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His eyes traveled over her bared flesh and she could see the raw need in his eyes. He buried his face against her throat, kissing his way downward. She leaned forward, and he took her bare nipple between his lips.

The sensation was almost more than she could stand. She clutched at him, clasping his head tighter. The tip of his tongue circled lazily, tasting, teasing. Then he placed the entire nipple inside his mouth and sucked. Hard. Then slowly. Then faster.

Meredith struggled to breathe. It felt so good. The scalding touch of his mouth and tongue made her shudder with longing. She squirmed against him restlessly, acutely aware of a primitive ache in her, a desperate need to fill the emptiness inside.

He encouraged her passion. Pulling his mouth away, he bit playfully at her throat and earlobe.

“Move your legs so I can lift your skirts,” Trevor whispered sensually in her ear.

Blindly Meredith followed his instructions, hardly blushing at all when he pushed aside her undergarments and placed his hand between her thighs, on her bare flesh.

With agonizing slowness he circled the most sensitive, intimate part of her, his fingers teasing and tangling in the curls of her womanhood. Meredith’s pulses leaped as desire, wild and passionate, lanced through her.

Her hand came up between them, pressing against his chest. She could feel her body yielding to him, submitting to the mastery of his caresses. A part of her rebelled at this easy acquiescence, but she quickly shut it down.

Ever since her wedding night, she had known there was more pleasure to be discovered when making love. Trevor held the key to that pleasure, and for the moment seemed most intent on sharing it with her. She would be a fool to turn away from him now.

His clever, questing fingers urged her thighs farther apart. Parting the thick folds of skin, Trevor brushed against her swollen center, then slowly slid one finger deep inside her. Heat blossomed in every part of her body.

Meredith gave a strangled moan and turned her face to his for a kiss—a deep-throated, full-bodied kiss. The glide of his tongue in her mouth felt heavenly. She thrust her hips mindlessly forward and he stroked and probed until she was frantic.

Suddenly Meredith felt the escalating tension begin to crest and break. She arched upward with a keening groan, and Trevor kissed her full on the lips, swallowing her cries of pleasure.

That was it! The mystery of her wedding night had been solved in a most delicious, delectable manner. He continued to stroke her as the shudders subsided, almost as if he were calming and soothing her passion. She smiled lazily.

Drifting on the lingering swell of pleasure, Meredith sprawled inelegantly in her husband’s lap, until she noticed he had withdrawn his hands and was trying unsuccessfully to right the skirt of her evening gown.

Gathering her courage, Meredith opened her eyes. Trevor’s expression was guarded, but there was a glint of masculine pride in his eyes, the knowing glance of a man who has just pleased a woman.

It had been truly wonderful, a remarkable sensation superior to any other she had known.

And yet still she was not completely satisfied.

On their wedding night only Trevor had achieved this bliss.

Tonight she had been the benefactor. The throbbing, pulsing erection poking insistently against her hip let Meredith know the marquess had not yet found fulfillment.

What heights of passion could they reach if they both experienced this ultimate release together? She could scarcely imagine, but Meredith decided she was quite eager to try.

With a sultry smile she tentatively reached for him, setting her hand on his muscular thigh. Imitating his actions, she began a tantalizing caress with her fingertips, drawing small, tight circles that inched forward toward his groin. “Please, allow me—”

The marquess groaned as if in pain, clasped her wrist, and pulled her hand away, while trying to stand up at the same time. Since she was lying in his lap, it was nearly impossible.

“I am fine, Meredith. There is no need for any of that.” He practically pushed her off his lap.

Slowly, Meredith straightened. Her body tingled, still riding on the currents pleasure he had given her, yet her mind was beginning to clear.

“Why?” she asked simply.

“ ’Tis getting late.” He turned his head away, and she felt the sigh he tried to suppress. “Perhaps it would be better if we spoke in the morning.”

“I do not plan on doing much talking tonight.” She reached again for him. “Or listening.”

He stiffened and lowered his head. “I am rather tired.”

She sucked in a breath. He was rejecting her, deliberately turning away from her passionate overture.

Color flooded her face. But she would not look away or bow her head.

He would succeed in humiliating her only if she allowed it.

She had nothing to be ashamed of, had no reason to feel embarrassed or distressed by what they had just done, by what she wanted to continue doing.

For heaven sakes, they were married. To each other!

He was looking at her now, staring down at her with a wry expression. She noted a flush still lingered on his cheekbones. Her palm itched to cradle his face, to run her thumb along the seam of his sensuous lips, to tease and tantalize him with mindless passion.

A shiver of goose bumps flashed along her arms and neck, and Meredith realized with a start she was still bared to her waist. This wanton state of undress should have embarrassed her, but somehow it felt wickedly right.

Meredith casually slipped her arms through the sleeves of her gown as if she were donning a bonnet instead of covering her breasts. The marquess’s eyes remained on her face. Once she felt her breathing was under control, she asked, “Why did you really ask me in here tonight?”

“I wanted to remind you that you are still my wife.”

“How presumptuous of you, my lord.” She swallowed back her angry retort. “I was not the one who had forgotten.”

She turned on her heel and headed for her room, pausing only to slam the door resolutely shut as she left.

The harsh sound echoed through the chamber.

Trevor swallowed back the thickness in his throat, determined not to give in to his emotions.

The ache in his groin was an acute pain.

His erection was hard and swollen and pressing against the fastenings of his breeches.

He could barely shift in the chair without feeling a burst of discomfort.

He had not handled that at all well, certainly not as he intended.

She did not understand why he had sent her away.

Misleading Meredith was not his aim, yet he was not up to explaining.

That exhilarating sexual encounter they had just shared had drained his energy, weakened his resolve, and left him aching and slightly confused.

It was very plain she thought he had rejected her, and he supposed on the surface that was partially true. Though he desired her greatly, more than any woman of recent memory actually, Trevor was determined not to use her body, even though she was his wife.

He had more respect, more regard for her. He knew what she wanted from him. Love, devotion, fidelity. Trevor smiled and reached for the goblet of brandy he had set aside earlier. Perhaps the alcohol would help take the edge off his discomfort. He took a long sip, then smiled again.

How ironic. Of the three, love, devotion, and fidelity, the only one he felt capable of providing to his wife was fidelity—a lowly state of affairs for a confirmed rake.

Life had settled into a pattern that was not much different than before he married. He had the same friends, same club, same late hours, same drinking, same wagering, same reckless fun.

One notable exception was the lack of females in his bed. Though he insisted to himself it was not because of any chivalrous sense of duty, Trevor found the idea of breaking his vow of fidelity repugnant.

If he were incapable of giving Meredith what she truly desired, the least he could do was be faithful to her.

Tonight he had wanted to discuss moving to a new London residence, a town house his secretary had located, with Meredith.

Perhaps if he were away from so many reminders of Lavinia, he could find his way in this new marriage.

Yet the moment he had seen the flare of passion glaze Meredith’s eyes, he knew living in these apartments of his father’s house was not the problem.

The memories of Lavinia, the life and the love they had shared and the unquestioning pain and despair he had suffered at her death would follow him wherever they lived.

And thus was the crux of his torment.