Well, there was nothing for it. He was going to insist on her behaving like a lewd woman. She bent forward, fully aware that he would stare at her bottom and nether lips in all their exposed glory. From the approving sound he made, he enjoyed this. She bent forward—twice—to remove her stockings and hand them back to him. When she finished, he made her turn around.
“Let’s see if you can undress me with equal sensuality and grace. Go slowly. Start by unbuttoning my waistcoat.”
Bother. There were two dozen or more buttons, exquisite and small. She fumbled with them, wondering how one unbuttoned one’s waistcoat with sensuality. But then she finished and, with a little of his help, pushed it back off his shoulders. She got the first inkling that undressing a man could indeed be a sensual task. Why, the singular breadth of his chest, and the appealing muscularity of his upper arms...
“I like your expression, Aurelia,” he said quietly. “As if you like what you see. Do you like it?”
She didn’t want to answer. She was embarrassed to answer, but she said, “Yes, my lord.”
“My neckcloth now.” His voice had grown huskier still.
She reached to remove the pearl pin at its center. “Where shall I put this?” she asked.
He regarded her through half-closed lids. “Between your lips.”
He watched as she put the pin in her mouth, pursing her lips around it. His voice, his expression made it seem that she did something erotic. She applied herself to the folds of his cravat for the sake of distraction, but she could feel his gaze on her. Her fingers brushed of necessity against the strong column of his neck, shaded with a hint of stubble. His jaw moved. Tensed. It looked very...masculine.
She hurriedly untied the rest of the knot and drew the linen from his collar. She set to the buttons of his shirt, nearly overwhelmed by the pure, appealing scent of him. When she reached the last button she realized she must untuck his shirt from his breeches to get it off him. He grinned at her.
“You must undo my breeches too, Aurelia.”
Her lips tightened around the pin in her mouth. She bent down to pluck at the buttons of his breeches, unable to avoid the obvious evidence of his arousal pressing against the fabric. She stopped when the waistline was loose enough to untuck his shirt, and tried to push the linen garment up over his head. It became a close type of exertion, because he was so tall, and his arms so long. At last he was obliged to help her do it, whipping it up so she fell against his front.
How solid he was. She knew that, had felt the evidence of it over and above her in their marital bed, but now her hands rested on his chest, and she could see every muscle composing his torso, as well as the rough, curling hair that neatened at his waist into a line that disappeared down to...there.
He stood back and she could see his man’s part bobbing, fully hard, from his opened breeches. He took the pin from her lips and attached it to the collar of his shirt, laying both aside.
“My valet will attend to that later. Kneel down now and remove my boots,” he said.
If he had not used that firm, commanding voice she wasn’t sure she could have done it. Kneeling before him put her in quite close proximity to his outrageously formed sex organs. She bowed her head and pulled at his boots, which were the very devil to get off. When she’d finally accomplished it with his help, she tried to rise.
“No. My breeches.”
With a faint sigh, she tugged them down. There was very little sensuality in her technique, she feared. She tried to slow down. As she drew them lower she contrived to caress her palms against his muscled thighs. That was sensual, wasn’t it? She believed so, because his heavy male member seemed to jerk in response. He stepped out of the breeches. She pushed down his stockings, her face on fire. She thought it must be as scarlet red as her still-warm bottom. That finished, she tried again to stand up.
Again, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Stay where you are.”
She went still, staring up at him. At
it
. It was impossible to ignore his maleness, thrust as it was before her face. What was he going to do to her down here? It was so very hard to hold his gaze.
“Do you see how you’ve aroused me?” he asked in a strained voice. “By merely removing my clothes?”
She wanted to ask how she could very well
not
see, but it seemed pert to do so. Oh, what did he want? This was all so very strange.
“Look at it,” he said. “You’ll become intimately familiar with my manhood in the coming days and weeks. Touch me.”
“T-touch you,” she stammered. “How?”
“Sensually, of course. Stroke me. Explore how it feels.”
How it felt? She knew how it felt from having it inside her body, thrusting and probing and stretching her open. But she obeyed him, reaching out gingerly to stroke his rigid flesh. She ran a fingertip from the base to the oddly shaped, purpling crown.
“What do you think of it?” His voice sounded ever more taut.
She regarded its angry red and purple color, and marveled at the veins throbbing just beneath the surface. “It looks as if it hurts.”
“It doesn’t hurt. Well, only in the most delightful way. Would you like to kiss it?”
She would
not
like to. She looked up at him with pleading eyes but she knew he wasn’t really asking.
“Kiss it,” he said in a firmer voice. “Kiss my cock.”
She had never heard it called a
cock
before. She had never imagined something so depraved as putting her lips on the swollen, grotesque thing. But if she said no, he would only force her to do it in some painful and ignoble way. If this was what ladies of the night did for gentlemen, kissed their hard, thick organs, then she supposed it wouldn’t kill her to do it. But she would not pretend to like it.
She inched forward and pressed her mouth to the tip. A warm, salty drop of liquid escaped, and she hurriedly swiped it from her lips.
For some reason, he found this funny. He chuckled and patted her on the head. “That’s another thing that happens when you arouse me. It’s not dangerous to ingest it. You needn’t react as if it’s poison.”
“May I stand up now?” she asked. She feared she might soon lose her composure.
“No. Not yet.” He reached down and rearranged himself. His cock, as he called it. She knew so little of the male anatomy, but there was more to see, more pieces and parts hanging down. She hoped he didn’t want her to kiss those too. “Kiss it once more, all around the head. The top part.”
His voice sounded curiously shaky. Could this be affecting him as much as all that? He gripped his shaft at the base and thrust it out toward her. She grimaced and did as he had asked, kissing around the ridge at the top of his length. He sighed in a raspy sort of way. She felt his fingers trembling—
trembling
—against the top of her head. They opened and closed in her loose hair.
“Enough,” he said. “That is...enough for one day. You did very well.”
His voice sounded quite rough now, but his features were pleased. She stared up at him from the floor with some relief. This whole encounter had been terribly awkward and uncomfortable.
And it was only the first day of her training.
“Lie back on the bed,” he commanded. “Quickly. You did your job too well and now I’ve got to be inside you.”
She had aroused him with these things she’d done, as awkward as they seemed. He felt great excitement and pleasure, that was obvious, and it made her rather proud. It made her feel...powerful.
As soon as she climbed on the bed, he turned her onto her back and pinned her arms above her head. Their gazes locked from inches away as he eased inside her with a groan. She didn’t know why he wanted her to do something so bizarre as kiss his cock, but it had made him very, very pleased. His lips sought hers, dealing a kiss as warm as any he’d given her since he’d taken her as his wife.
“I can barely hold back,” he said, thrusting hard and deep inside her. “Will you be able to come, my love?”
“Come where?” she asked.
He made a strangled sort of sound and kissed her again. “I’ll teach you how to do it, I promise. Just...not...today.” He growled low in his throat and shuddered against her, driving so deep he lifted her hips from the bed.
When his muscles uncoiled, when his body relaxed from its heightened tenor, she stared up at him. “Was that coming? What you just did?”
“Yes.” He sighed, catching his breath. “You have done it before too. You remember?”
She nodded. How could she forget the encounter with her body pressed into a corner, her skirts held up about her waist?
He eased off her, onto his side. He traced her lips with a fingertip, such a soft hint of a caress. “You will again, I promise. There is so much to teach you, Aurelia. But I don’t think I can bear any more of your innocence tonight.”
“Was I that bad?” He had hurt her feelings with that comment.
But then he shook his head and said, “No, my love. Oh, my innocent darling. You were that good.”
Aurelia sat close to the window, looking down upon the U-shaped front courtyard and the glittering white marble fountain which added such grandeur to her husband’s home. She held a letter in her hand, written on fine paper, sealed and franked by the Lansing ducal crest.
Dearest daughter
, it read.
Your father and I have been thinking of you often in the blessing of your new marriage. We hope the marquess is proving a kind and attentive husband. The house seems empty with both our children gone, although we look forward to the arrival of Severin’s child at the holidays. Perhaps a Lockridge heir is not long off. How delightful to imagine it, my daughter. You have always been such a dutiful child, and in this too I am certain you shall make everyone proud.
Aurelia bit her lip. Her mother believed a woman’s first purpose, her only purpose really, was to provide her husband with heirs. It had been so difficult for the duchess when she only managed to provide the Duke of Lansing one son and one daughter. Aurelia was certainly doing her duty. If she didn’t produce a child soon enough to suit her mother, it wouldn’t be through her fault. She traced the outer edge of the letter, thinking she might already be with child. She wasn’t sure if the prospect pleased her or not.
Remember that marriage is based on mutual respect and great amounts of patience
, the letter continued.
Lust is an abomination, and passion is a fleeting, flighty thing, but respect can persevere forever and bring great dignity to both partners. I pray you will respect the marquess, dearest Aurelia, and that you will both find peace in honoring one another.
With great fondness,
Mama
Peace, thought Aurelia with a sniff. He gave her about as much peace as a stallion gave a mare in heat. She wondered what her mother would say if she wrote back such a thing to her.
I am not certain of honor, Mama. Is it honorable for a husband to spank his wife each day for his own perversion? Can one cling to dignity while being made to do unnatural and lustful things?
One could not, she was afraid, and she didn’t need her mother to tell her so. Aurelia set away the tea tray the maid had brought up, and curled into the corner of the window seat in a little ball. Thoughts of her husband crowded her brain, as they always did when she was idle. She ought to read, or sew, or meet with the steward and housekeeper to learn more about her husband’s manor, but instead she sat and puzzled over the dark, mysterious man she had married.
Was he cruel? Or kind? Did he respect her?
Did she respect him?
She pressed her forehead against the glass, her thoughts in a tangle, and then she saw Lord Townsend outside in the front courtyard, strong and broad shouldered upon his black horse. He reined the creature sideways as he spoke to another man, the head groundskeeper, she believed, although it was difficult to tell from a distance.
She watched him point here and there, and wished she could hear what he was saying. He took great pride in Somerton, that was sure, and the servants all seemed to revere their master. The neighbors had great regard for Lord Townsend too. Since they’d come to Berkshire, several of the local gentry had been by to call and pay their respects to her, the new marchioness. They’d spoken with admiration of her husband’s generosity, his fairness to his tenants, and his support of the less fortunate in the village. Apparently, one of Aurelia’s maids had a very sick mother whom Lord Townsend saw to “in all his kindness.” The girl had confided this to Aurelia with a tremor of adoration in her voice.
And so Aurelia didn’t know what to believe, except that she was the only one who realized what a perverse miscreant Lord Townsend was, and the only one made to suffer his vile whims.
Vile, Aurelia?
In truth, she did not find them entirely so. Sometimes she even feared she was committing the abomination of lust. Was it abominable to look out the window and study the arresting figure of her husband, his strong thighs gripping and guiding his horse, his muscled arms rippling in the close-fitting confines of his tailored coat? Was it abominable to recognize, and appreciate, his obvious virility and the power hinted at therein?
Now he leaned closer to the groundskeeper to show him some sort of rectangular parcel. He must have gone shopping in town. He told her she might go shopping if she wished, but she wanted for nothing, and when she went among people she was forced to smile and pretend to be happily married, which was not such an easy thing.
Lord Townsend swung down from his horse, parcel and all, and handed the reins to a stable boy before striding toward the house. The groundskeeper went off to do whatever his master had ordered. Of course, it had been so in her own home as a child. The Duke of Lansing’s word was law at Lansing Grange, just as Townsend’s word was law here. It ought to comfort her to know her husband was a capable peer and not a helpless gadabout, as so many of them were. But she didn’t find it very comforting when his power and authority were exerted over her.