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Authors: Christine Warren
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that made her breath hitch and her stomach clench. They said he was more than a forceful man, that he dominated lady and whore alike in ways more than metaphorical. They said he made his women submit to his darkness.
They said his women gloried in it.
She drew in a swift breath as another wave of cold swept her. She shivered and called herself ten kinds of fool. Were those rumors not the reason she was here? The reason she had not fled her father's house the moment he announced the transaction that had sealed her future? The dark whispers called Gideon Marsh a different kind of man. A man who wanted a woman's passion, not reviled it.
He held out his hand. "Come closer. I still cannot see you, and you are chilled. Come nearer the fire."
She hesitated for one long moment while thoughts of heat and flesh swirled through her mind, warring with thoughts of escape and independence. Instinctively, she knew that if she turned and ran, she would find her husband fast on her heels, and the knowledge made her hesitate. Her subconscious mind acknowledged what a lifetime of society's rigid teachings had failed to suppress: the hot, wild curiosity to know if there might be a greater sweetness than freedom.
She stepped nearer.
Her husband laughed, soft and dark. "Closer. Must I coax you with each step, like a newborn kitten unsure of her legs?" He pointed to the carpet just before his booted feet. "Here, madam. Stand before me, so that I might see your face."
Her legs were unsteady, she thought, unsteady and unfamiliar. They trembled beneath her skirts and tightened against the melting warmth between them.
Sarah drew one deep breath, swallowing the cold knot of her anxiety, and stepped into the firelight. She felt the heat of the flames brush over her skin, ignored the heat of his body, now nearly close enough to touch. The fire warmed the heavy silk of her gown, but the heat never penetrated the surface. Beneath it, she remained cold and tense. The hand he extended held steady, without a hint of tremor or uncertainty. She ignored it, pretended it wasn't there. It was too soon. He was too much.
She stood just beyond his reach, still and silent.
His hand dropped to his side, and he set his snifter on the table at his elbow, unconcerned and unhurried. With his hands free, he leaned forward in his chair, bracing his forearms on his knees and steepling his fingers together. Sarah bore his scrutiny with clenched teeth and clenched thighs. Her husband smiled and continued to examine her.
He watched her intently. His black eyes missed nothing about her person, she was sure. They raked her from head to toe, from the top of her slightly tousled, dark-honey curls to the tips of her satin slippers peeking out from beneath her long skirts. She found his regard disturbing, especially the way his eyes lingered on the smooth, pale skin of her throat and the soft curve of her elbow. She could have ignored a man who ogled her full breasts, or the rounded curve of her hip; she had plenty of practice at both. But she found herself helpless against the gaze of a man who looked as if he wanted to feast on the less intimate parts of her body. It made her speculate about the rumors. The rumors she tried to pretend had not brought her here.
His gaze dipped to her feet, then slid slowly back up to meet her shuttered regard. Black eyes clashed with hazel for a long, tense moment.
"Turn around," he ordered, his voice honey over gravel as it broke through the thick silence. "Slowly. I want to see all of you." He made a twirling motion with his fingers, and Sarah clenched her jaw.
He teased her, she was sure. Could he not see the fine tremors that wracked her body? Could he not see that she needed something to break this tension threatening to destroy her?
"Shall I open my mouth for you, my lord?" she asked with syrupy sweetness that disguised her instinctive need to obey. If she gave in to him and his darkness, he would know all her secrets. She would be
They said his women gloried in it.
She drew in a swift breath as another wave of cold swept her. She shivered and called herself ten kinds of fool. Were those rumors not the reason she was here? The reason she had not fled her father's house the moment he announced the transaction that had sealed her future? The dark whispers called Gideon Marsh a different kind of man. A man who wanted a woman's passion, not reviled it.
He held out his hand. "Come closer. I still cannot see you, and you are chilled. Come nearer the fire."
She hesitated for one long moment while thoughts of heat and flesh swirled through her mind, warring with thoughts of escape and independence. Instinctively, she knew that if she turned and ran, she would find her husband fast on her heels, and the knowledge made her hesitate. Her subconscious mind acknowledged what a lifetime of society's rigid teachings had failed to suppress: the hot, wild curiosity to know if there might be a greater sweetness than freedom.
She stepped nearer.
Her husband laughed, soft and dark. "Closer. Must I coax you with each step, like a newborn kitten unsure of her legs?" He pointed to the carpet just before his booted feet. "Here, madam. Stand before me, so that I might see your face."
Her legs were unsteady, she thought, unsteady and unfamiliar. They trembled beneath her skirts and tightened against the melting warmth between them.
Sarah drew one deep breath, swallowing the cold knot of her anxiety, and stepped into the firelight. She felt the heat of the flames brush over her skin, ignored the heat of his body, now nearly close enough to touch. The fire warmed the heavy silk of her gown, but the heat never penetrated the surface. Beneath it, she remained cold and tense. The hand he extended held steady, without a hint of tremor or uncertainty. She ignored it, pretended it wasn't there. It was too soon. He was too much.
She stood just beyond his reach, still and silent.
His hand dropped to his side, and he set his snifter on the table at his elbow, unconcerned and unhurried. With his hands free, he leaned forward in his chair, bracing his forearms on his knees and steepling his fingers together. Sarah bore his scrutiny with clenched teeth and clenched thighs. Her husband smiled and continued to examine her.
He watched her intently. His black eyes missed nothing about her person, she was sure. They raked her from head to toe, from the top of her slightly tousled, dark-honey curls to the tips of her satin slippers peeking out from beneath her long skirts. She found his regard disturbing, especially the way his eyes lingered on the smooth, pale skin of her throat and the soft curve of her elbow. She could have ignored a man who ogled her full breasts, or the rounded curve of her hip; she had plenty of practice at both. But she found herself helpless against the gaze of a man who looked as if he wanted to feast on the less intimate parts of her body. It made her speculate about the rumors. The rumors she tried to pretend had not brought her here.
His gaze dipped to her feet, then slid slowly back up to meet her shuttered regard. Black eyes clashed with hazel for a long, tense moment.
"Turn around," he ordered, his voice honey over gravel as it broke through the thick silence. "Slowly. I want to see all of you." He made a twirling motion with his fingers, and Sarah clenched her jaw.
He teased her, she was sure. Could he not see the fine tremors that wracked her body? Could he not see that she needed something to break this tension threatening to destroy her?
"Shall I open my mouth for you, my lord?" she asked with syrupy sweetness that disguised her instinctive need to obey. If she gave in to him and his darkness, he would know all her secrets. She would be
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