He resolutely kept his hands at his sides. Not yet, he thought, not quite yet. He had to calm her, make her relax, otherwise he could envision an awful debacle.
“The only thing you’re not good at is riding in a carriage.”
He laughed, reached out, and gently clasped her shoulders in his large hands. “Come here.”
She stepped against him without hesitation. Mutely Victoria raised her face, her lips slightly pursed. He grinned down at her and gently ran his fingertip along the outline of her mouth. He leaned down and kissed her nose, her brows, her chin. “If there is anything at all ugly about you, I will eat the stirrups off my Spanish saddle.” He sifted his long fingers through her hair that fell in deep waves down her back. He lifted a thick tress and brought it over her shoulders to his mouth. He inhaled deeply. “So sweet,” he said, “so very sweet.”
Victoria lifted her hand and touched her fingertips to his face. “Perhaps I’m sweet, but you’re beautiful.”
He gave her a crooked smile to cover his embarrassment. “I’m just a man, nothing more, nothing less, and a man isn’t a beautiful thing, not like you. But I am your husband and if you wish to remain blind to the stubble on my chin and the way my hair sticks up at odd angles in the mornings, who am I to disagree?”
“Please kiss me, Rafael.”
His eyes turned darker as he lowered his head. He kissed her lightly, very gently. He could feel the moment she responded to him. It was a quiver that ran from her breasts down her legs. He tightened his arms around her back. He raised his head a moment and looked down at her. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted, her breathing coming in small gasps. “You can hold me too, Victoria,” he said. “I would like it very much.”
She slid her arms around his back and pressed herself against him. She felt him against her belly. She raised her face, arching her back a bit. He kissed her again, this time gliding his tongue over her lower lip, gently probing until she opened her mouth to him. He didn’t ravish her mouth with his tongue, but made gentle forays, his tongue barely touching hers. Victoria was quickly awash with the most overpowering feelings. She’d never imagined anything like this, a sort of urgency in her belly. A wanting so intense, a wanting just beyond, beckoning her. She moaned softly, unable to keep silent.
Rafael was immensely pleased at her response to him. He unfastened the ribbons of her negligee and slipped it off her shoulders. The soft silk pooled about her feet.
She stared at him, her eyes wide and questioning. He said nothing, merely slipped the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders. She was standing nearly in profile to him. He sucked in his breath as the soft silk fell below her breasts to her waist. In another moment the nightgown had joined the negligee at her feet. He looked down at her breasts, full and white, made whiter still in the dim shadows of the room. Very lightly he touched his fingertip to her nipple and watched her shudder.
“So soft,” he said. “Are your breasts as sweet as your hair?”
He leaned down and took her nipple in his mouth. Victoria gasped with shock, and arched her back. He felt her utter yielding to him. He held her with one arm and with the other hand caressed her breast, gently lifting it, weighing it in his palm. Only after he had loved both her breasts thoroughly did he allow his hand to glide below her waist. “Victoria,” he said softly, wanting to see her eyes when his fingers found her. He wanted to see her reaction.
It was more than he could have imagined. Her belly felt as smooth as satin, and when his fingers probed through the tangle of curls and found her, he nearly lost his control. He touched her very lightly. She wanted him.
“Rafael.”
He stopped, his fingers cupping her. She was trembling, nearly beyond herself, and he knew it. So responsive she was, and she was all his. He released her a moment, watching her gain control slowly. Her eyes cleared just a bit. She moistened her lips with her tongue. “I want to see you, Rafael.”
“I’m not nearly so ugly as you are.”
Her eyes went blank and wild. He quickly laughed. “I’m teasing you, little goose. All right, then. You want your husband?”
“Yes.”
He took a step back and shed his dressing gown. He stood quietly watching her face as she looked at him. She was very thorough, more so than she’d been on their accursed wedding night. When she reached his groin, he felt his member swelling and thrusting outward. She was consuming him, he thought, with that look. No woman had ever before studied him like this, with admiration, almost adoration. It was unnerving. “Victoria,” he said, and pulled her against him.
Her breasts pressed against his chest, his sex hard against her belly, exciting her to the point of incoherence. “Please,” she whispered, and felt his mouth close over hers. His hands were everywhere, lifting her, fitting her against him, and she moaned and pressed herself against him wildly, wanting more but not knowing what it was she wanted. His back, beneath her hands, was smooth and curved with hard muscle.
Rafael, nearly to the end of his tether, lifted her in his arms and strode to the bed, nearly stumbling over the damned table yet again. Where, he wondered vaguely, did she think herself ugly? It was ridiculous. He laid her on her back and came down beside her, balancing himself on his elbow.
“Hello, wife,” he said, and laid his hand on the flat of her belly. He watched her closely in the dim light. She quivered and he let his fingers glide a bit lower.
“Rafael, I don’t . . .”
“Don’t what, Victoria?”
“I think I hurt, but I want to, and it’s almost too much and I want and want—”
He found her at that moment, and she gasped, arching upward, nearly beside herself. “Do you want me to pleasure you now, Victoria?”
She looked up at his shadowed face, turning to give him her mouth. “I don’t know what you mean. Do you mean you will kiss me again?”
“Certainly, but I want to see your face—as best I can in this darkness—when you melt for me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will, soon, I promise.” He kissed her, deeply this time, his tongue probing into her mouth just as his finger slipped inside her. She was small, but she would hold him, for her desire was nearly peaked. He kept up a slow in-and-out motion with his finger, then withdrew and began to caress her. He felt her tremble, felt the involuntary jerking of her hips as she sought his fingers. He lifted his head just as she reached her climax. He watched the look of utter astonishment in her eyes as her pleasure overtook her. “Rafael.” She screamed. He nearly cried out with her, his pleasure at her release was so great.
“Yes, love. Yes.”
He felt her then, slowly easing the pressure of his fingers, soothing her, feeling the small convulsions seize her in the aftershocks of her pleasure. “I want to come inside of you now, Victoria. All right?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I think I would like that.” She was surprised she could even speak, her mind felt so scattered. She felt without will, without enough power to move her fingers. She felt delicious.
He came over her and gently pulled her thighs apart. “Bend your legs. That’s it.”
She watched him guide himself into her, his face intent, his expression nearly pained. She felt him come into her, felt the tightness, the stretching, the pain.
“Rafael,” she said in a thin voice, pressing her hands against his shoulders.
“Just a bit more, Victoria. Relax. Don’t move.”
She held perfectly still, feeling him come deeper. It was odd, this feeling—another person becoming part of her. The pain became more insistent, and she gritted her teeth, not wanting him to know.
Suddenly he reached her maidenhead and he felt such a surge of relief that he nearly lost all control. His mind was whirling out of control and he blurted out, “Thank God! If Damien had had you, I don’t know what I would have done.”
He groaned then and with one powerful thrust drove through her maidenhead and slammed to the hilt insi
de her.
She screamed at the tearing pain, and bucked beneath him. He got hold of himself, barely, and lowered himself over her. “I won’t move. I’m sorry, Victoria. It won’t hurt anymore. I promise.”
She was so small, her muscles were flexing about him, driving him mad, and she was a virgin. She was truly his and only his, before and forever.
Victoria lay perfectly still. He hadn’t believed her. He had believed Damien. He hadn’t trusted her. He had lied to her just so he could bed her. Her hands dropped to her sides. She turned her face away from him on the pillow.
“Is that better, Victoria? Has the pain lessened?”
She didn’t look at him. She felt impaled, helpless, and angry.
“I hate you,” she said quite precisely.
He stared down at her averted face, but at that moment she bucked upward, hoping to dislodge him. Instead, it sent him deeper and he felt himself surging over the edge. He withdrew, then thrust deep, then again and once more. He felt himself shatter. He threw back his head, arched his back, moaning loudly, and poured himself into her.
She felt his seed, a man’s seed, she thought dully. He had truly had his way. But it had been her fault. She had wanted to believe him, had been eager for him to make love to her. She’d wanted to know so desperately what the wild feelings were, and where they led. Well, she knew now. It was short, fleeting, and terrifying because it wiped out all control, all reason. She shuddered at the pain of his entry. She still hurt, deep inside now, and it erased the lingering spurts of pleasure. She felt cold and dead inside.
“You lied to me,” she said, not moving. “You lied to me and I will never forgive you.”
Rafael was slowly coming back to reality as he had known it. The power of his climax had rendered him insensible. He was still deep inside her, held by her, and slowly he lowered himself over her, balancing his weight on his elbows. “What did you say?” He thought she’d said something, but he was too involved in recovery to make out her words.
“You lied to me and I will never forgive you.”
He stiffened, and frowned down at her closed face. “What the devil are you talk—” He broke off. Oh, God, had those damnable words really come from him? Fool, a thousand times a bloody fool.
“Victoria,” he said very slowly, very carefully, “it isn’t what you think.”
“I assume you are done with me. Would you please get away from me now?”
“No.” His voice was sharp, and she flinched. “No, you are mine now and I am your husband. Please, love, you must understand. I couldn’t erase every doubt, but there was but a mere shadow of a doubt when I told you I believed you. I did believe you, truly.”
She said nothing. He felt sunk in guilt and anger at himself. He rolled onto his side, bringing her with him. He remained inside her. And he felt himself growing hard once again. He strove for control. “Victoria, I gave you pleasure.”
She said nothing.
He was becoming fast angry with her. “You stubborn little witch, you will listen to me. Do you discount the pleasure I gave you so quickly? Shall I make love to you again to remind you?”
“No. Don’t touch me.”
That order was so funny that he was obliged to laugh, which he did, deeply. “My God, my rod is inside you. Don’t you consider that touching? Your breasts are pressed against me and now my hands are on your bottom. Well?”
“I hate you. Let me go now.”
“Where are you ugly?”
She stiffened and he could feel her withdrawal. Physical and emotional. He hated it. “Forget I asked,” he said, and locked his arms around her so she couldn’t pull away from him. He kissed her cheekbone. “Victoria, kiss me.”
She ducked her face down into his shoulder. She made the mistake of taking a deep breath and the smell of him was enough to make her muscles clench around his sex. He moaned.
And began to move within her.
“No,” she screamed. She began to fight him in earnest, bucking her hips upward, smashing her fists against his chest.
“Damn you, hold still.” He rolled her onto her back again and pinned her arms above her head, his entire weight on her. “Don’t try it, Victoria. You are so hot for me, it won’t be a matter of forcing you, and you know it. Give me just one more minute and you’ll be begging me to continue.”
She stared up at him, knowing what he said was true, and hating both herself and him. He was moving slowly inside her and the pain was now mixed with pleasure as he moved against her belly.
“Not even a minute,” he said. “A virgin isn’t supposed to feel pleasure the first time, you know. But you did. Immense pleasure, and I gave it to you. You won’t forget that, Victoria. Another man wouldn’t have, but I did. I wanted to see your face when you climaxed. Every time we make love you will feel like that. And you won’t forget it.”
“Please,” she whispered, fighting the building pleasure, “please don’t shame me. Please leave me alone.”
“No, not a chance. Tell me you want me to continue what I’m doing. Tell me.”
He eased his hand between them and found her. She cried out when his fingers touched her.
Her muscles were convulsing around him and he knew she was making him as wild as he was her. “Tell me, Victoria. Tell me you want me to pleasure you again.”
She felt tears sting her eyes, tasted the salty drops in her mouth. His fingers quickened and she cried out, her back arching. He released her wrists and came up on his hands. He came into her, then withdrew, twisting and pressing, making her shudder deeply.
“Tell me, damn you.”
But Victoria couldn’t say anything. She was beyond reason. She looked at him, a lost, wild look, then was lost in such incredible sensation that she felt she would die of it. She was writhing beneath him, moaning, her hair tangling about her face, her fingers digging into his back.
My God, he thought, she is incredible, and he let himself go. He was sweating and breathing hard. His full weight was on her, his head on the pillow beside hers.
He pulled himself up for a moment, kissed her slack mouth, then lay down again.
“You’re mine, Victoria. You won’t ever forget that.”
Within moments he was sleeping, a sated sleep.
Victoria listened to his even breathing. He had certainly won. His weight was great, but somehow she found it comforting, which, she thought, must surely make her a candidate for Bedlam. And he was still inside her, but less so now. She stared up at the dark ceiling. She had never imagined such feelings, such dizzying pleasure. She wondered if he would now believe her a slut for responding to him so completely, so quickly. Not a lady. Surely ladies didn’t yell and carry on with such abandon.
She shuddered a bit, filled with such loathing for herself that she couldn’t keep still. He moved, muttering something in his sleep, words she didn’t understand.
Victoria held her breath. She couldn’t bear to speak to him now, to see his eyes, to wonder what he thought. Of course Rafael always told her what he thought, so she wouldn’t have to wait long for that. She realized that he was leaving her. She felt soreness and some remnants of pain deep inside. A virgin’s pain and a woman’s incredible pleasure.
She drew a deep breath and shoved at him. He grunted in his sleep, but rolled off her, onto his stomach, his head turned away from her. Slowly she eased away and rose. Her muscles felt as weak as her leg when she had overexerted. That thought made her rub her hand over the scar on her thigh. Yes, that was what he would demand next. She could hear him now, his voice either stern and forbidding or charming with a hint of cajoling. What is your confession? Is it about your so-called ugliness?
She walked to the basin and poured cold water from the pitcher. She soaped the cloth and washed herself. It was dark, but not too dark. The stickiness between her thighs came away but she saw her blood on the cloth. Quickly she lit a single candle. It was her blood, from her maidenhead. Well, at least he’d told her that much, so she wasn’t afra
id he had irreparably hurt her.
She dried herself and retrieved her nightgown from the floor. She stared toward the bed at the sound of his low snoring. Without making a conscious decision, she carried the candle toward the bed. She wanted to see him. She raised the candle.
He was still on his stomach, his legs spread, one arm bent upward, the other at his side. Her eyes followed the beautiful taut line of his back to his firm buttocks. His thighs were thick with muscle and black hair. Even his feet were beautiful, she thought, long and narrow and arched. She wished he would turn over. She wanted to see all of him without him knowing it. She could spend fifty years staring at him. He mumbled something in his sleep, came up abruptly on his elbows, and she froze.
She snuffed out the candle and stood perfectly still.
He said quite clearly, “Victoria.”
Then he fell back onto his stomach and began snoring again.
Victoria made her decision at that moment. If she slept with him, he would make love to her as soon as he woke. She knew it. She also knew that she would want him to. And it would probably be morning and the room would be light and he would see her leg.
She flinched away from that thought. He was so perfect himself, how could he tolerate such ugliness in his wife? Her hand went to the scar and kneaded it.
She covered him, then resolutely walked from her room into his bedchamber.
The sheets were so very cold, the bed so very large and empty. What was she going to do now?
It was taken out of her hands. She woke aware that she was very warm, and she snuggled into that warmth. It was many moments before she was conscious enough to realize what was happening. Rafael was spooned about her back, his hand kneading her stomach.
“Don’t leave me again, Victoria,” he said, his voice rough in her ear. His fingers probed through the nest of curls, found her, and he began a rhythm that quickly made her wild.
“I had to,” she gasped, pressing her bottom back against him. She felt him hard, throbbing, and quivered. Slowly, very gently, he lifted her leg and came inside her. She felt the pleasure build, become so intense that she was crying out, unable to keep quiet. She felt his fingers, felt him stroking deep inside her, and she gave over to him.