Marriage Under Siege by Anne O'Brien

and
corded with sinew, made contact with hers in the slightest of movements.
    'I know,' she managed to
croak. But she didn't!
    He immediately took the
initiative and smoothed his fingers through her hair, pushing it back from her
temples. With gentle fingers he touched her face, a fleeting caress of the
skin, then following their path from temple to jaw with his lips. Her mouth was
soft when he kissed her, the lightest of brushes, mouth against mouth. But then
he felt her pulse begin to beat in her throat when he kissed his way along the
line from jaw to delicate shoulder, when he paused to press his lips to the
very spot where her blood pounded. She lay beneath his touch as if, apart from
that one pulse, turned to stone.
    She was not a virgin, he
thought. She had shared a marriage bed. So why was she so tense? He had hardly
touched her.
    He persisted as slowly and
carefully as he could. It was merely a matter of familiarity. He let his hands
smooth down over her body to push away her linen chemise to expose her
shoulders to his touch. When his palm closed over a firm breast, lightly
moulding so as not to startle her, he felt her gasp and hold her breath.
    He continued, gently,
stroking, touching, caressing, exploring the curve of her breast to the
delicacy of her ribcage and the flowing indentation of her waist. She was
lovely. Her skin was as pleasurable to the touch as the most costly satin. He
felt his blood begin to heat with arousal and his body hardened in anticipation.
It might be true that he did not know her, but he had no difficulty in
responding to her pure femininity. But he must go slowly. He gritted his teeth.
When he allowed his fingers to trail across the soft skin of her belly and
smooth over the roundness of her hip, he felt her catch her breath again,
almost on a sob.
    His mouth returned to hers,
this time with possessive demand, encouraging her lips to part to allow his
tongue to slide over the soft inner flesh of her lips, as soft and smooth as
silk. She stiffened, every muscle in her body tensed, silently resisting, as he
teased a nipple between his fingers.
    And he realised that her
flesh had chilled, her skin had become clammy as her blood drained, her
responses withdrawn from what she saw as a violation. He could no longer
pretend that she saw it in any other way. But why? He had deliberately gentled
and slowed his desire to take her. By no stretch of the imagination had he
attempted to ravish her or treat her with less than utmost consideration for a
new bride.
    On a deep breath, he
stopped, lifted his hands and raised his head to look down at her face below
him in the shadows. He could not be other than stunned at what he saw, at the
stark fear momentarily in her wide eyes. She was not fighting him, not physically
resisting, but she feared him and her whole body was rigid, totally
unresponsive to his attempts to arouse and seduce.
    He rolled away from her to
sit up in concern and some exasperation. He kept his voice low, but she could
not mistake the edge in it. 'I have never, to my knowledge, been guilty of
forcing a woman against her will. I do not relish the prospect of starting with
my wife!'
    This time there was
definitely a sob in response to his words.
    'And I thought I had some
skill in bringing pleasure to a woman.'
    At that she covered her
face with her hands. Panic choked her, filled her lungs like smoke. Her
breathing became shallow and difficult. To her horror, against all her hopes,
she had to accept the truth of it, that Lord Edward had been right after all.
She was incapable of attracting a man and an abject failure at bringing
pleasure to him as a wife should. It was all her fault. And her new lord was
about to reject her as assuredly as Edward had done. He would not be as cruel
as Edward, could not be, but he certainly showed no inclination to pursue the
consummation of their marriage in the face of her own frozen despair.
    Mansell cast aside the
covers and stood beside the bed,