48 comments/ 540476 views/ 112 favorites The Devil's Bargain By: wishfulthinking Wilham strode to the small study off the main hall with long strides. He was trailed by a young, flustered footman who hurried to announce him. "T-the Duke of Ellesmere." Schelldon was seated before a fire place, his large girth weighed down by jewels and a ceremonial sword at his waist. Wilham doubted the man had ever used a sword for its intended purpose in his life. His graying hair and wrinkled skin were a familiar sight, but there was a sunken paleness about his features that had not been there before. "Ellesmere," Schelldon acknowledged, waving him to a nearby seat. Wilham remained standing and refused the whiskey offered. He would have refused Schelldon's summons also had he not possessed something Wilham wanted. And they both knew it. "Trenton's made a favourable offer for Kellendale." Wilham stiffened imperceptively. Schelldon was well known for his games, in and out of the bedroom. Kellendale was Wilham's mother's family home, and held great sentimental value to her. Even though unentailed, Kellendale had been in her family for seven generations. His brother had lost it in a bet with Schelldon two years past, and Schelldon had taken great delight in dangling Kellendale out of Wilham's reach ever since. "I'm considering it," Schelldon added when no response was forthcoming. "Then I'll leave you to your deliberations. My last offer was more than generous." Wilham pivoted on his booted foot, but Schelldon flung out a hand. "I'm dying." Wilham's eyebrows rose. Schelldon never showed weakness. To him it was the worst sin. That he did so now meant only one thing. He wanted something. "My last offer still stands," Wilham said over his shoulder. "Money means little to me where I am going." "Then what is it you want?" Wilham asked curtly, turning to face the him. Any sign on pity on Wilham's part would only be viewed by with scorn. "I have no sons. Upon my death my entire estate passes to my nephew, who is an intolerable fool, and so too is his whore of a wife." "I fail to see-." "I want an heir." "Again, I fail to see how I can be of assistance. This is something only a wife can provide." "Your grandfather got four sons on his wife, three of which reached maturity. You have eight male cousins, whom many have sons of their own." Wilham frowned. "My first three wives failed in their duty. My fourth is healthy and ripe for a child." "Then surely why waste time talking of such matters to me?" "I want you to get a male child on her." Wilham stepped back, stunned. "You want what?" "As soon as she is breeding, I will sign Kellendale over to you." "What makes you think I would pay such a high price? To beget a child on some stranger then walk away, leaving my child to fend for itself without the protection of my family's name?" Schelldon cut the air with his hand. "All I ask is two things. That you do not speak of this to anyone." "My silence is assured. What of the other?" Wilham's disgust was obvious. "That you meet my wife before making your decision." "Even if she could suck the wind from my sails with an expertise that would make a courtesan envious, my answer is still be the same," Wilham said crudely. "Then there is no harm in meeting her for the sake of a dying man." Schelldon's attempt to manipulate was laughable. "Does she know of your intention to sell stud rights?" "No, nor will she." "Is she such an imbecile that she would mistake her husband in the dark for another? Or is she in the habit of taking lovers?" "She is no imbecile. I will make the necessary arrangements." Schelldon rose unsteadily and moved to the window overlooking the terrace. "She is there." Of their own accord Wilham found his feet moving to the neighbouring window. Curiosity, he told himself. Rumours had circled several years ago about the hasty marriage between Schelldon and a country lass of no standing. Many had believed Schelldon to have been caught dallying with the young chit and forced to wed her. When it became apparent that Schelldon never intended presenting his young bride to court, or of allowing her to leave his country estates, the gossip escalated. Wilham brushed the velvet curtain aside. And felt as though he had been kicked in the gut by a horse. She was tiny, with silvery blonde hair curling around a delicate heart-shaped face dominated by large blue-gray eyes. It was those eyes that caught and held his attention. They shone with life and laughter, their sweetness exuding none of the familiar jaded disinterest of ladies of his experience. She wore a simple peach silk gown that covered any hint of cleavage and the womanly curves beneath, and a single rope of creamy pearls at her throat. When she smiled as a servant poured her tea from a silver pot, a tiny dimple appeared in her right cheek, and he itched to trace it with his tongue. Her shining innocence astounded him. Married to a devil like Schelldon since she was fourteen, and now barely nineteen if he could recall, Wilham had expected some of her husband's enjoyment of certain bed sports would have lent her an air of... what? Experience? Maturity? As Wilham gazed upon her, the thought of her in Schelldon's hands grated excessively. What could her parents have been thinking, to marry her off to a decrepit old man old enough to be her grandfather? A man who enjoyed whipping young boys for his pleasure no less. Was her delicate skin marred beneath her gown? Wilham dragged his eyes from her and reached for the bottle of whiskey on the bookshelves and poured it into a glass tumbler. He took a large swallow, knowing Schelldon watched him, savouring his reaction. Hell. The rumours were false. Wilham suspected the wily devil had kept her under lock and key for a wholly different purpose. He took another swallow as he imagined her tiny figure smothered beneath the pressing weight of Schelldon as he bedded her. His knuckles turned white where they gripped the glass. What Schelldon proposed went against Wilham's every moral fibre. Yet he could not deny that the thought of giving her pleasure, perhaps for the first time, and showing her young body how to please him, teased his jaded appetite. He felt himself stir at the thought of stealing into her melting warmth, of planting his seed in her womb. Hell and damnation he thought, slamming down the glass. Schelldon was a treacherous bastard. Wilham's eyes slid back to the exquisite angel. Perhaps she had not a thought in her brain, and giggled incessantly? Would it matter once he silenced her with his kiss? Fury, disgust and lust twisted in his gut. "No," Wilham ground out as he strode from the study. ~*~ Thomasyn watched from beneath lowered lashes as the dark stranger strode toward her where she sat on the stone bench, her papers and charcoal at her side. He was impossibly tall and broad, his hair black as night. His eyes, green jewels, flashed with the heat and vibrancy that emeralds lacked. He was rugged and manly, unlike the pretty men that always seemed to flutter around Henry on her rare visits to Hauxley. He bowed low before her, and she spied Henry hurrying toward them over his shoulder. "I thank you for your hospitality, my Lady. I am Wilham, Duke of Ellesmere." Thomasyn knew she should be shocked at his forwardness for not seeking an introduction by Henry, but somehow she found her fingers caught in his. He brushed his lips against the fluttering pulse at her wrist, just above the lace trim of her glove. Thomasyn tried not to blush. He rose, and again her breath caught at his imposing virility. She tugged on her hand, but he held firm. "Your manor is majestic, and I shall endeavour to explore it thoroughly during my stay here and discover every last treasure." Thomasyn glanced at Henry, for surely it was abominably rude to address her without acknowledging the master in his own residence. Yet Henry's face gleamed with an unfamiliar intensity. "Then you must let Thomasyn guide you," Henry offered. Thomasyn blinked in surprise at Henry's uncommon affability. "But Henry, I am only familiar with the gardens..." she hesitated. She rarely visited Hauxley, and when she did she kept to the gardens, preferring to keep out of Henry's way. Yet this man was not to know that. "Thomasyn, I expect you to treat my guest with the utmost hospitality. You are to ensure the Duke's every desire is met." Thomasyn blushed at Henry's rebuke. She felt her breath hitch as the Duke drew her gracefully to her feet and tucked her hand on his arm. With one last bewildered glance at Henry, she was led along the terrace by the tall Duke. She felt his gaze upon her as they strolled toward the steps leading to the lower gardens. "You are exquisite." Thomasyn stumbled slightly. Her cheeks warmed. "You should not say such things, your Grace." "Wilham." She nodded slightly, pretending a sophistication she did not possess. She knew without question that he was insufferably arrogant and commanding, yet his gravelly voice made her knees weak. "Surely I am not the first man besides Schelldon to comment on your loveliness?" "I quite do not know what I have done to deserve such compliments on a moment's acquaintance, your Grace. But they are quite enough to turn a girl's head. " "Are they?" Thomasyn was unable to look at him, knowing he must surely be laughing at her. A man such as he would be used to tarring with the most experienced of flirts. Then her breath caught. Was he flirting with her? She peeked at him from beneath lowered lashes. Surely not? "Are you often a visitor of Hauxley, your Grace?" He paused at the top of the stone steps and turned to face her. "Wilham." "Your Grace." "Wilham." She fought to contain a smile. "Your Grace." "Thommi." Her scandalized face flew to his. "You mustn't!" "Don't you like it?" "It is unladylike, your Grace," she replied sternly. How was it that he so easily tangled up her tongue? "Only my sisters call me Thommi." "What of your husband?" She felt the warmth of his regard as she plucked at the lace at her wrist. "Do not be improper." Then she sighed, according him this victory. "I will call you by your first name if you refrain from calling me Thommi." She slipped her hand from his arm and caught up her skirts. She walked down the steps, the Duke following silently in her wake. Thomasyn new she was out of her league. She sensed an undercurrent to his words, but could not comprehend its source. The silence stretched as the Duke prowled at her side through the perfectly manicured lawns. They walked through the gardens, occasionally stopping to look at the marble statutes Henry was so fond of. It was lush and peaceful, the low sweep of the lightly rustling trees affording the feeling of seclusion. The Duke was a vibrant, powerful man, yet slowly she began to relax in his presence. Thomasyn found she had continued walking when the Duke had paused. She turned to discover him staring at her intently only a step away. "Your Grace?" He covered the distance between them, and her heart fluttered. His dark head dipped, and his mouth settled gently over hers. She froze, her shocked gaze lifting to his. His lips lightly brushed over her unmoving ones, his breath warm on her face. Her knees almost buckled when his tongue touched the corner of her mouth. Warm hands curled around her upper arms to hold her steady as the kiss deepened. When he finally lifted his head, she gazed up at him with wide eyes. There was a gentleness, an unexpected tenderness in his kiss that left her feeling dazed. "Wilham. Say it," he murmured. Her fingers flew to her tingling lips as she hastily stepped back and gazed about her. "There is no one about to discover our lovemaking." "Lovemaking?" Thomasyn choked, her wide eyes returning to his masculine face. Why was she still standing there? Thomasyn asked herself. She should have stormed off, or at the very least have slapped him for his forwardness! "Your Grace, you overstep yourself." She turned in the direction of the manor and began walking briskly, her skirts sweeping out behind her. Every fibre of her being knew that he followed her at a more leisurely pace. "Would passing the afternoon engaging in lovemaking be such a very bad thing?" "Now I know you say that to shock me!" She turned, her skirts flaring. "Did I succeed?" A devilish smile curled his lips as he strode toward her. "You are toying with me, your Grace. I lack the sophistication and refinement of the ladies you are accustomed to. No doubt the female guests of Henry's would offer you more scintillating conversations than I." "You would seek to banish me and suffer their boorish self importance?" At her faintly shocked look, he continued "Your sweetness and candor are refreshing, my lady. Yet you are so easily shocked." "Your propensity to go around kissing strangers is shocking, your Grace." "Not strangers, Thommi. Only you." Thomasyn didn't quite know how it happened. His arm snaked out, capturing her waist and drawing her up against his chest. He made as if to kiss her again, but she turned her face away. The feel of her breasts crushed against his chest did strange things to her. A large palm cupped her cheek, turning her face to look up at him. "Please, your Grace," she whispered. "It is not seemly." "Do you care what others think?" "Of course I care what others think, your Grace. It would greatly disappoint me if I knowingly caused Henry dishonour." "Even if Schelldon does not warrant your honour?" Her lips parted on a gasp. Before she knew it her palm stung and a red mark darkened the Duke's cheek. Thomasyn turned and fled, picking up her skirts as her slipped feet moved swiftly over the grass. Wilham gazed after her, his interest deepening. Thomasyn was a curious minx, a mixture of innocence, tease and pluck. He knew his ingrained cynicism was to blame for believing a young, beautiful wife of a decrepit old man would eagerly fall into another man's arms like ripe fruit. He hadn't expected to be kept at a distance, but rather coyness or seductive flirting. Instead he was left feeling like an ass with the finesse of a callow youth seeking to tumble his first maid. ~*~ Thomasyn must have fallen asleep beneath the warmth of the sun in the tiny walled rose garden perfumed with heavy scent. Slowly she blinked, and buff breeches came into startling focus. Her blue eyes rose over the firm muscular legs, silk green tunic stretching over broad chest and shoulders, to a devilishly handsome face. Somber green eyes were fixed intently on her. He stood but two arms lengths away, leaning against the trunk of a tree, his arms crossed over his wide chest. Thomasyn blushed at being caught so. "I beg your pardon, your Grace. I – " "It is I who humbly begs your pardon, my Lady." "Oh...?" "What I said to you earlier was disrespectful. It was wrong of me." "Thank you." "Just thank you? You do not wish to gloat? For I can promise you, I rarely apologise." "That seemed clear to me, your Grace." "Are you to imply my apology was lacking?" Thomasyn blushed at the underlying amusement evident in his voice. "There was no such implication, your Grace." "Call me Wilham." "I cannot. It would not do." "Even in private?" "Especially in private." "Ah, I can see I have underestimated you, Thomasyn. You are determined to make a man beg." "I have never made a man beg, sir. Nor did I give you leave to address me by my first name." "Never? Pity." Her toes curled at the smile he gave her, his head tipped to the side. "Good day, my fair Thomasyn." With that he turned and left, leaving her gazing after him in a mixture of confusion, annoyance and curiosity. ~*~ Thomasyn smiled nervously at Henry as he softly closed the door behind him. She sat on the stool before the hearth, feeling the warmth through her pale green bed gown buttoned up to the throat. Beneath his watchful gaze she tugged the silver brush through her long strands. Henry's urgent missive demanding her presence at Hauxley that day had surprised her. Even more surprising was his expressed intention that he visit her in her chamber after the maid had cleared away the remains of her solitary evening meal. On her last visit she had dined in her chamber a month before receiving Henry's summons. She watched with curious eyes as he poured a glass of the honeyed mead and held it out to her. Thomasyn accepted it with a shy smile, and took a small sip at his urging. It was cool and sweet and melted on her tongue. He took the brush from her small hand and began stroking it through her hair as she savoured the mead. She closed her eyes, feeling herself relax. "Drink it all up, my sweet. I want none to waste." When she had finished the glass, feeling slightly dizzy, she protested as he poured her another. "Do you seek to displease me, Thomasyn?" he queried. "No, Henry," she whispered. She sipped at the mead beneath his watchful gaze, feeling the tingling ball low in her belly begin to spread throughout her. She felt heady and fuzzy yet alive. He caught her as she slipped off the stool with a gasp of laughter. "Forgive me, fa-Henry. I – the mead..." she trailed off. His hand at her waist guided her to sit on the bed. "Just one more, my sweet. This was a gift from a good friend, and I do not wish it to go to waste." "Oh, but-" "It would please me, Thomasyn." She did as he bid, and he held her gently upright as she drank the mead. Her head spun, and she tried to gather her thoughts. "I must confess something, Henry, but I do not wish to make you angry." "What is it, sweet?" "I – a stranger kissed me." He was silent a long while as he gazed upon her. She was surprised that he was more sad than angry. "Did you enjoy it?" "Henry!" she gasped, shocked. At his urging, she whispered "I...I think so." He poured her another glass, and with his fingers wrapped around hers, lifted it to her moist lips. She offered no protest when finally he took the empty glass from her trembling hand and guided her onto her back on the bed. Light spun behind her closed eyelids as she clung to his hand. "Are you ready, my sweet? I chose him just for you. He has impeccable breeding lines." She moaned softly before sleep stole over her, not knowing what he meant. ~*~ A sigh escaped her as she felt a hot mouth crush her lips as muscular arms slid around her, drawing her into his heat. Her hands slid up over bare shoulders and threaded through the silky mane. The world spun as the kiss deepened in her dream. She imagined she lay on her side pressed against him, her arms twining around his neck as she kissed him back. Thomasyn whimpered as he pressed her onto her back on the grass, his mouth sliding down over her throat. Fingers tugged impatiently on the tiny buttons of her gown, peeling them apart and exposing her breasts. Cool air feathered over her skin, before his mouth slid down over a tiny swell. A shocking warmth flooded her secret place as she lay there, feeling him surround her as he licked and teased her nipples. She felt a light touch between her thighs, stroking through the sparse thatch of curls. He blew against her breast as the fingers became more insistent beneath her gown, tracing the dry valley and coaxing shudders from her. She had never experienced anything the like. He drew a nipple into his mouth, suckling the taut crown. She whimpered, her fingers digging into his shoulders. She lay there dazed as he lavished her breasts with kisses, tasting them, dragging on them with his mouth and generating an exquisite tension where he fingers explored her. She didn't resist as his hands roughly parted her thighs. His weight shifted, and he moved to kneel between them. She felt his hands fumbling with the rest of her buttons, and her hand covered his shyly where the rested just above her belly button. The Devil's Bargain Ch. 02 Thomasyn paid little heed to the creasing of her lavender silk gown as she sat curled up barefoot on the soft cushions of the bay window in her chamber, an open book resting face down on her lap. An untouched tray of refreshments sat nearby on its waiting stand. Large blue-grey eyes gazed unseeingly on the lush walled garden nestled below. Creeping vines framed lavishly sculpted shrubs amongst their beds of blooming colour. Dusk had settled its firm but gentle hand over the rolling green hills. Her stomach had grievously churned most of the morning, but seemed to be coming aright. A glance earlier in the mirror had told her enough. There was nothing for the deathly paleness of her smooth ivory skin and pale shadows beneath her eyes. The thick tumble of her silvery blonde locks were caught back in a simple knot with thin braids here and there. Wispy tendrils escaped their pins, lending to her fragile appearance. Voices and footsteps intruded on her silent prayers to end her torment, and not just that of the after effects on imbibing strong wine, but also all evidence of her unwanted husband. She heard the maid's cry "she is not receiving visitors" just as the door to her chamber banged open. Thomasyn refused to acknowledge him. For it could only be one man that possessed the arrogance to dare to enter her chamber uninvited. Her young body, still tender from his possession that morning, stiffened instinctively at his unwanted presence. "Thommi," he declared smoothly, and the sound of the door's tumble lock turning reached her ears. Her belly clenched at the knowledge she was alone with him in her bedroom. "Perhaps you had best instruct your maid of the difference between a visitor and a husband." "Leave me," she finally murmured, closing the unread book and placing it beside her on the cushions. Still she did not, could not, look at him. She knew too well the effect of his broad shouldered masculinity on her body's base responses. "Ah, but it is I that issue demands, sweet Thommi. And I find I want you beneath me on that virginal bed." Thomasyn did not have to glance over her shoulder to summon the image of her bed with its palest pink silk covers, rose cushions and endless lacy fripperies and flounces. Four posts rose at each corner, holding the silk canopy aloft over the bed. She ground her teeth, disturbed by the tingles in her secret place. "Surely there is a willing serving wench to see to your wicked desires." The surprisingly gentle fingers brushing the nape of her neck was the only warning she had of his proximity. She breathed in deep in an attempt to still her body's awakening. Only to discover her mistake when the scent of him, raw and powerful, dug deep. "But what need I of a willing wench when I have a young wife to spread her sweet thighs?" he murmured against her ear as his fingers traced the curve of her sweetheart neckline where it hugged the swell of her breasts. "It has been but half a day or so since you took your husbandly due. Surely you seek to tempt His wrath with your uncommon haste to repeat such wickedness." "There is no wickedness in beddings between husband and wife, dear Thommi." Thomasyn's lashes fluttered close as he began to unfasten the row of hooks that ran to the small of her back. She fought him with words, because it would not do for a wife to refuse her husband. But she knew even in this it was futile against his determination to punish her for what he imagined was her wrongdoing in trapping him in marriage. He did not believe her, and she would not plead with him to do so. If she offered no challenge, perhaps then he would lose interest in bedding her. But how much would she have to sacrifice of herself until he tired of his torment of her? Warm lips pressed against the side of her neck as skilful fingers drew the cap sleeves of her gown down to her elbows. A shiver raced through her, and he laughed softly. If only he were rough, or forceful, she thought she could bear his touch so much easier. Instead, he seemed determined to take command of her body, showing her the unimagined heights of delight of being in a man's arms and drawing a betraying eagerness from her unwilling body. Her hopes of obtaining an annulment with her father's consent had been dismally cast aside. Thomasyn had sought her father out that morning only to discover him gone, and so too his beautiful and snobby hanger-ons. Without her father, any possibility of untangling the wicked deceit that contaminated her marriage had also been lost. How she ever imagined Wilham to be one of them, with naught on their minds but self-serving pleasures, would always be her err. She should have run far and fast when she first spied him walking toward her on the terrace. Instead, she had found herself tricked, as he had, into forming a binding union. Only Wilham laid the blame at her feet, and was intent on exacting every ounce of punishment in his determination to exact revenge. The weight and warmth of him settled on the seat behind her, his fingers sliding beneath her gaping gown, circling her tiny waist and then up to cup her small breasts through the wispy chemise. "It pleases me that you don't follow fashion's dictates and wear corsets. I would have nothing that alters the shape of your delightful body, ripe for a man's pleasure." Warm lips pressed against her shoulder as his fingers teased the budding pink nipples into tight crowns. Thomasyn struggled and easily lost in her attempt to erect defences against the feelings wrought by his foreign touch. He pinched and rolled the peaks with exquisite torment, a torment that was matched between her restless thighs. Her lips parted on a soft sigh, her head tipping back against his shoulder. "W-Wilham..." she breathed, hating him with an intensity that shocked her. That he intended bedding her was neither here or there as he was her husband and it was her duty. But never had she experienced anything that felt less like a duty. He had told her he would have her as he pleased, and it was for Thomasyn to decide whether she enjoyed him or not. She wanted the not, but heaven help her, her body was intent upon betrayal. "I-I don't want this." In the scheme of things, it wasn't a complete untruth. She still felt shaken from his virile bedding that morning, and the thought of succumbing so easily again was unpleasant. Her body was intoxicated with his teasing caresses, demanding more of this intriguing play. Having never so much as been kissed before this devilish scoundrel, her body seemed to welcome all hitherto denied attention. Or so Thomasyn was convinced, for no other reasonable, logical explanation presented itself. "Less than a day and my wife is pleading not to share her bed?" He mused. His fingers caught her chin, turning her face up to his. Green eyes gazed silently down at her for what seemed to an age. Their knowing depths sunk into her, intense and lacking the cold cruelness she had witnessed at moments. His head lowered, his lips capturing hers. Her chest rose jerkily at the sensual touch, her anger toward him wavering as stronger emotions threatened to consume her. She rested against him in the circle of his arms, trembling against the strength of his chest, her lips parting beneath his coaxing mouth on hers. She watched him from beneath lowered lashes, excitement and awe overwhelming her. The strong, tanned planes of his face were a fascinating mixture of determination, fierceness and what she guessed must be lust. A shiver raced through that had nothing to do with the cold. This complex man's desire for her body did strange things to her insides. A hand tangled in the thin ribbons of her chemise, drawing them easily apart to bare her breasts to the cool air. Tanned fingers lightly traced her breasts, almost reverently. She twisted her head away, breaking from his intoxicating kisses, her breathing uneven. "What are you about, Wilham?" What game did he play with her, awakening her body to desire his when he could simply lift her skirts and take what he wanted. "I have clearly been remiss in my husbandly duties if you do not know the answer to your own question, sweet Thommi." As if to emphasis his point, he rose, gathering her body close as he lifted her. He gently stood her on her feet before the bed, his heated eyes sweeping slowing over her before returning to rest on her expressive face. Thommi squirmed slightly, even as she fought to pretend indifference. She wondered what he saw, with her dishevelled gown, the uneven rise and fall of her breasts, the swollen lips and tangled pale hair. Her fists curled into the silk of her skirts to stop from reaching out and drawing him to her. "Is it your intention to come and go as you please, scratching an itch when the need arises?" Desperation laced her words in her attempt to place distance between them. For she knew she would be easily consumed by the fire that rose easily between them. "It is my intention that we both come." Thomasyn swallowed hard at the devilry twinkling in those deep green eyes, her brain unable to process a retort. Her eyes followed his movements as he dragged his shirt over his head. He sat on the bed before her and reached for her hips, drawing her to stand between his spread thighs. Her arms rose to cross over her breasts, unsure what he was about. And watched silently, heart racing, as with an easy assuredness he slowly stripped her. The lavender gown was tugged down to pool at her feet, followed by her chemise, undergarments, and slippers like she was a puzzle to be solved. His hands were gentle on her body as he moved her and placed her limbs exactly as needed to overcome the army of ribbons, buttons, hooks and ties until he had removed every last impediment to his bedding her. He caught one small hand, turning and kissing its palm, before doing the same to its mate. He then drew her arms to her side, baring her fully to him. He did not release her wrists. His green eyes flared, sweeping over her petite body. "If I had my way, I would have you unclothed whenever we are alone." "Another of your schemes to humiliate me?" she whispered, surprised at how hurt she felt by his husky declaration. "If it were, it would be I that was humiliated. I am as randy as a boy with his first doxy around you, unable to keep my hands to myself." Thomyson blinked, unsure whether that was a compliment or not. As if sensing her uncertainty, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against the valley between her quivering breasts. "You are exquisite, Thommi. It pleases me greatly to look upon you. All sweet, delightful curves and lush, velvety skin." His thumbs brushed her tight nipples, causing her to shiver. "And so responsive." Wilham tugged on her hands, drawing her forward and guiding her trembling arms about his shoulders. Then his hands caught her face, drawing hers to his, his teeth sinking into her bottom lip. His kiss was possessive and demanding, stirring her down to her toes. Large hands stroked the flesh of her back, bottom and thighs. An antsy feeling arose where the moisture gathered between her thighs. Without warning, his hands circled her tiny waist and he dragged her down, tumbling her onto her back on the bed. He gazed down at her flushed face and delightful curves spread before him. "I fantasied about you in this bed, all sweet and innocent and giving as you opened yourself to me and me alone." She blushed as he stood and yanked at the ties of his breeches and shoved them down over his muscular thighs lightly dusted with black curls. She was awed at the hardness of him standing out from the juncture of his thighs, and an answering warmth echoed between her thighs. Her fingers curled, shyness and uncertainty preventing her from touching him. When he had kicked free of his breeches and boots he put one knee on the bed between her thighs, leaning over her to capture her wrists and pin them above her head. She moaned as he caught a budding nipple in his mouth, arching beneath him. A hand slipped between her slightly parted thighs, stroking her with a featherlike touch that did nothing to abate the growing need building there. "So wanton," he groaned against her flesh at the feel of her eagerness coating his hand. He lay down beside her on the bed, drawing her to him. Somehow, unexpectedly, she found herself lying on top of him, every naked inch of him impressing itself on her flesh. Hands slid down to grip her bottom, moulding and massaging the soft flesh. She wiggled and writhed on him as they kissed, the hard strength of him pressing against her belly. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, a silent messenger of her urgency. She squeaked in shock when a hand slid down the damp cleft, a finger easing inside her. A large hand on the small of her back held her firm as he explored her dewy heat, stroking and massaging her there. A thumb teased the throbbing bud nestled in flushed folds. She felt hot and eager for everything he did to her body, the opposite of what she promised herself she would be when, if, she saw him again. "Straddle me. Higher," he guided with his hands, until she was shockingly close to his handsome face. She covered the thatch of curls, shy that he would see her this way. He smiled wickedly as he gently peeled her fingers away to reveal her mound to his heated gaze. "You'll not deny me your sweet treasure," he murmured, his hands settling over the tops of her thighs. Thomasyn sucked in her breath, not quite sure what to expect from this unexpected position. When he licked and nipped at her dewy flesh, a shivery moan escaped her. His fingers tightened on her thighs, holding her still as explored her with his warm mouth. "Unpin your hair," he commanded, his breathe stirring her curls. When his mouth stopped his exquisite torture her sluggish mind began to comprehend. She reached up, feeling for the pins, and shivered when his mouth found her glistening nub in reward. One by one she pulled the pins free and tossed them on the floor as he sucked and flicked at her throbbing flesh. When the braids uncoiled and tumbled down her back, she found the ends and dragged her fingers to loosen the plaits. It was an arduous task, her hands all thumbs, and she simply gave up, overwhelmed by what was happening between her thighs. The silvery blonde mane spilled down over her shoulders like a curtain falling around the intimacy they shared. He caught her fluttering hand and drew it behind her, down over his body. He wrapped her fingers around his hardness, guiding them up and down the imposing length of him. He groaned against her, his hips flexing. He was not immune to the intensity of need that bludgeoned her resistance and dislike of her new husband. But that had nothing to do with the knowledge surging through her of the effect she had on Wilham, knowing that she could give him pleasure. She gripped him, her fingers firm about the velvety steel. Curiously, at its tip beaded moisture. When he shifted beneath her, guiding her leg over him, he came up behind her, pressing her hands to a bed post at the end of the bed. His mouth feathered down along her neck and shoulder, breathing in the scent of her. A hand cupped her breast, slid down possessively over her belly. "Are you ready for me?" he murmured. Thomasyn whimpered, pushing her bottom back against him. Rubbing against his throbbing fullness, her body wept. "Tell me what it is you want." His hand cupped her between her thighs, feeling her wetness. He eased himself along her cleft, a slow, torturous glide that made her cry out. Her melting warmth clenched in anticipation of him filling her, stretching her as their bodies merged. She ached from his earlier possession, but that seemed to have little bearing on the need to have him there again. He pinched her lips. A soft moan escaped her. "Tell me," he commanded against her ear. Her body clenched. "Inside me. I want...all of you." She had difficulty forming coherent words. He groaned, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips as he probed her entrance. A whimper escaped her. "Put me inside you," he commanded her. She gazed down, at first not knowing what to do. Reaching between her thighs, she found him waiting, the sensual threat of him clear. She moved him against her body with her trembling hand. "That's it," he encouraged her. He pushed against her body's natural resistance, sliding up inside her, forcing her tight walls to yield as he stormed her body's defences. "I can't..." the words escaped her, the meaning full of nothing and everything. "Take all of me," he urged, never halting in his slow glide into her melting warmth. Thomasyn moaned, her hair tumbling about her as she shook her head from the intensity of it all. Wanting more, she pressed back down on him until he was lodged deep. "That's it, my sweet one." Their slick bodies rested against each other, their breathing laboured. Soft kisses rained down her neck and shoulder. A hand returned between her thighs, stroking her gently. The tension in her body eased, the soreness of his possession soon overborne. "Are you ready for me?" Thomasyn gazed back at him, at the intensity of his need for her reflecting in the green depths of his eyes. A shaky breath escaped her. Her body instinctively clenched down on him, causing a soft groan to escape those dangerous lips. She nodded, barely a fraction of a movement. Another groan escaped him. He eased out of her, then thrust hard. Thomasyn's fingers gripped the bed post as a shudder wracked through her, shattering any control. They moved together, her bottom pressing back to meet his every thrust. His hands moved over her, stroking, teasing, caressing. She was surrounded by him, enveloped by him as he stole deeply inside of her. She clutched the post as if it were a lifeline. He plunged deep, over and over, driving his shaft hard within her quivering walls. "Wilham," she moaned shakily. He fingers found her as he surged against her bottom. She writhed on him, clenching and unclenching as he invaded her tightness with swift thrusts. The storm broke, and she cried out, ectascy washing over her as he wedged himself deep within her, his groans mingling with her cries. He clutched her hips as he bucked inside her. With a cry, he split his hot seed into her pulsing, clutching tightness. They collapsed on the bed, silent, panting. Wilham lay on his back, arm thrown over his eyes, dragging in lungs full of air. Hell, he was a rutting beast. All his good intentions to give her time to adjust to bed play had flown the moment he spied Thommi. It had taken all his willpower not to push up her skirts and mount her there and then. He knew she must be sore from losing her virginity. As it was, his swift bedding had little regard to her innocence. The depth of her response shattered him. He knew it was no excuse. She had little defence against him, her untrained body swiftly melting at his touch. Even now, the memory of her body's welcoming heat sheathing him taunted him. Dammit, who would have known he would be so randy for his own wife, a wife, he reminded himself, that he despised? Truthfully, the anger at her compliance with her father's duplicity had eased somewhat. There was no malice or guile in Thomasyn. Perhaps more than anything it was his pride that took the largest fall to one so naive. The circumstances of his marriage grated against raw nerves, but the delights of her body were unmatched. Thomasyn was an exquisite treasure, one he was starting to realise her father had swiftly undervalued. Instead of navigating the legalities of dissolving the marriage with his lawyer, Wilham found he was intent on plundering the tender gentleness of his young wife. Realisation came to him just then that the thought of letting Thomasyn go was beyond the pale. The Devil's Bargain Ch. 02 He dragged the arm from his eyes and turned his head. Thommi lay on her side facing away from him. He rolled onto his side behind her, propping his head on his hand. His other settled on her hip, gently squeezing her sweet curves. "Thommi?" "Mmm..." Not exactly welcoming, but neither was she ordering him to get the hell out of her bed, Wilham mused. Well, not just yet. "Did I hurt you?" Thomasyn stiffened beneath his hand. "You mean...the sex?" "Yes. While your virginity pleases me...I'm aware that you may feel sore until your body adjusts to having a man inside you." "You did not hurt me, Wilham." Honesty forced the words. For all that she hated him for what was their marriage, she could not begrudge him the truth in this. She rolled over onto her back, gazing up at him with solemn blue-grey eyes. He traced a finger down the side of her face and brushed her swollen lips. "What now?" she whispered, after an age. "I can't stay away from you, Thommi. I intend to exhaust myself within you. There will be no voiding of this marriage. To say otherwise is a promise I will break." Her lashes fluttered close, hiding herself from him. "I will not deny you access to my body. As my husband, that is your right. Beyond that, there will be nothing between us in this marriage." Wilham's weight rose from the bed. She rolled over onto her stomach, face turned away, refusing to watch him leave. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against the curve of her bottom. "We shall see," Wilham told her softly. The End The Devil's Bargain He took her hands and placed them to her sides before returning to her buttons. "All I can think of is being inside of you," he muttered softly, almost so softly she didn't hear it. She squirmed slightly as he parted the thin cloth, baring her heated skin to the cool air. Her hands quickly covered her breasts when his fingers stroked lightly back and forth over her belly just above her curls. Even knowing he could not see them in the dark garden did not prevent the shy blush that bloomed in her cheeks. She felt vulnerable and strangely excited as she lay there, open to his exploring touch. Her belly clenched as she felt his mouth close over her inner thigh. His hand cupped beneath her knees and drew them wide, holding her open to his teasing caresses. She felt restless, curious, nervous, shocked. It was such a strange place to kiss, and created such an interesting response. Her breath came in small gasps as he mouth moved higher. She struggled to close her legs against him as his lips brushed the curls there, feeling a strange dampness invade her. He stilled against her for a moment, before a soft groan escaped him. Her eyes widened and her hips arched as he parted the dewy folds and ran his tongue the length of her secret valley. It felt as though lightening arced through her, never had she experienced anything so intense. He held her open as he kept returning to a spot that caused her to writhe and moan. His teeth teased her, his tongue lashed and probed her. Everything dimmed as he took her in his mouth, sucking on the swollen nub of flesh. She moaned and thrashed, bucking beneath him on the bed. An incredible tension built between her thighs, coiling until she thought she would die. Thomasyn moaned, her body arching as scorching heat rushed over her. She felt like she was being dragged down into unknown depths as everything but the feel of his mouth against her was lost as she drowned in ecstasy. She lay limply on the bed, staring up into darkness as she tried to absorb what had happened. Tiny quivers raced through her as slowly she came back down to earth. "I've never..." "I know," he murmured huskily, kissing her there. "It pleases me that I am the first to show you." The bed shifted as he moved, then a soft rustling. His body covered hers, his thighs between her spread ones. She felt the whisper of lips against her shoulder as he shifted over her, his flesh rubbing against her. "Are you ready for me, sweet Thommi?" A soft sigh escaped her as her dream changed, and she was riding her mare Gwellan across over rolling green fields. ~*~ Thomasyn moaned and stretched beneath the soft covers. Her brow furrowed at the pounding of her temples, and tentatively massaged them with her fingers. "Morganne?" she called, and winced at the sharpness of her own voice. "Ah, you're awake, Milady." The woman bustled over to the bed and drew back the heavy bed curtains. Thomasyn squeezed her eyes shut as bright light flooded the bed. As she sat up, the chamber dipped and spun. Morganne began to scream, sending shooting agony through Thomasyn's head as they filled the chamber. She held her hand up as if to ward off the pain. The sound of shouts and the pounding of armour and feet could be heard over Morganne's cries, yet confusion held Thomasyn in her grip. She gazed down at the covers pooled in her lap, only to discover the material gaped to reveal the valley between her breasts and belly button. A frown marred her features as she clutched her gown close over her breasts. "He is a lecher, he has defiled my sweet baby!" the maid cried. Thomasyn felt as though she were in a dream as men and women filled the chamber staring at her where she sat on the bed as though she possessed three heads. It seemed only moments before Henry pushed through the gathered crowd. He took one look at her before turning to the guard at his side. "Call for the priest. I don't care if he is in prayers, get him." It was when the mattress shifted beneath her that she realised she was not alone in the bed. Her gaze flickered up over a muscled chest and shoulders to the familiar masculine face of the Duke as he sat leaning against the heavy bedhead. "Wilham," she breathed. Cold green eyes returned her horrified gaze from an impassive face, his mouth curling cynically. She tried to recall last night, anything. She remembered Henry coming to her chamber, and the mead. Then nothing beyond blurred images and sensations. Noisy sobbing drew her attention to her maid. Morganne had raised Thomasyn since she was a babe, and was closer than her own mother had been. Oh, God, Thomasyn knew what Morganne was thinking, because she was thinking the same herself. She felt ill. The crowd of avid faces parted as the portly priest shuffled into the chamber, ears bright pink at what he discovered. The priest refused to look at Thomasyn in the eye, and humiliation burned through her. Thomsyn pulled the sheet up to her throat. "Neither of you will step foot from that bed until you are wed," Henry declared furiously. "It wasn't my intention to announce your troth to my daughter until we had agreed on a dowry, Ellesmere. But you have forced my hand." What? Thomasyn gazed between her father and Wilham in confusion. Yet Wilham remained silent, the pulse ticking along his jaw the only indication of his feelings. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. The words of the priest fell over them, lending an unreal feel to the morning. When asked by the priest if she would take Wilham as her husband, she couldn't answer. Her gaze met Wilham's cold one, before skittering away. "She does," her father spoke into the silence. The priest continued. Shock and hurt held her immobile. "I do." Wilham's quiet declaration, when it came, shocked her. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. When the priest finished his sermon, Wilham spoke. "Get out." The gathered men and woman seemed stunned at his harshness. "Get out all of you." Thomasyn slid her feet over the edge of the bed as the group began to shuffle out of the chamber. "Not you." Those words were for her ears only. Fingers wrapped around her trembling wrist beneath the bed covers, holding her firm. She watched as her father herded Morganne out of the chamber, leaving her alone with a stranger. The betrayal stung. ~*~ Wilham gazed upon his traitorous wife, her face hidden by the long fall of silvery blonde hair. She trembled like a virgin in his grasp, only adding to his fury. How many men had there been before him? Had they cried afoul and escaped her treacherous tricks, or had she enjoyed taking lovers to her father's displeasure, forcing his hand? Wilham remembered drinking a lot of whiskey last eve in an attempt to forget the tempting angel. He found he couldn't leave Hauxley, yet he couldn't stay. If only he had walked away. Even now he didn't know what had drawn him to the terrace and to his enemy's wife. Daughter. "Why do you call him Henry?" he demanded. "He-he doesn't like to be reminded of his age," Thomasyn replied, tugging on her wrist. Wilham vaguely recalled Schelledon leading Wilham through a maze of halls to his chamber – Thomasyn's chamber in fact. The memory of what they had done made him rock hard. Wilham didn't release her. His other hand drew her hair back and cupped her chin, forcing her look at him. "You are a lying, deceitful little witch. Your beauty no longer blinds me to the hardened whore beneath." The words stung. "I am no whore. I did not invite you to my bed. I did not invite the things you did. Your handsomeness does not blind me to the utter cad you are. You don't possess a shred of decency or morality." He smiled without humour as his fingers trailed down the side of her throat and drew the gown down to bare her creamy shoulder. Her fingers clutched tightly at the cloth between her breasts with their beestung tips. He remembered licking those pink nipples and could have groaned. "Then we suit well, wife. We both know why I ended up in your bed." He leaned down and kissed her shoulder. "And of how you enjoyed my attentions, my immoral wife." "Don't touch me," she whispered, anger and helplessness burning through her. "You only have yourself to blame for this predicament. And more fool me for having to take you to husband after what you have done." "Know that I blame you." His face rose to hers. "And that I will exact punishment from you every day of this marriage to eternity, beginning now. Take off your gown." Colour flooded her face. "You can't..." "I can, my fair Thomasyn. I want to inspect the goods that have unwittingly come into my possession." Nausea almost overwhelmed her. This man was her husband, through no choice of her own. She was bound to obey him. It was always expected that she would have no say in her choice of her husband. A father dictates his daughter's duty. She should have known when her father sent for her on her eighteenth birthday. Her step-mother had warned her, and Thomasyn had foolishly ignored her. The Duke's attention yesterday wasn't borne of any interest in her, but rather an attempt to sample the goods her father was selling. She flinched as warm hands slipped beneath the edges of her gown and spanned her tiny waist. They slid upwards, cupping the pale mounds of her breasts with their rosy tips. Thomasyn squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers clenched about the cloth. Memory of his mouth licking them scorched through her, and she felt them tighten. Fingers brushed over the tips, teasing them to hard buds. "You are a natural whore, Thommi. I find I want you still." Her breath caught as tumbled her onto her back on the bed, his body half covering hers. He still wore his unlaced breeches, and for that small mercy she was thankful as his thigh forced hers apart. She swallowed hard as she gazed up at him. His mouth closed over her the base of her throat as he flicked open the few remaining buttons down over her belly. He brushed the cloth away, exposing her trembling thighs and the thatch of curls between. Her lashes fluttered close as he parted her, his fingers exploring the lush valley between. Her whole world narrowed down to the indescribable sensation of him slowly massaging her there. She fought him passively, trying to think of something else, something besides him touching her in her secret place. Yet through the burning betrayal she couldn't prevent her breathing hitching and the soft gasps that escaped as he coaxed her flesh into tingling life. Thomasyn's body unwillingly softened beneath him, and his caresses changed, becoming less forceful. She lay beneath him, biting her lip as she struggled to remain still. Yet the sweet agony tormented her, bringing back shadowy memories of the night past. He caught a restless hand, dragging it down between their bodies to cup the hot, throbbing part of him. "Touch me," he groaned. Her fingers curled around him, feeling the velvety hardness. "Stroke me. Yes..." He moaned as he showed her what he wanted. His hips arched, thrusting against her hand as her touch became more sure. She stroked the rigid heat, feel an answering quiver deep within her. She watched his face from beneath lowered lashes, and was awed by the effect her touch had on him. Soon he brushed her hand away and moved over her, his mouth seeking hers. She turned her face to the side, and he kissed her neck. Her eyes widened as he pushed against her, the tip of him wedging inside her stretched entrance. Thomasyn bit down on her knuckles as he withdrew and surged against her. Pain seared through her, yet still he surged deeper. Her heels dug into the mattress, only serving to force herself further on his shaft as her hips rose to meet his thrust. "God, you're so tight," he groaned heavily against her ear as he slid incredibly deep. He felt impossibly thick and hard as he filled her, her pussy yielding to his relentless possession. He groaned as he began to thrust within her, driving into her with a need that left her writhing and panting beneath him. The sensation of him moving there, back and forth, generated an intensity of mingled ecstasy and agony unlike anything she had ever known. She clung to his shoulders, her legs wrapped around him. Her hips moved of their own accord with each thrust as he worked himself in her tight pussy. He tensed above her, his head tipped back, the cords in his neck straining as he cried out. He jerked inside of her with shuddering thrusts as warmth flooded her womb. He collapsed upon her, his heavy breathing mingling with hers. The intensity of his gaze took her breath away as they lay looking at one another at such close proximity. He brushed back a damp curl, before his thumb traced her lips. A soft whimper escaped her as he eased from her sore warmth and lay at her side, his head propped up on his hand. A blush stole down over her breasts at the sight she must present, sprawled half naked on the bed, her hair a tumble around her. Yet she couldn't move, bound up in the intimacy of the moment. She had just taken a man inside of her for the first time. His gaze held her prisoner as his fingers stroked down over her body to the aching flesh between her parted thighs. She knew she should close herself to him. His finger stole inside of her as his thumb coaxed the throbbing nub. He leaned down and kissed her, teasing her lips apart. She melted against him, hating him yet liking what he was doing to her. Nothing in her life had prepared her for what went on between a man and a woman. Thomasyn found herself wiggling and squirming, her hips pushing down on his hand as she struggled to catch her breath as he kissed her slowly, enticingly. Wilham moved to kneel between her legs, and drew her up to straddle his lap. Her arms circled his shoulders as he nibbled on her ear. "I find I want you again." A breathy moan escaped her. His hand discovered the damp folds of her sex, stroking her. Soft gasps filled his ears, and he drew back to gaze down at her. Silvery blonde hair tumbled over her shoulder and down her back, brushing his legs. Vulnerable blue eyes met his, clouded with desire. A blush stole over her cheeks. He was still hard for her, unable to get enough. He tore the gown from her body, throwing it wide. This time she opened herself to him willingly as the tip of his shaft replaced his finger. His lips caressed along her jaw and the throat as one hand gripped her hips. A soft moan escaped her as he filled her, impaling her on his hard length. Her head fell back on a cry as he began to rock within her. He caught a pouting nipple in his mouth, drawing on it between ragged breaths. Thomasyn bucked and writhed on him as he stormed her broken defences, feeling that wonderous tension return. This time there was no stinging pain as he took her, only a slight tenderness as he drove home within her. His hips rolled and thrust beneath her until she thought she would go mad with the pleasure. She cried out as he stabbed her deeply, his hands lifting and dropping her on his thickness. His deep groans filled her ears as his wedged himself furiously in her quivering heat, plundering her virgin pussy like an invading conqueror without a thought to mercy. Her whole body was going up in flames, her body arching, her nails raking down his back. Her hips pushed down, meeting his every thrust as sensation rippled through her. She cried out in shocked wonderment as pleasure scorched through her to a blinding crescendo. He roared as he erupted within her like a volcano, his head thrown back, every muscle straining as he plugged her tiny entrance. His seed spurted deep within her womb as he stormed her yielding body with shuddering jerks. Thomasyn slumped against him, her cheek pressed to his shoulder as she tried to come to grips with what had happened. His arms tightened about her, his muscular body still shuddering. He titled her chin back and kissed her, his tongue tangling with hers. Eventually reason returned, and she eased from his lap. She blushed beneath his heated gaze as he pushed dark strands back from his damp forehead. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she presented him with the smooth column of her back as she tried to gather her senses. Her lashes rested against her cheeks as she drew in deep breaths, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Wilham knew he would discover her blood smeared on his shaft should he look. Thomasyn had been an innocent. She had struggled to take him in, and no amount of acting would have convinced him otherwise. He regretted not making it easy for her first bout of sex, but she had brought it upon herself. His whiskey must have been laced with a drug that lit a fire in his blood for sex. He had struggled to conceal the effects of the drug before the congregation of squawking onlookers eager for some gossip to liven their day. He had almost given it to them. Wilham knew he hadn't had to marry her. He could have left her ruined before the scavengers for what she and her father had done. But he had wanted to. He wanted to exact revenge on her every day of the rest of her life for making a fool of him. No one got the better of an Ellesmere. He would see to it that the life she had gone to great lengths to achieve was in reality hell. That she was untouched and unable to hide her responses to his caresses only made his choice of punishment all the more easy. He would make her crave him like the drug she and her father had fed him, then spurn her. And he would ensure she took no lovers to ease the ache he had created. For his Thommi was a passionate maid, her warm body made for a man's possession. Even now his shaft stirred where it lay along his thigh, and he cursed the deceitful witch again for what she had done to him. This burning need for her was a result of the drug, nothing more. Innocents held no allure for Wilham. He much preferred the delights of experienced widows who knew their needs and his. After his wife's death he had no intention of remarrying. Ever. Schelldon new Wilham wouldn't touch a virgin. That way lay the trap of matrimony. Especially if that virgin was Schelldon's daughter. The tangle of lies clouded Wilham's mind. Thomasyn rose trembling from the bed and strode to the robe. Clutching the first item her hand fell on, she lifted it from the hook. She slipped the gown of gold brocade over her head and struggled with the laces. With shaking fingers she riffled through her gilded box and found a broach to cinch the gown beneath her breasts, and accidentally stabbed her finger for her trouble. All the while she felt his keen gaze upon her. Her feelings for him wavered between hatred and dislike as she tugged her brush through her mane. Haphazardly she braided it and pinned it on her head, uncaring of the loose tendrils that escaped to frame her flushed face. "Your maidenhead does not change things between us, fair Thommi. I will not apologise for what happened in this bed. You are my wife. Your body is mine by God's will to do with it as I please. It is for you to decide if you wish to enjoy it." Without thought Thomasyn picked up the nearest thing, her silver brush, and threw it at him with all her might. He ducked, and the thump as it hit the headboard was loud in her ears as she stormed from the chamber. "Go to the devil!" she cried without a backward glance. She slammed the door on his laughter. Scorching hatred for the man who had shown her the delights of the marriage bed burned through her. Where the hell was her father?