Page 37

37

Franny

The brown leather ball echoed with a thwack as it bounced off the main wall of the Rutledge family tennis court. Franny ran to her left, feet flying, running so fast her frustrations could never catch her.

Rupert had finally kissed her— with passion —last night.

With a yell, she swung her racket, making contact with the ball and sending it soaring back to the wall. Oh, it felt good to yell. To rail.

And then he escorted her home, brought her to her rooms, pecked her on the lips, and disappeared.

She bent over, hands on her knees, struggling to draw in breath, and watched the ball jump from the main wall, to the roof of the penthouse, to the floor, and back to the main wall again. The thump of the ball ricocheting echoed around her. Ricocheting like the troubles in her mind. She didn’t understand. Why wouldn’t her husband bed her?

“May I join you?”

Her attention snapped in the voice’s direction, and there he stood, as if her troubled mind had conjured him. He leaned against the side penthouse wall, disorderly brown curls falling over his brow, springing every which way, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, forearms crossed in front of him. She swallowed. Thick. Sturdy. Muscular. Forearms. She squeezed her thighs together.

She was desperate for him.

Franny nodded in reply; her mouth too dry for words. It had been nearly a sennight since their talk in the tack room. Days full of pleasant conversations, tame interactions, reserved touches. Dull, dull, dull . And no visits to her chambers. Not once did he do more than kiss her. And Franny missed their fiery joinings, the frantic need that emanated from him during them. It fed her neglected heart, nourished it like fresh rain after a twenty-year drought.

“It seems I should become accustomed to the fact you will always be in breeches.” His chocolate-rich voice washed over her skin, and she shivered. She wanted to bathe in that voice.

“It’s not easy playing in a dress, as I’m sure you could imagine.”

His lips twitched. “I do not usually imagine wearing a dress, but, yes, I can see the value in breeches.”

Franny picked up the ball and tossed it in the air, shooting Rupert a smile. “All right, my lord, are you ready to be sorely beaten?” She supposed if she couldn’t bed him, at least she could beat him at tennis.

A wicked grin spread across his face. “Most definitely. Lady’s serve.”

Her skin prickled at his tone. At that grin. As though he knew something she didn’t. It wasn’t a look she’d ever seen cross his visage before. It was almost…a bit devilish.

He began undoing his cravat, exposing more delicious skin for her eyes to feast on. She groaned. Was he trying to torture her? So. Much. Skin. He tucked his cravat into the waistband of his breeches, picked up the racket resting against the wall next to him, and made his way to the other side of the net, twirling the racket in his hand.

Franny eyed the wide breadth of his back, muscles flexing as he stretched while he walked. This is how it had been between them the past few days. Happy, easy, an imitation. She didn’t understand what it meant—him being nice to her but not wanting to bed her. It lifted the hairs on her neck, allowing for unease to coast directly over her skin and settle there.

She bounced the ball and readied herself to serve. He was giving her a watered-down version of himself. Her gaze homed in on the receiving court where Rupert stood, bouncing back and forth on his toes. Thighs flexing. Her lungs faltered. She needed to figure out why he was holding back. And soon.

Franny threw the ball up, rose on her toes, and lobbed the ball to the service penthouse. It rolled along the roof and dropped into the court. Rupert back-peddled and, with a resounding thwack , sent the ball flying to her. She let it bounce off the wall behind her, hit the ground, and she volleyed, sending it flying towards the grille penthouse. It bounced straight up, and Rupert shuffled beneath it. And when it came down, he whipped it toward her. She spun as it flew past her—straight into the dedans gallery.

Bells jangled, signaling his victory. She stared wide-eyed at the still-rattling net. That was either a very lucky shot, or Rupert had been practicing. Because the last time they’d played, he would have never been capable of such a shot.

“Fifteen - Love.” Rupert’s deep baritone rang through the large chamber, snapping her back to the game.

Franny grabbed the ball, lined up to serve, and sent the ball sailing to the penthouse roof again. Perhaps she should get straight to the point. “Why haven’t you come to my bed?”

The ball bounced awkwardly, and Rupert stumbled. From her question or the bounce, she wasn’t sure. His racket met with only air, and the ball fell dead on the second bounce. Point for me! She grinned.

“Pardon?” He turned to her, eyes wide.

“Fifteen All. Why are you avoiding me, Rupert?”

“I’m not avoiding you. We have been spending much of our days together.”

She planted her hands on her hips and lifted her brows. “You purposely misunderstand. You haven’t once tried to bed me. Your kisses have been as enticing as tepid tea. It is like you refuse to create any kind of passion between us.” Like you don’t want to.

Her heart whimpered in her chest. She missed him. Wanted to be close to him again.

“That’s not true in the least. I am being respectful, honoring you as my wife should be honored.”

She snorted and bounced the ball twice before releasing it into the air. She sent the ball over to him, and it ricocheted off the service penthouse and the grille wall before dropping to the court. He backhanded it, sending it flying to the side penthouse. As it rolled off the roof, she ran to it, but the roll had softened the ball’s speed and when it hit the court, it bounced a mere foot in the air. She reached low for it and whooped when the impact of racket to ball radiated up her arm—and the ball promptly crashed into the net. Blast and damn .

“Thirty – Fifteen,” Rupert said cheerily. “We could just volley back and forth if you’d prefer. Since this appears to be too much for you.”

Fire pumped through her veins. He thought to instigate her? What was this madness when Rupert was the one taunting? “I was going easy on you…considering the last time we played and how thoroughly I destroyed you.” She smiled sweetly, though inside she was imagining wrapping her hands around his throat and throttling him. He thought to abstain from her and beat her at tennis? I think not, sirrah!

But he remained unfazed. “I may have made it my mission to ensure that didn’t ever happen again. Though I didn’t realize it would be so many years until we played again.”

Her racing heart stuttered. He hadn’t forgotten when she, a mere girl of twelve, had beaten his thirteen-year-old self. And he’d dedicated himself to practicing. Preparing for when they’d play again. Why did that turn her insides all melty?

She served again. Rupert struck the ball hard, his entire body behind his swing. Franny didn’t even have time to react. It whizzed by her, straight into the dedans gallery. Again.

“Oh, dear. I believe that is Forty – Fifteen. Game point.” His words were as sickly smug as the grin on his face.

She scowled at him. “Do not think to distract me with your newfound tennis skills, husband. I do not believe for a second you won’t bed me because you’re honoring me,” she ground out. “Vexing man.”

“Are you telling me you’re angry with me for treating you nicely?”

“Yes, I suppose I am. I don’t want you to be nice to me!” The adrenaline pumping through her veins was like oxygen to a fire, causing her frustration to burn dangerously hot.

“Beg pardon?” he said incredulously. “That is completely nonsensical.”

He was pulling on his hair. She wanted to pull on hers.

Instead, she walked to the net, stepped over it and strode up to him. And poked him in the chest with her finger. “It makes perfect sense, Rupert.” She stabbed him with her finger again. Urgh, why was he so gloriously hard!? “Before—the way you used to act when you finally let yourself out of whatever cage you hold yourself in—that is who I want. I had thought when we talked in the tack room…I had thought we had both made it clear we didn’t need to be anyone other than ourselves. I thought we were making progress.”

He scrubbed a hand down his face, pulling down at his mouth. “You don’t understand, Franny.”

She rested her hands on his firm, sweaty chest, reveling in how alive he felt, how solid. “Then explain it to me, Rupert.”

He tried to back away, but she followed him, sliding her hands up to grip his face. He stiffened beneath her touch, like clay baking under a hot sun. This is how he had been all week. She touched him, and he froze. Panicked. Like if he didn’t move, she’d let him go, disappear. But she wasn’t going to let him go.

“I don’t want some half-baked version of you, Rupert. I want you . Not this polite and courteous stranger who only appears to like me.”

She wanted it all with him. Friendship. Desire. Love .

“Franny, do you hear yourself? I have been absolutely barbaric toward you these past two weeks. I was either berating you like a pompous arse or tupping you like a brute. And yes, maybe you found pleasure, but I should be gentle with you. You do not want that man. I am being better for you.”

“No, you are most definitely not being better for me.” She slid her hands to the nape of his neck, interlocking her fingers. She gave him a gentle shake. “I am proud of you, Rupert. You are changing. Or not so much changing but finally allowing yourself to be you.” She pressed a soft kiss to his lips, to his cheeks. “But for some reason, you still will not allow yourself to fully be you…with me.”

“God, Franny, you act like it’s easy to change. I am trying .” He finally managed to extricate himself from her embrace and stepped back, chest expanding violently as though they had just played another tennis match.

“Try harder, Rupert. Stop holding back. Why do you hide part of yourself away?” Her voice was low. She fairly growled the words at him. And promptly leapt onto him and began peppering his face with kisses. She would simply kiss him until he gave in. Love him until he gave in.

“I have been this way for two decades!” He roared the words, but she drowned it out with her lips.

Her back collided with the wall, his towering form pressing her against the cool stone, his heaving chest colliding with hers. Her legs slid down his sides until her feet hit the floor. She ground her hips against his, his unmistakable erection prodding into her belly. Her blood thrummed, anticipation settling heavy between her thighs.

She was getting closer to breaking through. Breaking barriers. Together, they would tear the last of them down.

“It has been ingrained in me for over twenty years to behave a certain way, to believe certain things,” he said roughly. “That some things, some desires, are morally wrong.” His words came out pained, as though his desire for her was an affliction. “And you have shown me the error of my ways in so many things. But I promise you, this—the things I want to do to you? They are sinful.”

“You are safe with me, Rupert.” Couldn’t he see that? He could be whoever he wanted to be with her.

“But that’s the problem, Franny.” He bent closer to her, the side of his face skimming hers. “You break my composure. When you make me angry, I lose control. When you touch me, I lose control.” He ran his nose along her neck, inhaling deeply. “ You are not safe with me .”

Her breath stuttered at the soft threat laced in his words, the way they came out calm, almost adoring—obsessed. This. This was what had been missing.

His hand settled on her neck, his thumb coasting over her throat. He squeezed lightly, pressing her into the wall. Her pulse thundered through her, and her body trembled with all-consuming need for the glowering dark-eyed man holding her prisoner. His eyes were shut so tight they were nothing more than a jumble of wrinkles sitting under heavy brown brows.

Rupert’s breath shot out of him, shot over her, almost stinging with its strength. “I will not run away.”

Her heart melted into a bubbly mess. She reached up and caressed his face. Her poor, tortured husband. Tortured by his own hand. His own mind.

“Talk to me, Rupert, love.”

“I am just as bad as the Earl, Franny.” His voice broke and so did a part of her, at the pain thick and coarse in his voice. Realization settled over her like a mason setting stone on her shoulders. “I frighten you. I hurt you. I bruise you. Just as he did.”

It all made so much sense now—his running, his avoidance, his holding back.

“No, Rupert.” This was it, her only chance. She wished he would look at her, but she wouldn’t push him in this. She could not muck this up. She rubbed her thumb over his cheekbone, still discolored from the night at the tavern. “You are nothing like the Earl. You do not hurt me out of spite or anger or evil.”

She kissed softly over his closed eyelids, and a deep rumble vibrated in his throat. She smiled. Her beast. The one that hid underneath a perfectly starched exterior.

“I…the change in you when your composure breaks, the complete contradiction to how you compose yourself day to day. It is overwhelming in the best way, Rupert. It makes me feel as if you want to devour me.”

She paused, her vulnerability rising to the surface. “It makes me believe you might want me.”

His eyes flew open, stark black, sinister black, saturated with the headiest of sentiments.

“Do you want me, Rupert? Not because you had to marry me. Not because you are obligated and are polite and courteous.” She swallowed past her tightening throat. “Do you truly want me?” she whispered.

“More than anything.”

“Then have me. Have me any way you want me.” She squeezed his jaw lightly and let her hands fall away. “I want it, too.”

He grazed her jaw with the backs of his knuckles. His throat worked, and she could see the turmoil in the ticking muscles of his face. And then he nodded. “First, I want to make it clear that the most important part of my fantasy is your pleasure .”

His eyes sank closed. She waited. Allowed him time to work past his barriers.

“I want to…catch you,” he managed tightly. “I want you to fight me.” His words came out forced and covered in shame. He let out a shaky breath. “I crave”—he swallowed—“the struggle.” His eyes flew open, dark and penetrating. “Overpowering you. Knowing that you are at my mercy and that, even though you fight it, you cannot help but love every minute of it.” His nostrils flared, his breaths coming faster, and panic pulled the muscles of his face taut, like it was determined to turn him to stone.

She didn’t say it aloud, because she didn’t want her intruding here. But she thought Rupert’s fantasy… She thought it made quite a bit of sense based on how he was raised. He fantasized about control. About breaking free. No longer repressed. And he wanted to retaliate. Franny was happy to let him retaliate against her.

“Have I disgusted you?” he whispered.

She shook her head emphatically. “ No. ” She reached up and cradled his face. “I want to fight you. I want the battle. It is…God, it is exciting . Trying to stop you, yet knowing I can’t win.” She shivered. “That you will subdue me, have me, no matter how fervently I resist. I am powerless against your want of me.”

Her breath escalated, short and quick, and she rocked her hips into him, into the hard length of him. “I have never been wanted, Rupert.” She stared into his darkening gaze and said breathlessly, “I don’t have words for how thrilling the thought of being at your mercy is. I long for it.”

His lids lowered, his breath turning harsh as his chest expanded against hers. “Fuck, Franny. You are bloody perfect.”

A laugh burst from her. “Oh dear, I am perfect now, am I? I never thought I’d live to see the day when Pompous Perty declared me, Miss Hoyden, perfect.”

His mouth hooked up in a half-smile. “Yes, well, Pompous Perty also happens to be a tad pea-brained.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, Rupert, that is a great one! Pea-brained Perty!”

His body slumped against hers, and he shook his head at her. She was fairly certain she heard an exasperated Lord save me .

Despite the momentary distraction, she couldn’t ignore the hard ridge of him pressing into her. Enough talk. She finally had her husband tossing aside his barriers, and she wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. She coasted her thigh up to his hip and ground against him, pulling a low hum from deep in her throat.

He growled, and his entire body tensed. “What if I hurt you? How will I know if it’s too much?”

She rested her head against the cool stone wall. It was a fair point. She wasn’t sure how far her husband would take things. Nor what she could handle. “Well, I’ll simply tell you to stop.”

He worried his lip, and his features tightened. She recognized the tension; it was shame again.

“What is it, Rupert?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I-I want you to tell me to stop. To tell me no. But…”

Oh . She bounced lightly on her toes, wiggling their frames. “How fun! So, I can hurl any and all insults at you, fight you with every ounce of my wildness.” Her eyes narrowed slyly. She could not wait for this. “But you’ll still have me , your prize.” A thrill coursed through her, thrumming beneath her skin.

Rupert stared down at her, eyebrows lifted, a bewildered smile on his lips. “I feel as though I should have known, with our interactions growing up, you would be excited about this. Granted, I never thought you would be all right with losing.”

A coy smile curved her lips, and her voice dropped huskily. “Oh, but, Rupert. I don’t truly lose in this situation. I get to torment you just like then. But this time. Oh, the consequence is so, so much more delicious.”

His gaze heated, and her lips split into a grin.

“All right. I have an idea,” Franny said. “Perhaps…if it gets to be too much—for either of us—we could come up with another word we say that means stop. Immediately.”

He brushed a kiss over her lips and murmured, “I think that idea has merit.”

“How about colors? Red for stop. Everyone knows red means danger. And green for go. Obviously.”

He cocked his head. “Obviously?”

“Well, yes. Green like grass, which grows, and grow rhymes with go .”

He blinked at her. “That makes absolutely no sense. But I suppose now I won’t ever forget it.”

“And yellow!”

“Yellow…” His voice lilted up, and his head tilted even further, like a confused curly puppy.

“Well, perhaps I like something you’re doing, but you’re a little over-enthusiastic. So, I don’t want you to abruptly stop. Just pull back on the reins. That’s yellow. Like sunshine. A leisurely, slow stroll in the sunshine.”

“You seem rather taken with this idea.”

“I’m excited!”

He chuckled and stole a quick kiss. “You’re bloody adorable. All right, Franny. You have your color system. I like it.”

“Excellent.” She pulled him down for another kiss, sweeping her tongue into his mouth for a small taste. She pulled away and lowered her lashes. “Now you can do whatever you want to me, Rupert.”

His gaze hooded, brown irises molten. “If that is what you want.” His deep, rich words were barely above a breath.

She nodded, their lips brushing over each other.

“You have five seconds to run, Franny,” he murmured over her mouth.

Her core trembled.

“And be quick, because when I find you…” He brushed his nose against her neck, inhaling deeply. “I’m going to fuck you. Regardless of where you are.”

Her breath hitched.

“One.”

Truly? He’d shag her in the middle of the day, outdoors, where anyone could see?

“Two.”

They had been intimate on the dining room table. She skirted by him. Best be off then.

“Three.”

Franny broke out in a run.