Surely, a little affection wasn’t too much to ask from one’s husband.
This time, he listened to her. Large hands stroked her inner thigh. Fingertips caressed her breasts through her nightdress, and his thumb teased her nipple until she trembled. Soon, she was all a-shiver in the warm, dim, swaying cabin.
There was no pain when he eased inside her, only a delicious hunger as she welcomed him in.
Louisa put her hands on his shoulders as he pumped into her. She buried her face in his neck, breathing in the scent of tobacco smoke, shaving lotion, and sweat as he worked her. She marveled at the steady rhythm of his thrusts, his hands on her hips, pulling her against him.
He seemed desperate, clinging to her as though she were a life-preserver, and he a drowning man.
Louisa began to feel the stirrings of something pleasurable. She lifted her knees in response, instinctively drawing him deeper. That simple act seemed to spur him to a frenzy. Her husband was lost to anything beyond this new angle of her hips and the driving depths of each stroke as she took him in again, and again, and again.
“Aaah—”He finished too soon, moaning as his fingers dug into her buttocks, as his weight crushed her now-tender breasts. He shook as he spent himself into her.
Panting, he rolled away from her. Lord Granborough stared up at the canopied ceiling, eyes swimming with some emotion Louisa couldn’t begin to fathom, knowing he wouldn’t bother to tell her. He’d got what he needed from her and now retreated behind the curtain.
She was left feeling needy, her body aching as though she’d been deprived of something precious. Disheartened, she tugged her nightdress down over her knees and did her best to ignore the warm, slack, sated man at her side.
Louisa’s hopes for an affectionate marriage were dashed yet again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Mid-morning sun filtered through their porthole window. Giles admired the sleeping young woman lying next to him. He knew she’d gone to bed unsatisfied, and he felt guilty that he couldn’t grant her the physical closeness she desired. Louisa may have been his wife, but she could never truly behis.
He could never truly behers.
That place in his affection belonged to another. It seemed the rights to his body had been bought and paid for—without his consent—by Lady Venia Herbert, and their affair now threatened to consume him.
Giles could not be both a lover and a husband to Louisa, though she alone deserved his fidelity.
Wives were for securing alliances, breeding babies, running households, and hosting parties. Mistresses were for pleasure, diversion, and respite from one’s duties. He’d never known a gentleman to cross the two successfully and did not imagine Louisa would be interested in trying.
Let her pick a lover of her choosing—some sensitive fellow who could pet her and dote upon her as she deserved. Giles would be decent enough not to stand in her way.
For now, he needn’t share her with anyone. He and Louisa had five blessed days together before they went their separate ways.
He wistfully traced her perfectly shaped eyebrows, her cheeks, her nose. He feathered a fingertip over her lips, her chin. He longed to kiss all the angular points of her flawless profile. In the shell of her ear, he whispered, “Good morning, Lady Granborough.”
Her lashes fluttered. She awoke to find him hovering too near. Frowning, she turned from him, leaving the bed to search for the wrapper she’d discarded the night before.
He’d been so afraid last night—terrified, if he were honest with himself. Coupling with Louisa had been the last thing he’d wanted, but she’d proved a safe harbour.
She donned her dressing gown, fastening the little jeweled clasp beneath her breasts. Her loose, cascading hair was gilded in the sunshine as she crossed the room and rang for breakfast. She really was very pretty…
Giles stretched lazily beneath the bedlinens, recalling his wife’s knees lifting to cradle him, and her little puffs of breath on his cheek. She had been close to moaning in his arms. Against his better judgment, he wanted her back between the sheets.
“There is no reason to rise early, Louisa. Why don’t you take your coffee in bed?”
She flashed him an annoyed, wifely look.
Oh, yes, she was learning quickly.
He smiled at her, though she couldn’t see it, for she’d stooped to tug on her slippers. She was brave and defiant; uncowed, even by him. Giles recalled escorting her downstairs to dinner, how she’d faced six hundred strangers on his arm and charmed their table-mates by his side. Was there anything she couldn’t master if she put her mind to it?
“You were wonderful last night,” he told her. Louisa gaped at him, as if he’d said something crude. He realized his mistake almost too late and rushed to correct himself. “You were wonderfulat dinner.”
“I liked being the center of attention,” his wife admitted. “Last night, people listened whenever I had something to say.”
“I don’t recall anyone ignoring you in New York.” Indeed, to his annoyance, Louisa had been at the heart of every gathering, invited to every party, sought out for every dance. He’d struggled to find her for waltzes, fending off swains trying to rescue her from their impending mésalliance.
