Once Upon a Wedding Night Read online

  Bess stepped in front of Meredith. “It’s time you leave. You’ve caused enough trouble.”

  Meredith tried to peer around the woman to catch a glimpse of Nick. She waited the span of a few breaths, enough time for him to stop her if he were inclined. With a curt nod of acceptance, she veered for the door.

  Meredith managed only two steps before Nick grabbed hold of her wrist and walked her straight out the door with swift, purposeful strides.

  “Nick!” Bess cried behind them. “Nick!”

  A ridiculous rush of triumph surged through Meredith. For whatever reason, he had not let her walk out the door alone. She tried to look over her shoulder to see if Bess’s expression matched the fury in her voice, but Nick moved too quickly.

  His voice reached her ears in a fast and furious growl. “I’ll see you home, but I suggest you shut your mouth on the ride there or I might do something we’ll both regret. I used up all my charity letting that bastard go. I don’t have much left over for you.”

  She nodded dumbly. Nick pulled her along, her smaller strides three for every one of his. He hailed a hack. Barking the address, he yanked the door open with such violence she cringed. She tried to get in without his assistance, but he had no patience for that. With an angry snarl, he grabbed her by the waist and tossed her up before him. She scurried to the far corner of her seat, away from him and his frightening anger.

  He settled his long frame on the opposite seat as the hack began its crawl to Berkeley Square. For several minutes he ignored her, staring out the small slit in the curtains as if he saw something of interest in the impenetrable fog.

  At last he broke the silence to ask, “Were you recognized?” He continued to look out the window as though he could not tolerate the sight of her.

  Clutching her cloak with damp palms, she wet her lips and replied, “No. At least I don’t believe so.”

  “Well, we will know by tomorrow if your stupidity has brought ruin on your head.”

  His words were a stinging slap, and her defenses stirred. She had never been one to take insults kindly, and he continually cast more than his share upon her person.

  “I’m not stupid—”

  The blistering stare he turned on her silenced the rest of her argument. “No? How would you describe your actions? Endangering your reputation and placing yourself in the path of Skelly Fairbanks is certainly not the mark of an intelligent woman. I suppose I can now add foolish to the list along with greedy and scheming.”

  Her hands tangled in the folds of her cloak and she beat them in her lap. “Am I forever the villain to you?” Foolish tears burned at the backs of her eyes. Had she ever truly thought him kind? Where was the man that had held her so tenderly the night of Sally Finney’s death? “I don’t know why I even bothered coming.”

  “Indeed, why? You said it was important.” He frowned.

  It was her turn to look out the window. She crossed her arms, determined not to utter another word. She’d be damned before she confessed her reason for venturing out tonight was to lay the issue of her virginity at his feet. To beg him to reconsider forcing her to marry, thereby forcing her to enter into yet another pretense. At the moment, marriage did not seem so distasteful if it removed her from his maddening control. She would not lower herself by asking him for anything.

  “What was so important to risk putting yourself in Fairbanks’s clutches? Do you even know what type of man he is?”

  She snorted indelicately. Skelly Fairbanks had revealed exactly what kind of man he was in their brief encounter. She continued to gaze out the window, tired of crossing words with Nick, tired of hearing herself sink lower in his estimation, tired of being ten kinds of fool around him. To think she had actually missed him.

  She heard him move across the coach to sit beside her, and tensed. Hard fingers grasped her chin, forcing her to face him. “He’s a pimp. And if you caught his eye, you can bet he had an unpleasant future in mind for you.”

  She had surmised as much, but to hear him say the words so coldly, so matter of factly…a small shudder ran through her.

  Forcing a bravado she did not feel, she jerked her chin away from his burning fingers. “I took care of myself, didn’t I? At any rate, how was I to know people like him frequent your establishment? What kind of place do you run where it’s unsafe to walk through the door?”

  Meredith’s dig hit her mark. She could tell by the way he started, as though someone had splashed cold water in his face.

  Shaking her head, she tried to apologize. “Forgive me—”

  “What did you expect of anything connected to me?” he bit out. “I’m no gentleman. No better than Fairbanks.”

  She shut her eyes against the harsh words, words she refused to believe…words she knew to be untrue.

  He continued, his voice taking on the distant quality of a stranger. “Regardless if you bloodied his nose, you should never have placed yourself in such a situation. Did it occur to you how he might have retaliated had I not come along?”

  She spread her arms wide in defeat. “I’ve said I’m sorry.”

  His eyes narrowed to where her cloak parted. “What are you wearing?” Before she could stop him he leaned across the seat and flipped her cloak off her shoulders. His eyes widened at the plunging, heart-shaped bodice. “Another of Lady Derring’s innovations?”

  “It’s just a gown.” She tried to be nonchalant but felt her face redden with the secret knowledge that she had chosen this gown with him in mind. Hot with embarrassment, she grappled to pull her cloak back over her shoulders. With brutal force he whipped it completely free.

  “Come, let’s see it. You obviously wore it to be noticed. Isn’t that what women do? Dress to attract? Let’s have a look at what you are advertising.”

  She made another dive for her cloak. “Give it back. I don’t want to offend your sensibilities further,” she mocked harshly.

  He wadded her cloak into a ball and stuffed it behind his back. “I’m not offended.” His husky murmur sent a bolt of heat straight to her core. He pulled her flush against him. “In fact, I’m suddenly anxious to hear why you needed to speak to me.” He leaned back, taking her with him, his manner oddly casual considering their far from casual proximity.

  “Release me.” Her hands fluttered helplessly, having nowhere to land except his chest. Her palms dropped on the firm expanse of muscles. Unable to resist, her fingers curled into the hardness. She arched her spine to get away but only succeeded in nearly pulling her breasts out of her bodice.

  His gaze dipped to where she spilled out of her dress. “You…needed me?” She did not miss the double innuendo.

  “No,” she denied.

  “No? Then why are you here?” His hand touched a lock of hair that fell over the curve of one breast, rubbing the strands between his fingers idly.

  The flippant quality of his voice set her on edge. As did the way his lazy gaze traveled over her cleavage. He dropped her lock of hair and rubbed the back of his index finger against the sensitive flesh of her breasts. That finger dipped lower, beneath the bodice of her gown, until she felt its friction as it rolled across her nipple. Back and forth, back and forth, each stroke sending the blood roaring to her head.

  She whimpered—from frustration or arousal, she could not say. He watched her intently as he pulled her bodice down farther with one effortless yank. Her bare breasts filled his rough palms. It was only that gentle assault that held her, but she could not have pulled away. The low ache in her belly grew with nagging insistency. Her knees slipped down on either side of his hips. She sank onto his lap, both shocked and thrilled at the hard ridge rising to meet that most intimate part of her. His eyes glittered with raw need, stealing her breath. He pinched her nipples, abrading the hard little peaks between the callused pads of his fingers. White-hot pleasure lanced through her and a low, keening moan rose from deep in her throat.

  He flung her flat on her back on the coarse velvet seat, nothing save the dark outline
of his head visible as he took one nipple into his mouth. She let out a squeak as the wet warmth of his mouth and tongue laved her. He placed a hand at the juncture of her thighs, only the sheer fabric of her dress barring the way. His hand rubbed there, rocking in harmony with the motion of the coach.

  Sighing his name, she buried her fingers in his hair and arched against him, pushing more of her breast into his mouth.

  He looked up, his eyes dark burning coals. “Say you want this.” His desperate request twisted through her belly.

  She ran a hand through his hair, tenderly ruffling the locks like so many windblown feathers. She definitely wanted this. Wanted him. Perhaps this had been her motive all along. The real reason she had to see him. Heaven knew her thoughts had been filled with him ever since he burst into her life, her body longing for him since his first touch that night outside the nursery.

  The desperate need of his gaze shook her. She saw her own beauty reflected there. The awkward vicar’s daughter did not exist. Nor did the abandoned bride.

  “I want you.” Meredith hardly recognized the throatiness of her voice, only knew she wanted him to continue touching her, continue making her feel—for perhaps the first time in her life—that she was worthy. She nodded urgently. “I want you.”

  He hesitated, a dark cloud falling over the brilliance of his eyes, and she knew instantly that he was remembering who she was and that she had played him false.

  “You shouldn’t,” he announced, then clarified in a firmer voice, “I shouldn’t.”

  Meredith blinked, frustrated. “But you do. We both do.”

  His hands fell away from her, leaving her bereft and aching. An altogether different fire than that of moments ago began to burn in his eyes. Scorched beneath a gaze that no longer looked at her with appreciation and wonder, she felt like Eve wanting to shield herself in shame.

  “Cover yourself.”

  Those two little words struck her like a slap, and she suddenly felt as she had seven years ago: the naive girl in her freshly pressed nightgown, sitting in a great big bed as she waited for the wedding night of her dreams to arrive. Only it never did. Firelight had flickered off Edmund’s flaxen hair, lending it a reddish hue as he loomed over her, his words all the more unbearable for the airiness in which he uttered them. Darling girl, it would require more than a sour-faced vicar’s daughter to tempt me. I only married you to appease my father.

  She shook off the bitter memories and reminded herself that Nick was not Edmund. Nick had kissed her, touched her. He wanted her. His hungry gaze swept over her face, taking in the riot of hair tangling about her neck and shoulders, settling at last on her breasts. “I said cover yourself.” His voice fell hard and fast, firing her into action.

  Fumbling with her dress, she spoke with forced lightness, feigning indifference, wanting to hurt him as his rejection was hurting her. “I had thought you might be up to the task.” Her eyes raked his face and body in cold appreciation. Sighing and pretending his rejection was of little account and not a crushing blow, she added, “Since you have not the inclination, I suppose I shall have to wait until my wedding night.”

  He snatched hold of her wrist, his grip punishing.

  Meredith’s glare flicked from his face to where he clutched her wrist. In a quiet voice she commanded, “Let me go.”

  She watched as varying emotions flitted across his face, battling for dominance. At last he gave a curt nod, appearing to reach a decision.

  “You want it so badly?” he growled. “I’ll give it to you.”

  Chapter 19

  Nick crushed his lips to hers, kissing her so fiercely he knew her lips would be bruised for days to come. A dangerous combination of lust and fury spiraled through him. The lust he understood. She drove him mad with desire—had done so from the start. But the fury he could not. The thought of her with another man had done it. Which he knew was illogical, given that she was only husband hunting at his insistence. He wanted her married, wanted her gone from his life. Nick groaned, both with desire and frustration. He couldn’t make sense of it. All he knew was that for now, tonight, he would have her. She would be his. This damnable longing would never depart until he sated himself with her body. Only then could he let her go.

  “No backing out now,” he warned between kisses, almost as much for him as her. His hands roamed her body. He grasped the edges of her bodice and yanked it back down.

  His mouth devoured hers. She matched his kiss, sliding her tongue against his in a sinuous dance. She tasted like honey, and he kissed her long and hard, drinking from her nectar until he grew intoxicated. His anxious hands kneaded her breasts until she moaned in his mouth.

  Exultation ripped through him when she buried her hands in his hair and pulled his head to her breasts.

  Looking up at her, he flicked his tongue over one nipple and then the other. Her eyes darkened and fire flooded his veins as she squirmed enticingly beneath him.

  Still, in the back of his mind was the knowledge that he was making love to the very woman who had tricked and deceived and vexed him to the point of madness. At what point had she become desirable and not just the proverbial fly in the ointment of his life?

  As if she could read his thoughts, she frowned and shook her head determinedly. “No more thinking.”

  Taking his face in both hands, she pulled him back up and kissed him soundly. The sweet feel of her palms on his cheeks stimulated him like the most expert courtesan’s touch, obliterating all else from his mind. Right. No more thinking, just feeling.

  With a groan, he deepened their kiss, digging his fingers in the smooth roundness of her shoulders.

  She eased the kiss, murmuring against his lips, “I want to be with you. When I’m an old married lady, I’ll have this to remember.”

  Opening his eyes, he broke their kiss to stare down at her. He brushed the flyaway tendrils at her temples with his thumbs, again disturbed at the thought of her with another man. Then he answered her with another, longer kiss. Right now he did not want to think of her marrying anyone. Like her, he wanted to create a memory—with no phantom husband between them.

  He kissed her thoroughly, determined to have no more words. The kiss grew hotter, feverish. He jerked her skirts to her hips. His hands made short work removing her undergarments. His palms skimmed the soft satin of her thighs until his fingers found the center of her and tested her readiness for him. Finding her moist to the touch, he buried one finger into her wet warmth. She lurched against him with a cry, her delicate muscles clenching around him in sweet welcome. His ragged breathing filled the coach, accompanied by the sweet little noises she made in the back of her throat. He worked a second finger inside her, preparing her for him and groaning when her untried muscles flexed around his fingers. He found her tiny nub and circled it with his thumb as he thrust his fingers in and out, in and out, imagining it was his hard length buried in that tight heat.

  His thumb worked harder at that little pearl until she cried out. Shudders overtook her entire body as her hips thrust against his hand.

  Aching with need, he could wait no longer. His hands trembled in anticipation as he slid his fingers from her slick channel. Freeing himself from his trousers, he guided himself to the apex at her thighs. His eyes met hers as he hovered at her entrance. A feeling like no other seized him as he slid inside her and impaled her beneath him with one smooth thrust. A feeling of rightness, completion, perfection. That everything in his life had led to this moment with this woman. He groaned even as she stiffened beneath the invasion. She jammed her eyes shut against the pain, her breath escaping in a hiss, and he quickly set to work refueling her fire.

  Bending his head, he fanned his warm breath against her ear, licking and nipping at the lobe with his teeth until he heard her breath quicken and felt her muscles mold around his manhood like the perfect fit of a glove.

  He pulled back and drove into her again. She moaned, her fingers digging into his arms. Gratification filled him and he mov
ed again, faster, pounding her to the seat cushion, inflamed by her rapturous cries and the dig of her fingers on his biceps. She met him thrust for thrust, lurching off the seat and burying her face in his neck as he pumped. Her hard little teeth bit him through his shirt, just above his nipple, inflaming him to move faster, harder. She shrieked with her own release and collapsed back on the seat, a fine sheen of perspiration making her breasts glow in the dim confines of the coach. She moaned low in her throat as he covered her plump mounds with his hands, clutching them in possession as he continued to drive into her, her tight sheath milking him, the tightest, hottest thing he had ever felt. He threw back his head, a primal cry escaping him as he gave one last shuddering thrust.

  Nick dropped his head in the crook of her neck, inhaling her woman scent. His manhood still lay buried inside her, and for the life of him he did not want to withdraw.

  “That was…” She paused, as if searching for the word. She finally arrived at it. “Nice.”

  “Nice?” he muttered against her throat. “If that was nice, spectacular would kill me.”

  “There is no adequate word.” Her fingers ran through his hair in luxurious strokes that made his scalp tingle.

  With no small amount of alarm, he realized he was in no hurry to leave her arms. His body felt heavy, content, sated…the old familiar hollowness nowhere to be found.

  He felt full, replete.

  And it terrified him almost as much as it thrilled him.

  They remained just so, silent and locked together in a sticky union of flesh both were loath to break.

  He felt her heavy sigh beneath him. “We have to dress.”

  He withdrew, not looking at her as he straightened his garments. From the rustling beside him, he knew she did the same. Their timing could not have been better for he felt the carriage rolling to a stop. Parting the curtain, he saw that they were parked across the street from Lady Derring’s mansion. Looking back at Meredith, his breath stuck in his throat. She looked lovely—skin flushed, eyes glowing. Like a woman well loved. Her gaze avoided his as she collected her reticule off the seat.