Thomasyn paid little heed to the creasing of her lavender silk gown as she sat curled up barefoot on the soft cushions of the bay window in her chamber, an open book resting face down on her lap. An untouched tray of refreshments sat nearby on its waiting stand.
Large blue-grey eyes gazed unseeingly on the lush walled garden nestled below. Creeping vines framed lavishly sculpted shrubs amongst their beds of blooming colour. Dusk had settled its firm but gentle hand over the rolling green hills.
Her stomach had grievously churned most of the morning, but seemed to be coming aright. A glance earlier in the mirror had told her enough. There was nothing for the deathly paleness of her smooth ivory skin and pale shadows beneath her eyes. The thick tumble of her silvery blonde locks were caught back in a simple knot with thin braids here and there. Wispy tendrils escaped their pins, lending to her fragile appearance.
Voices and footsteps intruded on her silent prayers to end her torment, and not just that of the after effects on imbibing strong wine, but also all evidence of her unwanted husband.
She heard the maid's cry "she is not receiving visitors" just as the door to her chamber banged open. Thomasyn refused to acknowledge him. For it could only be one man that possessed the arrogance to dare to enter her chamber uninvited. Her young body, still tender from his possession that morning, stiffened instinctively at his unwanted presence.
"Thommi," he declared smoothly, and the sound of the door's tumble lock turning reached her ears. Her belly clenched at the knowledge she was alone with him in her bedroom. "Perhaps you had best instruct your maid of the difference between a visitor and a husband."
"Leave me," she finally murmured, closing the unread book and placing it beside her on the cushions. Still she did not, could not, look at him. She knew too well the effect of his broad shouldered masculinity on her body's base responses.
"Ah, but it is I that issue demands, sweet Thommi. And I find I want you beneath me on that virginal bed." Thomasyn did not have to glance over her shoulder to summon the image of her bed with its palest pink silk covers, rose cushions and endless lacy fripperies and flounces. Four posts rose at each corner, holding the silk canopy aloft over the bed. She ground her teeth, disturbed by the tingles in her secret place.
"Surely there is a willing serving wench to see to your wicked desires."
The surprisingly gentle fingers brushing the nape of her neck was the only warning she had of his proximity. She breathed in deep in an attempt to still her body's awakening. Only to discover her mistake when the scent of him, raw and powerful, dug deep.
"But what need I of a willing wench when I have a young wife to spread her sweet thighs?" he murmured against her ear as his fingers traced the curve of her sweetheart neckline where it hugged the swell of her breasts.
"It has been but half a day or so since you took your husbandly due. Surely you seek to tempt His wrath with your uncommon haste to repeat such wickedness."
"There is no wickedness in beddings between husband and wife, dear Thommi."
Thomasyn's lashes fluttered close as he began to unfasten the row of hooks that ran to the small of her back. She fought him with words, because it would not do for a wife to refuse her husband. But she knew even in this it was futile against his determination to punish her for what he imagined was her wrongdoing in trapping him in marriage. He did not believe her, and she would not plead with him to do so.
If she offered no challenge, perhaps then he would lose interest in bedding her. But how much would she have to sacrifice of herself until he tired of his torment of her?
Warm lips pressed against the side of her neck as skilful fingers drew the cap sleeves of her gown down to her elbows. A shiver raced through her, and he laughed softly. If only he were rough, or forceful, she thought she could bear his touch so much easier. Instead, he seemed determined to take command of her body, showing her the unimagined heights of delight of being in a man's arms and drawing a betraying eagerness from her unwilling body.
Her hopes of obtaining an annulment with her father's consent had been dismally cast aside. Thomasyn had sought her father out that morning only to discover him gone, and so too his beautiful and snobby hanger-ons. Without her father, any possibility of untangling the wicked deceit that contaminated her marriage had also been lost.
How she ever imagined Wilham to be one of them, with naught on their minds but self-serving pleasures, would always be her err. She should have run far and fast when she first spied him walking toward her on the terrace. Instead, she had found herself tricked, as he had, into forming a binding union. Only Wilham laid the blame at her feet, and was intent on exacting every ounce of punishment in his determination to exact revenge.
The weight and warmth of him settled on the seat behind her, his fingers sliding beneath her gaping gown, circling her tiny waist and then up to cup her small breasts through the wispy chemise.
"It pleases me that you don't follow fashion's dictates and wear corsets. I would have nothing that alters the shape of your delightful body, ripe for a man's pleasure."
Warm lips pressed against her shoulder as his fingers teased the budding pink nipples into tight crowns. Thomasyn struggled and easily lost in her attempt to erect defences against the feelings wrought by his foreign touch. He pinched and rolled the peaks with exquisite torment, a torment that was matched between her restless thighs. Her lips parted on a soft sigh, her head tipping back against his shoulder.
"W-Wilham..." she breathed, hating him with an intensity that shocked her. That he intended bedding her was neither here or there as he was her husband and it was her duty. But never had she experienced anything that felt less like a duty. He had told her he would have her as he pleased, and it was for Thomasyn to decide whether she enjoyed him or not. She wanted the not, but heaven help her, her body was intent upon betrayal. "I-I don't want this."
In the scheme of things, it wasn't a complete untruth. She still felt shaken from his virile bedding that morning, and the thought of succumbing so easily again was unpleasant. Her body was intoxicated with his teasing caresses, demanding more of this intriguing play. Having never so much as been kissed before this devilish scoundrel, her body seemed to welcome all hitherto denied attention. Or so Thomasyn was convinced, for no other reasonable, logical explanation presented itself.
"Less than a day and my wife is pleading not to share her bed?" He mused. His fingers caught her chin, turning her face up to his. Green eyes gazed silently down at her for what seemed to an age. Their knowing depths sunk into her, intense and lacking the cold cruelness she had witnessed at moments.
His head lowered, his lips capturing hers. Her chest rose jerkily at the sensual touch, her anger toward him wavering as stronger emotions threatened to consume her.
She rested against him in the circle of his arms, trembling against the strength of his chest, her lips parting beneath his coaxing mouth on hers. She watched him from beneath lowered lashes, excitement and awe overwhelming her. The strong, tanned planes of his face were a fascinating mixture of determination, fierceness and what she guessed must be lust. A shiver raced through that had nothing to do with the cold. This complex man's desire for her body did strange things to her insides.
