Regency High Society Vol 6: The Enigmatic Rake / The Lord And The Mystery Lady / The Wagering Widow / An Unconventional Widow

He slid out of his heavy robe and joined her, to do nothing more than put an arm around her and pull her close until her head rested against his shoulder, her body against his side. She did so, willingly enough, turning into him, allowing her hand to rest against the hard expanse of his chest. Of course she was not innocent of intimate relationships between man and woman. Not ignorant of the physical act or the pleasure to be experienced in a marriage bed. Yet Joshua Faringdon was aware of a distinct unease. His lips curled in a gentle self-mockery in the anonymity of the darkness because, for once in his life, he was uncertain how to proceed with this reserved but compliant woman whom he had made his wife. He let the problem drift and unravel in his mind as Sarah softened against him, her hair curling against his skin, the lingering perfume filling his senses.

They did not know each other well. That was the problem. They had not come together out of love or even lust, but from the binding of a legal document. But why should he feel this sense of disquiet? It was her fragility of spirit, he decided, her willingness to take herself to task when she believed her actions to be wanting, her inability to believe that he should need to possess her, to desire her for herself. So he must persuade her of her desirability, that she was capable of giving him pleasure, just as she was deserving of accepting it from him. So he would give her gentleness. Kindness. A soft awakening to what he could bring her.

So this was the task he set himself when he turned to her at last, angled his body so that he might look down at her. His kisses were whisper soft, his touch light and undemanding as he began his progress over the contours of her face with his lips. The delicate line of forehead and jaw, the softness of temple and the little hollow beneath her ear. The flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat. And he explored her lips. There had been few kisses between them in their brief association. Now he had the time to claim and explore, his tongue brushing along the edge of her lips, increasing the pressure of his mouth just a little so that hers would part to allow him to seek and enjoy. She sighed, complied, her breath fragrant against his face.

‘Tell me if I do anything that you do not like, that you do not wish for,’ he murmured against the delectable curve of her throat where the pulse had begun to beat more strongly. He did not think he had ever said that to any woman, presuming that he could seduce through skill and finesse. But Sarah was different. ‘You have to accept nothing at my hands that does not bring you pleasure.’

‘I like your kisses,’ she whispered against his chest. ‘They make me feel warm. As if I had drunk two glasses of champagne.’

‘Good.’ A soft laugh against her hair at her artless admission.

So with this tacit permission, his deft fingers unfastened the ribbons to push the cream confection from her shoulders, absorbing as he did so, his hands brushing over her skin, the fact that she was warm beneath his touch and not as unrelaxed as he had feared. So far so good. Then with hands and lips he set himself to discover more fully this woman whom he had so wilfully taken as his wife, to lure her unquiet mind into tranquil pathways, allowing her to enjoy all that he could bring to her. Delighted by the feminine curves beneath his fingers, he was enticed to touch and caress, following the delicate swell and hollow of breast and waist and thigh, from soft skin to softer yet. Until she shivered against him, and turned in his arms to offer what he might wish to take.

Of course she knew what would be required of her. He wanted her, was hard and ready for her. What man would not respond so strongly with so deliciously feminine a partner? He pulled her close, holding her firmly so that she might know the strength of his hunger.

He lifted himself above her, yet careful to take his weight on his forearms to hold back from crushing her. Her response was immediate as her thighs parted quite naturally to hold him, to allow him access. It was no difficulty at all for him to enter her, slowly, pushing gently as she opened for him. Keeping a firm hold on the instinctive desire to drive on and possess her, to fill her completely, even though there was no pain of virginity to overcome. Although Sarah stiffened at first, the smallest resistance to his invasion in so intimate a fashion, she sighed and arched a little against him, lifting her hips in the timeless feminine response. A gesture of acceptance and invitation that he was quick to recognise, and she lifted her arms to close around him, to hold him fast. A supremely innocent gesture that effectively destroyed all his self-control. So he thrust deep. Again and again, conscious of the slick heat of her, her body more than willing to receive him, even if her mind remained aloof and watchful. When his urge to complete the matter could not be withstood, she moved with him, arching her hips against him, all soft compliance and acceptance. Until he climaxed, chest heaving, muscles taut with strain.

A perfectly satisfactory completion of their new relationship.

And yet… And yet what? As he held himself still, deep within the impossibly soft heat of her, he knew that Sarah had not come to her own fulfilment. Suspected that she had never been close, hedged round by reserve and restraint, afraid to abandon her self-control, which, in her eyes, would make her vulnerable to him. So he felt a wave of disappointment coat his own satisfaction. She had not been unwilling—indeed, she had been wonderfully soft and pliant—but neither had she shown any true enjoyment, giving him no intimation of whether she had experienced any pleasure in their intimacy or not. She had not told him that she didn’t, but neither had he gained any sense of her complete involvement in the act. He had taken her body, but she had been a passive onlooker, willing but uncommitted, with no indication of her own thoughts or feelings But then, as he turned his face against her throat to breathe in her perfume, he was left to wonder if Sarah ever would.

Withdrawing from her, he moved to lie beside her and pulled her close beside him again.

‘Well?’ he murmured the word against her hair when she still made no sign, no comment. What the hell should he say to a woman who was so quiescent?

Sarah promptly stiffened in his arms, as if to be asked her opinion of so momentous an event would frighten her to death.

Joshua sighed. Could his pride and his masculinity take it, he thought, on a touch of humour? ‘Was it too bad?’ he asked, the humour clear in his voice, hoping to lull her into a warm response.

Sarah did not notice, but answered the question rather than the intent. ‘Not at all.’ Her voice was tight and strained. As if he had asked her opinion of a visit to the theatre to watch a particularly bad play and she did not wish to hurt his feelings. ‘I enjoyed it. You were very kind. I hope you found me satisfactory.’ It was so bleak a statement it touched his heart. He could think of nothing to say that would make any sense. It had been a long day and it was clear that the lady was not receptive of reasoned thought, only strained emotions. With time, he hoped, it would improve between them. So he resorted to kissing her again, a long and lingering kiss, full of tenderness that would make no further demands on her. Had she not admitted that she enjoyed his kisses?

‘You gave me great pleasure, lady. Can you sleep now?’

‘Yes.’

He positioned her head more comfortably in the curve of his shoulder and kept his arms firmly around her. Why did he get the strongest feeling that she would escape if given the chance?

‘Joshua?’

‘Mmm?’

‘Will you stay with me?’ There was the faintest suggestion of surprise here as if she expected him to retire to his own room. Perhaps she did. Indeed, if she were honest, perhaps she wished it. Again he was conscious of a ripple of disillusion, but if she would not be completely honest, he would.

‘It is my intention. But only if you wish me to do so. If you wish for time alone, I will give you that seclusion.’

There was a silence. She was thinking about it and he had no idea what she would say.

‘Sarah?’

‘I would like you to stay with me.’

‘Then it will be my pleasure.’ The relief in his heart seemed to him totally out of keeping with her simply stated desire. He tucked the covers around her, around both of them. ‘Go to sleep, my dear girl. There is nothing to worry you now.’

But Sarah did not sleep. Without doubt she was weary, but her mind could not rest. It played over and over the events of the past hour. Causing her to flinch at her naïveté and lack of confidence. At her lack of suitable words to say to him, when he had been so tender, so considerate of her. What could she possibly say to him? That he had awakened emotions and sensations of which she had never been aware, wonderful sensations that drove a flush to her cheeks? She could not tell him that, could not admit to such lack of knowledge. So why had she not been able to give as freely as he had given her? She did not know the answer to that. And yet Joshua had made her feel cherished, wanted, desired. How skilled he had been. Just the thought of the power of his clever hands roused shivers along her flesh. All she could do was hope that he had been satisfied with her poor efforts. The dread spectre of the Countess of Wexford returned once more to the edge of her mind, to stand beside the bed with a disdainful lift to her perfect brows. She could never be like the Countess—confident, experienced, knowing—no matter how long she lived, no matter how tolerant her lord could continue to be. Sarah sighed against his chest. He had been honourable enough to pretend that she had been everything he had wanted. She must try harder to achieve that so that he would not turn from her in dissatisfaction.

Because if she had known before that she had loved him, it was now engraved in her heart, for all time, in letters of pure gold.

Lord Joshua held her, aware of her wakefulness, guessing at the swirling pattern of thoughts that refused to permit her mind to sink into sleep. But he said nothing, allowing her the pretence, conscious only of her softness against him. It seemed that for tonight he must be satisfied with her willingness to rest in his arms and was relieved when at last exhaustion claimed her and her breathing settled. She slid into sleep with a little sigh. It would not be an easy marriage, he realised. She was too tense, too nervous, too much embattled by fears and past influences. But they had made a start and it would improve. He smiled at the direction of his thoughts. He would like nothing better than that she could find it in her to come to him with joy and pleasure, with confidence, to find fulfilment in his arms.

The thought remained with him, one of hope, as he, too, drifted into unconsciousness.

Chapter Eight

Rather than a more conventional honeymoon, perhaps in the Italian Lakes or on the romantic shores of the Adriatic, Lord and Lady Joshua Faringdon took themselves, the children and their household to the attractive estate on the edge of Richmond. After the flurry of activity to prepare for the wedding, by the bride at least, the rural tranquillity was a blessing, and an opportunity for the new family to become better acquainted. And not merely the bride and groom. Sarah would have been particularly interested in a private conversation between Lord Joshua Faringdon and Master John Russell when she was not present. She might have blushed at her son’s blunt style, but she would not have been surprised and would certainly not have been displeased at the outcome.

‘Sir.’ Joshua looked up to see the boy standing just inside the open library door one morning, the opportunity still there for flight if his courage failed him. ‘Sir… Will you now be my father?’

Ah. He should have expected this—but perhaps not quite so soon. John, it seemed, was as expedient as his mother. Joshua held out his hand to encourage the child to approach. ‘No. Your father is Captain John Russell, for whom you are named.’ And waited.

‘Yes.’ John nodded. ‘He was a hero and died in a battle. Mama told me. He sailed a ship all by himself.’

‘He did.’

‘He was very brave, but he died.’ A thoughtful pause as John leaned against the polished desk, rubbing the edge with none-too-clean fingers. ‘Does Mama like you?’

‘I hope so.’ Joshua fought against the irresistible ripple of laughter that threatened his composure. ‘She likes me enough to live with me.’

Which was accepted with a nonchalant shrug. ‘Will we always live here, sir?’

‘Some of the time.’ A catechism, no less! Much like Lady Beatrice, he decided, so he was well practised in fielding questions. But where was this leading?

‘Where else? Shall I like it?’

‘In London, which you know. I have an estate in Yorkshire that I think you will like. And perhaps one day you will come with me to Paris.’

‘Can I ride a horse in Yorkshire?’ Paris as yet had no such attraction. ‘I used to in New York. I was very good!’

Considering his age, Joshua doubted it, but recognised the ambition and had no intention of shattering dreams. He kept his face solemn despite the gleam in his eyes. ‘Of course. And here too. We can ride in the Park.’

‘I like horses more than ships,’ the boy confided. ‘I was sick when we sailed here. Will Beth be my sister?’

The change of subject did not throw his lordship. ‘Yes. Does that worry you?’

‘No.’ John glanced at his lordship under fair brows, assessing. ‘She likes her own way.’

‘I expect she does. Women often do. They enjoy managing.’ Joshua leaned his arms on the desk, angled his head, still waiting.

John frowned, accepting but not quite understanding. ‘I can almost run as fast as she can.’ Then: ‘What do I call you?’