“I have never been with a virgin. I hope it was not too uncomfortable.”
What was she supposed to say? That she’d felt as if he’d split her in two? That it stung and burned and then all she had been able to do was hold on while he seemed to launch her into worlds unknown? Swirling heat and exquisite sensation where her bodystrove to keep up with the pleasure he gave her? That she had felt wild with it, giving herself so completely? But now, with his coolness, this distance he’d put between them, she felt as if she were suddenly lost, more alone than she had been when he walked through the bedchamber door.
She caught her lip between her teeth.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, stood and scooped up his banyan, covering his nakedness then crossing to the washstand and dampening a cloth. When he returned to the side of the bed, his face was once again impassive, so distant it chilled her.
What was he thinking? Had she been a disappointment? She hated how much she needed reassurance, needed him to hold her. The room was so unfamiliar, the wound of leaving her home, her brothers too fresh.
“You will be wanting this,” he said, retrieving her nightgown, the folds appearing even more fragile in his strong masculine hand. Once she had slipped the filmy garment on, he passed her the damp cloth. His gaze dipped to the place still tender after his possession. “You are sure that you are…quite well?” He looked as if he wanted to say more.
“Quite. A trifle cold.”
He crossed to the hearth. Taking up the poker, he stirred the embers into a brighter blaze. He stood with his back to her, his head bent, staring down into the orange flames. After a moment he turned, “That should warm the room. Now I will leave you to your rest.”
“Will you not stay?” she asked softly.
“No.” Lucien clamped his jaw tight, then turned and strode out the door.
CHAPTER 22
Lucien poured a glass of brandy from a cut glass decanter then drank it, waiting for the spirits to quell the clamoring in his head, but neither the liquor, nor glaring at Grace’s bedchamber door could blur the images that kept swirling in his mind.
Grace, her body silken, eager, so responsive he’d nearly pushed their first love play beyond what a new bride would expect. He’d wanted to do it all, all of the sensual things he’d been imagining since he’d tasted pink frosting on her skin, seen her naked as a pagan nymph in the townhouse. He had avoided virgins his whole life. Not because he was troubled by noble scruples, but because first lovers sank hooks into a person’s memory, even with a man as jaded as he. And physical pleasure was all he had ever cared to offer.
Tonight, when he’d nestled between her creamy thighs, his mouth mere inches away from her sex, he had stopped. Not because he didn’t want to shock her. But because he had known with Grace the act would be different. He would be crossing a threshold of intimacy impossible to retreat from.
He had been unnerved by whatever the hellhewas feeling. Primal triumph at being Grace’s first lover, yes, but far more perilous. Hunger for something he could not even name.
The sensation of sinking into the heat of her body had undone him, this craving for her…formore…closed about him like a fist.
Those moments after he had rolled out of her bed, stared into the fire in her room…he had fought the need to return to her, gather her into his arms, press that delectable body against him. He still felt an inexorable pull.
Won’t you stay…
Grace’s plea echoed in his head, and he could see those wide eyes that were so filled with compassion andlife. The sadness he’d seen as he turned away from her now haunted him.
He had given her the Everdene jewels, and she’d not touched a single bauble. She was seeking something far more dangerous, prying at the place he kept locked tight in his chest.
Just by leaving her bedroom, he had hurt her. What would happen when he left her to live separate lives as he intended…
When she’d escaped her arranged marriage and come to him, she had been so naïve. She had no idea what she’d bargained for wedding a man with no heart to give her.
There was only one thing to do. Get Grace with child as quickly as he could. A babe would comfort her, amuse her, love her as he could not.
And once that child was in her arms, he could do as he planned—put miles between them, go back to his solitary life.
Until then, he had to keep a tight leash on his passions because God knew where it would lead if he were ever reckless enough to let go.
Lucien swore.
It didn’t matter that he had spent countless sleepless nights in his study, buried in work. Tonight he damned well could notsit still. He yanked on clothes, thrust his feet into boots. Securing a lantern, he stalked out into the night air, down the path to the Everdene stable. The building lay quiet, the grooms and stablemaster asleep in their quarters above the stable, the smell of horses and hay and leather driving back the scent of Grace’s skin.
Atlas, Lucien’s favorite mount, thrust his head over the stall door and shook his cream colored mane, his gold coat shimmering in the flickering light. The gelding whickered and Lucien hung the lantern on a hook, then went to the horse, stroked his velvety nose. Once Atlas was out of the stall, Lucien tied him to the post and went to fetch the tack, hoping a ride would cool the fever in his blood.
As he stepped out of the tack room, a voice cut through the quiet.
“Hands in the air. Turn around. Very slowly.”
