ribs and she could not have uttered a word of protest if she had wanted to when his lips moved on to the V-shaped neckline and he pressed fervent kisses on the exposed flesh.
She rested her hands on his wide shoulders as his mouth travelled upwards, brushing along the sensitive column of her throat, her ear and the curve of her cheek. She made no effort whatsoever to stop him when he pushed his fingers through her hair and held her head firm, taking her lips once more. All thoughts beyond this moment and this man fled. His lips moved over hers with a flowing, demanding passion, an insistence that she kiss him back that was almost beyond denial.
What he was doing to her was more than Beatrice could withstand. With a silent moan of despair, she yielded to his kiss, parting her lips beneath the sensual pressure and, at that moment, his tongue slid between them, invading her mouth and taking possession of her. Lost in a stormy sea of desire, confusion and yearning, she felt him relinquish his hold on her head and splay his hand across her lower spine, forcing her closer to him, moulding her melting body to the hardening contours of his. She could feel the taut strength of his legs and thighs pressing intimately against hers. His other hand cupped her breast, his thumb brushing back and forth across her sensitised nipple, an action that was overwhelming. He could do with her what he willed. Her body was open to him. He could take her there and then, and he surely knew it.
The ardour with which Beatrice was responding to his kiss had a devastating effect on Julius’s starved body. Desire flowed through his bloodstream like wildfire, pounding in his loins. Fighting back the urge to lay her down on the carpet and ravage her there and then, he dragged his lips from hers and drew a long, steady breath.
Her heart still pounding, her mind still reeling with pleasure, Beatrice closed her eyes and rested her head weakly on her husband’s chest and felt him press a gentle kiss on her hair. At last she found the power to raise her head and open her eyes; she looked at him with a haziness similar to that of drinking too much wine.
Julius took a step back, satisfaction in his eyes and a worldly smile. ‘You are an exceptional woman, Beatrice. No more foolish talk of not wanting me. I think I have just proved a point. Now go and get your bath. I will be up to see you shortly.’
Beatrice turned from him and somehow made her legs carry her to the door. Slipping out, she went to her bedchamber, spent and breathless, and even more confused than she had been before. She leaned her back against the door and closed her eyes, trying to regain her wits. Julius had uncovered a wanton streak in her she never knew existed and there was nothing she could do. Beneath the caressing boldness of his hands and his lips, she was his woman, and though she was honest enough to admit her treacherous woman’s body came alive—not against her will, but willingly—it was with a heavy heart. As intoxicating as it was, she realised it was a completely separate thing from what she really wanted—an intimacy of the heart with Julius.
Her feelings for her husband overrode all else. Everything else faded into insignificance—even Larkhill didn’t seem so important any more. She could already feel his control closing around her, suffocating her. His rank, his strength, his intelligence, his power, his ability to still her protests with his lips—all this made Julius a powerful man indeed. She could feel herself sliding into his grasp and was steadily losing the will to control her own destiny.
Julius sauntered into his wife’s bedchamber. Having bathed and dismissed her maid, Beatrice was seated at her satinwood dressing-table, her elbows on the surface, her forehead resting on her hands. Even with her hair shining like newly minted gold in the sun, she looked the picture of heartbreaking dejection. She hadn’t heard him enter. He started to turn away and leave her to her privacy, then, with a sigh, he changed his mind and went further into the room. Closer now, he realised her shoulders were shaking with sobs and he felt a surge of remorse, cursing himself for behaving like an insensitive, blundering idiot.
He was barely able to believe his own selfish callousness.