Page 20 of The Wicked Duke's Convenient Bride
Matthew stared at her, looking at her in the darkness with her arm tossed over her head. Tabitha’s gown was still hitched up past her waist, and he thought of—
Of Rosemary. Always of Rosemary.
He had thought that marrying another would be the worst betrayal to her, but that was not true. This was far worse. He had not even delivered this as a cold duty meant to produce heirs. Instead, he had been kind. Gentle. He had thought of Tabitha’s pleasure, which a gentleman ought to have done, but it still felt like a betrayal. Matthew withdrew his hand and absentmindedly wiped away the evidence of Tabitha’s arousal on his trousers.
She moved her arm and gazed at him, her body relaxed and calm. “Are you going to enter me next?”
Matthew’s member was pressed so tightly against his trousers that it hurt. He ached to drive himself into her. She was ready for it now. Tabitha was wet and prepared, and if he began very slowly, it would not even need to hurt. He cleared his throat and shook his head. Matthew was glad it was dark, for it meant that Tabitha could likely not discern the bulge pressing insistently against the fabric. “I do not think you are ready for anything further tonight.”
The worst betrayal would be bedding this young woman. That would be a sign that he had really and truly replaced Rosemary, and he was a fool for thinking that he would be able to complete this task so coldly and callously. That he could engage in an amorous congress with this young woman out of duty alone and feel no other sensitive sensation.
“Oh,” she said.
“You are tired,” he said. “Ladies are always tired after that, and it has been a long day already. You ought to rest. We can—we can finish this another time.”
He left no room for argument and undressed, aware of her watching. Matthew did not look at her, and when he turned back to the bed, she had pulled her nightgown down. His member still ached with need. He considered going somewhere and tending to his needs, but it would be better if he did not. It was almost a penance, lying so terribly aroused and wanton beside the young woman whom he could not touch.
Matthew joined her in bed, keeping a considerable distance between them. Tabitha said nothing, but he felt her gaze on him. She was too clever for her own good, and she probably sensed that he was either displeased or conflicted about what had just transpired.
“What about you?” she asked softly.
“I am fine.”
“I have read that men—”
“I think I know more about a man’s needs than you do,” he interrupted curtly. “Sleep well, Tabitha.”
There was a beat of silence. He turned his back on her and tried not to think about the ache between his legs. Eventually, the feeling would fade, but waiting was agony. He must think of Rosemary and all that he owed her. If he did that, the want would be unpleasant but manageable.
“Sleep well, Matthew,” Tabitha murmured, her voice soft and kind.
He winced. It had been foolish of him to tell her that. So few people called him Matthew, only his family and—well—
Rosemary. Of course.
Chapter 9
Two nights later, Tabitha smoothed her hands over her nightgown. She ran her fingers through her hair, coaxing apart the curls that Francesca, her lady’s maid, had crafted so carefully. Her husband had not touched her since their wedding night. Tabitha could not decide if she was pleased or not. His Grace—Matthew, he had insisted on being called—had told her that he waited out of respect for her.
He wanted to be certain that she was recovered and prepared for more. Tabitha wanted to be charmed by the gesture; it sounded rather considerate of him. However, she could not dismiss the growing fear that she repulsed her husband.
She had assured him she was well and that they could continue their nightly activities. Would that happen tonight? Tabitha bit her lip and sat on the edge of her bed, waiting.
At last, the bedroom door opened, and her husband entered. “Tabitha.”
“Matthew.”
Tabitha felt herself tense in anticipation. The wedding night had not been what she expected; it only slightly resembled everything she had been told about how wedding nights were supposed to be, yet it had been so wonderful. Tabitha wanted little more than to experience that pleasure again, to try and put it in words for herself. It was unlike anything she had ever felt.
She watched as her husband dressed himself for bed. Her eyes lingered on his broad shoulders and down his well-muscled back. He cut a handsome figure, and as she looked at him, a delicious ache curled between her legs. She squeezed her thighs together.
“How are you feeling this evening?” Tabitha asked.
“Well,” he replied. “And you?”
“Quite well.”
He turned towards the bed, and Tabitha gave him a winning smile. Surely, tonight, he would touch her. They would finish what had begun on their wedding night and probably do more even after. An heir was the one thing that Matthew wanted out of this marriage, and there was only one way to make an heir.
