A Night With the Bride (4 page)

T
he world was staring at them. At least, that was how it felt. Everyone had stopped to ogle the reclusive duke who’d come in all this state to instruct the tradesman’s daughter in archery. It was humiliating, and not the least bit unsettling.

“I shouldn’t be speaking to you, not after you dismissed me so abruptly,” she whispered harshly.

“You’ll excuse my behavior in the library,” he whispered back. “I haven’t the slightest idea how to navigate—” he gestured between them “—this.”

Her heart lurched. “And what is
this
precisely?”

“Whatever we have between us.”

She pursed her lips. She was still angry with him, to be sure, but as apologies went, it wasn’t too terribly horrid. Indeed it was rather charming in a twisted, misguided sort of way.

She glanced down at her arrow and released a heavy breath. “Well, are you going to show me how to use this, or not?”

With a wicked smile, Somerset—
Nicholas
—pulled her back snug to his hard chest as he guided her arms into the correct position. The achingly intimate contact made her heart flutter and her breath catch. The warmth of his massive body surrounded her. Indeed, it swallowed her whole. She desperately wanted to stand up on her tiptoes, nestle her nose into the crook of his neck and draw in a long, satisfying breath. He’d smell like happiness.

Happiness?

Good heavens, where had that idea come from?

Pushing that perplexing thought from her mind, she focused her gaze on the target.

He lowered his mouth to her ear and spoke softly. “First, you must
relax
.” His deep, cultured voice reverberated through her, causing sharp tingles to sweep up her spine. She sucked in a breath, remembering his lips between her thighs, and the sweet, heavenly pleasure they’d evoked. “Feel the tension in the string…”

Oh, she felt the tension all right, but it wasn’t in the string. Every muscle in her body was drawn tight, humming with the vibration of his deep, seductive baritone. Liquid fire licked at her from the inside, pooling deep in her belly, her core, the very center of her.

Shifting, she readjusted her stance and squinted at the target in the distance.

“Align the shaft of the arrow with the center of the target.” His tongue rolled over the words
shaft
and
center
seductively, wickedly, leaving her with no doubt of his meaning. “If it’s positioned properly, the arrow will
penetrate
on the first shot.”

Only he could turn something as mundane as archery into something so wickedly depraved. She shifted again in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure building between her thighs.

“Hold it there, absorb the sensation, and when you feel you are ready, let go.”

Images of his head buried between her legs, licking, teasing, flooded her mind. She imagined his shaft taking the place of his tongue, pumping into her, lifting her to the pinnacle of ecstasy…

Focus, Gabriella! Focus…

She drew the string back tight, released the arrow, and it shot straight to the center of the target.

“We did it!” she cried.

He laughed, his arms still tightened around her. “We are magnificent together.”

At that precise moment, the bell rang for luncheon, robbing her of the opportunity to duplicate her amazing feat. A servant collected her bow, and Nicholas offered his arm to escort her to the picnic that had been set out on the lawn by the lake.

Her blood still hummed from the erotic words he’d whispered in her ear, and she found herself searching for an excuse to be alone with him again.

The picnic was quite intimate, as the guests claimed their spots on the large, yellow blanket that had been laid out. Grapes and strawberries spilled from baskets, and cheese, meat, and bread were arranged in delicious-looking spreads. Gabriella’s stomach grumbled as she sat on the blanket and reached for a plate.

Nicholas claimed a spot beside his sister, and as far from Gabriella as possible, which nettled. He could sit wherever he wished, of course, but after what had just transpired, she’d hoped he would sit next to her.

As he sat, several of the unmarried ladies of the party circled him like stalking tigresses, poised to pounce. Three of them plopped down next to him, while the less brave lingered nearby.

His side of the blanket appeared rather cramped, and he didn’t look pleased about it. Lips pressed into a firm line, he attempted—and failed—to avoid the fluttering women around him.

Gabriella piled her own plate with bread, cheese, more cheese and grapes. And perhaps one more sliver of cheese, just for good measure. It was her favorite, and she figured she’d grab some before she went absolutely feral. She’d almost taken her aunt’s finger off once. Served her aunt right, though, for coming between Gabriella and her favorite cheese. She didn’t do that again.

Plopping a cube of said cheese into her mouth, she watched Somerset with interest. His natural scowl had deepened into something far more ferocious, which was saying a great deal. He always had a dark, broody look about him. Now he simply looked miserable, and the slightest bit angry.

Perhaps she should rescue him. And she would have had he possessed the good sense to sit next to her. He hadn’t, so he was stuck listening to Sarah flutter on about how well her newest bonnet accentuated her neck.

“Wouldn’t you agree, Your Grace?” She twisted her head this way and that, allowing him to see her neck from every conceivable angle—as though
one
angle wasn’t enough. Gabriella rolled her eyes.

Nicholas grunted something in response. A noncommittal
fine
, no doubt.

Sarah shoved a plate at him. He tried to politely refuse, and Gabriella knew it had nothing to do with hunger. Food was piled onto the plate haphazardly, in no particular order. She remembered how painfully precise his breakfast had been separated and arranged on his plate, in careful triangles.

He stared at the food with a mixture of disgust and suspicion, as though the cheese would spontaneously sprout three heads at any moment.

The more vehemently he refused, the more aggressively Sarah insisted he eat something. It was a battle of the wills, in the strictest sense. An extremely polite battle of the wills, but Gabriella could see the tension in Nicholas’s shoulders, the tick pulsing in his jaw.

Oh, dear Lord, she couldn’t watch him suffer.

Setting her plate aside, Gabriella rose to her feet abruptly. “I’m going for a walk.” She turned her gaze on Nicholas and lifted a brow. “Would you care to join me, Your Grace?”

He rose to his feet, a look of profound relief on his face. “It would be my honor, Miss Weatherfield.”

Sarah and Beth stood in unison, practically toppling over each other in their eagerness. “We will join you as well,” they said.

Gabriella should have seen that coming. The idea was to get away from the ladies, not draw them into more intimate surroundings! Well, she supposed it could not be helped.

With a wry grin, Nicholas offered his arm. “Shall we?”

They walked in silence, the two ladies giggling behind them. They followed Gabriella and Nicholas for a long while until they finally lost them in the blackberry bushes somewhere between the waterfall and the small pond.

“You are quite cunning, Miss Weatherfield,” Nicholas said.

“What?” She grinned up at him. “I could have sworn the path veered sharply to the right, through that thicket of blackberry bushes.” She glanced down at her gown. “It’s a miracle my skirt wasn’t torn, though. I don’t know what I would have done if it had been.”

Nicholas stepped toward her, dried leaves crunching beneath his boots. His chin was lowered, his eyes intense, as though he wanted to snatch her up right there and devour her. “I would have stripped it off you.”

He took another step toward her, then another. Her heart thundered in her chest. They were alone now, concealed by dense underbrush, but Sarah and Beth could still stumble upon them at any moment.

“Miss Weatherfield!” a voiced called somewhere in the distance. “Lord Somerset?”

Gabriella grabbed Nicholas by the lapels and attempted to yank him down into a squat, behind a large fern. Instead, she toppled backward, pulling him on top of her. His strong, muscular frame was now sprawled across her body, pinning her down.

He lifted himself onto his elbows, taking the burden of his weight off her. She drew in a hearty breath and he gazed down at her. “And what, may I ask, was your plan precisely?”

“To conceal us, of course,” she said in an it-should-be-obvious tone.

“Nicely done.” His tone dripped with sarcasm. “No one will discover us here.” He flicked something off her shoulder. “Except the ants, perhaps.”

When she laughed, his gaze turned serious, contemplative. He brushed a finger down her cheek, as though he were just seeing her for the very first time. “I have the oddest feeling when I’m with you,” he said. “As though I could climb mountains, conquer cities…or even perhaps build a normal life.” His gaze met hers. “Have a family of my own.”

Her heart squeezed at his gently spoken words, and she found herself wanting more than just a kiss. She wanted
him
in a profound and inexplicable way. She wanted to help him build a normal life, wanted to give him the family he so desperately longed for.

She wanted it for herself, too.

There were leaves in her hair, twigs poking places they had no right to poke, but none of it mattered. Not now. With Nicholas, the world seemed to fade away. Even Sarah and Beth were a distant, nagging memory.

“It appears I have you as my captive,” he said.

She licked her bottom lip. “What do you plan to do with me?”

“
To
you, my dear.” He leaned down and nipped her chin, then the sensitive flesh of her neck. “The question should be, what is it I plan to do to you, with you, inside you.”

“Oh.” Tingles swept through her as she imagined his large hands on her, exploring her body, bringing her to climax.

With a wicked grin, he ran a finger across her jaw, down the length of her neck. She titled her head back, giving him free rein. It felt so good, so right, to be here with him, with nature surrounding them.

Smoothing her hands up his chest, she could feel the ripple of muscles concealed by his coat. So strong, powerful, every female cell in her body purred with approval.

Dipping his head, he bit her just below the ear, his blunt teeth sending exquisite pain spiraling through her. She gripped his jacket with both hands, bunching the thick wool in her fists.

Abruptly, he hissed and pulled away, glancing down at his coat. The fine wool was crumpled, just slightly, and he immediately brushed his hands over it to smooth the wrinkle away, then again, and again, more forcefully with every brush of his hands.

Brows furrowed, he focused completely on his coat, on swiping his hands over the (now nonexistent) wrinkle in the same, precise manner each time. Her chest constricted, and she swallowed past the tightness in her throat. Seeing him this way, the powerful, intelligent man she knew was…heartbreaking.

She reached out and placed a hand on his arm. Muscles bunched and flexed beneath her fingertips as he continued with his odd ritual. “The wrinkles are gone,” she said softly.

He didn’t hear her. Or rather, he wasn’t listening. Everything had become focused on that blasted wrinkle.

She grabbed his wrist to get his attention, to draw his thoughts away from the imperfection, which was, perhaps, the absolute
worst
thing for her to do. He ripped his wrist free and glared at her, his lips drawn tight, a tick pulsing in his jaw.

Good heavens, he looked like a penned animal, cornered and angry.

“Nicholas.” She reached out and attempted to brush her hand over the spot that troubled him. Perhaps if
she
did it…

He growled, an actual
growl
that vibrated all the way through her, and caused her to snatch her hand away. “Don’t,” he snapped.

Then he stood and strode back up the path that led to the house. He hadn’t stopped brushing at his coat, and probably wouldn’t for quite some time. Uncle John had done the same. It would take hours, sometimes days, for him to snap out of it. Exhaustion and frustration would eventually overtake him, which made him prone to violent outbursts.

But that was before he’d been seen by a young doctor, who’d taught him how to manage his condition. And if Uncle John could be nearly cured, it meant there was hope for Nicholas yet.

N
icholas paced in his room for hours, all through the night, until the first orange-pink hues of sunlight seeped in through the crack in his thick brocade curtains. He’d refused to allow anyone inside the room, including Larson, for fear of triggering another outburst. There was no fire lit, no candles burning. He’d been alone in the darkness, alone and pacing.

For hours, his thoughts swirled around Gabriella—her scent, her luminescent smile, the gentle lilt of her voice. Just the thought of her soothed his overwrought nerves and allowed him to focus.

He
needed
her. More than anything, he wanted to possess her, to slide into her body and taste heaven. Just
once
. Then he could resign himself to his fate, whatever it was, a happy man.

Before he could convince himself otherwise, he strode out of the room and down the corridor. He found her room easily—Larson had informed him where it was days ago. Indeed, he knew everything about her—how late she slept, what she ate. Larson was as thorough in his research as he was loyal.

He stopped in front of her door and contemplated knocking. In the end, he decided to try the door. Mercifully, it was unlocked. He pushed open the thick, oak slab, the hinges creaking as it revealed the room beyond. He stepped over the threshold and clicked the door shut behind him. He slid the bolt into place.

The first tendrils of sunlight spilled in through the opened windows, casting the room in a pink, dreamlike hue. It was early yet, just past five o’clock in the morning.

He glanced at the large, four-poster bed situated at the far end of the room. She laid in the middle of the mattress, prone, a white sheet tangled around her body.

He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t accost her in such an intimate place. But he had to apologize. His mind would never settle, the world would never be set to rights, if he didn’t speak to her. For some unknown reason, the urgency of it weighed on him like an anvil on his chest.

He came around to the side of the bed, and smoothed a strand of honey-colored hair away from her face. He let his finger trail down the curve of her cheek, to the line of her jaw. Her skin was smooth, creamy with just a flush of color. She was beautiful. Exquisite.

More than anything, he wanted to sink into her body and forget. Forget that he was completely, irrevocably broken. She made him feel whole and alive. She made him feel
free
.

He pulled the coverlets off her and immediately regretted it. Her shift was pulled tightly across her body, accentuating every enticing curve and crevasse—the swell of her hips, the dip of her flat belly, the generous curve of her breasts. He groaned.

“Wake up, love.”

At the sound of his voice, she slowly blinked open her emerald-green eyes and focused on him. It took her a full minute to realize her state of undress, then she sat up and yanked the covers back over herself, clutching the sheets to her chest like a shield.

“Nicholas,” she said, her voice still rough from sleep. “What are you doing in my room?”

“I came to apologize,” he said.

“You could have waited until morning.”

He let out a breath. “I also came to explain.” He didn’t want anything between them. No secrets. She could know everything, right from the beginning. “But I must trust you not to reveal any of this to anyone.”

“Oh.” She sat up, her long hair in tangles around her shoulders, her eyes only half open. She smoothed the blankets over her legs and regarded him patiently. “Very well.”

“When I was quite young, soon after Emmeline was born, my mother became very ill. She paced continually and became increasingly fixated on death, or the possibility of it. She often cried for days and would seldom leave her bedchamber.” His chest clenched, remembering his mother’s misery. “She often erupted into fits, and after she attempted to take her own life, she was diagnosed with hysteria and sent to live in a private asylum, where she remained until her death several years ago.”

Gabriella shook her head, sympathy glinting in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

He stood and hands clasped behind his back, he paced. Pacing gave him something to do, something to focus on besides the pain. This would be the hardest part of his confession, but he would not keep it from her. She deserved to know. “It would seem, Gabriella, that I have inherited my mother’s inclination toward madness.”

The words hung in the air between them, like a specter, until finally she shrugged. “Well, yes, clearly. But aren’t we all mad to some degree?”

“My illness is of a peculiar nature.” He kept his tone even, matter-of-fact. “I see things in my mind, unpleasant things, that are only assuaged by performing tasks—in a particular way, in a particular order. When the task is complete, the images fade and I am free until the next vision arises.”

She swallowed. “What sorts of visions?”

His strides grew longer, clipped, as he moved from one wall to the other, the same number of steps each time—his eyes focused on the patterned rug beneath his feet. His entire body was tense, pulled tight like a bowstring. He didn’t want to remember the visions, and he sure as hell didn’t want to talk about them. “Vile things,” he choked out.

“Can’t you control the thoughts? Stop them from coming?”

“No.” He’d never discussed this with anyone in his entire life. “I have no control over them.”

“Have you ever tried? To stop them, I mean,” she said. “My uncle had something similar, I believe, and he was able to manage—”

He stopped his pacing and turned to her. “Gabriella, listen to me. I cannot be cured.” She wanted to save him, but it was important for her to know he could not be saved. If his mother couldn’t be saved, then there was no hope for him, either.

Gabriella rose from the bed and walked over to him. On her tiptoes, she pressed a chaste kiss to his nose. “I accept you exactly as you are.”

His chest tightened. “Think about what you are saying.”

“I have,” she said. “You are not alone, Nicholas. I am here with you.”

He swallowed back the emotion those words conjured. Fear had prevented him from allowing anyone close to his heart. For thirty years, he’d struggled alone in silence. But in the span of two days, Gabriella had managed to shoulder past his barriers and into his heart.

Stroking her cheek with his thumb, he murmured, “Well, you’ve certainly earned your kiss now, haven’t you?”

Tilting her chin up, he captured her lips in a deep, soul-gripping kiss. She moaned sweetly as his tongue stroked the inside of her mouth, exploring her, drinking her in. She tasted like decadence and hot, passionate desire.

Rubbing her little minx body against his, the tempo of their kiss intensified, feeding his hunger. He burned for her. Only her. He needed to be inside her, pumping his hot seed into her sweet little body, claiming her in the most primal, elemental way possible.

Biting her lower lip, he pulled away. “I need to be inside you, Gabriella.”

“Yes.” Her eyes shimmered with emotion. “I need it, too.”

His eyes met hers, and that familiar swirl of heat began to build in her chest, then outward to her limbs. He was intoxicating. Just being near him was dangerously alluring. “But, Gabriella, I can’t take this without—”

“—marriage,” she finished for him. In all her years, she’d never expected it to come quite like this. She’d always imagined something wildly romantic—at a ball, on the terrace, beneath a pearl-white moon, the gentleman would get down on one knee and declare his love for her…

He lifted her chin and forced her to look at him. “My name. My fortune.” With his thumb, he brushed her lower lip, gentle, reverent. “My soul, Gabriella. I’m offering them all to you. Marry me.”

And just like that, she melted for him. The simple, soft-spoken words curled around her heart and squeezed, taking root in her soul. More than anything, she wanted to give herself over to him, belong to him. It was the most certain she’d felt about anything in her life.

“Yes.” Her eyes flicked up to meet his. “Yes, I will marry you.”

He smiled and leaned in, his lips hovering over hers. “You are so beautiful, and you’re mine.” He nipped her lower lip. “Say you are mine, Gabriella.” One hand settled on her breast; the other curved over her hip and settled on her backside. “Say it.” His tone was low, commanding.

Heat pooled low in her belly and spread through her limbs. “I’m yours, Nicholas.”

Within a breath, his lips were devouring hers. Swept away by Nicholas’s hot, passionate kiss, her legs nearly buckled beneath her. He supported her with his strength, kissing, squeezing, unleashing a torrent of want and desire that threatened to consume her.

He released her mouth and spread kisses along her jawline, down the column of her throat, to the high neckline. Without pause, he grasped the fabric and ripped her nightgown open, to her navel. The remnants slithered down her hips, over her thighs, and pooled at her feet.

Instinctively, she crossed her arms over her breasts. Embarrassment flooded her, and suddenly every flaw, every blemish, was magnified in her mind.

“Lower your arms,” he said, his tone dark, dripping with command. “I want to see you. All of you.”

She licked her lips and let her arms fall to her sides. His hungry gaze raked over her, from head to foot, settling on the V between her thighs. “I’m going to fuck you, Gabriella. And once I’m inside you, I won’t stop. So tell me now if this isn’t what you want.”

“It’s what I want.” She met his gaze. “
You
are what I want.”

His lips quirked up into a mischievous half smile as he untied his cravat. “Do you trust me?”

She swallowed. What a question to ask at this particular moment. “Of course I do.”

He unwound the cravat from his neck, snapping the length of fabric as it pulled free. “Good.” He flicked his chin in the direction of the huge, four-poster bed. “Get back on the bed.”

She eyed the bed nervously but walked toward it, acutely aware of Nicholas’s gaze on her backside. As she slid onto the mattress, he approached the side of the bed. “Lie down.”

When she didn’t immediately comply, he placed one knee on the mattress and leaned over her. His lips came down on hers so hard, so fiercely, the breath escaped her lungs. It was a kiss of passion, urgency. He pressed her down onto the mattress with his massive body, pinning her wrists above her head.

Breaking the kiss, he smiled down at her. Then he did the unthinkable. He looped his cravat around her wrists, threading them together, then tied them to the headboard.

Tied them.

To the
headboard
.

“What is this?” She pulled against the constraints, testing the strength of the knot.

“You said you trusted me.”

A thrill of excitement rushed through her. She licked her lips. “I do.”

“Good.” He removed his coat, his waistcoat, then his shirtsleeves. One by one, he peeled the layers off, tossing them aside, revealing a chiseled torso that made Gabriella’s mouth water.

Undaunted by her bold, hungry gaze, he shucked his boots, then stripped away his breeches. His swollen shaft jutted forward, the tip already moist. At last, she could see all of him, every last delectable inch, and she drank in the sight. He was magnificent, more delicious than she ever dared imagine.

The mattress dipped under his weight as he mounted the bed and prowled up her body, licking and nipping his way up. He let out a harsh groan when his tongue found her nipple. She sucked in a sharp breath, startled by the new, vibrant sensations that shot through her. “Oh God, Nicholas.”

Nudging her legs open, he settled into the cradle of her thighs, his rigid shaft pressed lengthwise against her center. Instinctively, she hooked one leg around his hip and arched into him, her body begging for his touch.

Hot kisses trailed across her breasts, up her neck, to the line of her jaw, until she squirmed beneath him, desperate to feel him inside her. His big hands skimmed down her body, until they found her entrance. He pushed one finger inside her, then another, until she was stretched wide, moaning with the sheer pleasure of his touch.

He wasn’t gentle. His fingers moved inside her ruthlessly, pulling out, then pushing back in, deep, until she thrashed beneath him. Her whole body drew tight, and she arched off the bed, her heels digging into the mattress. One more…

He pulled back, his hand dropping away. Disappointment nearly swallowed her whole. She’d been so close. So blissfully close…

He pressed his swollen shaft to her opening. “Do you want this, Gabriella?”

Did she want it? By God, she’d surely perish without it. “Yes.” She licked her lips. “God, yes. Don’t stop.”

She desperately wanted to feel him, to explore his body with her hands, her lips, her tongue. Would he taste salty, she wondered? But just as that thought fluttered across her mind, he pushed into her, and all the air rushed from her lungs. Sharp, stinging pain shot through her core, causing her to cry out.

Nicholas stilled, his breathing hot and shallow in her ear. “The pain will fade, but you must relax.”

At the moment, relaxing seemed impossible. He was huge, and he was inside her, stretching her beyond endurance. But she trusted him to guide her through this, so she forced her muscles to unclench, allowing her body to accept him.

“That’s it.” He bit her earlobe as he thrust into her again gently.

Pain slowly melted into pleasure.

With a low, guttural growl, he pushed into her impossibly deep, and stilled. Her entire body contracted around him, then instantly released. She cried out as wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through her. He shifted, but before he could remove himself, she locked her ankles around him, trying to prolong the sweet ecstasy.

At length, the aftershocks faded and she sagged back onto the mattress, spent. With a quick tug of the cravat, he loosened her bindings and her hands fell free. She nestled into the crook of his arm, their legs still entwined, their hearts still beating hard and fast. For some extraordinary reason, it just felt
right
with him, completely natural to be tangled up naked in his arms.