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He did stop though. He stopped everything he was doing. Stopped kissing her. Stopped touching her. He moved his body off her.
Bolting up from the bed, she scrambled to the corner, slamming her head back into the bedpost. It hurt, but more importantly served a purpose. The blow brought her out of the unbearable chasm of fear and into the present moment.
Covering her breasts, she drew her arms around them and hugged her knees, burying her chin at the top. It stabilized her, gave her a point of reference from which to gain bearings.
Jeremy lay beside her, rolled onto his back now, an arm draped over his eyes. He breathed heavily. His wide chest peeked beneath the cut of his dark-blue robe. She could see the hair that darkened his chest. He was naked under his robe. And aroused, too. She had felt him hard when he’d pressed against her hip. Now she could see it. Well, see evidence of it anyway, underneath the heavy blue silk. A solid ridge lying long on his belly. His manhood. Big. Enormous.
He wanted to have it inside her. But she knew all about that, didn’t she? She’d been well schooled in knowing what a man did to a woman when he took her.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I—I am s–s–sorry for p–p–pushing you—”
“I meant your head. You hit your head.”
“I—I am fine.” No, you’re not fine. You’re a wretch—a bad wife. You denied him. You pushed him away!
He was quiet, still as a statue except for his breathing. She couldn’t tell if he was angry with her or not. He should be angry. He deserved to be. She wasn’t keeping to her end of their bargain was she? Heirs, babies—she’d promised.
Jeremy left the bed after a time. God, he was tall. His big body looming over her, tense and quiet, he seemed to be waiting for her to acknowledge him.
Georgina held on to her knees, afraid to move. She braved a glance up at her husband.
His expression unreadable, he broke the silence hovering in the space between them, as thick as drying mortar. “Good night, Georgina.”
His voice sounded tight, but not harsh. He wasn’t even going to make recriminations for her failure, and she realized he was taking his leave.
“Where are you going?” she blurted.
“To sleep in my chamber.”
“I am sorry. Jeremy. I didn’t mean what I did. Please don’t leave.”
He sighed. “I must. I am. You need—” he stopped himself and raked a hand through his hair. “We are both very tired from this long day of travel. Try to sleep now.”
Then he walked out the door.
Tears flowed soundless for long minutes until sensibility returned eventually, and with it, mortification. Her husband had just walked out on their wedding night.
Unable to focus on the shame, she looked around the lovely room. The lady’s chamber—her room. Done in pale blue and gold, the colors suited her, the dark woods in contrast with the lighter fabrics.
A stunning equine portrait of two horses standing along the coast hung opposite the bed. It was so unique. She’d never seen anything like it before and had to wonder about the artist. It belongs to you now. And then it hit her. She was now the mistress of all of this. And you don’t deserve any bit of it.
She hadn’t done anything to deserve what was now hers by right. You’re now his by right. He has the right to bed you whenever he wishes. And he hadn’t. He wanted to though.
Jeremy needed an heir for Hallborough and was doing what must be done to get one. And she’d agreed to it. He had not hurt her or done anything disrespecting. Some of what he’d done had felt…nice. He was her husband now. You need to be a wife to him.
Georgina got out of bed and poured water for washing. She cleansed her face of the salty tears and changed out of her rumpled nightdress. She brushed her hair for a long time and left it wavy and loose about her shoulders.
Squaring those same hair-draped shoulders, determination fortifying her, she left the elegant boudoir, lamp in hand, and made for the master’s chamber.
* * * *
Jeremy didn’t know quite what he should do, being that he was frustrated and disappointed and, quite frankly, worried. What if she always panics like that?
First things first. He needed a drink. The scotch he threw back razed his throat in a fire that strangely served only to comfort as the heat burned all the way down.
What he did next, he really should have done before he’d gone to her. Maybe he might have been more in check and not frightened her. He figured it wouldn’t take long considering the state of his cock and balls. His prediction was accurate. Once he set himself to task, it didn’t take long at all. Prick in hand, Jeremy jerked himself as ably as any self-respecting gin whore could have done.
