As with her breasts, the moment she flexed against him, he pulled away. It almost seemed as though he didnat care to touch her. Was she doing something wrong? Perhaps she was supposed to sit immobile. Oh, the embarrassment of not knowing what was appropriate was nearly unbearable.

Phillip raised his eyes back to hers. They were so distressed. Unable to resist giving her a moment of comfort, he rested his lips against her abdomen, pressing a light kiss against her stomach; then, rubbing his cheek against the soft lace, he allowed himself one small moment of pleasure while he learned the scent of her. As he burrowed his cheek, she rested a hand on the back of his head, and sifted her fingers through his hair, in an intimate, affectionate gesture. As though she'd done it to him thousands of times in her life. As though they loved and cherished one another. As though it was the most natural tiling in the world.

Enough! With greater speed than he'd intended, he jumped away from her and sat up. She bent a knee as he moved away. The gown had a slit up the side which allowed her naked leg to reveal itself all the way to the upper part of her thigh. The silky expanse of skin was covered by a gentle down of her dark hair. He could barely refrain from running his hand up the inside of her leg to her knee, up to her thigh and higher, until . ..

"What is it, sir? What have I done?"

"Nothing, Jane. Nothing. Everything's fine."

"No, it isn't. I can tell by the look in your eye. I told you I don't know what to do, but I'm eager to learn. If you'll just show me, I'm sure I'll get it right."

Phillip remembered the night in her rented parlor two weeks earlier when she'd seemed able to so quickly and easily assess his moods. She was doing it again, as though she'd always known him. At times, she seemed to know him more than he knew himself. Deep inside, he keenly felt the lonely weight of all the years when he'd never been close to anyone. When no one had cared for or about him and he'd cared for and about no one in return.

Once again, he sensed that there was something important here. Something vital and fresh which he could grab hold of if he dared.

What would it be like to let his guard down? To let this woman close enough to enjoy a friendship with her? To trust her and care about her?

No. No. He was too far gone to even think such a thing. Best to get back to the messy business at hand and get it over with as quickly as possible. His eyes quickly scanned the room, and he saw what he was looking for on her dressing table. He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Turn over, Jane. And lie on your stomach."

"What?"

"Lie on your stomach." She hesitated for a moment, trying to decide if she should. He gave her an encouraging nod and helped her ease herself into the welcoming mattress. Once she appeared comfortable, he grabbed the pot he'd spotted.

He moved off the bed and quickly got back on. Raising up on her elbows, she glanced at him over her shoulder. Her long hair was in such disarray that she couldn't see him, but she could feel him kneeling behind her. "What ever are you doing?"

He reached for her rope of hair and pushed it to the side, only to wish he hadn't. Her eyes, more startlingly green than he'd seen them so far, were staring at him curiously. "I've grabbed a pot of cream. It will ease the way for me and, I hope, lessen the pain for you."

She seemed to accept the explanation, or at least was too shy to ask more questions. He loosened the ties of his robe, then scooped cream out of the pot with three fingers. Slowly, wanting to prolong the moment for some reason, he stroked the white stuff up and down the length of his shaft. He was hard when he'd entered the room, and from touching and smelling her, his condition had increased until now he was in a painful way. The cream felt delectably carnal, forbidden, and for a moment, he seemed fourteen again and wondered if he'd embarrass himself before he could become impaled between her legs.

Deciding not to test fate, he reached for her and rested his hands against the backs of her thighs. She flinched. "Shhh . . . it's all right. I'm just going to raise the hem of your gown." In a slow movement, he lifted the thing up her legs, past her hips and waist, over her head, leaving her buttocks bare and exposed. They were two perfect globes, creamy and smooth like the rest of her. Above, two beautiful dimples tempted his lips, but he refrained. The cleft between beckoned, but he kept his hands to himself.

Barely breathing, she lay perfectly still. Every sound seemed magnified. Every one of his movements overly made. This didnat seem right, but he kept insisting that he knew what he was doing. Movement again and touch. A knee between her thighs. Then another. Curly, rough hair, abrasive against her skin. Hands, gently easing her legs apart.

He leaned closer and whispered, "I'm going to touch you. In your private part. I want to put some cream on you, too."

No response came to her, so she lay rigid and tense as his fingers drifted across the cleft of her bottom. Without any hesitation, he touched her where no other person had ever touched her. The cream was cold, her body hot, and as his finger slipped inside, she tried to clench her legs together. The movement seemed to pull his finger more deeply inside. She was certain she wrenched a groan of frustration from him, but she didnat care. The touch was so unwelcome, so impersonal, that she was beyond caring if she was doing things correctly or not.

He worked one finger back and forth several times; then another joined the first. She tried to turn again, but his other hand steadied her back and wouldn't let her up.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm preparing you a little. So it won't hurt quite so much." Phillip closed his eyes in agony. From their small amount of touching, she was wet and ready for him, her moist lips fairly crying into his hand. Then she clenched tightly, squeezing against his fingers. Sweet, sweet agony. There were no other words to describe it. He removed his hand, making a slow, leisurely circle across the bud of her womanhood. It was exposed. Hard. Waiting for his ministrations and attentions. He could almost feel it against the tip of his tongue.

Sweet Jesu, what am I doing?

Reaching under her stomach, he gripped her around the waist, raising her slightly to insert a pillow under her. Her backside was now raised up, a delectable offering for whatever he wanted to do.

Jane was holding her breath again. He'd touched something, some small place, that previously she'd not known existed. It sent fire and ice shooting through her veins. The pain was so exquisite she nearly cried out. All too quickly he moved his hand away.

Again! she wanted to beg. Please, husband, again, but she didnat. She lay immobile while he reached under her and slipped the pillow under her stomach. Hands on both buttocks now. Then to the backs of her thighs. Slipping to the insides. Pressing her open. His body weight shifting across and over.

As he eased himself down onto one elbow, his robe still on and flowing over them like a velvet blanket, she began to realize what he intended. His hand was between her thighs, the blunt, hard positioning of his sex up against hers. He eased his hips to increase the pressure.

"No, Wessington. No, please. Not like this." She started to squirm; then, when she realized he wasn't stopping, she gazed over her shoulder. "I want to see you."

For a brief moment he considered doing what she requested. Rolling her over. Making love to her as he'd always imagined it. Kissing her lips. Suckling at her breasts. Tasting and tonguing the moist petals of her womanhood. But he couldn't. One kiss, one stroke of the hand, and he'd be lost. "It will be quicker this way. And it will hurt less. Trust me."

It seemed as though agonizing minutes passed while she stared at him with those probing emerald eyes. God, how he hated them! They looked straight to the center of his black heart.

"If you insist," she finally said, turning her head back to face the pillows. Phillip began again the moment she turned her head 'round. The pressure between her legs increased further. She tensed as his fingers tightened against her thighs.

"Relax, Jane."

"I can't. I'm sorry," It was impossible with the pressure between her legs. What di the blasted man expect?

"Don't be sorry." He pushed his hips closer, then stopped, knowing he'd reached her barrier. "Take a deep breath." He waited, feeling her lungs fill with air.

"Let it out slowly." She did so, and seizing on the bit of relaxation brought about by her exhale, he impaled himself to the hilt. To her credit, she didnat cry out, though he thought she was going to.

Phillip couldn't believe how aroused he was. She was tight and slick. The cream he'd used, coupled with her virgin's blood and her body's juices had created a hot, slippery paradise, his for the taking. As she tried to turn to look at him, her body naturally clenched tightly around him. Suddenly, the heat in his groin began to rage out of control, and he could no longer hold back.

His hips began to move back and forth. While he could have spilled himself with a few deep thrusts, he found her so exquisite that he couldn't bear to end it so quickly. He began slowly, then increased the tempo, pumping faster, letting the tension build until his universe darkened, the sun burned brighter than the brightest star. His entire body tensed, and he completely spilled himself against her womb.

Jane lay very still as he thrust deeper and deeper.

All at once, his entire body slackened, and she felt his full weight on top of her, pressing her into the bed. At first, she wondered if he'd died, but gradually, she could feel the steady beat of his heart thundering against her ribs. Perhaps he was asleep or unconscious. She could barely breathe and wondered briefly if she might suffocate before help arrived. Worst of all was that his male part was still buried deeply between her legs.

Just when she was thinking that perhaps she should try to call for Meg, he surprised her by nuzzling a kiss against her ear. With whatever small amount of leverage she had, she elbowed him in the ribs. "Get off me, you bloody bastard. Now."

Phillip rolled onto his side, but as he was reaching for her, she scurried away to the far side of the bed. As far away as she could get without stepping onto the floor. As she'd wanted to do for what seemed an eternity, she curled her legs to her chest, wrapped her arms around them. Rocking herself gently, she let silent tears start to fall.

The silence was oppressive. Why didnat he just leave? He shifted on the bed, and she flinched, wondering if he intended to reach for her again. She'd kill him if he touched her just now. She'd murder him, right here in their marital bed. If she had to hang for it in the morning, she'd go to her executioner with a peaceful heart. She felt ravaged, torn, beaten, more unloved than she'd ever been in her long, lonely life.

He laid his hand on her back, and she straightened. "Don't you dare touch me."

"Jane ..." He stared across the bed, at her body huddled in upon itself like a newborn babe's. Her shoulders were shaking slightly as she shed silent tears. His decision to couple with no emotional involvement between them had been a good one, but if that was true, why did he feel so wretched? In all his years of loving women, he'd never treated one so callously as this. "It was better to do it this way."

"Better for whom?" she asked, then laughed bitterly. "I was so sure that you would know how to do it. That you would know how to show me the way of it. I am the world's biggest fool."

The prick at his loving skills injured his pride. "I know how to make love to a woman, Jane. It's just better for us not to be too involved with each other."

"Oh, yes, Lord Wessington." Her voice was heavily laced with sarcasm. "Heaven forbid that you show any kindness to me. I'm just your wife. No wonder they make sure we remain virgins until this night. Who would ever go through with marriage if they knew this horrible experience was awaiting them?" The tears that had been falling silently were becoming a dreadful flood, and she could no longer hold them back. She refused to let him know she was crying. "Leave me be."

"Jane, I dunk we should discuss things."

"I've no wish to speak to you at the moment. If you have any decency, you'll leave now."

"Jane ..." He reached for her again, wishing there was some way to explain why he'd done what he'd done, but the words were like ashes in his mouth. His mind kept saying that he'd done the proper thing, but his heart kept shouting something else again. He felt despicable. "I want to . . ." What?

"Just go. Cease this torment"

He hesitated, then stepped off the bed. "Shall I ring for Meg?"

"God, no. I don't want anyone to see me like this."

Phillip cinched his robe across the waist, covering the slash of blood across his thighs. He moved to the door of his chamber. She looked so lost, so forlorn. So injured and hurt. By his hand. By his actions. He wanted to say the right tiling or do the right tiling, but he wasn't sure what it could be now.

"Good night." She didnat respond, and he stepped through the door and closed it softly.

Jane waited, tense and anxious, until she heard the click of the door as it closed behind her husband. She waited a few minutes more, just to be sure that he wasn't returning. Then she fell to the floor, fumbled in the dim light for the chamber pot and found it just in time. She retched over and over again until there was nothing left. Too weak to stand or even to crawl back to the bed, she managed to drag a blanket to the floor, where she leaned against the wall in the dark shadow of the corner. Huddled there, alone and frightened, she fell asleep.

Chapter Twelve.

Meg lay on her stomach, burrowed down in the soft bed, when she heard the click of the knob at her door, but she was too tired from her night of frolicking to open an eye just yet. Besides, she'd know the soft step of that foot anywhere. Only a moment later, warm lips brushed against her ear. A hand reached beneath the covers and fondled her breast.

"Rise and shine, lazy bones," Graves whispered. "Now?" She groaned. "What's the time?" "Five. Just past. The Earl's been to his room and gone."

"He's probably still cuddled with his wife." "Maybe, but I didnat want to poke my nose in." Graves had seen the Earl in all sorts of situations with numerous ladies and, in the past few months, had woken him nearly every day with Margaret by his side. "I doubt the Earl would mind if I saw them in bed together, but I don't think Jane would care for it."

"Yes, I suppose you're right." Graves moved back as she shrugged off the covers. "I'd better go check. If he's gone, she'll be wanting a bath. And perhaps someone to talk to." Meg wiggled her eyebrows at the thought of learning a few more juicy tidbits about the Earl's love-making abilities.

Dressing quickly, she sneaked down the hallways. The entire household was still sleeping, and she didnat want to wake anyone. Jane was so lovely, and the Earl such a randy devil, that Meg couldn't imagine he'd have left her alone already, unless, of course, she was so drained from her first night of ecstasy that she was sound asleep.

Silent as a mouse, she opened the door to Jane's bedchamber. The fire was out so it was very cool, the candles burned down so it was dark. She lifted her own candle toward the bed, surprised to see that it was empty, the bedcoverings barely mussed. Making a quick circle to make certain they weren't going at it on one of the chairs or on the floor, she walked around the room and lit the lamp. At the backside of the bed, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Jane was on the floor, braced into the corner, her hair a thsheveled mass, and she was barely covered by the blanket thrown over her legs.

"Jane..." Meg squatted, then knelt, taking her hand. Her skin was cold and clammy.

"What?" Jane jumped slightly, opened her eyes, squinting into the candlelight. "Oh, Meg, thank the Lord it's only you."

"Whatever happened?" Of all the things she'd imagined, this was definitely not even close to being one of them. "Let's get you up, dear. Can you stand?"

Jane seemed to think about it for a moment. "Yes, I guess I can. I'm a little stiff."

"How long have you been down here?"

"Most of the night, I expect. I guess I fell asleep."

Meg extended a hand, helping her to her feet.

"Sit, Jane. Here." Meg moved her toward the bed.

Jane pulled away. "No, not on the bed. I don't want to sit there. I don't want to sit there ever again."

"All right. This chair, then." She moved it close to the fire, then held Jane's arm as she walked her to it. Jane limped a little and winced with each step. How hard had the bastard ripped into her? Meg shook her head in distress. This was so at odds with everything Graves had ever told her about the way the Earl treated his lady friends.

"I'm going to go find someone to light the fire, and I'll ring for a bath.a "Please, Meg"a"Jane reached for her arma""I don't want anybody to see me like this. You know how they'll talk."

Meg knew all too well, but she needed help and couldn't leave Jane in such distress. "How about Graves? He'll be extremely discreet. I swear it."

Jane thought for a long moment, then agreed. "But only him."

"I'll be right back."

Meg returned momentarily and stoked the fire. While it kindled and Jane warmed herself, Meg stripped the bed.

Graves entered by himself. Whoever had helped him carry things up the stairs had been dismissed at the door. Meg helped him bring the hip bath into the room and fill it with hot water. When it was ready, he walked to Jane's chair and smiled down at her, care and concern clear in his eyes.

"I've really done it now, haven't?" she asked through a flood of tears. "Binging myself to him this way ..."

Graves flashed a pained look to Meg, then reached down and took Jane's hand and squeezed it. "I don't understand him, Jane. I truly, truly don't."

Jane looked from Graves to Meg, caring so much for these two wonderful new friends she'd found swimming in this sea of enemies and sharks. "It was the most horrible thing that ever happened to me. Quite a statement about a girl's wedding night, wouldn't you say?"

Meg fell to her knees in front of the chair. She and Jane embraced each other, while Graves held her hand, stroked her hair and whispered comforting words. They stayed with her until she cried herself out. Once the tirade ended, Jane seemed embarrassed. With a shaky voice, she said, "I guess I'll have that bath now."

"You'll feel so much better once you're cleaned up." Meg helped her to her feet as Graves headed for the door. She stopped him with a look. "Where will you be?"

"I've things to attend to."

Meg could tell by the firm set of his jaw that the things he referred to had to do with finding the Earl and giving him a piece of his mind or perhaps more. If Graves found himself in trouble again, there'd be no help. "Don't you dare go downstairs."

The stern tone of Meg's voice brought Jane's head 'round. "What is it? What's wrong?"

'' He's got his mind set to go after the Earl. Who knows what kind of trouble he'll get himself in."

Jane was touched. She couldn't remember a time in her life when someone had volunteered to stand up for her.

It was touching.

It was frightening.

"Graves, I'm ordering you to go back to your room."

"I've things to attend to, Jane."

"No. I don't want to see your face about before nine or so."

Graves looked ready to burst. "What your husband"a" the word rolled bitterly off his tonguea""needs, and I'd say has probably needed for a good share of his life, is to have his arse kicked." He bowed slightly. "Beg pardon, ladies, for my language."

"Yes, you're probably right. But not now, not over this. And definitely not by you." Jane stepped to him and held out her hand until he took it in his own. "I need you here to help and guide me. You can't give him a reason to send you away."