Chapter Fifteen

To Phoebe’s shock, Hugh lowered her to the ground almost violently. Then he grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the main house in the far distance. She wasn’t sure what she had hoped for with her sensual taunting, but it wasn’t this. Swallowing down the knot of uncertainty in her belly, she instead directed her thoughts on the excitement that still thrummed in her veins.

No words were spoken as they walked for several long, pulse-pounding minutes, hand in hand to the main house. Anticipation enlivened her blood, and her heart was like the roar of the ocean in her ears. The butler opened the door before they could even knock, and Phoebe fought to keep the blush from her cheeks when Hugh swung her into his arms once they crossed the threshold.

With a squeak of mortification, she buried her face in his throat, quite aware of the butler’s astonished stare before he snapped his head forward and away from them. This drew a giggle from her, and it reassured her greatly when his lips touched her forehead in the barest, softest hint of a caress.

He climbed the stairs effortlessly with her clasped against his chest, and he did not lower her to the ground until he had entered their room. Their bedsheets were turned down, a lamp had been lit, and a fire roared in the hearth, shaving away the chill of the night.

He did not lift his fingers to speak to her, and nervousness had knotted her tongue. Hugh took her hands and led her closer to the fire but stopped them in the center of the palatial room. He brushed the wild tangles of her hair from her face, pushing strands behind her ears. Then he untied her coat, went behind her, and eased it from her shoulders.

Phoebe’s heart gave a patter in warning.

He dropped her coat to the carpet, and Phoebe stared at him wordlessly when he came back around, lowered to his knees, and removed her boots. Shock jerked through her as she realized he was undressing her. Her gaze jumped to the bed and then to the top of his head. “Hugh…I…”

He glanced up, and her words strangled at the intensity in his gaze. Show me, she had urged wickedly, and now the moment was upon her, a fine trembling cascaded through her body.

“I have been waiting for this…for you,” she breathed.

His eyes darkened, and his fingers lifted from her shin. “Every day I have hungered for you, Phoebe. Every day it was a torture not to take you.”

The tension thickened, and her heart jerked so fiercely, she felt weak. He resumed his duties and removed her boots fully. His fingers coasted up her shin to the garters holding up her stockings. He rolled them off, one by one.

He stood and shrugged from his jacket then his waistcoat. With a sense of shock, Phoebe realized he would remove all his clothes here…right now.

She curled her toes into the carpet. “I…I have never seen a naked man before,” she blurted.

His gaze sharpened and glittered with fierce triumph, and the fingers untying his neckcloth paused briefly. How silly it all sounded considering she had birthed a child. Now she wished she had told him the details of how she had lost her virtue. But she had been too grateful he hadn’t demanded a great explanation. But what if he now had expectations of her experience as a lover? Phoebe felt woefully unprepared for this level of intimacy and boldness.

She cast her mind to the past and recalled that before she had even dared to kiss George that night, she had consumed at least five glasses of sherry, and everything had been hazy and warm. Though she did not think she needed the liquid courage to be warm, for she was already burning with a frightful heat.

“Have you…have you done this before?”

A crooked half smile curved his lips, and he nodded once.

The neckcloth dropped to the floor, and his shirt was dragged from his trousers, the buttons undone. How fiercely her heart shook, and a sweet, mystifying ache trembled low in her belly when he pushed the shirt from his body.

Oh! The body he was revealing was lithe and beautifully muscled, showing not an ounce of fat. His hands went to his trousers, and she couldn’t bear to look anymore. She heard when they fell to the floor, imagined she heard when he removed his stockings from his feet. Phoebe could feel his stare on her face and fighting the blush, she faced him. He was…splendidly formed, corded with smooth muscle, full of power and elegance. Tight buttocks flowed into lean, strong legs.

She colored fiercely as she glanced at his manhood. He jutted proudly, and to her mind he seemed significantly larger than all the wicked paintings and sculptures she had seen. He padded over to her, and his male beauty stole her breath. Her heart pounded, and her hands trembled as she reached out and touched him, trailing her fingertips over his chest.

He was so beautiful.

The stark lines of his face were heightened by desire. Hugh cupped her cheek and took her mouth with his. Phoebe clutched at his arms and tipped slightly onto her toes. His kiss offered no mercy, but she didn’t want that tender consideration, responding to the ravishing force of his kiss with artless wonder.

It was over too soon, and a soft sigh of need escaped from her. In complete silence, he removed her chemise and stays, stockings, and drawers. Phoebe stood naked before her husband, the curtain of her hair covering her breasts and shoulders. A wave of shyness engulfed her, but she lifted her chin and returned his stare. He seemed awe-struck, and the awareness of it filled her with a sense of wonder. His regard was slow and pointedly bold as he perused her body. Desire lit the beautiful depths of his eyes as they moved over her face and then down the length of her.

“You are stunning, my wife.”

The warm admiration in his eyes as they stroked over her was pleasing.

She closed the distance between them by taking two small tentative steps toward him. His thumb brushed her cheek tenderly before he signed. “Are you scared?”

Unexpected yearning rose to choke her like thick smoke. “I want you too much to be afraid,” she whispered.

His mouth was hot and sweet as it ghosted over her lips, down to the hollow of her throat. Soft, fiery kisses drifted over her shoulders. The mass of hair was lifted from her nape, and kisses littered across to her shoulders. Hugh shifted the heaviness of her hair to her front where the long, thick tresses cascaded over her body to cover her breasts and most of her belly. Acutely conscious of the nakedness of her back, Phoebe trembled. The powerful heat behind her was at once arousing and intimidating. She could feel the press of his manhood against her backside, eliciting a most tender ache between her thighs. That reaction surprised and captivated her in equal measure.

He kissed her neck, and she jolted when his hands came around her from behind and cupped her breasts. The touch of his fingertips on her nipples was a delicious sensation. Gently he shaped her breasts into his arm, while he nuzzled the side of her neck. A low moan broke from her throat. Suddenly Phoebe could no longer be certain of who she was and what her reaction would be to her husband. She felt taken over…altered in a way she had yet to understand.

He coasted his hands down her body, spread his hands over her stomach, beginning a slow descent to the secret heart of her. Phoebe gasped and trembled in his embrace. Once he was there, he simply rested his hands above her mons. There was a wicked ripple of response between her thighs from such a simple action. Her heart pounded, and she swallowed tightly.

The anticipation made her squirm, and she moved her hands that had been passively resting at her sides, lifted them above her head, and twined them around his neck, inadvertently thrusting her breasts out more. He twisted her body, and she gasped when he dipped his head and took her hardened nipple into his mouth. Phoebe’s entire body surged under the flash of heat.

“Hugh!”

He lavished the same attention on her other breast, the sensations wreaking havoc with her sensibilities and sense of control. Her chest lifted on shuddering gasps. He delved through the soft hair between her thighs, until he found her slit, pressing firmly over her most tender flesh, stroking. She turned her face into his throat, gasping as sensations built.

He swept her, weightless, into his arms and made his way over to the large bed. She was deposited into the center, and his frame blanketed hers. He used his tongue to trace the fullness of her mouth before taking her lips in another ravishing kiss. His mouth moved down her neck, her breasts, and his hands seemed to be everywhere, sliding and molding and shaping and stroking to a fever pitch of arousal.

Then he was there again, rubbing along the soft folds of her sex. He nudged her legs open wider with his and settled into the welcoming cradle of her thighs. She lifted her leg and rubbed it along his shin.

“I ache, Hugh,” she gasped. “I hunger, but I do not know what I need.”

Two of his fingers slid deep inside her body, and she gasped at the full feeling. Phoebe gripped his shoulders and clasped him to her. The awareness he could not say to her how he felt…only intensified the painful sense of unfulfilled ache, the desperate need to hold him to her, to take him into her body. She wanted to crawl into his skin. The shock of how much she wanted him scared her. It felt too consuming.

His fingers disappeared, and a hard, blunt pressure was pressed against her soft opening. She felt the heady sensation of his lips against the soft hollow of her throat, the bite of his fingers at her hips as he anchored her for his penetration. His hips flexed, and then he drove his length to the hilt inside her welcoming body.

A cry of shock tore from Phoebe, and she froze, gripping his shoulders so tightly, she would leave impressions on his skin. The pressure stretching her felt too much. She tried to recall if her first time had felt anything like this, but the scent, feel, and taste of her husband had obliterated that last vestige of memories. All she would feel, smell, was him.

“Hugh?” she asked tremulously, shifting slightly then gasping at the tight painful stretch.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, then her nose, and then her eyelids. His touch meant to soothe, but her anxiety climbed.

“I do not think you should move,” she whispered.

Another kiss on the bridge of her nose. One that said, “Trust me.” Something warm and tender shifted inside her chest. Then he kissed her. At first, he was slow and tormenting, then his mouth on hers was hard and fierce and urgent. Soon she forgot about the discomfort of his presence inside of her and thrust her fingers through his hair. He reached between them, and his fingers brushed against her nub of pleasure.

She gasped into his kiss, arching to him, shocked to feel his manhood sliding even deeper. He found that nub once more and rubbed it again and again. Phoebe sobbed into his mouth, and she shivered at the astonishing pleasure that tightened low in her stomach. He swiveled his hips, and she screamed wordlessly at the heat that slammed into her belly.

Acting on instincts, she lifted her legs to hitch them on his hips. That bend in her knees allowed her husband to snap his hips in a deep rhythm. Phoebe felt blissfully shattered as a sweet, hot tension mounted low inside of her.

And yet…he still rubbed that aching nub.

Ripples of pleasure began to build. Somehow if felt as if they lost control. He stroked into her over and over, and Phoebe held onto him, her cries of delight ripping unfettered from her. The sweetest feeling of bliss whipped through Phoebe, her thoughts scattered, and she was unable to shape them into any semblance of clarity. Phoebe could only feel.

Moving his hand from between their bodies, Hugh hoisted her legs about his hips, slid his hands beneath her buttocks, lifting her to every thrust. She ripped her mouth from his and buried her face in the crook of his neck, clasping onto his shoulders as he devastated her sense with agonizing pleasure. The firestorm of sensations that peaked in the low of her stomach made her tremble, until she shattered on a loud, exhausted wail.

He hugged her to him as he shuddered, reaching his own pleasure. Phoebe breathed harshly, trying to recapture her breath, aware of the sweat on their bodies. Framing her face with one of his hands, he took possession of her mouth in a tender, lingering kiss.

He withdrew from her, and she bit her lip at that tender ache. Hugh slipped from the bed and lowered the curtains of silk around the bedframe, protecting her naked form from the servants he summoned to deliver a bath.

She had no notion how long passed, but she muttered sleepily when the bed dipped, and he slipped his hands beneath her body and lifted her against his chest. The next Phoebe knew was the feel of hot, rose-scented water enveloping her body. He had submerged into the large tub with her and held her in his arms as the water soothed all the tender places in her body. A kiss was pressed to her forehead, and with a sigh of contentment, she drifted off to slumber.

…

Hugh had created a scandal within his own household. He had been locked away with his wife for three days, only ringing for baths and trays with food. The only time they had left was to visit the nursery for a few hours each day to spend time with Franny. The wet-nurse blushed fiercely whenever she saw them, and that testified to the wagging tongues of the servants below stairs.

Their master and mistress were beyond lascivious in their manners. A satisfied smile curved his lips, even as hunger flooded every part of his body.

I’ll never get enough of you. The notion should have sent a surge of alarm through him. To crave another’s smile, kisses, and being linked together by their bodies with such intensity should surely be alarming. Yet Hugh did not shy away from these feelings but did what he had been doing these last several weeks. Mentally and very gently grasping the feelings and hoarding them away in his heart. He liked the sensations of wonder and awe whenever he looked upon the loveliness of his wife.

His Phoebe stood beside the dressing table, her hair rippling down her back in glorious waves after it had just been brushed with dozens of strokes. With a casual shrug, the peignoir fell from her shoulders onto the carpet. Her exquisite shape was silhouetted in the firelight. Her hips flared wide and buttocks were lush and rounded, the tiny tuck of her waist was impressive considering she had a babe, and the high thrust of her breasts urged him to feast.

They had made love so many times, he had lost count. Nay, not just make love. He had loved her gently, and other times he had ravished her, tupping her hard and rough, treating her as a wanton mistress and as a precious wife, and his Phoebe had met him with a fiery passion that had almost killed him. The memories of the many ways he had taken her crowded his thoughts and sent his heart into a wild tempo. After that first time he had taken her, Hugh had been careful to spend his seed outside of her body. He did not want her to fall with child so soon after childbirth. At least five years or more, before he would even think about an heir or more children.

But they hadn’t just basked in sensual delights, for hours they had talked, on many subjects, from the whimsical beauty of nature, Shakespearean tragedies, to the plight of the orphans she admired her brother for saving. They spoke of the young gentleman she had thought she loved, and the recklessness which had pushed her to drink with him and then kiss him, and if it was right that he did not know of Franny’s existence.

She reached for the nightgown, and he lifted a hand, halting her. “I want you naked, wife.”

Her cheeks turned bright red, but she did not look away from him. Hugh stood from the sofa where he’d reclined and poured two glasses of Brandy.

“Will you watch the lowering of the sun with me?” he signed before he collected the glasses and walked over to her.

She grasped the glass and took a sip. “Is that all we are to do? Watch the sunset?”

There was a hint of mischief in her tone, and Hugh flushed. He had been insatiable, and she could read his intention from his command for her to remain naked.

“We might do some kissing.”

She gave him a smile of such breathtaking sweetness, he wondered for the first time in his life if the warmth and hunger suffusing throughout his entire body were the sensations of tumbling into the madness that was love. She padded over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, her hips a swaying temptation. Hugh prowled over to her, lowered himself to his knees, leaned forward, and kissed the base of her spine. Then he bit the soft, rounded cheek of her buttocks. Her moan of need was music to his ears, and he lavished his attention on her next cheek and even down to the back of her thighs.

“Hugh!”

He listened to her breathless cries as he kissed her body slowly, stroking her desire to a pitch. Finally, when he stood, she was shaking ever so slightly. Hugh reached around her so she could see his fingers as he signed. “Do not move, my wife.”

He took the glass of brandy from her and rested it on the mantle then made his way back to her. Phoebe placed her hands against the coolness of the glass and arched her neck when he nipped at the hollow of her throat.

He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her neck. Hugh coasted his hands over her side, loving the feel of her curves and silky-smooth skin. He wasted no time, going for exactly what he wanted to feel, the petal softness of her quim. A hoarse gasp echoed from her when he slid two fingers deep inside of her.

And God she was wet, delightfully so. Using his feet, he nudged hers apart wider, and with a gasp she braced against the windows, her back arching in instinctive want. The beautiful arch of her back encouraged him to kiss along her skin, so he did, then he gripped his cock and tucked it at her heat then sank deep and slow, the hottest of pleasure spearing his cock. Hugh tightened his grip of her hips, wishing he had the voice to pepper her with praises.

Groans and whimpers tore from her at his slow invasion, but he pressed forward knowing she was wet enough to take his thick girth. The tight, incredible fit of her had sweat beading on his brows and every muscle in his body tense. Once he was seated to the hilt in her clenching tightness, he dipped low and kissed along her shoulder blades, soft brushes meant to soothe.

She dropped her hands from the window, curled her hands behind his neck, the move thrusting her breasts further out in a perfect arch, tilting her face to his and turning her head slightly to nuzzle into his throat. Hugh withdrew and thrust back into her wet heat with piercing depth and slow tenderness. Her cry of delight wrapped itself around his heart.

She nipped at his chin and to his shock rolled her hips, in a move of such breathtaking sensuality he almost released then and there. The eyes that peeked up at him held laughter, a dare, and such lust, her eyes glittered. Arousal burned through him, fierce and all-consuming, but he kept his thrusts slow and deep. Her soft sighs and shivers had lust coiling in his gut. She nipped at his chin again, and he dipped so she could have his mouth, and not once did he stop his slow, torturous thrusting. Her mouth moved under his with raw carnality, her tongue stroking his in ravenous delight, her hips arching and rolling, teasing him, tempting him to lose control.

Their lips parted, and she nipped his lower lip slightly and breathed huskily, “I want more.”

That soft plea ripped away the measure of control he was trying to keep, and with a shudder, he tightened his grip on her hips and ravaged her with deep, piercing strokes. A wild cry came from his wife and traveled straight to his balls, tightening them, making him more insatiable in his rough demands. Hugh took her freely and with all the passion burning in his heart for her. She shattered in his arms, bathing his cock in her release. His fingers dug into the lush curve of her hips as he chased the pleasure and peace he found being with her.

His wife chuckled, the sound one of awe and contentment. And with a sigh, her body melted into his. In that instant, he felt utterly at peace. After ensuring they were cleaned, he retrieved their drinks and placed her glass back in her hand. They sipped their brandies, and admirably she did not cough and splutter as she had done yesterday when he had lain in the couch with his head on her lap while she read.

He held her in his arms as her body shivered, coming down from the devastating pleasure.

“Do not move,” he signed, quickly going to the bed and tugging off the thick, voluminous coverlet. Hugh went back to the windows and drew her to him so that her back was flushed to his body and the top of her head bumping his chin. He wrapped them both in the thick coverlet, cocooning them in the warmth as they watched the sun disappear through the large windows of his chamber.

He recalled to mind what had prompted them to be here, hidden away from the world, as he buried his grief and all unexpected emotions in her welcoming body.

Hugh turned her to face him, and he smiled at how small and adorable she looked bundled inside the coverlet.

He lifted his hands. “Thank you for not letting me go.”

Her eyes softened. “I am sorry that you had to lose him, Hugh. The old earl was a wonderful man.”

“I expected it.”

“That does not lessen the pain of it,” she murmured, brushing a kiss across his knuckle.

He took a deep, steady breath. “There was a time I wondered at the identity of my real father. There were many rumors. He could have been an Italian count…so I visited Italy for several months. Then he could have been an ambassador from China.”

“So you visited Italy and China.”

“Yes. Even Egypt. It was a bit silly. I searched without even understanding what I searched for. For a long moment, I felt an odd sort of guilt, a feeling I had never endured before. That I somehow dishonoured the old earl by trying to find the man who had the affair with my mother, and I am the consequence.”

She cupped his cheek, and he turned his face and kissed the middle of her palm.

“There is nothing to feel guilty about. Nothing. I should never know a moment’s peace if I had such a hunger. It is only human, my love.”

Her eyes flared wide, and he could see the wild flutter of her pulse at her throat.

My love.

They stared at each other, and he wondered at the painful throb that went through his entire body. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then turned her back around so they could watch the stars.

My love.

Am I really your love? he was tempted to ask, but he remained still, for he was not sure what he would do if she said yes. They watched the skies, which held a few streaking stars for a long time. His wife did not shatter the beauty with speech but lifted her hands and signed, “I feel safe…cherished.”

A wave of tenderness swept through him. And you make me feel I can slay the world. Yet he did not sign the words brewing within. Instead, he merely closed his hands around her waist and held her to him. His heart trembled perilously with an emotion never felt. Hugh turned it around on its head and tried to examine it, and with a sense of shock he realized it was happiness. A feeling he vaguely remembered having as a child as he ran in the apple orchard, his mother laughing and chasing after him. And when she caught him…the kisses she would rain upon him had been a treasure unto themselves. Instead of closing his eyes against the memories and shutting out the images of her, he let them flow through him.

He lifted his fingers and she looked at them.

“I feel happy.”

Then he lowered his hands and wrapped them around her waist. In the reflection of the windows, he observed the wide, beautiful smile that curved his wife’s lips.