sleep when his fingers brushed her cheek and combed the hair away from her face. She sighed in contentment, vaguely aware as his lips pressed lightly against her own. And then she knew nothing else.
Again, he was gone when she awakened, early morning light creeping gently beneath the curtains. If not for the rumpled bedclothes and the imprint of his head on his pillow, she wouldn’t have thought he’d slept next to her at all.
She questioned her assumption again when she descended for breakfast and found him as quiet and reserved as he’d been the day before. And yet she knew she’d fallen asleep in the armchair, so it couldn’t have been a dream. Could it? Touching her fingers to her lips, she wondered which parts were real and which ones were not.
The day continued much as the one before, with Jack disappearing into the library for hours, while she occupied herself alone—first embroidering and then reading. They met for dinner, their conversation confined to casual small talk and observations about the meal.
Then bedtime arrived once more.
Stubbornly, she sought out the armchair again, where she sat reading until her fingers grew limp on the pages and her eyelids too heavy to remain open. She dreamed of him carrying her to bed and kissing her as he settled her between the sheets.
But exactly as before, he was gone come morning.
And so it went for the next three days, each one slower and more tedious than the last.
Pouring himself a brandy, Jack paced inside the night-darkened library and wondered how much more waiting he could take.
After nearly a week, he’d hoped Grace would relent and show signs of wanting to end the stalemate between them. To his increasing frustration, however, she appeared completely content with the situation, apparently happy as she engaged in the solitary activities with which she occupied herself each day.
As for himself, he’d read a lot of books, but not nearly as many as she must think. Instead, he spent most of each afternoon in the library, sleeping—often exhausted after spending a restless night lying next to her in bed, his body aroused to the point of near pain.
He supposed he was a fool not to simply take her as he wished. But even knowing he was capable of rousing her natural passions to the fore, he didn’t want her accusing him of taking advantage of her when her defenses were down. No, he’d promised to give her time. It’s just that he wasn’t sure how much more time he could grant her.
Tossing back in a single gulp the brandy he’d poured, he set down the glass and strode out of the library. Opening the bedroom door across the hall, he slipped into the darkened room on silent feet. As he had every night before, he expected to find Grace curled up in the armchair in front of the fire. But for once the chair was empty and she was asleep in their bed.
His stomach tightened in surprise, even as his shaft stiffened with approval. Walking close, he stopped and gazed down at her.
How lovely she was, her fair skin flushed from sleep, her fiery hair tousled around her head. She slept deeply on her side, her lips relaxed and slightly open, as though she was waiting to be kissed.
And perhaps she is,
he mused.
With his throat already bare from having removed his cravat earlier, he reached for his shirt and pulled it off over his head. Slipping out of his shoes and trousers, he left them where they fell, then crawled between the sheets.
Sliding near, he wrapped his arms around Grace so that he was settled behind her, his knees tucked in close to hers. Letting his hand rest where it seemed most natural, he cupped one full, luscious breast in his palm. His eyes closed in acute pleasure.
He sucked in a harsh breath as she shifted against him in her slumber, her bottom rubbing briefly against his throbbing shaft. Good thing he’d left on his drawers, or else he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from opening her thighs and thrusting into her right then and there.
Instead he kept a tight leash on his needs, willing himself to do nothing more than hold her for the present. He would let her decide what came next. If she awakened, he would make love to her. If she didn’t, he would let her sleep.
For now.
Grace came slowly awake, cradled in a blissful cocoon of warmth and relaxation. Sighing contentedly, she snuggled closer to the wondrous source of heat, pressing her face more fully into the pillow beneath her cheek. Strangely enough, though, the goose feathers didn’t dip but remained smooth and firm in a way that wasn’t pillowlike at all.
Her nose twitched as something soft tickled it. Reaching up, she rubbed the itch, then settled back. As she did, she became aware of two things at once—that the solid warmth beneath her thigh was shaped a great deal like a leg, and that her pillow was breathing.
Her sleepiness fell away, her eyes opening to find a shadowy, dawn light just beginning to filter into the room. She leaned upright—or at least she tried to lean upright—but found herself unable to move more than a single inch due to the long, muscular, male arm draped across her shoulders.
Tipping back her head, she encountered Jack’s heavy-lidded, blue-eyed gaze.
Shock radiated through her in an electrical tingle as she realized that he was awake and watching her. Even worse was the fact that the two of them were literally entwined, her breasts and stomach pressed against his side, while one of her legs rode his thigh, her calf trapped beneath his own hair-roughened one. As for her nightgown, the material had ridden up so that the hem barely covered her naked bottom.
Somehow, without her awareness, she’d obviously sought him out during the night, curling around him like a vine while she’d slumbered. Mortified, she tried to pull away. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…that is, I didn’t mean to…to…”
“Sleep on me?” he drawled, his words slow and husky.
Opening her mouth, she tried to speak, but nothing came out. She nodded instead.
“Don’t worry.” He smiled. “You make a very nice blanket.”
Shifting again, she waited for him to release her.
Instead, he kept his arm looped over her shoulders. “Go back to sleep. It’s barely dawn.”
Sleep?
There was no possible way she could sleep now, even if it was too early to begin the day. “I…I’m not tired.”
“Are you not?” His palm settled on the back of her bare thigh and stroked in an easy circle. “I’m not either.”
Her pulse pounded in a heavy rhythm. “You should let me go.”
“Should I?” His hand moved higher, fingers gliding just under the edge of her nightgown. “Are you sure?”
For a long moment she couldn’t answer, a lassitude stealing through her that made it hard to remember exactly why it was wrong for her to lie here with him like this. “Y-yes.”
“You don’t sound terribly sure. Maybe you need to reconsider.”
Spearing the fingers of his other hand into her hair, he held her steady as he used gentle pressure to lower her head and claim her mouth. With a finesse that made her shiver, he parted her lips and eased his tongue inside. Hot, wet, and silky, he led her into a realm of dark temptation, as he ravished her mouth with a lazy thoroughness that sent her thoughts spinning out of control. Enthralled, she could do nothing but hold on, helpless against the stunning bliss of his touch. Then his palm slid higher to caress her naked bottom.
On a breathless gasp, she tore herself away. “Stop.”
“Stop what?” His words were slurred with passion.
“This. Now l-let me go.”
“Why?”
She stared at him for a long moment. “You know why.”
“Actually, I don’t,” he said in a reflective tone. “Since I know you used to enjoy”—he gave her buttocks a very light squeeze and smiled—“
this.
”
“That was before,” she admonished, pressing her palms against his chest in an effort to break away.
Stronger by far, he kept her easily anchored in place. “Ah, yes.
Before.
Then again, given the fact that we are married now, it seems to me we’re free to do anything we like in this bed.”
“Anything
you
like, you mean,” she retorted. “I told you not to touch me, and I haven’t changed my mind. You got what you wanted the day we wed. I refuse to be your plaything again simply because you’ve decided you’re randy and I’m convenient.”
“Convenient! Is that what you are?” He let out a hollow laugh. “It seems to me you’ve been deuced
inconvenient
, madam. I’d have gotten as much satisfaction from squeezing a stone as I’ve had from you this past week.”
Her mouth thinned. “I don’t know why you’re complaining. It’s not as if you really want me. Any female would do.”
He arched a brow. “Is that right? Then I guess I’ve been denying myself for nothing. By your measure, I should have ridden into the village and availed myself of one of the local girls by now. I’m sure there must be one or two willing to service me. Maybe I ought to go now and see if I can find a milkmaid who wouldn’t mind providing an extra bit of cream with her morning chores.”