Page 123 of Regency Whispers: Scandalous Matches

‘Don’t leave me, Alice,’ he said, his touch gentle but firm.

‘I’ll just be along the hall.’

‘Stay with me tonight. You are my wife.’

‘In name only,’ she said, regretting the sharpness of her words immediately, but thankfully Simon did not seem to notice.

‘There’s space for you right here,’ he said, and with a firm pull he tumbled her into bed beside him.

Alice let out a low cry of surprise and was about to sit up when Simon rolled over and flung his arm across her, pinning her in place. His face nuzzled into her neck, his lips brushing against her skin.

‘Have I told you that you smell delicious?’ he mumbled.

‘You did mention it on the stairs.’

He murmured something incomprehensible, and then with his lips against her skin and his arm thrown possessively over her body, his breathing deepened.

‘Simon,’ Alice whispered, wriggling from side to side, unable to believe he had fallen asleep so quickly.

There was no response. She stilled, considering her predicament. The right thing to do would be to slip out from under his arm and leave him to sleep alone. She could spend the night in his bed; his room was comfortable and his bed made up and inviting. Yet something made her want to stay. Alice knew Simon was only being affectionate because he was in his cups. Tomorrow in the cold light of day, he would probably regret his actions, but tonight he had wanted her. This past year she had craved affection, craved the touch of another person, especially whilst she was in London. At least in Northumberland she received the occasional embrace from her sister-in-law or nieces, but here she was the lady of the house and so far above everyone else in social status there was no contact whatsoever.

Alice closed her eyes for a moment and wondered if she were being completely foolish, but it was merely a cuddle, one warm body pressed against another, nothing more. Tomorrow she could tell Simon she had been trapped by his arm over her waist, and it wouldn’t be entirely untrue.

Deciding she would allow herself to have this one chaste night with her husband in their marital bed, Alice closed her eyes and tried to quieten her racing thoughts.

In all his thirty-three years, Simon had only been blindingly drunk a handful of times, normally after celebrations where drink after drink had been on offer and his spirits high. He thought back to the night after his graduation, surrounded by friends, toasting the end of their time at university. The memory gave him a momentary warm feeling, and he luxuriated in it for a few seconds before returning to the matter in hand.

‘You’re not a young pup anymore,’ he muttered to himself. Ten years ago he could have drunk twice as much and not felt the room tilt around him the next day, but now his body was protesting, and he would probably pay for his excesses the entire day, or at the very least until he could get a strong cup of coffee inside him.

As he lay in bed, eyes firmly closed to guard against the room spinning, he realised he was not alone. There was a warm body in the bed next to him, soft and smooth, and he was pressed at least partially against her.

His eyes shot open, and he took in the red hair spread across the pillow and the peaceful face of his wife as she slept. She looked contented, happy even, and as he watched, she burrowed farther down into the pillow, her body shifting and pressing against him.

For a moment Simon was too shocked to move. She was in a sensible cotton nightgown with a dressing gown overtop, but at some point in the night the material had ridden up to reveal her legs and, above them, the hint of her buttocks. Up higher his hand rested across her waist, fingers splayed, the tips brushing against her breast.

Simon felt a surge of desire almost overwhelm him. He had always found his wife attractive, but lying in bed next to her, her warm body pressed against his, was unbearable. He wanted to lower his lips to hers and kiss her until she woke, and then strip the sensible nightdress from her body and enjoy every inch of her.

A sensible man would move away, but Simon could not bring himself to roll over. With a great effort he thought back to the night before. Alice did not look like she had been ravaged, her nightclothes were not torn or discarded, and she slept peacefully beside him.

Slowly the events of the previous evening came back to him. He retraced his steps from his gentlemen’s club where he had spent half the afternoon trying to drown out the echo of Alice’s words with a bottle of whisky. Later he had moved on to less salubrious establishments and had continued drinking where no one knew him.

He remembered stumbling home and Alice waiting for him, the rest of the house in darkness, and finally he remembered her helping him upstairs to bed.

Gently he pressed a kiss against the back of her head. She couldn’t know how much he desired her, how every day he dreamed about scooping her into his arms and making her into his true wife. It was torture being so close and being unable to act on the desire that surged through him.

She was right in her assessment of him the day before, although her delivery of the stinging truths had left a lot to be desired. He wouldn’t allow them to become close for two reasons. The first was as he had told her when he’d returned: he did not know when he might suddenly die, killed by the same affliction that had suddenly taken his father and his brother. He did not want to build a relationship with Alice only to pull it all away from her when his inevitable death came.

The second reason was something he thought had remained hidden deep inside, this feeling that he had stepped into Robert’s life. He had the title, the seat in Parliament, the estate and all the properties, the responsibility of being the earl. All the things Robert had relished and enjoyed. It would be too much if Simon had a happy marriage and children too, those things that his brother had cherished the most.

‘Not so hidden,’ he murmured quietly. It would seem his mother had guessed what stopped him from settling down as an earl was expected to, what drove him away from a conventional marriage to live a life of loneliness.

He wished it wasn’t the case, and he knew Robert would never begrudge him happiness, but he couldn’t help feeling as though he had stolen his brother’s life.

Next to him Alice shifted and pressed herself even closer against him, giving a little sigh of contentment. He knew she wanted more from their marriage, that despite having built a life for herself here with her charities and position in society, she craved human touch and affection. He had seen the way she glanced at him, the desire in her eyes, and part of him responded in the same way.

With his free hand he reached out and gently stroked her hair, allowing himself to imagine for a moment a life where he gave in to his desire. Long mornings spent in bed together, snatched kisses in public, walking hand in hand through Hyde Park. Skipping dinner in favour of returning to the bedroom and trying to quench the insatiable desire they felt.

It was a tempting picture, and with her warm body pressed against him he almost gave in, but nothing had changed, not really. Alice might know of the pain and turmoil that raged inside him, but that did not lessen it.