His senses exploded. No longer capable of thrusting into her with detached control, he gripped her hips hard, thumbs digging into the soft, tender flesh, and he pumped vigorously with almost mindless, insistent urgency.
The pressure built to unbearable heights, and then Trevor felt the shudder begin, the blessed release. His entire body strained and convulsed as the climax overtook him, spilling his seed violently deep inside her tender flesh, nearly at the opening of her womb.
He tried not to collapse on top of her, to spare her his crushing weight, but she hugged him so fiercely he fell forward. For a long moment he lay there, the sound of his ragged breathing echoing through the room.
Gradually he came to his senses. Trevor raised his head slowly. A span of several heartbeats passed before he found the courage to gaze at the woman sprawled beneath him—his wife, now in body as well as name.
A blush of color stained her pale cheeks and her eyes were half closed. He brushed the hair out of her face, wondering if she was still in pain, hoping he had not embarrassed or upset her too much.
Her eyes fluttered open. “Is that it? Is it over?”
“Yes.” He rolled off to the side. Her simple questions confirmed what he expected. What he intended, really. She had not reached climax.
She was too inexperienced to realize it, of course. Proof of that came to him when she turned and snuggled close to him and sighed contentedly. He had brought her some measure of pleasure, some measure of enjoyment, but not the ultimate release, the ultimate intimacy.
For he knew that by satisfying one need he would be creating another.
“ ’Tis late,” he said softly. “I should leave you to your rest.”
“No!” Her arms tightened around his neck. Then she lowered her head in embarrassment. “Please, stay a while longer.”
His fingers trailed over her bare shoulder. Her skin was so soft and smooth, so daintily white and unblemished. Trevor ran his hands through the lengths of golden hair that hung down her back. He caught a whiff of the lust that hung heavy in the air and felt his body begin to stir. He should leave, before she managed to arouse him once more. Yet he made no move to abandon his pleasant bower, allowing her to intertwine her leg intimately with his.
He felt her fingers twisting through the hair on his chest as he began to drift off to sleep. Unconsciously, his arms tightened around her. His eyelids closed as emotions and fatigue claimed him.
Meredith watched him sleep. When the slow rise and fall of his chest became a steady rhythm, she propped her elbow at an angle and rested her head upon her hand to gain a better view.
She gazed at him for a long time, like a love-struck fool, warning herself again and again not to wish for the stars or expect the impossible. The marquess was a difficult man to love, and the road she had chosen would not be an easy one to travel. Yet stubbornly she refused to give up hope.
Coming to his father’s house had taken a toll on his emotions. Even in slumber his handsome face seemed drawn, flushed with weariness.
Meredith leaned forward, dropped a quick kiss on his shoulder, then carefully slid from the bed. Her body ached in odd places and her inner thighs were sticky with his seed. She went to the washstand and poured a small amount of water into the porcelain bowl.
Meredith soaked a linen cloth, then carefully cleansed herself. Her body still throbbed from his possession. Yet as she ran the cloth over her tender flesh, she could not dispel the restless feeling that there should have been more.
There had been joy and wonder in their lovemaking, but there had also been an urgency, a frantic sense of reaching for something—something that was not there. Love? Meredith was unsure. It could hardly be necessary to be in love to achieve complete sexual fulfillment.
Her dashing husband was the perfect illustration of that theory. He most definitely was not in love with her, yet he had experienced something far more earth-shattering than she. Perhaps only men so easily achieved this blissful state?
Yet Meredith distinctly recalled that during that embarrassing and rather graphic conversation her mother had initiated about marital relations, there was mention of mutual pleasure and mutual enjoyment—passion so intimate it could make the body sing, surrender so complete one lost all sense of self-protection and simply gave and gave until they were free and satiated.
That was the sort of physical intimacy Meredith was hoping to someday achieve with her husband. Given his rakish reputation and experience with the female sex, she suspected he knew precisely how that was accomplished. All she need do now was somehow convey her desire to him.
With a philosophical frown, Meredith returned to the bed. Trevor stirred, but did not awaken as she climbed in beside him. For a moment she was disappointed. If he woke up, they would be able to engage in more lovemaking, perhaps this time reaching the heights of that elusive shattering pleasure.
Blushing at her wanton thoughts, Meredith laid back against her pillow. She turned and took up her favorite position, with her head resting comfortably against the solid muscle of Trevor’s chest. He shifted, then wrapped his arms securely around her. She smiled. A part of him must truly want her, even if the waking side of him had yet to realize it.
All was quiet and still around them. Beneath her cheek Meredith could hear his heart beating. The comforting sound lulled her into a peaceful sleep.
Meredith awoke alone. It was not a great surprise, but rather a big disappointment. Her mouth set in a thin line as she lay in the bedchamber flooded with morning sunshine, trying to decide if she should take breakfast in her bedchamber or brave the dining room.
Eating in the dining room would increase the chances of seeing her husband. It would also increase the chances of seeing her new father-in-law.
Deciding there was really no way to achieve one goal without facing the consequences of the other, Meredith rang for her maid. She did not linger over her morning toilet, but took care to select one of her more flattering gowns, a simple muslin creation of sapphire blue that set off her eyes.
Once Rose had helped her dress, Meredith descended the stairs in search of breakfast and mentally prepared herself to tangle with the two new men in her life.
As she expected, the duke was seated at the head of the breakfast table, coffee cup in hand, a newspaper spread across the table. There was no sign of the marquess.
