Chapter Twenty-Six

He had to leave.

That was all there was to it. James came to this realization two weeks later when he entered his office. Frantically, he locked the door, but he knew it was a futile barrier.

He roughly shoved his fingers through his hair. There was no choice for it, he had to leave. He had to finish his work. He had to get away from her.

He spent entirely too much time with his winsome wife, and it wasn’t because she turned those enormous doe eyes on him and begged. She certainly didn’t have to cry and ask him to stay. He did it because he wanted to. Dear Lord, how he wanted to.

He would awaken, hard and aching for his wife. Then, they would take breakfast together, usually feeding each other bits of food with their fingers, and when the situation called for it, other parts of their bodies. They usually needed a bath by that time and damn if he didn’t usually opt to bathe with her.

Then, they might stroll about the many chambers of his home, with Daphne asking questions or suggesting small changes that might lighten the atmosphere. She wanted his opinion, for sweet Christ’s sake, and damn if he didn’t give her one, each and every time, even if he had to make one up! Of course, there was the side benefit of finding a shadowy corridor where he could make love to her again.

And they talked. Lord how they would talk. He was coming to learn his wife very well. Too damned well! As if that weren’t bad enough, he was coming to feel things. Treacherous things. Things that he didn’t want to feel, damn it. He certainly didn’t want his heart beat to accelerate whenever he looked at her, which was constantly. Nor did he like the way his stomach knotted when she smiled. Sighed. Bloody hell, when she so much as blinked! He certainly didn’t like the possessive way he was getting to be around her. He found himself jealous of her paintbrush the one day he had managed to put some time into his work. Ah, to be caressed in that hand…

Growling in frustration, he paced the confines of the four walls. That was another problem. He’d always heard that a man’s sex drive lowered after he married. Why was it, then, that James had never wanted sex so much in his life? He was getting it so often he wondered that he hadn’t keeled over from the shock of it.

A woman wasn’t supposed to be addictive, but damn if he wasn’t addicted to Daphne. Every single time he saw her, he went rigid. The more he took her, violently, tenderly, slowly, hastily— it didn’t appear to matter how he did it— he only wanted her more. She was a constant craving beneath his skin.

He sent the door a scathing look. So, that door, bolted or not, would be no protection against the driving whirlwind that had invaded his sanctuary. Her name was Daphne, and she was an incessant force to drug him and drive him slowly madness. He doubted he should last ten minutes without going to check on her, which would lead to…

Sex. Just thinking about it made him hard. He shut his eyes. He had to leave. That’s all there was to it. He would leave, return to the townhouse in solitude. He would do his work. He might even go out and prove to himself that there were more attractive women out there than his wife. When he returned, James would be immune to her power over him and her tenacious grip over his weak mind.

He would leave. He thought of her sleepily sated body waiting upstairs.

Tomorrow, he decided weakly.

* * * *

Daphne smiled at her James as they strolled, hand-in-hand, upstairs. He had been the most attentive husband throughout the past week. It had been better than her most forbidden dreams. She had been wrong to worry that their marriage was doomed.

As he shut the door to her chamber, she slowly began to remove the pins from her hair. She shook it back, reveling in the feel of it unbound and free. She felt his hands cup her shoulders and turn her around.

“Daphne, there is something I needs tell you,” James said in such quiet tone.

Her hands came to rest on his hips. She steadily looked into his warm eyes. “What is wrong?”

His hands stroked up and down her arms. “Sweetheart, I have to return to London.”

“W-what?”

“I am sorry, sweetheart. It is a business matter. It can’t wait.”

Daphne blinked. They were leaving this big house? She shrugged. She would be glad to return to the more comfortable abode in town. Though she did prefer the countryside, the townhouse was much more suitable to her preferences.

“When do we leave?”

James let her go. She felt his withdrawal acutely. Even as her heart began to race, she forced the anxiety away. There was no law that said he had to touch her twenty four hours a day.

Although he usually did.

“We aren’t going anywhere, Daphne. I am going to London.”

Alone. Without her. I’m not invited.

Abruptly, she whirled away, striding to the doors that led onto her balcony. Tears flooded her eyes. Oh God, she was going to cry. This wasn’t happening.

She would not believe it, Daphne thought furiously. James would not just leave her here to wither away, not like all those other husbands had. He would never do such a horrible thing to her. Never!

She heard him exhale wearily. She knew what he would do next. It was what he always did when she was upset. Sure enough, a moment later, he was behind her, rubbing the tension out of her shoulders.

“I wish I didn’t have to go, Daphne. If I could put it off, I would. Surely you understand…”

Daphne inhaled sharply. She would not cry. She would not humiliate herself so completely.

“You said yourself your father was often busy…”

“Yes, I understand, James. Forgive me, but I do not understand why I may not accompany you.”

He winced at the cold civility of her tone. It was her shield. It was her only defense against hurt. Damn it; it hurt him that he was hurting her now.

“Daphne, you knew you would be ostracized when we married.”

“I was an outcast already,” she reminded him thickly.

“It will be worse now, Daphne. I go for business alone. You would be bored, sweetheart. There is so much here for you to learn. Plus…”

She turned around to face him. “Yes, James?”

He cleared his throat. It was damned difficult to lie to her.

“There isn’t time to take the hack. I have to ride.”

“I am a sturdy horsewoman.”

“The last time you rode so far and fast, you paid the price,” he patiently reminded her.

“That was just because—” she broke off as her cheeks filled with color.

“It was a factor,” he conceded, “but not the only reason.”

“I see.”

She stormed to the armoire and pretended to hunt for a nightrail. Preferably a prudish one. Ugly and unattractive and-

“Daphne, I have many duties.”

“I know.” She swallowed heavily. “Believe me; I know you do.”

He sighed in relief.

“How long will you be gone?”

Damn.

“I don’t know.”

A fortnight? A month? A year?

She turned around and stared into his eyes. “How long, James?”

“Possibly a fortnight,” he mumbled. “Damn it, Daphne, I don’t know.”

A fortnight wasn’t so bad, she thought. It would seem like a long time, but truly, she stayed with Lady Sinclair that long, so surely she could survive two weeks alone here.

She let out a sigh of relief. Maybe he was just going there for unavoidable business. She could only hope that her worst fears were not coming true.

“I am very tired tonight.”

“I see.” And he did see, all too well. She was struggling not to show him how disappointed she truly was. It touched his heart. It hardened his resolve to leave at first light. “Aren’t you going to get ready for bed?”

Daphne shrugged.

James gave in to the desperation that rung in his blood. He pulled her into his arms, needing to soothe. He slid his fingers through her hair, marveling at the velvety feel for what had to be the thousandth time. Would he ever tire of touching her this way?

Groaning, he lowered his mouth to hers. One last night, he thought, to rid himself of this madness. Growling, he ravaged her mouth with an intensity that had her crying out in alarm. He bit down hard on her lower lip, licking the abrasion, demanding a response from her.

His blood rang in his ears, a deafening roar. His hands streaked up and down her silk-clad body, yanking her against him, rubbing himself against her even as he demanded a response from her. The need was an intoxication. He lost all semblance of control as he touched and tasted. He could have wept with joy as the feel of her against him. He plundered and took, more and more until he heard her terrified cry, a muffled whimper against his tongue.

He pulled back at once, aghast at what he was doing, only to realize what he had done. Her gown and shift lay in tatters at her teeth. He had not realized he had done it. It was a terrifying thought. Worrying that he had hurt her, he examined her delicate skin, searching for abrasions.

“James, what has gotten in to you?” Daphne asked worriedly.

He slid his hands up over her breasts. “I want to take my wife to bed,” he choked.

“Jam-mph.”

His mouth returned to hers, devouring her as he backed her towards the bed. When her knees hit the edge of the mattress, they both fell in a tangle of legs. He rolled to his side so he would not crush her and let his hands roam freely. She slowly began to soften beneath his gentle touch, even as he kissed her.

And kissed her.

“I never tire of your taste,” he hummed as he moved his lips down her throat.

Daphne wanted to tell him she never tired of his taste. Or scent. Or touch. But he robbed her of breath as his fingers slipped inside her demandingly. She whimpered; she wasn’t ready yet, but he seemed to realize that at once, and retreated. His hand cupped her, gently rubbing the heel of his hand back and forth until she began to feel those delicious spirals of pleasure ripple across her belly. She sighed exultantly as his mouth found her breasts.

“Mmm.” James loved her breasts. Truly stupendous breasts. Soft as silk, fragrant as a flower garden. High and taut and always eager for his attention. He nibbled, decadent little love bites that had her whimpering, laving until she sighed, biting hard until she cried out in a dark mingle of pained pleasure, suckling her deep and hard until she clawed at him.

His fingers thrust deep inside her, finding her hot and wet and ready. Growling, he rose over her and found her mouth once more. He kissed her savagely and led her hand right where he wanted it.

“Touch me,” he demanded.

As he deepened the kiss, she struggled to unbutton his trousers. She fumbled several times, at last managing to open the gap. He sprung free, swollen and more than ready. Whimpering as he sucked on her lower lip, she fondled him lovingly.

“Harder,” he ordered harshly.

Her heart thudding, she did as he asked, squeezing, stroking, until she felt the blood pumping through the thin, mellifluous skin. He moved his hips gradually, reveling in her touch. He shifted his attention to her swollen, tender breasts.

Daphne shifted lifting her head so she could lave at his throat. That was all it took for him to completely loose control.

Roaring something incomprehensible, James grasped her thighs and pushed them up high, so high they nearly eclipsed her shoulders. Frightened by this newest position, she reached out to clutch at his shirt. He buried himself inside her in one, brutal thrust.

“Oh, God,” he cried.

Daphne tightened around him, frightened yet exultant. She had never faced such a turbulent coupling before, yet somehow it was freeing, wonderful, forbidden. Without warning, he began to thrust into her, hard, deep, fast. She felt his strokes deep, deeper than ever before, and it evoked an even deeper response from her. She felt her first orgasm wash over her within the first few strokes, powerful and all encompassing.

Terrified, she reached out to find something to cling…but there was nothing. She felt as though she was on the edge of a precipice and the ground beneath her was failing. She was falling… Mindless, her head thrashed back and forth.

“James,” she pleaded, repeating his name over and over again.

James roared his pleasure. He was frenzied, completely out of control. The smells of sex filled the air, raw and pungent. The sounds of their shouts and their skin slapping together comprised a wild symphony.

“Oh, Daphne,” James groaned.

She wept with a terrifying mixture of relief and regret when he pulled out of her. He wasn’t done, though, not by far. He ran his tongue over her breasts. He bit one nipple, punishing her for making him such a beast. His tongue slid down to the sodden pool between her legs.

“No!”

Not like this, she thought as his tongue thrust deep inside her. Daphne wept as his hands held her hips in a bruising vice. She couldn’t move at all, couldn’t pull away or arch forward. She was helpless and open to his riotous tongue.

“Yes, yes, yes!” he growled into her, sending delicious little vibrations tingling through her. “Until you’re as crazed as I am, Daph. Until you can’t breathe for wanting me.”

She screamed as he thrust his tongue again, deeper than before. Moist, throbbing, sensitive, it was intolerable rapture he forced on her, again and again until his tongue slid up her dripping slit to encircle the throbbing nub of flesh. She screamed anew as he suckled her into his mouth, grazing teeth over her, licking and teasing and rubbing her with his tongue until she was mindless with pleasure.

One hand lowered, fingers thrusting deep, as he continued. She was sensitive and aching now, weeping and begging him to stop. It was too much, she could not take it, but he was deaf to her objections. His fingers gyrated her as his mouth tortured her into an orgasm that threatened to push her into oblivion.

“That’s it,” James breathed, relieved as she clamped around his fingers.

He slowed his caresses, tapering them off as she recovered, slowing the movement of his fingers to a lingering stroke. Just when she thought the storm was over, he shocked her, closing his lips around the nub once more with more intensity than before. She began to boil at once.

Daphne screamed his name as she went blind. He was endless, stopping only when he sensed she was near completion again, tapering off until she gained enough control and then beginning again. She sobbed and begged, she called him names that would ordinarily have caused her blush. She begged him to do things to her that no gently bred wife would ever ask of her husband.

She was close to it now. They both knew it. Her control was lost. She could not hold on much longer. Abandoning the abused nub of flesh, he licked his way down once more and, for good measure, thrust his tongue deep just to taste her fresh passion.

Groaning, almost destroyed by his own need to take, he rolled her onto her belly and pushed her to her knees. Without warning, he entered her from behind, sliding deep in a merciless pace that demanded a response.

Daphne gave it to him. She screamed out her pleasure for all to hear. Her round bottom came flying at him on each downward stroke. Even that wasn’t enough for her. She reached her hands behind her, grappling for his hips to urge him to take her deeper, harder, faster. No matter how frenzied his thrusting became, it was not enough for her. Weeping, frustrated, she curled her fingers around the hairy, taut sac between his legs. She stroked it with her forefinger, maddening circles that pushed him beyond any façade of control.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he rolled onto his side, holding her still as he thrust rapidly, incessantly. Unwilling to lose himself without her, he slipped his fingers between her legs and stroked her into a raging climax. Tears streamed out of his eyes and Daphne could only weep with him as the pleasure came to an intolerable peak for them both.

“Oh, God, God!” James roared. He buried his face in her neck, bit deep and hard. “Give me a baby. Daphne. Give me a son tonight.”

It was too much for her. Daphne gave herself to the climax, wrapping her fingers around his wrists as she exploded against him. Vibrated as wave after endless wave splashed over her, dragging her under, drowning her in a black euphoria that went on and on.

James was right behind her. He sobbed against her shoulder, uncontrolled, agonizing, as he exploded. His own climax was fierce, ripping into him with sheathed claws that left him quaking, trembling and vulnerable into her.

Weak, replete, even that raging storm was not enough to silence the beast within. The madness claimed him still. James was helpless to the need that drove him. With a hand that trembled almost violently, he rolled to prone figure of his very exhausted wife onto her back.

All he could do was kiss her.