He swept the black river of her hair aside and bent to kiss her neck, nibbling and nuzzling, inhaling the sweet fragrance of her skin and hair. There was something wonderfully innocent about the back of her neck, something milky and soft about its scent. Even when she drove him to distraction with her stubborn impulses or her blunt statements, he had only to think of this delicate, soft-skinned column for his anger to lose its sting.
"Draw your knees up," he whispered, running his hand down again, stroking over her bottom while his other hand continued its work between her thighs.
Theo obeyed the soft command, her face buried in the coverlet. He moved behind her, his flat palms spreading her thighs. The intimacy of his caressing fingers deepened, and she could no longer control her soft, whimpering moans of pleasure, and when she felt his flesh glide within her, she reached behind her blindly, to touch the rock-hard thighs that drove him on this joy-bringing, joy-taking voyage.
At her touch Sylvester knew he'd won. He moved within her until the little ripples of the satin sheath that held him began to gather momentum. Then he withdrew and, before Theo could react, turned her onto her back.
"Now," he said, "I want to see your face, my partner in pleasure."
He drew her legs up onto his shoulder and plunged to her core, his hands sliding over the backs of her thighs, and gripping the firm flesh of her backside.
Theo cried out as the changed position deepened the sensation of his flesh in hers, and she reached up to touch his chest, his nipples, to stroke down the concave belly, to slide between his thighs and upward on a deeply intimate journey that drew a low groan of delight from her lover.
He smiled down at her, and there was no triumph in the smile. Theo's tongue touched her lips, her eyes aglow, her skin flushed, and he knew that for the moment she'd forgotten everything that had brought them to this glorious plane.
She began to move, urgent and insistent, and he held himself still. "Wait a little, gypsy."
Theo shook her head, and there was a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. With one devastating wriggle of her exploring finger she broke his last reserve of control, and his body seemed to explode as her own convulsed around him and she no longer knew where his skin began and hers ended. His flesh was integral to her own body and his joy was hers.
"You wicked witch," he gasped when the wave receded and he could draw breath. "I was taking my time."
"You can't expect to have everything your own way." There was a tart edge to the mischievous rejoinder despite her languorous tone.
Sylvester grinned. "I gave up expecting that many months ago, my dear girl… but neither, I'll have you know, can you."
He fell onto the bed beside her, pushing an arm under her body, brushing a damp lock of hair away from the alabaster curve of her cheek. Theo lay still, her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed, wrestling with the idea of defeat. But it wasn't over yet. She still had a few days, until his mother and sister left. Perhaps she'd better try to make her in-laws a little more welcome.
"Why the face?" Sylvester asked languidly at her unconscious grimace.
"I'm thirsty," she improvised.
Sylvester sat up and swung himself to the floor. "Will water do you?"
"Yes, thank you."
She watched him through half-closed eyes as he crossed to the water jug on the washstand. "Where's the glass?"
"On the dresser."
He picked up the glass she'd been drinking from when he came in and filled it with water. He drank himself before refilling the glass and bringing it across to her. "What's in that bottle?" He handed her the water.
"Oh," Theo said, taking a drink. "Well, it's something I should have mentioned earlier."
"Why do I have the feeling I'm not going to enjoy this?" Sylvester mused, picking up the brown bottle and holding it to the light.
"It's a potion that will prevent conception," she said. "I got it from a herbalist in Lulworth."
"What." Sylvester stared at her, trying to understand what she'd said. Women didn't make those choices, they weren't theirs to make. He turned the bottle over in his hands, gazing at her in stunned disbelief. "Are you telling me you've been taking this since our marriage."
"Yes," Theo said. "Didn't you wonder why I hadn't conceived?"
"It did cross my mind," he said grimly. "Dear God in heaven, Theo! Why didn't you discuss this with me?"
"Well, at the beginning you said you wanted to set up your nursery without delay, and I didn't feel ready, and I thought if you refused to listen to me -"
"I'm not a brute, Theo," he interrupted. "I wouldn't force you to carry my child."
"Well, I didn't know that then." She plaited the sheet with restless fingers. "From what I understand about these matters, men don't expect their wives to have an opinion, let alone a way of enforcing that opinion. But I did."
Sylvester ran a hand through his disheveled locks, struggling with a melange of disbelief, resentment, and hurt. Of course, he'd expected her to do as other women did in these matters and simply accept the realities of the marriage bed.
"Why don't you want to bear my children?" he asked finally.
His wounded feelings were clear in his voice and his eyes as they rested gravely on her face, and Theo chewed her bottom lip, trying to think of how to assuage his hurt.
"It isn't that I don't want to," she said. "I just don't want to now. It's what Dame Merriweather said: It's best to look after the loving before you start breeding." She offered a tentative smile.
Sylvester looked down at the bottle he still held. "Do you have any idea what's in this? Have you the slightest idea what damage this kind of stuff can do you? It may well have prevented pregnancy, but what other effects was it having?"
"Dame Merriweather wouldn't give me anything that would harm me," she said with conviction.
"A country herbalist! What the devil does she know?" He put the bottle down and came over to the bed. "Listen, these medicines can do incalculable harm, I've heard horror stories aplenty." Not, however, among the kind of women Theo spent her time with. He kept the wry thought to himself.
Theo frowned. It was true the potion played havoc with her monthly cycle. "So what do you suggest?"
"There's a perfectly simple precaution I can take that involves no dangerous substances," he said, bending to extinguish the bedside candle. "So we'll leave it up to me from now on." Sliding a hand beneath her, he lifted her body so that he could pull down the coverlet. "Get in." Theo wriggled between the sheets, sliding over to make room for him. "Just until I'm ready," she said. "Yes," he agreed with a mock sigh. "Until then." "Perhaps we could try your method now." Her hand moved seductively over his body as he came in beside her. "I'd really like to see how it works…"
Chapter Twenty-five
Theo awoke to bright sunshine. Sleepily, she hitched herself on her elbows to look at the clock. It was almost ten. How could she ever have slept so late? But then she remembered. She lay back on the pillows, her hands drifting over her naked form, reminding her skin of the touches that had brought so much pleasure during those joyous hours before dawn.
She turned her head and frowned at the empty space beside her. When had Sylvester left her? Presumably he'd woken long ago; he rarely slept after the sun came up. She closed her eyes again, running her hand over the sheet where he'd lain, over the pillow that still bore the indentation of his head.
He claimed to care for her, yet he demanded that she keep her distance from him in all but passion. What kind of love was that? But, then, perhaps no one had ever loved him, so he didn't know how to express such an emotion.