More than anything else, she didn’t wish to give her father any reason to attempt to prove the marriage invalid. She hardly knew what he’d do when he realized that she’d not only ruined herself but disobeyed him, dashing any chances for his much-desired connection with Lord Breckly. No one defied her father without suffering deeply for their daring.
The memory of the last time she’d done so cut through her with the precision of a blade and every bit as much pain before she chased it from her mind. She wouldn’t think of Padraig now or ever again if she could help it. He was her past, and the man standing before her was her future. They couldn’t have been more different.
She couldn’t afford to allow one questioning maidservant who noticed Daisy was still perfectly, impeccably dressed—bloodied sheets or no—to open the door for her father. She would not return to live beneath his roof. Nor would she suffer one more of his rages.
“Very well.” Sebastian closed the distance between them in two long strides. “I assume this bloody frock has buttons on it somewhere?”
Her breath caught as his fingers traced the front panel of her bodice, beginning just beneath her breasts and then down over her ribs. Through her stiff corset and layers of undergarments, she could still feel the heat of him. She watched his large, capable hands tracing downward, over her waist. The buttons were hidden on her back, and some wicked part of her longed to hold her tongue, to make him continue his fruitless search just for the delicious slide of his fingers over her body.
“On the back.” Her gaze traveled from his hands to his mouth. What would it be like to have those sensual lips angling over hers again, this time with no one to interrupt and no encumbrances?
He seized her waist and spun her about so abruptly that she lost her balance and fell into him. A distinct ridge prodded the small of her back, and she fought and lost the urge to rub herself against him like a cat. His fingers bit into her waist, pulling her back and anchoring her to him completely. A dark, carnal sound tore from him. His mouth was on her in the next breath, kissing the same sensitive skin behind her ear that he had brought to life that night in the moonlight.
His lips grazed the shell of her ear, then skimmed lower, trailing a series of decadent kisses down her throat. When he stopped to lick and nibble there, a pang of something new started from her core and radiated throughout her entire body. The heady, magic spell that had descended on her at the Darlington ball returned.
She yearned for something she didn’t entirely comprehend. All she knew was that she ached with a need that only he could slake. Sebastian. Her husband. Self-preservation was the last thing on her mind as she writhed against his powerful frame, wanting more of his mouth, more of his kisses, more of his touch.
Daisy felt pins being plucked from her hair, the heaviness of her braids loosening and opening. One of his hands had migrated from her waist, and was buried in her half-unbound locks, fisting in it, angling her head back so that he could feast on her neck.
“Christ, you smell so bloody good,” he growled against her throat.
So did he, and she would have told him as much if she could have managed to utter a single, coherent word. But he had robbed her of the ability to conduct intelligent conversation. To think of anything that wasn’t him, his wicked lips, his knowing touch.
She inhaled deeply, her fingers reaching back to sink into his dark hair. Perhaps they didn’t need pretense. Some wild impulse within her imagined him stripping her gown away, covering her body with his on the bed. Consummating their union. It was such a tepid phrase, a bloodless way of describing the intense pleasure he gave her. What would it be like to give herself to him? To become his wife in deed as well as name? Her pulse pounded.
But just as curiosity mingled with desire, he tore his mouth from her neck and set her away from him. “Jesus,” he muttered, sounding as shaken as she felt. His fingers skated over her spine. “Where are the goddamn buttons, Daisy?”
The spell was broken. Reality returned to her. It was daylight. The rumbling of conveyances on the street below reached her ears. What had she been thinking to allow herself to get so carried away? He was a stranger to her, even if he was her husband, and he clearly resented her.
Of course, how could she find fault with him after confessing the way she’d schemed against him? And then, even a breath later, when he’d asked her if there was anything else she needed to unburden, she had misled him again. Had lied to him. Part of her had wanted to tell him about Bridget, but another part reminded her she didn’t know what sort of man she’d married. She would like to believe he would never hurt her, but she had suffered many disappointments in her life, and the cynic in her wouldn’t allow for blind hope or trust.
“The buttons, Daisy.” His voice cracked like a whip through her jumbled thoughts.
With trembling hands, she reached behind her to find the line of buttons cleverly disguised beneath a velvet placket. “Here.”
His fingers brushed against hers for a brief moment, and the contact was like a spark of electricity. Hastily, she snatched her hands away to pluck some more of the pins from her coiffure. Cool air kissed her bare shoulders above her chemise and corset as he peeled open the back of her gown.
“There now.” He pulled her sleeves down, her bodice going along with it. “I’ll loosen your corset. I trust you can manage the rest?”
His tone was cool once more. Almost impersonal.
It was as if he had two opposite parts of himself at war. He was frigid one moment and scorching the next. A cold, imperious man she couldn’t read at one turn and a sensual, wicked lover the next. Which one was he?
She swallowed, confusion warring with the lingering remnants of desire. He must be angry with her for her deception despite his claim to the contrary. “I can manage the rest, Your Grace. It was merely the laces and the buttons that I couldn’t reach. Thank you for your help.”
“Sebastian.” The laces of her corset went slack as he undid the solid knot Abigail had tied earlier and plucked at the crisscrossed strings to loosen them. “Wait another twenty minutes or so before ringing for your lady’s maid.”
“Yes, Your—Sebastian.” She swallowed, holding her bodice to her chest as he swept past her, stalking in the direction of his chamber.
“I’ll be leaving shortly. Settle yourself however you like,” he called over his shoulder, not even bothering to glance her way.
His callous treatment after such an intimate moment stung more than it should. It wasn’t as if she loved him. Goodness, it wasn’t as if she even knew him. But somehow, none of that mattered as she watched him walk away. He wanted her to call him by his Christian name, but he didn’t want to consummate their marriage, and he couldn’t wait to remove himself from her presence.
“Will you be home for dinner?” she called after him.
He hesitated for a moment just before crossing back into his chamber. “It’s doubtful. Should your family call or cause any undue trouble for you, inform Giles to have word sent to me at once. He’ll know where to find me.”
And then the door snapped closed behind him, leaving her standing alone in her new chamber, half-naked and more adrift than she’d ever been in her life.
