of his arousal. If her eyes hadn’t closed on all remnants of sanity left to her, if her heart weren’t beating so wildly, if her arms hadn’t entwined themselves about his neck…if the world hadn’t suddenly gone mad.
She was left gasping for breath when his mouth left hers to traverse new ground, exploring her ear, the sensitive skin behind that ear, the length of her throat as she tilted her head to allow these further inroads on her sanity, let alone her common sense.
Never. She’d never experienced anything like this sudden fierce onset of desire, this curious tightening between her legs that had nothing to do with hoping to hold off an inevitable cruel invasion.
Gideon was cupping her breast now, rubbing his thumb across the stiff material of her gown. She gritted her teeth, wishing away the fabric, feeling her nipple straining for a more intimate touch. Perhaps his touch would be different. Perhaps his mouth more knowing, less harsh, taking this budding physical arousal her body seemed to understand and nurturing it, not turning it to pain and humiliation and tears.
There has to be something more, her mind promised her, or else women like Mildred wouldn’t be so eager to partake in it, time and time again. Perhaps it wasn’t me but James who was the sad failure.
Jessica felt herself being lifted off the floor and high against Gideon’s chest. She buried her head in his shoulder as his long strides took them across the room. He turned to his left.
“That’s…that’s the stairs to the kitchens,” she managed, and his short, pithy curse brought a tremulous smile to her lips as he turned abruptly and headed, this time, toward her small, spinsterish bedchamber. Now she noticed his breathing had become nearly as ragged as her own, and the first stirrings of fear dragged at her arousal, slowing it to a near stop.
She’d been selfishly thinking of herself, only herself. She’d forgotten the effect of passion on a man.
Hers had been a virginal bed for more than four years, since James’s death, and she’d been glad of the respite, the sanctuary it held for her. How could she be doing this? Willingly doing this? What on earth did she think it could possibly prove? She was unnatural, James had told her so, time and time again. She wasn’t a real woman.
Gideon would know, and he’d either turn away in disgust, or he’d slake himself, anyway, pounding hurtfully inside her until he was done.
Either way, she lost.
“I don’t…I can’t…” she said as he stood her on her feet beside the bed, turned her around and began expertly working open the line of buttons from her neck to her waist, as he had done the previous evening. Only tonight his mouth followed after his hands, his tongue licking at her skin, sending shivers of what had to be pleasure rippling through her.
It was as if he hadn’t heard her. He took hold of her shoulders and turned her back to him. In the light of the small candelabra burning at her bedside, he locked his eyes with hers as he touched his hands to her long, unbound hair, smoothing it back over her shoulders.
She was naked to the waist now, her gown snagging at her hips. He lowered his head, taking her in his mouth, teasing her with his fingers, destroying her now silent warnings of his imminent disappointment, her ultimate disgrace. No matter how hopeful the beginning, when her own body tried to believe this time it might somehow be different, there was always that same bad ending.
Somehow, the coverlet had been stripped back, and she was on the cool sheet. Somehow, her gown was gone, her only undergarment was gone; she was lying there, eyes closed to reality, listening to the whisper of fabric as Gideon rid himself of his evening clothes.
She’d been here before, in this position, brought low by the mere fact of being female.
She had no maidenly shame about her naked body, experienced no wild urge to try to cover herself. James had stripped her of that years ago. She knew what her body was for—a man’s pleasure. The man wanted what the man wanted, and now was as good a time as any to get it over with, so that they could move on. Resistance only brought pain. She’d simply have to pretend, go along. He’d soon learn the truth about her.
She didn’t dare look at him. She’d seen a fully aroused male before and knew what that arousal meant. Jessica believed herself to be a strong woman in most things, even an independent woman—a hard-earned independence. But this had always defeated her; she couldn’t physically best a man, and she couldn’t shoot him. Struggle was useless, embarrassing and often countered with violence. She knew herself to be the weaker vessel. It wasn’t rape if she let him take what he believed he wanted. It was simply easier.
The bed sagged slightly as he joined her, as he leaned over her, as he brought his head close to hers once more. Good. At least it would soon be over.
“You’re even more perfect than I imagined,” he told her as he slowly drew his hand down her body. “No flaw, anywhere. Perfect seduction. Last night was an uncomfortably long night for me. Was it for you?”
Was what uncomfortable for her? She couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate on anything but the travels of his hand, knowing where he was heading, to the juncture of her thighs.
Would he please just finish it, this inevitable he spoke of, the inevitable she’d stupidly goaded him to. That would tell him more than she could ever hope to say. Then they could put all of this behind them and move on to the subject of her father’s supposed murder, the golden rose he’d worn in his cravat.
His hand slid over her lower belly, and she sighed, opened her silk stocking-clad legs to him. Let him take what he believed he needed. This meant nothing to her. It was only her body. A few more minutes, that’s all. Just, please, quickly.
His kiss surprised her; she hadn’t expected any more coaxing now that he had her where he wanted her. Not that James hadn’t tried this sort of arousal in the beginning, until he’d realized he was only wasting his time, delaying his pleasure. But, Lord, he had tried, each thing he’d attempted worse than the last. The bites, the pinching fingers, the supposedly arousing slaps, believing perhaps pain would turn to pleasure. And it had…for him.
Jessica felt tears burning behind her eyes and forced her mind to stop thinking about James. He was dead, he didn’t control her any longer. She owed him nothing she hadn’t paid back tenfold in the nearly eight long months of their bizarre marriage.
Now another man was touching her, taking what he wanted. What would he do if he knew what she’d been thinking? No, he couldn’t know.
She raised her hips slightly, as she’d been taught.
Gideon’s response was to continue his travels across the landscape of her lower body. His fingertips drew a route from her navel to within a heartbeat of her center, then moved on to skim the inside of her thighs. And still he kissed her, his tongue teasing, tasting, coaxing a response that surprised her; that curl of desire returned, deep inside her.
She moved her hips again, this time without first thinking about the action. Was he avoiding her? Did he have to be pointed in the correct direction?
Hardly. The man kept four mistresses.
Jessica swallowed hard, barely given time to draw in a fresh breath between kisses, barely wanting to waste time in doing so. Because Gideon’s mouth was so provocatively enticing, she actually heard herself moan in loss when he broke the last kiss and began moving his head lower, beginning a new journey that led to her left breast and ended when he took the nipple into his mouth.
