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CHAPTER THREE

That night, Portia breathed shallowly through her mouth as she lay in her bed, dressed in the flimsy, lacy garment that was Aunt Winifred’s gift. It was intended as a wedding gift, but she’d been unable to resist the temptation of donning it early.

She hoped it would please Edward.

Her future husband.

She pulled the blankets up to her shoulders.

The sheets were cold. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

The uncomfortable sensations in her chest didn’t make sense.

She was to be married, an event she had been dreaming of since she was in the nursery.

Not only that, but her husband-to-be was both handsome and young.

Many of the girls in her debut season had married men older than their fathers.

Yet, still, sleep eluded her.

The crux of the problem was that she wasn’t certain Edward wanted to marry her, or if he felt he had no choice. That would almost be worse than being ruined, because she would be stuck with him for the rest of her life while knowing that he harbored resentment.

She flung the blankets aside and padded across the room.

A heavy cloak hung from a peg on the wall.

She shrugged it on, then ventured into the hallway.

Edward had to be in the house somewhere.

She would find him and learn the truth. If he admitted to feeling trapped, she would insist he call off the wedding.

She tiptoed down the hall until she found a door emitting a faint glow. Her breath formed clouds that drifted to the ceiling. She wrapped her cloak more firmly about herself and stopped in front of the door. She touched the wood, fingering a rose carved into its face.

There was a creak, then footfalls.

The door opened, revealing Edward, still wearing the black suit from that morning. She was practically nude beneath her robe in comparison.

He leaned forward and looked down the hallway in both directions. “What are you doing here, Portia?”

“I was waiting for you,” she said. Her teeth chattered. She squeezed her arms about herself. He could not turn her away. She was to be his wife.

His eyebrows shot to his hairline. “You were waiting.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Well, come in before you freeze.”

She shuffled past him and continued until she was as close to the fireplace as she dared. When she looked at him again, he was dispensing amber liquid from a dark bottle into a crystal glass.

“Do you actually want to marry me?” she asked, before her courage failed. “Or did…” she gulped, suddenly realizing what might have happened. “Did Winifred pressure you into it?”

He poured a second glass, then held it out. “I apologize for not making our arrangement clear sooner.”

She almost reached for it of politeness until she remembered how little she was wearing beneath her cloak. If he saw, he might assume she intended to seduce him.

Well, that had occurred to her, but now she wasn’t sure it was a good idea.

He placed the second glass down.

She sniffed back the mucus that filled her nose. “What ‘arrangement’?”

“I do not require you to, ah…” he tugged on his cravat. “I do not require an heir. You can sleep peacefully, knowing I will not accost you.”

His lack of interest shouldn’t have hurt. It wasn’t as if they’d had a proper courtship. That she longed for his embrace meant nothing. She was merely baggage he was forced to carry, a burden to bear.

A dull ache started in her forehead. A copper taste flooded her mouth. She sniffed and dipped her chin so he would not see the tears in her eyes. “Your sacrifice is admirable, but unnecessary. We will not be wed.”

“What do you mean?” He shuffled his feet. “Are you well?”

A red droplet plummeted from her nose and splattered on the carpet between her feet.

She chewed on her cheek, torn between two equally awful options. Either she let the blood drip freely and stain the carpet, or she staunched the flow and risked revealing her scandalous state of undress.

Then he decided for her by stepping forward so quickly that she reflexively jerked her head up and met his gaze.

His eyes widened. His jaw dropped open.

She spun around before his shock could transform into disgust and hastily shoved a handkerchief into her nostrils.

Hands clasped her shoulders. “You’re bleeding.”

She swallowed the blood that had filled her mouth, even though it made her stomach gurgle.

“A trifling affliction I’ve had since childhood.

It will cease shortly. Do not concern yourself.

” She clutched her robe shut. It was bad enough that he’d seen his future wife in such a terrible state.

She could not bear further embarrassment.

He shuffled closer until the heat of his body rivaled the warmth radiating from the fireplace, and his breath tickled the back of her neck.

“Are you certain nothing is the matter?” he asked.

Her pulse pounded in her ears. She chewed the inside of her cheek. She should claim exhaustion and banish all thoughts of being intimate with him to the darkest corner of her mind.

Her legs remained stubbornly in place.

“No,” she whispered.

It killed her to say it, but she refused to start her marriage with a lie. Her own parents had shown her what happened to a relationship built upon mistrust; bad feelings festered and poisoned every aspect of one’s life until even the children could sense the tension.

“No?” Edward slid his arms around her and pulled her tight against him. “I cannot have that.”

The gurgling in her stomach increased, but she still felt as if she were frozen in place. She tilted her chin up. Her blood-stained handkerchief fluttered to the carpet. She inhaled. Her sinuses were clear.

His fingers crept down the front of her robe and nudged it apart. She heard his inhalation of breath, and something hard jabbed into her back.

Oh.

He caressed the lace of her flimsy garment. “Was this for me?”

Her denial stuck in her throat. He was touching her so intimately. She didn’t want him to stop. She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned against him, answering with her body rather than words.

“God, woman,” he said in a strained voice. “You have no idea how much I desire you.”

Her knees wobbled.

He pressed his lips to the spot beneath her ear.

She uttered a high-pitched squeak.

He chuckled. “It has taken all my strength to keep away. I thought I repulsed you.”

The invisible force that had paralyzed her dissolved. She spun around, grasped Edward’s face in both hands, and brought their lips together.

There was no hardness or hesitation this time. His tongue moved with hers. He unbuttoned her robe, tossed it aside, then clasped his hands on her hips in a deliciously possessive manner. She moaned into his mouth.

“Not here,” he said, between kisses. “If this is to be our first, then I want you in my bed.”

She murmured her agreement, then yelped as he scooped her into his arms. A few awkward moments later, she was sprawled on her back on a huge mattress, watching him disrobe.

Cravat, first, unwound from his neck until the sides of his shirt gaped open, revealing a triangle of pale flesh.

Then two gleaming black shoes, flung haphazardly into the corner, followed by stockings.

He shrugged his arms out of the loops of his suspenders. His trousers puddled at his feet. His shirt draped to his knees, but the evidence of his arousal was clear.

She could take no more. She pulled the heavy wool blanket over her head and breathed in the tepid air shallowly until she felt the bed dip.

“Shy, I see,” he said. “Have you changed your mind?”

“No,” she said. Then, louder, “No. I want this.” She peeked over the edge of the blanket. He was on his hands and knees, completely nude. She drank in the sight of him, all muscles and sharp edges, until she got to that part of him.

It was so big, tucked close to his stomach, and quite red.

“Does that hurt?” she asked.

He crawled closer, then leaned back and stroked himself. “Sometimes. But it will feel better if you touch it.”

Curiosity chased away the last of her skittishness. She reached out and drew her fingers along the silky-soft length.

A bead of liquid dripped over her knuckles. She brought her hand to her lips and licked it. It had a salty taste but was not entirely unpleasant.

He moaned, and the next thing she knew, their sweat-slick limbs were tangled together. She had some idea of what was going to happen, having observed horses and other animals mating, but she felt woefully unprepared for the tension curling in her abdomen.

He laid her on her back, then positioned himself between her legs. The pressure was uncomfortable but soon turned pleasant as he rubbed a thumb over the sensitive place above where he was entering her.

She squirmed, wanting both more and less at the same time.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “I want more.”

He continued to enter her with excruciating slowness until he was speared like a sword in a sheath. He remained that way for so long that she wondered if that was it.

She curled her fingers in the sheets and shifted her hips.

He groaned. “Portia, please.”

That was interesting. She did it again.

He slid out an inch, then thrust inside.

She bucked her hips. “Do that again.”

He obeyed, and soon she was drenched in sweat and tossing her head back and forth on her pillow.

He leaned down and brought his lips to her nipple while rubbing his thumb against that delicious spot between her thighs. She arched and squirmed as the pressure built, until finally it crested and crashed around her, making her see stars.

He gave one last thrust and then spasmed inside her.

When the pleasure faded, he gathered her in his arms and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You mentioned canceling the wedding?”

She rubbed her nose against his collarbone. “I do not recall that.”

“Good,” he whispered. “Because that is the worst possible thing a woman could say to her future husband before their marriage.”

She giggled. “You are quite certain of that?”

He cupped her rear in one hand. “You know of something worse?”

“No.” She curled one leg over his hips. “But I can think of something better.”

“Enlighten me.”

Her questing fingers found the head of his still-erect member. “When will you be ready to go again?”