He stepped out of the tub and reached for a towel. As he dried off he heard her voice from the bedchamber.
“I think, under the circumstances, we should maintain separate rooms.”
He halted. “What?”
“Under the circumstances, I think—”
“I heard you.” He wrapped the towel around his hips and marched into the bedchamber. “What circumstances are those?”
“The wedding was obviously a decoy in order to provide you with an alibi for the rescue mission and to provide a way for you to maintain control of Stanton shipping.”
“What?”
“I said—”
“Wait. You think I endured that hell today for an alibi?”
She stiffened. “ ’Tis likely to be the only wedding I will ever have. I’m sorry it was hell for you.”
“I didn’t mean . . . damn, what is this about an alibi?”
“You used the word, yourself. You said no one would believe you could leave a wedding night. I cannot object to being used if it saved the men’s lives for I’m greatly relieved they’re safe, but I do think you should have been forthright about it from the beginning.”
“The devil take it. What are you talking about?”
She twisted the ends of the shawl around her fists. “I think it is obvious. The timing of the wedding was orchestrated to coincide with the rescue mission. Since the wedding was a ruse to cover your actions tonight, there’s no reason to consummate the marriage.”
“What?”
“As a fellow rebel, I entirely agree with your objectives. Your plan tonight was brilliant. I am pleased to do my part to aid the cause.”
He snorted. “Is this some sort of jest? Did my uncle put you up to this?”
Her eyes flashed with anger. “Believe me, this is no jest. I find nothing amusing about entering into a marriage of convenience without foreknowledge. I may not have many rights in this world, but I do believe I have the right to the truth. You should have been honest with me—”
“Dammit, I was honest. I explained everything.”
“Yes! After the wedding. You should have told me before the ceremony that you were using me to solve your business problem.”
“Bloody hell!” He ripped off the towel and flung it aside. “Does this look like a business problem?”
Her eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open. She shifted her focus to the ceiling. “I . . . I realize you may be experiencing a small amount of”—her gaze flickered down to his erection and quickly away—“that is, a huge amount of lust, but it is only temporary. Once your problems with your father are over, you may feel the need to annul the marriage—”
“Enough!” She wanted to leave him? Never. He stalked toward her. “You listen to me, Virginia.”
He plucked off her mobcap and tossed it across the room. “There will be no separate rooms.”
He yanked the shawl off her shoulders. “There will be no talk of convenience.”
He seized the drawstring at her neck and jerked it loose. “There will be no annulment.”
“And mark my words.” He grasped the opening of her shift in his fists. “The marriage will be consummated.”
He ripped her shift down the middle.
She jumped back, grabbing at her clothes. “How dare you!”
“I’m just getting started.” He snatched her up and deposited her on the bed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Virginia rolled to the far side of the bed and landed on her feet, facing her husband. “So help me, Quin, you will not take me in anger.”
He clenched his fists, breathing heavily. “You will not leave me.”
She pulled the halves of her shift together to cover her breasts. “I do not intend to. I’m prepared to remain in the marriage and honor my vows.”
“Indeed? Then get in bed.”
She stepped back. “No. Not like this. I’ve endured enough humiliation today.”
His face paled. “You’re ashamed of me? I realize you could have done much better than a bastard for a husband, but I will be good to you.”
Her anger seeped away when confronted by this unexpected vulnerability. “This has nothing to do with an accident of birth. The fact is I was used.”
He frowned. “I haven’t misused you. I . . . I’m sorry about your shift. I’ll buy you another.”
“This is not about a shift.”
He looked about the room as if searching for answers. “Why are you vexed, Ginny?”
She realized he truly didn’t know. “I object to the contracts you made. You’re using me to save your business.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, frowning. “ ’Twas not my idea. I never saw the damned contracts ’til today, when you sneaked off with my uncle.”
A rebirth of hope simmered in her breast. “Are you serious? You didn’t know before the wedding?”
He shook his head. “No. But what difference does it make? Whether the business is in your name or mine or my uncle’s, Edward and I will still run it the same way.”
“It makes a difference to me.”
“I thought you would be happy the business is safe. Surely, you would not have us penniless.”
“No.” His reasoning made sense from a practical standpoint, but she’d wanted a marriage based on something more than cool logic. Foolishly, she’d hoped for love and desire. Perhaps even a bit of passion.
She perched on the other edge of the bed, holding her shift together. He had ripped it down to her belly. “Did you purposely plan the wedding to coincide with the transportation of your friends?”
“Aye. Does that disturb you?”
She peered over her shoulder, uneasily aware of his nudity. His bronzed arms and torso contrasted with the paler skin of his hips and legs. “I . . . I don’t know. I’m grateful the men are all right, but . . .”
“Ginny, I asked you to marry me in the smuggler’s hole of my ship. That was before I knew anyone was captured. The wedding would have happened whether I needed an alibi or not. I wasn’t going to let you go.”
The woolen shift blurred before her tear-filled eyes. Apparently, she had fallen prey to misplaced fears, but how was she to know how he truly felt about her? He never spoke of love.
Standing, he pulled back the quilted counterpane. “I believe you were disappointed that night for not experiencing a little death. We could take care of that now.”
She lurched to her feet, her heart racing as she examined the man she had married. His broad chest expanded with each breath; the black mat of chest hair narrowed to a line, crossing his narrow waist, ending in the thick patch around his swollen manhood.
He slid between the sheets, pulling the counterpane up to his hips. “I haven’t used you, Ginny. At least, not yet, but I would surely love to.” He patted the bed beside him as his mouth quirked with amusement. “Do you think you could, how did you put it, do your part to aid the cause?”
She scoffed, blinking back hot tears. “And what is the cause? Pleasing my master?”
“I intend to please you. And the cause is becoming husband and wife.”
She swallowed hard and perched on the edge of the bed. There had been a few occasions on the farm when she’d seen the mating ritual of animals. It had seemed necessary and natural, as routine as the yearly coming of spring. So she had not expected this amount of trepidation. It was more than a shedding of clothes, a baring of one’s breast. She felt as if her very soul would be exposed for his taking. The level of intimacy astounded her.
“Are you afraid of me?”
She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “I’m in love with you.”
He stared at her, stunned.
She turned away, sniffing as the tears threatened to fall. What had she expected? A dramatic declaration of everlasting love? She squeezed her fingers
around the torn edges of her shift, waiting for a response. Any response.
“I . . . I don’t deserve you.”
She felt the bed shift as he moved behind her. She closed her eyes. He was coming for her.
His breath tickled the back of her neck. “I’ll be a good husband.”
A good husband would say he loves me. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Someday he would tell her. Someday.
He touched the top of her head. Slowly, he traced the line where she had parted her hair. Then he trailed his fingers down her braided pigtails to her shoulders. He kissed a path from the back of her neck to her ear, then whispered, “Lie down with me.”
She glanced back at him. His eyes glimmered with heated desire. That much she had expected, but there was more than lust in his eyes. A need, a fear of losing her that tugged at her heart. He hadn’t lied in the smuggler’s hole. He did need her. She suspected he even loved her. He just didn’t realize it yet. But that was something she could help him with.
She turned to him and touched his face. “I’m all yours.”
With a grin, he pulled her down on the bed.
A spurt of panic swept through her, and she clutched her shift together. Calm yourself. She had enjoyed his kisses in the smuggler’s hole. Surely she could enjoy this, too.
“You’re frowning.” He kissed her brow, then trailed kisses to the tip of her nose. When he placed his mouth on hers, he moved so slowly, so leisurely, that she felt the tension in her body melting away.
Her grip on the shift loosened. There was no need to hold it together. His body pressed against her would keep it from falling open.
It was all right to touch him, too. He wouldn’t mind. His shoulders were warm and smooth, the muscles in his arms taut as he kept his weight from crushing her. She buried her fingers in his hair, still damp from his bath.
He deepened the kiss and invaded her mouth with his tongue. His desire seemed to pour into her with liquid heat, sliding down her throat and past her belly to her most intimate flesh. Good Lord, she felt hot and . . . tingly. She pressed her thighs together, but that made her even more sensitive.
He moved his hand down her woolen shift to her breast. With his thumb, he made a wide circle around the nipple. He circled closer and closer on the woolen fabric. Gasping, she pulled away from the kiss in need of air.
It was all right. She was still dressed.
His thumb brushed across her nipple. She shuddered.
It was not all right. Her shift was in the way. “Take it off.”
He peeled the material back. “Yes.” He took her nipple in his mouth.
She gasped, then gripped his head as he suckled and tugged at her. With each flick of his tongue, she squirmed. It was too wickedly wonderful. Leaning forward, she covered his hair with kisses. It felt damp against her cheek and smelled familiar. He had used her soap in the tub.
He sat up abruptly and tossed back the sheets. Cool air wafted over her moistened breast, causing her to shiver.
“I’ll buy you a new one.” He grabbed the torn sections of her shift and ripped.
“Wait! I’ll take it off.” She sat up and pulled her arms out of the sleeves. “It can be repaired.”
Grasping the shift, he tugged it past her hips to her knees. He paused, looking her over.
She saw where his eyes were focused and squeezed her thighs together. Heat pulsed to her face. “Must you look?”
A slow smile caused his dimples to appear. “Aye.” He touched her, his fingers furrowing into the curls. “You’re beautiful.”
Her legs disobeyed her, opening slightly. “Quincy?”
“ ’Tis all right.” His fingers slipped between her legs.
She jolted, shocked at the feel of him exploring her, circling and pressing. He found a superbly sensitive spot and tickled it gently. It was ungodly. No, it was heavenly.
He leaned over to kiss her breasts.
She kicked the shift completely off. “I cannot . . .” She opened her legs wider. “Is it wrong for me to want more?”
“No, sweetheart. Enjoy it.” He rubbed her harder. And faster.
Her hands clutched at the sheets. “Oh, God.” Her toes curled at the slick sound of moisture.
He inserted a finger inside her, teasing her opening, widening it. She felt more moisture seeping from her core. And a delicious coiling of passion, growing hotter and increasingly more intense.
“Quin.” She grabbed ahold of him. His fingers quickened to a desperate pace, and she raced with him. Her legs tensed, raising her hips, as the sensations grew stronger, more overpowering.
She was rushing toward something, but she wasn’t sure what. Her body jerked when a rhythmic pounding seized her. Wave after wave coursed through her.
“Dear Lord.” She gasped for breath. “What did you do to me?”
He grinned. “ ’Twas a little death, though I would say not so little in your case.” He gave her a quick kiss and rose to his knees.
“ ’Tis an odd name for it. I never felt so alive.”
He moved between her legs. “Raise your legs a bit.”
She gulped, eyeing the enormous size of him. “Are you sure you want to do that now?”
“Aye.” He lifted her knees.
“I don’t think we should.”
“Of course, we should.”
She scooted back. “The fact is, Quincy, I . . . I’m quite certain I do not possess an opening of that magnitude anywhere on my body. Well, my mouth, perhaps, but that would be too strange to lend credence to.”
Chuckling, he pressed himself against her. “Don’t make me laugh now. I’m barely in control as it is.”
She eased away. “But it will not fit.”
“It will.” He inched closer and positioned himself against her.
She wiggled away. “I know you don’t care to admit it, but it cannot fit.”
“Will you hold still? Think of doing your part to aid the cause.”
“Hah!” She struggled to sit up.
He reached under her and raised her hips, causing her to fall back onto the bed.
“Umph.” Her head hit the pillow, and she stared at the white canopy overhead. Dear Lord, he meant to go through with it.
He rose to his knees, dragging her close to him and lifting her hips level with him. She squirmed, but he tightened his grip on her hips.
He positioned her against him. “This may hurt.” He plunged in and pulled her to him.
She screamed as much from shock as pain. It felt awful, like a red-hot iron.
Embedded inside, he slowly lowered her hips. “God, it feels good.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh, Ginny, you’re beautiful.”
She frowned, suspecting he was not referring to her face.
He propped himself on his elbows, leaning over her. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“Can you get off of me now? You’ve proven your point.”
“Aye. My point has been . . . well taken.” He glanced down at where their bodies joined and smiled. “But I am not done.” Slowly, he eased out and back in.
She closed her eyes. It was such an odd sensation. He was moving inside her. She could feel the length of him filling her completely, then withdrawing, gliding up and down the passage, creating a friction that was slowly becoming quite enjoyable. The burning sensation melted into heated pleasure.
This was not bad, not bad at all. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, her feet still encased in woolen stockings. In fact, it was quite . . . exciting. She felt the pleasure building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. She had an idea now what they were rushing toward, so she held on to him, enjoying the wondrous sensations he was causing.
He quickened his pace, breathing heavily in her ear ’til he raised his head with a groan. He
thrust into her deeply, repeatedly. She gasped when she felt herself reacting, shattering and pulsing around him. He collapsed beside her with a moan that sounded both tired and satisfied.
She closed her eyes, enjoying every little throb that coursed through her. They were one now, husband and wife. She turned to him and touched the dark whiskers on his cheek.
His eyes opened, and he smiled. “Sweet Ginny. My sweet Ginny.” He closed his eyes, falling asleep with the smile on his face.
Her heart swelled as she watched him sleep. She had said she was all his, but now he was all hers. She smoothed back his thick black hair. “Quincy Dearling, I love you so.”
Thursday, December 28, 1769
Quincy sat in the courtroom next to his uncle and solicitor, keeping his face carefully blank as he watched the proceedings.
“Your Honor, may I present the decision from the court in London?” Clarence handed the paper to the judge. “It clearly states that the capital used to finance Stanton Shipping belonged to my father, the Earl of Dearlington.”
“I see.” Judge Jeffries adjusted his spectacles as he studied the document from London.
Clarence pivoted, facing Quincy. “Furthermore, the court in London has decided that Stanton Shipping belongs to my father.”
Quincy balled his fists under the table. His father had gone through with it, seeking to rob the bastard son of everything he owned. He stared coldly at his brother, who had taken center stage in this farce.
Clarence’s eyes gleamed with anticipated victory. He had insisted his solicitor remain at their table and allow him the pleasure of the presentation.
Judge Jeffries removed his spectacles and laid the papers on his desk. “In light of the decision of the British court, I must yield to their authority and rule in favor of the plaintiff. Stanton Shipping now belongs to Henry Stanton.”
Quincy felt his uncle flinch. Poor Edward. Now that the business was in Virginia’s name, Edward was simply listed as an employee.
With a triumphant grin, Clarence whipped another paper off his table and turned to the judge. “If it may please the court, in this document the Earl of Dearlington gives his son the right to assume immediate control of Stanton Shipping.”