Sighing, he straightened, intending to return to his seat.
Annabelle gave a small cry and twined her arms around his neck. Her makeshift gown tumbled to her feet, and his breath froze in his lungs.
Insides twisting with need—like he hadn’t had a woman in months instead of twice in a matter of hours—his hands coursed over her softness as she kicked the coverlet aside and pressed closer, rising onto her toes, squirming against him, effectively driving him out of his ever-loving mind.
Fool that he was, he’d thought he was in control. He hadn’t counted on her clinging to him, arching against him, untying the sash of his robe, and spreading the lapels wide to rain kisses over his chest.
He closed his eyes, breath rasping in his lungs as her silken hands slid around his waist and up over his back, her soft belly bumping and grazing the underside of his cock. Helpless to resist, he scooped her in his arms and carried her back to the bed.
He was shaking with need as he placed her on the mattress and shrugged out of his useless robe. “Annabelle,” he choked. “My God. The way you make me want you.”
She gazed up at him through passion-glazed eyes, lips parted, legs bent and spread in invitation.
He kneed his way over to her, guided his cock to her entrance, then hissed in a breath.
She was wet and slick and hot, and as he pushed inside, so deliciously tight. He thrust into her again, and again, and again, as his insides clenched, as his release threatened to take him under with the speed of an oncoming train.
And then she was shuddering and crying out as her own release crashed through her, her hot walls squeezing him in the most exquisite torture he’d ever known. She was a siren, a seductress, a magical enchantress who turned the blood in his veins to liquid fire.
“Annabelle,” he shouted hoarsely as the most powerful climax of his life exploded through him.
Afterward, as he lay atop her, gasping for breath, it occurred to him that he and his wife were on equal footing. He’d thought no one had prepared her for marriage. As it happened, he was as unprepared as she. He’d never known anything like this—this wanting that built and built and built. This insatiable need, to protect her, to possess her—to know her, for God’s sake. Surely this was an anomaly. Surely it would lessen with time. It had to.
***
A week later, sitting on the sofa in the parlor, legs curled under her and toes tucked under her skirts, she sipped a warm cup of hot cocoa—a staple, recently added to the daily tea service at her husband’s suggestion—and through the window, watched snow flurries sparkle in the afternoon sun. Across from her, Caroline worked on a needlepoint design she’d begun several days ago, depicting what appeared to be the head of a large black horse.
Annabelle sighed in contentment. As far as she was concerned, they could remain in Stoneford Castle forever. She, her husband, her new sister…
They wouldn’t, however. Sterling had announced only this morning over breakfast that his steward would arrive in two days, at which time, he and her husband would begin the process of closing up the castle for the Season.
Sterling was currently at the kilns, overseeing the task of sealing them properly.
She sipped, considered the glistening landscape outside, and imagined her reunion with her parents.
They would be back from their holiday by then, if they weren’t already. Wherever they were, surely they’d received the news of her marriage by now. Unless…
“Caroline, Sterling did send word to my parents of our impending wedding, did he not?”
“Indeed,” her sister by marriage said, stabbing her needle through the mounting board. “He wired a message the day before your ceremony, while we were occupied with preparations. But, of course, that is why…” She stopped speaking and eyed Annabelle. “Have you not heard from them?”
She shook her head. “Not a peep.”
“Mm,” Caroline murmured.
Annabelle’s thoughts exactly.
Why had they not responded? Because they were miffed by her unexpected wedding? Because the last she’d seen them, Annabelle had all but accused Sterling of complicity in Gaston’s death. Or was it because of some other reason?
So many unknowns awaited her in London. She had no notion how her marriage would proceed once they’d left the fairy tale bubble she currently inhabited. Would Sterling be attentive? Interested in what she thought and said and felt? Or, once surrounded by the rest of his family, his many friends, his many responsibilities, would he relegate her to the periphery of his existence as so many so-called gentlemen did with their wives?
She glanced at Caroline. “Caroline, where will you live, once we return? Sterling said something about you residing at his home on Hanover Square.”
She set her needlepoint on her lap and regarded Annabelle. “I don’t need to live with you. I can always move to Worley Park with my parents—and of course I shall, and give the two of you time alone to get better acquainted.”
Annabelle sat up straight, planting her feet on the ground so fast, she nearly sloshed chocolate on her skirts. “Oh, no, you mustn’t do that.”
Caroline’s taken aback expression told Annabelle her outburst had been a touch over exuberant. Gaston had often chastised her for her excessive neediness.
