Well,” Thaddeus said as he released his hand, “it is now enough time for us to meet the staff. They should be ready by now.”
His wife—his wife!—nodded, getting to her feet as he finished speaking.
He shouldn’t be irked by her negotiating less time for them to be together—after all, it was he who had suggested the bargain in the first place—but he was irked. If things had gone as he had hoped, as he had planned, he would be anticipating a marriage with a modest, beautiful lady who would be his accommodating partner for the rest of his life.
Instead, he was permanently wed to a fiercely striking and opinionated woman who appeared to be delighted to be rid of him.
After they’d fucked enough to bear a son.
“Your butler’s name?” she said, oblivious to where his thoughts had gone.
“Uh—yes. Fletchfield.” Relieved he could still recall his upper staff’s names. He hadn’t forgotten his list entirely.
“Fletchfield,” she repeated with an adorable look on her face.
Wait. Adorable? Who had he become, to think something so unlike him? He didn’t think anything or anyone was adorable.
Much less this woman who had literally been flung into his path, resulting in an unwanted marriage.
He shoved those thoughts aside as they walked out into the hallway, where the staff—his staff—was assembled.
“Your Grace. Your Grace,” Fletchfield said, nodding to each of them in turn.
He couldn’t help but glance at her, feeling the unaccustomed lift of his lips as he met her amused gaze, recalling what she’d said about their names.
“Thank you, Fletchfield,” she replied, to his surprise.
And then, even more surprising, was that she stepped away from him toward the line of servants arranged in descending order of importance in the hall.
“You are the housekeeper, I presume?” She smiled as she spoke, and Thaddeus felt a pang of jealousy. She hadn’t smiled with so much warmth toward him, had she? Her mouth had twisted in amusement, but she hadn’t actually smiled. Even when they’d kissed in the church, her face had been solemn. It had only been when she was laughing at the redundancy of their titles that she had laughed. And that had not been inspired by him, but by her own humor.
“Yes, Your Grace,” the housekeeper—goddamn it, what was her name—replied. “I am Mrs. Webb.”
Mrs. Webb, of course.
His wife—whom he still didn’t know how to address—continued down the line, taking a few moments with each one of the servants, addressing them in a quiet tone that was clearly used to put them at ease. At least as much at ease as a new duchess could put a staff.
He found himself reluctantly impressed with her thoughtfulness. Perhaps this marriage wouldn’t be the disaster he’d anticipated.
Besides which, even if it was, it would be only for a year. Or however long it took to birth a son. And he had to admit he did find her desirable; while her lush curves and vibrant looks didn’t seem quite duchess-like, she was striking. It would be a pleasure to find out firsthand what those curves felt like under his hand. What her skin tasted like.
He was already anticipating his wedding night. And not just for procreation purposes.
HOURS LATER, THADDEUS was pacing in his bedroom. He’d allowed Hodgkins to remove his wedding attire and garb him in nightshirt and dressing gown, but had dismissed the man when he’d started hovering. As though Thaddeus wouldn’t know what was expected of him.
He was to go to her room, engage in sexual relations with her, and then return to his own bedroom to sleep. The steps weren’t even long enough to require a list.
To be repeated until he had an heir to the title he’d reluctantly inherited. With the wife he’d reluctantly gotten.
When would he be able to make his own choices?
A ridiculous thought, given how many choices he could make should he choose—he was a duke, after all.
But one who wouldn’t neglect his responsibilities, his honor, and his duty.
In the meanwhile, he had pleasure to seek.
He allowed his mind to give in to the attraction he felt for his bride: her curves, her wit and humor, her sharp intellect. The way her skin gleamed under candlelight.
He didn’t doubt but that she would be responsive under his touch. And he would be the one to show her the delights of the bedroom, to slide his fingers along her skin and find out what touches would make her sigh in pleasure.
The images flooded his brain, making his cock begin to stiffen as his fingers tingled to touch her. Patience, Thaddeus, he cautioned himself. He didn’t want to disappoint her, especially not the first time.
Not his first time, though it had been a long time. But a first time for her.
He took a deep breath and flung his door open, stepping out into the hall and making his way to her.
HE KNOCKED ON her door, hesitating to open it until he heard her voice.
“Come in,” she replied. He stepped inside, taking in the flickering candles, the enormous bed with the covers pulled down, and her. Sitting in an armchair by the fire, her hair down, her feet bare, wrapped up in a dressing gown that seemed made for a lady twice her height.
Her eyes were enormous in her pale face. After everything she’d faced, was this the thing that cowed her?
He’d have to reassure her it wouldn’t be that bad. That he wouldn’t be that bad.
“Lavinia,” he said, coming to stand in front of the fire.
He saw her toes making gripping motions in the rug, as though they were digging in sand.
“I didn’t know if I should be in bed already, or to wait here. But being in bed seemed so awkward, and I’d be lying down, and I didn’t think I could sit still. I dismissed my lady’s maid, a lovely young girl named Nancy. She is Mrs. Webb’s niece, and has been working for the Raddlestons, the people at whose party we first met? Anyway, she knew I would need a lady’s maid and she knew Nancy would be more comfortable with another family member in the house.”
He wanted to chuckle at her chatter. Apparently when his bride was nervous, she talked. A lot. For the first time since meeting her, he felt as though he were comfortably in charge.
After all, he was the only one of the two who had actually done this before.
“Come,” he said, holding his hand out to her.
She took it, and he guided her to stand, the dressing gown falling to puddle at her feet.
She laughed as she saw him glance down. “This was all so sudden, so I had to borrow my cousin Caroline’s. She is a bit taller than I, as you can see.”
Her words were accompanied by a cheerful grin, and he exhaled in relief at the sign of her returning to her usual self.
Although he didn’t need a reminder that her usual self was already proven to irk him.
But she would be more comfortable, which would be more satisfactory for both of them.
“Let’s get into bed, and you can remove that tent that is masquerading as a dressing gown,” he replied, doing his best to give her a reassuring smile.
She nodded, walking ahead of him, the dressing gown pooling at her feet.
The bed was big enough for them and most of his upper servants, although he would hesitate to invite either Fletchfield or Mrs. Webb. It wouldn’t fall within their job responsibilities, to be sure.
She glanced back at him before hopping up onto the bed, sitting against the headboard, her knees up, her arms wrapped around them.
He walked to the other side, sitting up as well, stretching his arm out so it lay on her shoulders.
She jerked in surprise, then chuckled. “I suppose I will have to grow accustomed to that.”
He placed his fingers on her shoulder and began to stroke her skin.
Softer, even, than he’d imagined. He could feel her begin to relax under his touch.
“I know something about what is to happen,” she said, her voice sounding a bit higher than usual. “I just want to—”
“We will go slowly,” he promised, knowing the promise was as much to himself as to her. He didn’t have much previous experience with all this. Just enough to know he liked it, and that the women he’d done it with liked him to take his time.
“Thank you,” she replied in a soft voice, turning her face toward his.
It was a clear invitation for a kiss, and he complied, leaning over to press his mouth against hers. Soft there, too.
Instead of the perfunctory kiss they’d had at the church earlier that day, however, this kiss was longer. He lingered at her mouth, getting to know the feel of her before opening his mouth to taste her lips.
She made a noise of surprise, but then allowed his tongue to enter her mouth, placing her hands on his upper arms to steady herself.
And then she tentatively licked at his lips, and the intense wave of desire swept over him, making him turn her squarely toward him, his fingers going to the ties of her nightrail, undoing them quickly as he deepened the kiss.
She didn’t seem frightened at all now, thank goodness.
He tugged at the fabric of her nightrail in an unspoken wish, and she complied, taking her hands off him to reach toward the bottom of her garment and draw it up over her head.
He did the same, quickly removing his nightshirt, tossing it over his head onto the floor as he kept his gaze on hers.
She bit her lip as she regarded him, and he held his breath, hoping his body met with her approval.
He knew he was larger than the average man in height and width, but he also knew he was stronger, muscled through years of hard battle training and his own need to improve himself.
He swallowed as she made a low humming noise deep in her throat, one eyebrow raised over a warm look of satisfaction.
Thank God.
“You look every bit as I’d imagined,” she said in a low, husky voice.
He resisted the urge to preen. “So you’ve imagined me then?” he asked.
She gestured toward him. “You have to know that. Our spark, our attraction, no matter what we think of the other. That’s been present since we first met.” She raised her chin as she spoke, as if defying him to contradict her.
“It has.” He shifted closer to her, his erection hard and heavy on his leg. He saw how she glanced quickly toward it, then back to him, her eyes far wider than seconds before.
“Well,” she said, taking a deep breath, “let’s see about fulfilling the details of our agreement.”
THADDEUS ROLLED OFF her, entirely satiated, and entirely certain that he’d done his very best to satisfy her as well. She’d responded satisfactorily, emitting small noises of pleasure as he thrust inside, only making one small sound at the initial entry.
“I will return to my room shortly,” he said after a few moments.
She shifted onto her elbow to look at him. “You don’t need to—that is, you can stay here if you want.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience you more than necessary,” he replied. He’d never stayed the night with any bed partner, and even though she was his wife, it felt wrong to stay the night now, given what they’d agreed to.
“Thank you?” She sounded hesitant.
“I think it is best that we keep our interactions brief. Except for—” And he gestured between them, because how did you reference sexual intercourse, even if it was to your wife?
“Brief.” Why did it seem as though a smile tugged at her mouth?
“Well, then.” He got out of the bed, quickly donning his nightshirt and giving her an awkward bow. “Good night, Lavinia.”
“Good night, um, Thaddeus,” she said.
He gave her another nod, then turned to walk out the door, wishing he didn’t feel so discomfited, despite having just had sexual release.
Marriage was going to be far different than he had ever anticipated.
LAVINIA WAITED UNTIL the door had closed behind him, then she flung herself back on the bed, stretching her arms out to the side. “Brief!” she exclaimed, chuckling as she spoke.
She had not thought her first time would be so . . . brief. So mildly disappointing.
When she’d thought about what might happen between a man and a woman on their wedding night, she’d imagined extremes—extreme embarrassment, extreme passion, extreme pain, extreme satisfaction.
This had been none of that.
It was . . . fine. Like a tea that was moderately hot and not suitably sugared was fine. It was still tea, but it wasn’t anything worth remembering, or worth striving toward again.
This was what the poets waxed rhapsodic about? This general pushing into one’s body for a few minutes, then a gush of liquid and then that was it?
Entirely disappointing.
When they’d kissed, she’d felt the curling spark of desire within, licked into flame by his tongue. But the rest of it didn’t live up to that, and she felt as though she’d been cheated somehow. As though the poets and the sighing young ladies and the wistfully longing young men had lied to her.
She sighed, getting up to reach for her nightrail, which had fallen onto the carpet.
At least she had a pleasant room. The bed was huge, definitely large enough for her, him, and the company of their choice. She wasn’t sharing the room with anybody, and she could run around naked in it if she chose.
That was an idea.
What else could she do?
She giggled as she pondered. If they were to be together only until she’d successfully borne a child, and their striving toward that goal was to be this forgettable, she would need to figure out other things to engage her attention.
She sat up as she drew her nightrail over her head, hopping off the bed, now too engrossed in her own imaginings to sleep.
Paper? Was there paper and a pen here?
At least she would be able to find enough time to write her books, since he wouldn’t take as much time as she’d thought he might to fulfill their bargain.
There was a desk tucked into the corner, and she yanked open the top drawer, snatching a piece of paper out of it. No pen. Another drawer yielded a pen and ink, and she smiled in satisfaction, sitting down at the desk, gazing off into the distance in thought.
Things Lavinia Will Do to Pass the Time:
She sat back in her chair in satisfaction. She could, and would, have a full, busy, satisfactory life despite what it seemed her husband wanted.
Her husband. She was married to him, the Grim Behemoth, for the rest of her life.
And what she’d thought would be the saving grace of her marriage was something she would likely forget by tomorrow morning.
Oh well.
At least if she got a dog, he or she would probably sleep with her.
She shrugged, tucking the paper back into the top drawer and returning to her bed, her enormous bed, where she pulled the covers up to her chin and tried to settle herself to sleep.