He gave a low chuckle and caught her in an embrace, pushing her legs wider with his knees. She let go of the headboard and clung to him, having reached the limits of her submission. When he pressed inside her she thought she would lose her mind from the hot, tight pleasure, and his lustful force as he buried himself to the hilt. She clenched around him, hooking her legs behind his hips. He took her deep and hard, squeezing her sore, punished buttocks as he moved against her.
“Is this what you wanted?” he asked in between thrusts. “Your husband’s cock filling you up?”
“Yes, you knew I did,” she said a bit accusingly.
He grinned as he thrust in her again. “We’ll have to practice the art of naughty talk at some later date.”
Josephine didn’t want to practice anything at the moment, except finding her release after so much teasing. Warren drove her across the bed, pinching, sucking, pounding into her, and she clung to him, arching her hips to take him deeper. He withdrew with a growl and flipped her over. She nearly toppled off the bed, but he gripped her about the waist and set her on her hands and knees.
“Don’t stop,” she cried. “Oh, please touch me. Please hold me.”
He kissed her shoulder and her nape, and licked the racing pulse at her neck as he twisted his fingers in her hair. “I’ve got you. I’ve no intention of stopping now.” He slid his other hand down to stroke her quim, teasing her to a frenzied peak. She ought not to like such abandoned and animalistic activities. What did it say about her, that the more wantonly they coupled, the more pleasure she felt? She clenched around his hot, thick length, begging for more. Begging him to go deeper, and faster. When she finally peaked, he smacked her hot, reddened bottom in time with the pulses of her satisfaction.
It both thrilled and terrified her, the way she gave herself up to pure debauchery, and the possessive urgency of his will.
Chapter Nine: Confidences
By the time they arrived back to the Baxters’ manor, all the house guests were gone. Josephine was glad. She couldn’t have faced any of them after the way she’d spent the last few days. Or the last few miles in the carriage before they arrived, for that matter. She thought the evidence of Lord Warren’s carnalities must be written all over her, on her lips and hands and bottom and knees. He enticed her to do such bawdy things, things she would never have imagined. What if they knew?
But of course no one knew. Lord Baxter greeted them cheerfully and Lady Baxter gave her a hug and a kiss and exclaimed that she looked very well. Minette squealed at her new lavender gown and hugged her hard, and hugged her brother too, before launching into all the news they had missed after leaving the house party. It was only Josephine who thought of hot skin and whispers, and her husband’s hands directing her, his persistent fingers touching her just so. She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it, even through dinner and a quiet evening with Minette and Lady Baxter in the drawing room.
The next morning, they said their farewells and set out for his Park Street address in London. She and Minette traveled in the first carriage, while Lord Warren elected to ride his horse alongside. Now and again she could hear his voice over the road noise as he exchanged words with the grooms, or gave one of his boisterous laughs.
When she wasn’t straining to hear him, she was staring at the opposite bench, where her husband had bent her over and done lascivious things during their journey from Warren Manor. Her cheeks flushed hot from the memories of kisses and caresses, and wild sexual congress. Minette kept up a steady stream of conversation, mainly concerning her brother. She seemed oblivious to Josephine’s fidgeting and her mental preoccupation.
“His real name is Idylwild, did you know that?” asked Minette. “Some people call him Wild instead. I’m sure he’s told you by now. As long as I’ve known him he’s been Lord Warren, so of course that’s all I call him, which is just as well since Idylwild is a ridiculous name. Nearly as ridiculous as Wilhelmina, but not quite. That’s my real name, you know, but I couldn’t say it as a child, and what I could say sounded something like Minette, and so that’s how I began to be known. I was so silly a girl, and Warren such a saint for putting up with me.”
Josephine blinked, trying to follow the tumbling stream of Minette’s words. “Did your brother raise you, then? Wouldn’t he have been too young?”
“Oh, I had nannies and aunties and tutors and a guardian who was just the thing, but Warren was my brother and I can never…” She stopped, putting a finger to her cheek. “Honestly, I can never remember a time he wasn’t looking out for me. He hovered terribly and did everything for me, playing both mother and father. He taught me to read and to dance, and to mind my manners. I even remember him putting up my hair when the maids became cross with my curls.”
Josephine recalled his unusual deftness with her hair pins—and her hair brush—and thought perhaps this explained it, along with a great many other things. “I think your brother likes to concern himself with others,” she said. “He’s very responsible.”
Minette laughed out loud. “Warren, responsible? He’s been nothing but a gadabout these past few years, but if you’ve awakened some sense of responsibility in him, I can only thank you for it.” She squeezed Josephine’s arm. “I know you didn’t really want to marry my brother, but I hope things will work out for the best.”
Josephine caught a glimpse of him outside the coach, capable and confident atop his dark stallion. He wore his traveling coat and buff breeches rather than his more formal finery, but looked no less handsome. “I hope for the best too,” she said. “But we’re very different.”
“Why, how sad you look. What has my brother done? Has he hurt your feelings? Men can be so clumsy at times.”
“He hasn’t hurt my feelings. He’s only rather…commanding. He does what he likes, and no one can tell him no.”
Minette made a soft, sympathetic tsk. “That does sound a bit like my brother.”
“He says he’s going to arrange a ball when we return to London, to introduce me to everyone and lend respectability to our match.”
Minette bounced on the seat as she clapped her hands. “How splendid! I love balls, and it will be just the thing. Warren is such a crack at navigating the social waters. He knows ever so many people and they all like him. He’s perfectly right, a grand ball will silence those who might gossip about your quick wedding, and cast your marriage in a less than positive light.”
“I don’t know.” Josephine gripped her hands so tightly together that her fingernails dug into her palms. “Is it necessary to throw some showy ball only because of gossip?”
“Well…” Minette toyed with her fan. “I do think so, in this case. Lord Stafford was piqued to lose you to Warren, and he said ridiculous things about the two of you. Not that anyone believed they were true, but there you are. No, don’t frown, I can’t bear it. No one thought Stafford’s whispers anything more than petty jealousy, but a ball will be just the thing to make him shut his mouth.”
Josephine was disconcerted that Minette seemed squarely on her brother’s side. From the moment he’d begun talking about this grand gathering, she’d been afflicted with a stifling sense of dread. “I feel terrible that your brother must go to all the expense and trouble of a ball.”
“You mustn’t worry about the expense,” Minette said with a flick of her fingers. “Warren is rich as anything, and as for the trouble, he keeps an army of servants at Park Street who know how to deal with every sort of entertainment. He’s probably already written them, so they can get things in hand.”
“But I would rather not have this ball,” Josephine said. “I really would rather not.”
Minette studied her in obvious puzzlement. “Why? Is it that you have nothing to wear? I have ever so many formal gowns, more than anyone needs, and we’re the same size. I would be thrilled to share anything in my dressing room with you. Warren has always spoiled me beyond measure. You should see all the bonnets and shoes. I wonder if you could wear my shoes?” Minette hiked up her skirt a bit and aligned her foot to Josephine’s. “There, you see? Practically the same. I have a lovely sage green ball gown with matching shoes and gloves and a fringed shawl, and you must have it. I could never have worn it, I assure you. It looks terrible with my coloring but it will look beautiful with your auburn hair and pretty amber eyes. My brother only wants to show you off to everyone, don’t you think? No one ever thought he’d get married, that’s a fact, but he seems to like you very much.”
Josephine wasn’t sure about that. They’d only been married a week and he’d already spanked her twice for peevish behavior. She looked out at him again, and an uneasy awareness fluttered inside her, sin-hazed memories of the things he’d done to her after he spanked her, things that made her ache and thrill at the same time. She couldn’t confide in Minette about that, no matter how easy-going she was. She couldn’t confide in anyone about the things Warren did to her.
This whole matter of marital rights had turned her world on its ear, and now her husband intended to throw her into further panic by planning this ball and inviting everyone in the whole world who was more polished and dignified than her.
“Will you help me convince him to wait just a little longer?” she begged Minette. “You’re his sister. Can’t you make him see that it’s too soon for this ball? That I don’t wish to be put to such scrutiny? I don’t— I can’t— I can’t bear for everyone to come gawk at us as if our marriage is the curiosity of the week.”
“But if you don’t let them come, they will exchange tales behind your back, and Warren won’t like that.” She spoke in her brightest, most encouraging tone. “Really, it won’t be bad at all. Warren throws the most famous routs. People come calling like crazy and practically kill one another to get invitations, and then the night of the ball, you wouldn’t believe how the carriages line up. So many people crush into the ballroom that one can barely move. There is so much chatter and merriment, and fine food and music…” Her smile faded under the weight of Josephine’s frown. “But if you really don’t wish to have a ball so early in the season, perhaps it can be put off. I’ll try to talk to him.”
Josephine squeezed Minette’s hand. “Thank you. I’m simply not ready yet.”
“He’ll understand, I’m sure. Sometimes if I pester him enough, he gives in to me.”
Josephine couldn’t imagine Lord Warren giving in to anyone, except perhaps Minette, with her impish charm. “I’m so glad we’re sisters now,” Josephine said, meaning every word. “I’ve never had a sister and I’ve always wanted one.”