Page 53 of Secrets of the Marriage Bed
He shifted to ease the ache in his groin.
He would not take chances with his son’s future, but if he was careful they could have a decent sort of a marriage.
He breathed through the dull pain, the same way he had breathed through the need to join her in pleasure. The only purpose of their intimate play had been to remove some of her worries. Her bliss was all the satisfaction he required, along with the pressing need to ensure no child resulted from their intimacy.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
* * *
Hours later, surprised at the realisation he had slept, he drifted awake to the feel of a slender body snuggled close to his side. He opened his eyes to see the grey light of day peaking in through the open curtains and the awareness that he once more desired her. Badly.
Times when he spent all night in bed with a woman these days were rare, though Donatella, the Italian courtesan who had hidden him from the French soldiers for months, had always been in favour of waking up to his lovemaking. She’d taught him all she knew about the carnal arts. She’d been a generous lover, an amazing teacher and in some aspects a friend.
Her final betrayal had hurt at the time, but he should not have been surprised when she was tempted by the price on his head.
Julia stirred, opened her eyes, blinked. ‘Oh.’
‘Hmmm,’ he replied noncommittally, looking into her lovely eyes as they squinted in puzzlement, unsure what to make of her surprised little syllable.
She smiled. ‘It is indeed a good morning, Your Grace.’
All at once things were right with his world. And his body was once more demanding he give in to the seduction of her sumptuous softness.
The only other time he recalled falling asleep with a woman after Donatella was with Julia on their first night together. Was that what had led him into this morass of a marriage? This needing to belong to someone? To have someone need him?
If so, he was hiding from the truth. Julia, like all the women in his life, needed his wealth and position for protection—not him. Given how badly he’d failed his son, he was lucky to have that much. Wanting more was a recipe for disappointment.
Inwardly he cursed. He could not allow himself to give in to this weakness. This marriage would only work if he maintained his detachment.
He rolled away from her and reached for his dressing gown, shoving his arms into it and wrapping it around himself. He stalked to the window, looking out, fighting to get himself under control and decent enough to face her. ‘I should get back to my room before your woman arrives with your tray.’
The sounds of her leaving the bed were almost more than he could resist. A moment more for her to be suitably swathed in that frilly thing she’d worn the night before and he turned around.
Relief and disappointment in equal measure battered at his mind. She was indeed well covered. Frilly though it might be, it was also demure, covering her from her throat to her ankles.
The scent of her invaded every pore of his body and left him wanting to hold her, kiss her one more time.
In his mind, he opened the door between their chambers, moved through it. Shut her out. In reality, he reached out for her, brought her hard against him and took her mouth in a kiss so wild, so all encompassing, her gasp of shock filled his mouth. Then she leaned into him and kissed him back with equal fervour.
When they broke apart, they were both breathing hard.
‘Join me at breakfast?’ he managed.
Eyes slumberous, lips full and rosy from his kiss, disappointment filled her expression, but she nodded her agreement.
Somehow, he managed to close the door between them.
* * *
The day was gloomy and rainy and after breakfast Julia was confined to the drawing room and her needlework. She kept thinking about the visit from the Dowager Duchess and the fact that she had not mentioned it to Alistair last night. She’d had so many chances it was now a mountain instead of a molehill. Would not Grindle have told him? Coward.
As if conjured by her thoughts the butler bowed his way in. ‘Shall I bring tea, Your Grace?’
‘Yes, please. Grindle, did you mention the Dowager Duchess’s visit to His Grace?’
His brow wrinkled. ‘I did not, Your Grace. Should I have?’
‘No. I wondered, that was all. Would you send word to the Duke to see if he would care to join me for tea?’
