CHAPTER SEVEN
Had she any reservations about sleeping with her new husband, she needn’t have worried, for the man in question was nowhere to be found.
Louisa undressed and readied herself for bed. She switched off all the lights save the bedside lamp and crawled beneath the sheets. She thumbed through one of the novels she’d unpacked until the stateroom door creaked open.
“Lord Granborough?” She placed her book on the night table. “Hello?”
His tall form, now curiously slumped and weary, emerged from the shadows. He shrugged from his greatcoat and slung it over one of the suite’s brocade armchairs.
“There you are,” said Louisa. “I was beginning to worry.”
A pair of blue eyes snapped to hers. “Why?”
“Because you’re my husband.”
“Don’t remind me,” he muttered beneath his breath.
“I beg your pardon?” She couldn’t believe her ears. Surely, she’d misheard him.
He waved her off as he stripped out of his jacket and waistcoat. “I said ‘don’t mind me’. I go off by myself sometimes. A man must have his privacy.” His Lordship sat on the edge of the bed to remove his socks and shoes.
“Of course, my lord. I didn’t mean to encroach…”
“Never follow me or attempt to pry into my affairs. I shall extend to you that same courtesy.” He rose from the bed to turn off the lone lamp before shucking his shirt and trousers. The room was shrouded in darkness as he climbed onto the mattress beside her. “Now, lie back.”
Louisa felt him fumble beneath the sheets. Cold hands—had he been walking on the deck?—parted her thighs, lifting her nightgown only as high as necessary to fit his naked body into the cradle of her hips.
Beyond that, Lord Granborough barely touched her. His free hand flattened onto the mattress beside her breast. His eyes focused on her forehead, refusing to meet her gaze.
His handsome, shadowed face grew tense, as if he were steeling his resolve. Louisa couldn’t fathom this change in him. Earlier, he’d seemed as eager as she to complete the marital act. Shewantedhim, and couldn’t understand why he no longer wanted her.
“Relax your body,” he said.
“I am trying. Maybe it would be easier if you embraced me as you did on the sofa—I liked that.”
“Shh.”
She felt him questing at her entrance.
“Almost there.”
He entered her with a low groan.
Louisa gasped from the bite of pain, the unfamiliar invasion as her husband began to mount her, and that slow, steady grind of his flesh against hers.
She searched his eyes, uncertain, yet he shut her out. He panted only inches away from the tip of her nose, though they may as well have been oceans apart. Wherever he’d gone, he’d left her far behind.
“Won’t you kiss me, my lord?” She lifted her lips to touch his.
He flinched from her seeking mouth. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“Then will you at least look at me?” She shifted on the mattress to meet his gaze.
“Don’t wriggle. I don’t wish to hurt you.”
“You aren’t hurting me—not much.” Louisa lifted her hand to stroke his jaw, to cup his cheek.
Wordlessly, His Lordship removed her hand from his face and, still gripping it, pinned it above her head. She felt her knuckles press into the pillow, his fingers laced tightly with hers, squeezing and flexing with every thrust. Louisa focused on that—squeeze and flex, squeeze and flex—until she felt the warm rush of his climax as he finished inside her.
