Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(58)

That had been so … so different.

But as good, as pleasurable as it had been—and God, it had been so much more than that—it yet was somehow incomplete.

She missed the talk, the sharing of secrets, the intimacy that she’d shared with Charles on their one encounter. They’d spent as much time talking that night as they had on … on … on other things.

This encounter tonight, while certainly defying all expectations, somehow left her still wanting.

There had been that moment at the end, as her entire world came apart, that she stared up at Swanston and saw an expression on his face that she was sure mirrored her own, and that—that had been intimate. It was the one thing she’d never shared with Charles, that meeting of eyes that betrayed a meeting of minds.

But, that wasn’t what it meant, not really. Was it? Her mind had not met Swanston’s. It had been a meeting of bodies.

That was all.

And yet she wasn’t as sure as she would have liked. Something had happened in those final seconds. She just wasn’t sure what.

“How are you?” Swanston’s voice echoed from the pillow beside her, where he had collapsed after … well, just after.

“I believe I am fine,” she whispered back, unsure of the expected response.

“Well, that’s good,” he replied.

“Yes, it is. And you, how are you?”

He was silent for a moment, and she wondered if her question had been inappropriate. If only she had more experience with this whole bedding thing.



How was he? He’d never been asked before. His lovers had always been much more interested in how he’d pleased them than in how he was. There was a basic assumption that the man always had his pleasure, was always happy.

He’d long ago realized that was not always the case. Yes, the climax was always good, but the after … that could vary.

Which brought him to now, to this minute. How did he feel?

“I am fine also.” What else could he say?

She lay still after her question. Then again, she’d lain still since he’d first entered the bed.

He wanted to ask how this compared with sex with her previous husband, with Brookingston, but of course, such questions could never be spoken.

“Would you like me to retire to my own room?” he asked after a moment, not knowing how else to proceed.

“Do you normally? I do not wish to upset your routine.”

His routine? He had to hold back a snort. Did she think he regularly brought women home? This was the first time he’d ever f*cked under his own roof.

Now wasn’t that a thought—and not a bad one.

With a wife one could f*ck at home, not that a gentleman would ever refer to it as such.

And he supposed he could do it pretty much whenever he wanted.

He’d been about to say that he’d return to his own rooms, but the thought of having a warm female body—of having Louisa—pressed against him throughout the night and into the morning definitely deserved consideration. “As it is our wedding night, it is probably best that I stay.”

“Yes, I suppose that it is.” She returned to silence.

“Is there something else that you wish to say?”

“Yes, only I don’t know quite how to say it.”

He heard her roll on her side toward him. “Just say it,” he said.

“Well, I need to—to have a moment to myself and I … I don’t quite know how to ask.”

It took him a moment. Aah, the chamber pot. Perhaps Brookingston had not stayed with her overnight and she’d never become accustomed to being heard.

He determined that he would spend the night with her, and as often as possible.

“Perhaps I should fetch a brandy from my chamber. I would be surprised if they’ve left more than sherry in this room.” He slipped from the bed, his nightshirt falling back into place.



That had been easy enough, Louisa thought as she slipped back into bed. It had been hard to ask for the moment of privacy, but Swanston had certainly obliged her quickly enough. She smoothed the sheets about her and fluffed the pillows—for both of them. If they were going to sleep together, they might as well be comfortable.

This was all just so strange. First coming to live in a new house, and now sleeping with a near stranger.

Now, that was an exaggeration. She would never have agreed to marry Swanston if he’d been a stranger; it was simply that she didn’t know him well. But what better way to get to know him than to spend the night beside him?

Her eyes drifted closed as she imagined a lifetime of listening to somebody else breathe. It might be quite pleasant.

The bed was warm beneath the heavy coverlet and she did not even open her eyes as she heard Swanston cross the floor and slip back into the bed. Even as his weight shifted nearby, she let her thoughts float away to those future nights.

But as his lips settled on her neck, the scent of brandy filling her nose, and a hand slid up her waist to settle on a still swollen breast, her mind startled back to the present.

Twice?





Chapter Eighteen





She was alone. It was the third time she had awoken since light first crept into the room, but it was the first time she’d been alone.

Bacon. Chocolate. Fresh bread.