Beauty in Breeches(27)

The colour deepened in Beatrice’s cheeks and she tried to quell the trepidation that had arisen. When she met his eyes the shock was sharp, for she suddenly realised the moment had arrived when she must pay her dues. Would he seek vengeance cruelly and cause her pain? How could she have cast herself into his grasp so recklessly? She made a move towards the door, but his hand shot out, his fingers fastened about her wrist.

‘Oh, no, my pet, there is no way out. Besides, you cannot leave the room undressed. You’ll likely set the servants all agog. It’s time for bed.’

‘But I’m not in the least tired.’

‘Good,’ he said, his whipcord arms coming slowly around her. ‘Neither am I,’ he murmured thickly against her throat.

The warmth of his body pressed full against the coolness of Beatrice’s own. The jolt of surprise she experienced had nothing to do with revulsion, but rather with the bold, manly feel of him. The alien hardness was a hot brand against her thighs. His face lowered. His mouth was scalding upon her breast and she was devoured in a searing, scorching flame that shot through her like a flaring rocket.

‘Oh, Julius,’ she panted in a whisper. ‘Please—don’t…’ She could not draw breath. ‘Please—stop…’

Leaning down, he swung her up into his arms and carried her to the bed, promising himself every step of the way that their loving would be so perfect for her that she would never fear it again.

His strength was unexpected. He carried her easily, turning her and taking her down with him. His lips caressed her neck and ventured downwards until they were warm and moist upon her breast, rousing her to a heat she had not thought possible. She told herself she should resist what he was doing, that she didn’t want this, but she knew it would be useless, for she was no match against the power of his arms and shoulders, imbued with even greater strength by his charged emotional state.

The body that Julius’s own so fiercely desired lay beneath him and his uncontrollable hunger for her took command. He managed to free one hand and cup her breast. Her hair was spread out on the sheets, adding to her wild beauty. Her lips responded to his. While he held her firm so that their bodies were touching, his experienced mouth parted hers and flirted with her lips, her tongue, his hands caressing her body, her breasts, circling the rosy crests with his thumb until they stood proud and firm. Beatrice shivered with delight and clung to him—but suddenly, feeling her modesty about to be invaded when his hand slid boldly up the inside of her thigh, her wakened senses alarmed, she gasped and began to pull away as if she had been scorched.

‘Please—stop it. I can’t do this. I don’t want to do it.’

Blindly, the tears sprang from her eyes. His hard thighs were between her own, bringing his virile organ inexorably closer to the gateway of his desire.

Julius immediately knew how apprehensive she was and, although she resisted, he held her hips against his. Such was his desire, he was tempted to mount her and seek his release, but he fought it, determined to take her slowly, to cause her as little pain as possible.

‘No,’ he said gently as she tried to wriggle from beneath him. ‘Don’t pull away and I’ll do my best not to hurt you.’

But he did hurt her when his manhood, swollen and hard, touched her in brief dalliance, then pressed into the delicate softness of her. A quicksilver pain shot through her and Beatrice bit her lips to keep from crying out, hiding her face against the base of his throat. Her nails dug into the soft flesh of his back, but he seemed not to notice as his mouth touched her ear and with utmost care he began to move.

For a while the pain was fierce, but like the most violent of storms this passed, all the more quickly for its furious nature, and afterwards, as she lay against her husband, she could not understand why her breasts and her belly quivered in hot anticipation for the moment when he would reach for her again.



Their second union was so very different. Even as she tried to turn from him, Beatrice felt the betraying moisture from her loins and she could resist no longer. This time there was no pain. It was forgotten in the heat of motion and the sensation of Julius filling her, thrusting, touching all of her. Surprised, she felt herself respond to him and swell against him in pulsating waves of pleasure as he brought her body to life. And then bliss as a wonderful aura burst around them. Deep inside the sensations started to build and expand through her as his life-giving seed erupted and spilled into her, warming her, combining their minds and souls in physical release and the act of love.

She knew then what it was to be a woman, the hard, powerful body of a man pressed against her, his manhood still swollen and warm, still moving, but gently now. The pulsating contractions continued to build until the heat slowly subsided and left her body quivering with the after-effects. The parting of their bodies was jarring, like a bereavement from which she could not imagine recovery. Unbidden tears came to her eyes and she turned away, burying her face in the pillow, weeping silently so he would not see. How could she explain to him how she felt? Everything was changed now. Nothing was the same—she wasn’t the same. She wanted nothing more than to revel in this new discovery of herself and the fullness of the moment. Wanted desperately…what? What did she want? If only she could understand what had happened to her. What had she done? What had he done to her? Suddenly she knew a feeling of loneliness, for she had found such pleasure—a pagan pleasure in his arms—and something else, something dangerous to her, a feeling that shouldn’t exist, but it did. For what she wanted more than anything else at that moment was for him to speak her name in that tender tone—and to say I love you.

No matter how hard she tried to conceal her tears, Julius heard her muffled sobs. As if her need to hear him speak communicated itself to him, he spoke, but not with the tone or the words her heart yearned for. He spoke quietly and without emotion.

‘I apologise if I hurt you. I tried very hard not to. It would have hurt no matter who took you the first time.’

She shook her head and drew an unsteady breath. ‘No, you didn’t hurt me.’ Misery engulfed her. The words he uttered were a long way from saying I love you, which was what she wanted him to say. At that moment she sorely wished he would go away, for his presence wreaked havoc on the serenity she so desperately sought.

Julius reached out his hand to draw her back into his arms, but when he heard her say, ‘I would like to sleep now’, he hesitated, then withdrew it, sensing she wished to be left alone, yet reluctant to do so. He wanted to test her honesty and ask her again, for her to reassure him that he hadn’t hurt her, but he did not want her to tell him that she hadn’t felt all the things he had when he’d taken her. He lay still, listening as her breathing slowed and she drifted into a deep sleep.



Hearing some imperceptible movement coming from his own chambers, he was wide awake at once. In one fluid, easy motion he got out of bed. The sight of the rumpled sheets so like a battleground brought back the sensuous memories of their lovemaking. All the emotions, the crashing waves of a tortured sea, surged and eddied in his mind. His gaze lingered on his wife a moment, thinking she was asleep. He felt a great wave of surprising tenderness wash over him. How vulnerable and utterly lovely she looked—how incredibly beautiful she was with her hair spilling over the pillows and gleaming in the pale dawn light.

He had done his level best to hurt her as little as possible. He was tempted to lean over and lay a hand on her naked shoulder before thinking better. Remembering her tears, he backed away from the bed, telling himself she would not miss him and would be simply relieved that he had spared her the unwanted task of another nocturnal pursuit.

In his own room Julius heard a controlled knock on the door. Opening it, he was presented with a footman holding a small silver tray with a letter on it.

‘A message has arrived for you, sir. The courier said it was urgent, otherwise I would have waited until morning to give it to you.’

‘Here, I will take it.’ Julius tore open the letter and read it quickly. The news was bad. Cursing silently, he strode to the door to issue orders to have his valet wakened to pack his bags.



Feeling the man beside her stir, through half-closed eyes feigning sleep, Beatrice heard the bed creak as Julius moved away from her and returned to his own chambers. She opened her mouth to call him back, but the thought that he might not want to strangled the words in her throat.

Drawing the sheet over her nakedness, she rolled on to her back. The movement caused her some annoyance, for in certain parts of her body she was sore and bruised, yet at the same time that small electrifying pulse, which surged just at that part of her that ached the most, flared in the most amazing way.

Immersed in her reflections, feeling languid yet clear headed, she stared up at the canopy. What Julius had done to her had left her bemused and possessed by him. She had not expected her body to respond to his in such an overwhelming way. He had done things to her that should have disgusted her; instead she had clung to him, encouraged him, even, her treacherous body glorying in it, the evidence being the red-black smears of her blood on the sheets—a sign of his entry—his gain, and her loss.