Bedeviled Bride (Regency Historical Romance) Read online

  What's changed? Was it the kiss? Had he finally broken down her resistance? Did it matter? Tonight was the night she promised to come to him. Tonight was the night he would wear down any remnants of resistance. Michael's blood sped at the thought and rushed right to his groin. Damn it, but this was going to be a long day.

  The carriage rolled to a stop and Michael glanced out. They'd reached the far end of the main street, which boasted an array of shops. He glanced at his wife, whose face was lit with excitement, and he smiled. Despite her general attitude towards him of late, he found that it pleased him greatly when she was happy.

  “Are you hungry, or do you wish to shop for a bit before we eat?”

  She turned to him, her blue eyes sparkling. “Oh, let's shop first. I'm not so hungry yet. Where shall we start?”

  It turned out his wife had quite a tolerance for shopping on an empty stomach and several hours after their arrival, Michael was finally forced to put his foot down. They'd chosen new draperies and wallpaper for all of the most important rooms in the house, as well as furniture and about a hundred shiny, new knick-knacks, which Michael now passed into the arms of their accompanying servant. Beth was about to suggest they visit a milliner—she hadn't said it aloud yet, but he could see the longing in her eyes.

  “Absolutely not,” Michael said, causing Beth to stop and turn to him.

  “Absolutely not, what?” she repeated, perplexed.

  “We're eating and then going home. We've done plenty for today.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment flashed across Beth's face, but Michael was far too hungry to feel any remorse. Besides, they'd have to come back in a week or so, once they'd assessed the rest of the house.

  “I'm famished, Elizabeth, and it's getting late.” He turned to address the servant. “Deliver those to the carriage, Albert, and then meet us at the inn across the road. I'll make sure there's a hot meal waiting for you.”

  Albert bowed and then disappeared into the crowded streets.

  “Shall we?” Michael took Beth by the arm and led her across the road to the inn. There, he asked the innkeeper for a private room, two meals for themselves, and another for Albert. The innkeeper was only too happy to oblige, probably because of the incredibly beautiful woman Michael had at his side.

  Once they were settled, their food in front of them, Michael dared to glance at his wife. With a trembling hand, she lifted her soupspoon to her mouth and slurped quietly of the hot broth. Michael smiled.

  “How is your soup?” he asked, trying to keep the smile out of his tone.

  It didn't work.

  “What?” Beth stared back, her eyes wide and questioning.

  Michael's lips twitched with the urge to tease her about the coming evening. “I was inquiring after your soup. Is it not good?”

  “No, it's fine.” Her head cocked sideways and her brows furrowed slightly. “What are you laughing about?”

  “Laughing? I'm certainly not laughing, my dear, I...”

  “You are too! What are you laughing about?”

  He gained control over his mirth and then leaned over the table to whisper, “You needn't be nervous, Beth.”

  Beth's cheeks turned the brightest red he'd ever seen them. Even redder than the night he'd caught her pleasuring herself. Poor girl. But how odd, the way she melted in his arms one moment, offering her lips to him, letting him touch her, and in the next, she turned into a coquettish miss. Well, a coquettish miss with sharp fangs. It didn't make sense, but Michael had to admit there was something rather appealing about her dichotomous ways.

  “I'm not nervous,” she finally said.

  “You're not having second thoughts, are you?” Michael wondered. Dear God, he hoped she wasn't. He really couldn't stand it much longer, watching her flit about, parading her endowments under his nose, knowing she was rightfully his and not being able to do a damned thing about it.

  A spoon clattered to the table, bringing Michael from his wayward thoughts. Beth looked positively murderous, staring back at him with her ice blue eyes. Perhaps he shouldn't have brought it up.

  “Must we have this discussion? I told you that I would...that we would...we have an agreement, all right? I'm not going to renege. Now may I please eat my dinner in peace?”

  Michael smiled to himself as they both turned back to their meals and thanked God that his wife was a woman of her word.

  ***

  As soon as Michael propped his feet up on the ottoman before the fire, a tentative knock came at the adjoining door to his and Beth’s room. He grinned. This was it. His cock jumped beneath his silk brocade dressing gown, despite his exhaustion from the day of shopping, and he groaned. Good Lord, she wasn’t even in the room yet and he was already ready for her. What the hell would he do once she was actually trying to seduce him?

  The knock sounded again and he finally called out for her to come in. The door creaked and he turned to see her poking around the panel. He could only see the top of her blond head and her dazzling blue eyes, fraught with worry and fear. He wanted to laugh, but he knew she’d run right back to her room if he did, so he bit down on his cheek and gave her a slight smile.

  Sensing that she wasn’t going to come any further without a bit of prodding, he stood and walked to the decanter that sat on his dresser.

  “Come in, Beth,” he encouraged. “Have a drink with me.”

  “A drink?” Her voice came out in a croak and he turned back to the wall to hide his smile. He’d never seen her so unnerved.

  Well, no, that wasn’t exactly true. She’d been rather unnerved the night he caught her with her hand down her drawers, hadn’t she? The thought made his cock jump again and he took a deep breath to calm himself. Damn, but he’d gone so long without a good tupping! However, he knew that whatever they did tonight, it wouldn’t be tupping. She was his wife and no matter how reluctant she was to come to his bed, he would make love to her. He would show her pleasure like she’d never known, and he wouldn’t allow his own release until he’d seen to hers. That was the plan, at least. God only knew what would happen once he dove between her legs.

  He turned from his dresser, two glasses of scotch in hand, to find her draped across the settee, seductively. Entirely naked.

  His mouth went dry. Instinctively, he raised the glass to his lips and downed the scotch in one swift gulp.

  “Good Lord,” he whispered as he took in the sight of her. His wife. She was glorious.

  Every white inch of her was perfection, from her daintily pointed toes to the top of her shiny, golden head. She lay sideways, propping herself on one elbow, her top leg carefully draped over the bottom one to guard her most private place. But she did not try to hide her breasts from him, her perfectly rounded breasts, whose weight hung slightly downward in her position.

  He looked his fill, swallowed, and finally took his eyes away to focus on her face. He choked back a laugh when he caught sight of her expression. She was blushing to her roots, and her lashes batted, not seductively, but more with a nervous twitch. Michael decided to take pity on her. The last thing he wanted was to bring a mortified woman to his bed. He wanted Beth relaxed and willing, ready to receive his gentle ministrations.

  He set down his empty glass and walked to where she’d deposited her robe in the middle of the floor. She watched him as he moved about, clearly perplexed that he hadn’t jumped on top of her and taken her right then. Her fathomless blue eyes widened when he held out the robe to her. He watched as her countenance fell and hurt infused her eyes.

  Leave it to a woman to take the entirely wrong impression from a chivalrous act.

  “Beth,” he began as he draped the robe around her shoulders, “we have plenty of time. Put this back on and have a drink. It will calm your nerves.”

  “No,” she said.

  “Ah, she speaks!”

  “I’m supposed to be seducing you. That was the agreement. I can’t seduce you if I’m clothed and drunk.”

  Michael chuckled and set
the tumbler on the coffee table. “You have so much to learn, my dear,” he said as he gently put her right arm into the sleeve of the robe and pulled it through. “Seduction has nothing to do with nakedness, and very little to do with being sober.”

  Her eyes followed his hands as he pulled her other arm through the sleeve and tied the front of the robe closed. “Then what is it?”

  “Are you asking for a lesson in seduction, Beth?”

  She bristled slightly and for the briefest of moments, she looked as if she wanted to cry, but then she said, “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  Fifteen

  Lizzie had no idea what was in store for her. Michael looked positively ravenous, if truth be told, and it frightened her out of her wits. Somehow it frightened her even more than the ghost in the west wing. But at the same time, she couldn’t stop the jolt that shot through her at the thought of...well, she wasn’t sure, really. Her body seemed to want things without her knowing what they were. Surely that was odd. Shouldn’t she know what it was she was feeling?

  She thought about the other night, when she’d touched herself. It had been interesting, feeling that part of her. She’d garnered some enjoyment out of it, but it left her wanting. Of course, she’d been interrupted in the middle of it, much to her humiliation, so she didn’t really know what it would have led to.

  “Do you remember that night in the garden at the Blackman Ball?”

  Remember? She hadn’t thought of anything else for weeks after that encounter. However, it was hard to think that it had been Michael and not Andrew that kissed and stroked her then.

  Meeting his dark eyes, she nodded. He was so close, just a hairsbreadth away. He had bathed recently, judging by the clean scent of lye. His dressing gown smelled like his cologne, clearly something expensive, probably concocted just for him, made of citrus and balsam. She wanted to touch him, to feel the hard planes of his chest beneath the robe, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. She could only hold still as he brought his mouth closer and closer to hers.

  “Why don’t we start where we left off that night?” he whispered, just before he set his lips to hers.

  Lizzie melted like a tallow candle left in the hot sun. She let out an involuntary whimper as sensations, some new, and some forgotten from that night in the garden, flooded her. Good heavens, he undid her.

  “Do you remember how I touched you that night, Beth?” he asked as his lips trailed her jaw line. “How I caressed you beneath the bodice of your gown?”

  A shiver wracked her body and she nodded, then shook her head. Michael stopped his feathered kisses and pulled away to look at her.

  “Well, do you or don’t you?”

  “I-I do...only it wasn’t you,” she said, knowing at once she should have kept her mouth shut. She didn’t mean to bring the lesson to an end, but something in her was confused. Something in her just wouldn’t let go of what had happened. She tried to repeat her mantra in her head, but it wasn't helping.

  Michael’s hands came to her shoulders and gripped the fleshy part of her upper arms. He was angry, that much was obvious. Clearly, he didn’t want to be reminded of his brother or of their mistakes. And certainly, he didn’t want to think his wife still pined for his twin, especially in their current position.

  “It was me, damn it, Beth!” Michael growled, digging into her arms with his fingers. “And it would be good of you to remember that in the future.”

  Before she could apologize, Michael careened into her, knocking her off balance, pressing her down onto the sofa cushion. His weight was heavy and warm. Clearly he meant to intimidate her with his size, but Lizzie found she wasn’t intimidated at all. She was quite the opposite really. A heat started at her toes and seemed to infuse every part of her until she could hardly breathe for her own arousal.

  Michael’s lips landed on hers, hard and angry. She opened to him willingly and he softened his approach when he realized she would not put up a fight. He nipped and tasted her, and moaned into her mouth, a low, guttural sound that stirred something deep in her belly.

  His hand reached down to find the hem of her robe and Lizzie tensed. Michael didn’t pause, he continued to kiss her as he dragged the fabric further up her legs.

  “Please don’t deny me anymore, Beth. I can’t take it. I’ve wanted you for—for so long, I can hardly remember when it started. Let me make love to you.”

  He phrased it in a way that indicated she had a choice in the matter. That despite his longing, he would stop if she asked. But his tone told her otherwise. He wouldn’t stop were Wellington to march his entire army through the room.

  And so she held silent, closed her eyes, and gave in to the play of his fingers as they trailed her inner thigh. She quivered and he held her closer, kissed her more deeply, as his hands moved even further. He paused just before the springy curls began and twirled circles with one finger on the flesh of her thigh. It drove her mad.

  “Oh, God, what are you doing to me?” she whimpered, desperate for him to touch her, to move just another inch further until he found where she ached.

  She felt a heat, a dampness there, and it was building into a fire so out of control, she could hardly catch her breath.

  “What do you want, darling?” Michael whispered against her temple. “Tell me what you want.”

  “I-I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do. Just say it. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

  She would have told him, but he captured her lips once more and plundered her mouth with his tongue. He removed his hand from between her legs and brought it up to untie the robe. It fell open, revealing her breasts to the cold air and her nipples hardened painfully.

  “How would you like me to do this to you?” he asked as he bent his head to take the dusky tip of her breast in his mouth.

  Lizzie moaned, long and low, unable to believe the height of the sensations that coursed through her. His mouth was hot on her breast. It covered the entire pink ring while his tongue flicked over the nipple. She bucked and writhed, her body reaching for something unknown.

  Michael moved from her breast to leave open-mouthed kisses all the way down her stomach. He stopped at her belly button and circled it with his tongue, which normally would have made Lizzie giggle. But all she could do was gasp and moan again. And then he moved lower still, until his face was buried in the blond thatch of curls below her stomach.

  Lizzie panicked. An embarrassed heat flushed her face and her hands began to tingle with numbness.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, trying to sit up.

  “Shhh, it’s all right. Lie back down,” he commanded, but she would do no such thing.

  She pushed at his forehead, trying to make him move away. When that didn’t work, she tried pulling, hoping he would return to her face, her breasts, her belly—anywhere but there.

  He chuckled at her attempts and she was tempted to smack him. How dare he laugh at her.

  “Beth,” he whispered, “relax...please.”

  “I can’t,” she whined, hating the sound of her own voice all of a sudden.

  Michael stared up at her, his obsidian eyes smoldering, his mouth dangerously close to a part of her that she never imagined a mouth would ever want to go. She held her breath, waiting, silently begging him to not...kiss her there.

  “Elizabeth, darling,” he whispered, as he, by some sort of miracle, rose up away from her. “I want your first time to be pleasurable.” He lowered himself over her and pressed a kiss to her lips. “If we do this the traditional way, there's not much chance of pleasure for you. Not tonight anyway.” Another kiss to her temple. A caress of her cheek. “Let me pleasure you. Please.”

  His lips met hers and his fingers found the aching spot between her legs, and then Beth didn't care what he did, so long as he never stopped. She felt herself nodding her head, giving him permission to do as he pleased, and she felt his smile against her lips. Before she could protest again, his face was between her legs, his tongue searing as he p
arted her folds.

  She gasped, unable to keep her hips from rising off the sofa. Michael delved even deeper then, and Beth thought she might expire from the blinding pleasure. She quivered and whimpered as the sensations rocked her, as the ecstasy swept her in white-hot torrents. He pulled her closer to him as he continued to lave at her, slowly, methodically, drawing out the process almost painfully. Her legs spread wider and in that moment, she could think of nothing but the spasmodic heat and joy that flooded her body, that made her cry out with no regard to propriety, no concern for who could be listening. A guttural scream ripped from her mouth, tore at her throat, but she didn't care. All she cared about was that it never end.

  She held her breath for a moment as Michael kissed her tenderly and withdrew, and then moaned in satiated bliss as he moved over her and pressed his weight down on top of her. Her eyes were closed, but she sought out his face with her hands, his mouth with her lips, and she kissed him. It was bizarre, tasting him, tasting herself, but she couldn't get enough. She would never get enough of this. Of him. Her husband.

  Good Lord, what had she been thinking to deny him this all this time? To deny herself the pleasures she'd had no idea awaited her. One thing was for certain: she would not make that mistake twice.

  ***

  If Michael had thought he could stand it one minute longer, he would have given Beth a little more time to enjoy her blissful state. But as it was, he was mere seconds away from spontaneous combustion. He pulled away from their kiss and looked into her dreamy blue eyes.

  He wanted to ask permission, but he was afraid she might say no. Instead, he removed himself from the sofa and scooped her into his arms. In two long strides, he had her on the bed, and in one leap he was on top of her.

  Thankfully, his wife was far too befuddled from what he'd just done to her to utter even one word, and Michael took advantage. Without giving her a chance to think, he pressed his lips to hers and pressed his cock to the entrance of her sweet honeypot. It was so hot it nearly singed him with pleasure. And then he surged in one swift movement.