What You Promised (Anything for Love, Book 4) Page 14

  It wasn’t the lie that hurt him, he understood that, but the disdain shown to a child who’d always been told to tell the truth.

  “From then on they treated me differently. To rationalise what I’d seen I tried to talk to my mother, but she insisted I was just a silly boy who made up stories. When the nightmares woke me from sleep — no one came. When I … when I soiled my bed in those moments when fear still gripped me — no one came.”

  Priscilla cleared her throat. “Is that why you keep your family at a distance?”

  “She sent me away to school, told the master I had a wild imagination which often led to endless lies.” His tone was hard now, unyielding. “The nightmares continued, as did the other embarrassing aspect that accompanied my trauma. But I was no longer alone at night. This time I was beaten for it, ridiculed, made to feel worthless. That was until Tristan came. Until I stopped being a victim and fought back. Indeed, I didn’t stop fighting until I’d bloodied every boy’s nose who’d dared taunt me.”

  Silence ensued. The wild beat of his heart and the sharp crack of a gunshot were the only sounds echoing in his ears.

  “And so that is why you insist on honesty.” Priscilla’s soft voice drifted through the carriage.

  “Let me be clear. If you ever lie to me, we could not reside in the same house. We would be married in name only.” Twenty years of bitterness was evident in his voice. “I would not tolerate your deception.” In truth, it would kill him to discover he’d been wrong about her.

  “Then I pray I always have the strength of character to be truthful.” She glanced down at her hands resting in her lap. “But in telling people we are in love, we have lied, Matthew?”

  “Have we?”

  “Do not try to offer one of your alternative explanations. A lie is a lie.”

  “I have not lied. Do we not share a passionate affection? Do we not take pleasure in each other’s company?” He admired her, yearned to claim her body. It was the closest thing to love he’d ever known. “I am committed to no one but you.”

  She crinkled her nose. “Yet it is not the same as true love.”

  “Oh, and I suppose you have experience in that regard.”

  “Some. My father was a poet. My mother was happy to live frugally to allow him to pursue his life’s work. They found beauty in each other, in nature. Never in wealth or title. They cared nothing for other people’s lofty opinions, had nothing to prove.” A long, drawn-out sigh left her lips. “To love someone is to accept them for who they are. To love someone is to nurture their soul as much as your own. While there are varying degrees of affection, there is only one love like my parents shared.”

  To him, such a love was inconceivable.

  “I doubt that sort of love is possible for everyone. Perhaps time will prove otherwise.” Her idea of love spoke of self-sacrifice, of surrendering oneself to another. It went beyond his capabilities. It was a step too far on a road he’d not intended to travel. “As I’ve said before, I live for the moment. A need to celebrate our undeniable attraction is the only thought currently plaguing my mind.”

  Priscilla smiled. “I think you use lustful activities to eradicate the pain of the past.” With a shrug, she added, “It is just my honest opinion.”

  Matthew inclined his head. “Then I must respect it.” To give any thought to the comment would only distract him from the only thing he wanted. “Perhaps we should go inside and test your theory.”

  As always a nervous energy filled the air whenever one mentioned indulging their desires.

  Priscilla shuffled forward and touched his knee. “Then take me to bed, Matthew. Love me in the only way you know how.”

  Chapter 16

  They parted ways on the landing, each heading to their prospective bedchambers to wash and change into nightclothes. Priscilla glanced over her shoulder, noted Matthew’s self-assured strides, the certainty in every movement.

  So why were her hands shaking?

  Why did it feel as though her heart and stomach had swapped places?

  She had been intimate with him before. Heavens, she had just performed an act considered lewd by most matrons’ standards. The advice to all newly married ladies was clear. Never deny one’s husband his conjugal rights else he shall seek fulfilment elsewhere. Nevertheless, some activities he may ask a lady to perform are commonplace in brothels, not the marriage bed. Once one lowers one’s standards, it’s impossible to regain one’s dignity.

  Oh, well.

  When one married a scoundrel, partaking in sinful deeds was inevitable.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Priscilla entered her chamber.

  Illuminated by the golden glow of the fire burning low in the grate and the two candle lamps positioned on the night tables, the scene spoke of seduction. The soothing ambience did little to settle her nerves. The dark shadows flickering on the wall seemed to perform a wild and erotic dance. Tonight, she would be at her husband’s mercy. She would be a slave to his wicked fingers. The feel of his naked body, skin pressed against skin, would feed her growing addiction to him.

  Lost in a vision of romantic whimsy, Priscilla tugged at the ribbons on her cloak. Marriage to a stranger should have been a cold, emotionless affair. Yet a host of feelings swirled around in her chest whenever she looked at her husband. Like a precious object on a high shelf, love was within her grasp. She could see it, almost touch it. All she needed to do was stand on tiptoes and reach higher, believe it was possible.

  The light knock on the door disturbed her reverie.

  Anne peered around the jamb. “I thought you might need my help.” The maid crept into the room and closed the door.

  The chime of midnight had passed, and so Priscilla wouldn’t keep the maid too long. “Just loosen my stays, and I can do the rest.”

  “I’ll help you undress.” Determined to be of service, Anne stood behind Priscilla and unfastened the buttons on her dress. “The hour is late. No doubt you’re eager to get to your bed.”

  Eager was an understatement.

  For days she’d waited for Matthew to come to her room. But what if she proved to be a disappointment? Perhaps if she wore something to excite him, something to heat his blood, it might help. But what? She had nothing suitable. Nothing other than the clothes of her birth. The thought of him walking in to find her stretched naked on the bed caused a fluttering sensation in her belly.

  Anne helped her out of her dress and undergarments and shook out the plain cotton nightgown with ruffled sleeves and buttons that fastened up to the throat.

  “Wait.” Priscilla raised her hand as Anne gathered the nightgown up ready to place it over Priscilla’s head. “Are all my nightclothes as plain and simple?” Women like Lucinda Pearce probably wore diaphanous silk to bed.

  Anne’s lips drew thin. A look of pity flashed across her face. “There was no time to purchase anything new, and your uncle refused to accept you needed a trousseau.”

  It had nothing to do with acceptance. Uncle Henry lacked the funds to pay. Besides, he was a person who despised extravagance and saw it as her husband’s duty to provide more than the basics.

  “Then a cotton sack it is.” With a sigh of resignation, Priscilla held her arms up and shrugged into the unflattering garment.

  With pursed lips and a compassionate gaze, Anne stepped back. “Do you remember the time when your aunt brought you the pink kid gloves presented in that ugly box? The shop had run out of fine tissue and so had covered them in brown paper.”

  “Of course. They’re the softest gloves I own.” Priscilla hugged her hands to her chest. “I wish I had twenty pairs in an assortment of colours.”

  “The packaging did nothing to detract from their quality or beauty. If anything, I believe it made you cherish them all the more.”

  Discovering the gem buried inside the odd box had stolen her breath. “The disappointing packaging made them appear all the more spectacular.”

  “Precisely. I doubt cotton is any different. Of cours
e, once a person is used to seeing presents wrapped in brown paper it doesn’t hurt to throw in the odd piece of fancy tissue.”

  A chuckle burst from Priscilla’s lips. “Then we must go shopping soon.” A sudden rap on the dressing room door startled them. “Quick. You may leave me, Anne.”

  “But don’t you want me to brush out your hair, madam?”

  “No. There’s no time.” She’d spent too long daydreaming. Anne almost stumbled over her own feet as Priscilla ushered the maid out into the hall. “Besides, the unwrapping of presents builds anticipation.”

  Fearing Matthew might think the delay meant she had changed her mind, she closed the door and hurried to the dressing room. With trembling fingers, she brushed her hand down the cotton gown and then opened the connecting door.

  “I thought you’d fallen asleep.” Matthew’s amused gaze travelled from her fancy coiffure down to her frumpy nightgown. “Do you need a little more time? Or is this intriguing contrast a means of piquing my interest?”

  Priscilla patted her golden locks, remembered she was a diamond in a pond full of pebbles. “I thought you might like to remove the pins. I thought you might like to unravel the curls, thread your fingers through my hair.”

  He raised a sinful brow of approval. “What, as one would unwrap a present?”

  “Yes, exactly like that.”

  One look at his loose shirt hanging over his breeches, and the dusting of dark hair evident through the open neck, she knew she’d be ripping the wrapping off her gift.

  “Then you do intend to step aside and let me in.”

  Priscilla steeled herself, for her stomach was busy performing acrobatic flips. “I intend to grant you whatever your heart desires.” She turned and sauntered into her chamber, could feel his stare sliding over her back like a lover’s caress.

  “I thought we could share a drink, play a few hands of cards.” Matthew came into the room, placed a crystal decanter and glass on the dressing table. The ruby-red liquid glistened in the muted light — dark and rich, just like his voice. “Or we could talk if you prefer.”

  In accordance with the obvious plan to make her feel at ease, his voice was calm, controlled, that of a man skilled in bedroom repartee. She wanted to convey the same air of self-assurance. She wanted him to see her as an alluring woman, not a child to be cared for and coddled.

  “You want to drink, talk and play cards?” Feigning the grace of a duchess, she drifted over to him and placed her palm on his chest. “If this is part of your plan to seduce me, then I can save us both some time. I don’t intend to offer an objection.”

  The tip of his tongue traced the seam of his lips. “Then I don’t intend to wait a moment longer.”

  Curling a hand around her nape, Matthew pulled her closer. Startled, she gasped, and he covered her mouth with an urgent kiss, devoured her with a hunger so opposed to his previously cool demeanour. Like a man dying of thirst, he clasped her face with both hands and drank long and deep. Just his taste — a raw masculine essence she found highly addictive — sent her head spinning.

  Currents of desire swept through her body as their tongues touched, tangled. The muscles in her core pulsed. A sense of longing gripped her, and she clutched his shoulders, his guttural groan filling her mouth as he strove to delve deeper.

  God, there was nothing she needed more than him.

  Impatient to touch his bare skin, Priscilla grasped his fine lawn shirt, yanked it up to slide her hands under, but the blasted thing was too long.

  “Here, allow me,” he said in a languid drawl as they broke for breath. “You’re a little greedy tonight.”

  “Greedy!” She was ravenous. “Well, I have waited patiently for the best part of a week.”

  “And whose fault is that? I recall rattling the door until it almost came off its hinges.”

  “It wouldn’t do to make things too easy for you. In fact, I think you should put on a show for me.” She had to do something to even the odds, something to make the moment more memorable — to set it apart from all his other encounters.

  “A show?” He brushed his lips tenderly against hers as he spoke. “So you want me to perform, my lady. Shall I juggle with a pair of ripe, juicy apples or teach you to swallow a sword?”

  Oh, he was exceptional at this game.

  “I have had some experience swallowing swords. But I’d like to watch you undress.”

  Matthew jerked his head back, but his sly smile suggested he was more than game. “As the saying goes, one good turn deserves another. I’m more than happy to go first.”

  Excitement bubbled in her belly. “It will be interesting to see if the reality lives up to what I imagined.” There was an arrogance to her tone that was so unlike her, but it served her purpose.

  “Minx. Be sure to tell me if you like what you see.” He took three steps back. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, he crossed his arms over his chest and pulled the garment over his head.

  Priscilla covered her mouth with her hand for fear of drooling. He stood before her, blindingly handsome. Broad shoulders gave way to well-defined arms. Small, dark nipples peaked under the heat of her gaze. Her fingers tingled to touch the ebony hair gracing his muscular chest.

  “Now the breeches,” she said though the lump in her throat made it almost impossible to breathe. Muscles she didn’t even know she had clenched at the prospect of joining with him.

  With his confident gaze locked on hers, he undid the buttons, pushed the breeches slowly down over his hips to reveal his erection. “As you can see, I am rather excited about the prospect of sharing your bed.” His manhood was as solid and impressive as she’d witnessed in the confines of the carriage.

  Priscilla’s mouth felt dry. “Turn around.”

  “What, you’re more curious to see my backside than my manhood?” His regal stance emphasised his powerful thighs and slim hips. Lord, she wanted to study every inch of him.

  “I’ve surveyed that part of your anatomy from close quarters.” And she would gladly do so again.

  A mischievous smile formed on his lips. “Would you care to carry out another examination? I would be more than willing to act as patient.”

  “Turn around.” Incorrigible didn’t even begin to define Matthew Chandler.

  He bowed, held his hands up and turned to face the wall. “Feast your eyes, for soon it will be my turn.”

  Despite finding amusement in their game, her body ached to join with him. Indeed, she couldn’t wait a moment longer. “Is there a part of your body that isn’t muscular?”

  “I’m afraid I’m a little out of shape. But an hour of vigorous exercise and I believe you’ll be more than impressed with the results. Now, can—”

  “Wait. Don’t turn around yet,” she said, the sound of her voice disguising the fact that she’d dragged her nightgown over her head. “Give me a few more seconds.” She pulled the pins from her hair and shook out the curls. “I’d just like to touch you if I may.”

  “I’m all yours, love. You may do what you wish.”

  Lust banished all nerves. Naked, she stepped forward. Her breasts felt heavy, her erect nipples ached. Just walking teased the sensitive spot between her legs. She touched his buttocks, ran her hands up over his back.

  “Your skin is softer than I imagined.” Stepping up on tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his shoulder.

  A pleasurable moan filled the air. “God, Priscilla, you know how to tease a man. Do you intend to torture me much longer?”

  Suppressing a chuckle, she slid her arms around his waist, hugged him tight so that her breasts were squashed against his back. “I’ve longed to feel the warmth of your skin.”

  “Bloody hell. You’re naked.”

  A wide grin formed. “I thought that was the idea.”

  Chapter 17

  With a sudden sense of urgency, Matthew stepped out of Priscilla’s embrace and swung around to face her.

  Mere days ago he’d told himself one woman’s body was the same as ano
ther. After observing the naked physique of many courtesans and mistresses, the female form no longer sent the blood rushing through his veins. Indifferent was perhaps the best word to describe his response.

  So why did his cock throb at the sight of his wife’s porcelain skin?

  Why did one glance of her soft round breasts render him mute?

  Damn, his blood was pumping so fast he struggled to stand. “As you’ve skipped the revealing, I believe it is my turn to touch.” His hungry gaze travelled over her luscious body. Hell, it took all the strength he possessed not ravage her senseless. “It’s my turn to experience the warmth of your skin.”

  She held her arms out. “I’m yours, Matthew. You may do as you wish.”

  Although she’d repeated his phrase, the thought that she belonged to him awakened a primitive need to claim, to protect. He placed both hands on her shoulders, let his fingers glide down her arms, drift across to graze over her breasts. The rosy peaks hardened instantly. He bent his head, unable to resist the urge to flick the tip with his tongue.

  She sucked in a breath, threaded her fingers through his hair as he lavished both breasts with equal attention.

  “I want to taste every inch of you, Priscilla.” With his swift movements conveying his urgency, he scooped her up into his arms and laid her down on the edge of the bed. “And I do have a debt to repay.”

  When he knelt on the floor and draped her legs over his shoulders, she clutched the coverlet. “What are you doing?” The nervous hitch in her tone was evident.

  “Fulfilling a fantasy and returning the favour.” Raining chaste kisses along her inner thigh, he worked up to the sweet spot already swollen and crying out for relief.