The Wedding Bed (The Sun Never Sets, Book One) Read online

  “Indeed.” Another pause, another look she couldn’t decipher, then, “Shall we, Lady Keating?”

  Lady Keating.

  There was no mistaking the dry amusement in his voice, as well as the subtle hint of challenge. Another memory chose that moment to assert itself—the East India Company’s gala a few nights ago. Derek’s reception among his peers had been markedly chilly. Disdainful, if one wanted to put a fine point on it. Was that due to prejudice against his mixed heritage, disapproval at his dealings with the Dalit, or some deeper flaw in his character? There was no way of knowing, and nothing she could do about it now, in any case.

  Feigning a courage she did not possess, Calla brought up her chin and gathered her skirts. She placed her hand in his.

  “Yes, Lord Keating,” she said. “We shall.”

  Chapter Six

  The evening passed in a blur. Calla recalled being introduced to at least two dozen of her husband’s closest friends and colleagues, all of whom studied her with rapt curiosity, as though she were an exotic, foreign species that had been invented for their amusement. Somehow she made it through the ordeal, playing gracious hostess and blushing bride, smiling until her cheeks hurt. Finally, just when she thought the evening would never end, their last guest departed.

  Her relief at having successfully endured her wedding supper evaporated as Lord Keating escorted her upstairs. Instead of simply depositing her at the threshold of her room, he stepped inside and closed the door softly behind him.

  Calla’s momentary confusion quickly evaporated. Of course. The wedding ceremony, followed by the wedding supper…and ending with the wedding night.

  Her gaze shot around the room. The fire had been lit, the bed sheets turned down, a lush bouquet of deep red roses perfumed the air, and a bottle of wine chilled in a sterling silver bucket of ice chips. Her suite had been transformed into a setting for seduction.

  Everything was ready. Everything except her.

  She watched as her husband’s long strides carried him across the room. He removed his black serge jacket and draped it across a chair, then loosened the intricate knot of his silk cravat and carelessly tossed it atop his jacket. He stretched, flexing the muscles of his shoulders, as a man coming home from a tiring day at work might do. Then he turned and looked at her.

  “Would you care for champagne?”

  She licked her suddenly parched lips and shook her head. “No.”

  “Ah.” He shot a glance at the bed. “Anxious to begin, are you?”

  “On second thought,” she blurted out, “Wine would be lovely.”

  A knowing grin flashed across his face. “I thought so.” He poured two glasses and passed one to her.

  She took the glass and gratefully sipped the bubbly wine. “Your guests seemed to enjoy themselves this evening,” she said. “Particularly that fair-haired gentleman. Viscount…”

  “Brooksbank,” Derek supplied.

  “He was quite taken with the food. He asked about each dish.”

  “Yes. He takes particular glee in uncomfortable situations. Naturally, he played the evening out for all it was worth.”

  Calla studied him in confusion. “I don’t understand. I thought the food was delicious.”

  “India isn’t done. Not in London, and certainly not among the peerage.”

  “But, I thought—”

  “It doesn’t matter. You’ll learn.”

  “I see.”

  Calla toyed with her glass, swallowing past a lump of abject dismay. Days ago, she had mentioned she would like to help plan their wedding menu, and Derek had given his consent. It simply hadn’t occurred to her that their guests wouldn’t enjoy the same foods she did: spicy chicken curry, a succulent prawn pepper fry, saffron rice pudding, vegetables cooked in yogurt, flour dumplings, then ending the meal with sweet laddu and fried jalebi for dessert.

  No wonder Derek’s friends had looked at her with such fascination, such tittering condescension and amusement. A wave of mortified embarrassment swept over her. She turned away, feigning a sudden fascination in the furnishings of her bedchamber. Despite its luxury, the room, like the estate itself, was completely barren of any semblance of warmth.

  “Come here.”

  Derek’s voice, soft but firm, startled her from her reverie. Calla hesitated, then obeyed his command, moving to stand before him. He reached for her glass—she was stunned to find she’d drained it completely—and set it aside.

  Then he lifted her left hand and removed her wedding ring.

  He stared at her finger for a long moment, gently rubbing his thumb over the spot where her ring had been. “I thought I had just imagined it,” he said.

  It was customary for Hindu women to apply elaborate tattoos to their hands and forearms on the occasion of their wedding. Calla had been tempted to do the same, but upon further consideration had decided upon something more intimate and discreet. Before the ceremony Mrs. Singh had applied an intricate design to her ring finger, a lacy vine that wrapped between her third knuckle and her palm, so that only she and Derek would see it. “It’s a henna dye,” she told him. “It will wear off in a few weeks.”

  “Pity.”

  A note of pleasant surprise warmed her. She felt her lips curve upward in a small, hesitant smile. “You like it?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  Calla searched her husband’s face, trying to read some deeper meaning in his words, but his features were dark, inscrutable. “Now what do we do?” she asked.

  “Now I slip this ring back on your finger,” he paused, doing exactly that, “and then I take off everything else.”

  “Now?”

  His lips quirked. “Nervous, jaanu?”

  “Yes.”

  He studied her in silence for a moment, as though caught off-guard by her blunt honesty. Then he propped one hip upon her writing desk, assuming a half-sitting position so that they were eye-level. In a tone that conveyed nothing but polite curiosity, he asked, “Why?”

  “We’re virtually strangers. We hardly know one another.”

  Derek gave an indifferent shrug. “That doesn’t signify. Performing sexual acts with a stranger can be deeply satisfying.”

  Calla swallowed past the note of hysterical laughter that threatened to burst from her lips. His words were so nonsensical he might as well have been speaking another language. Her two elder sisters, both of whom were married, had informed her how the conjugal act was performed. In addition, she had some experience of her own. Her dear friend Philip, in a rush of wild abandon after an open-air concert during which they’d both imbibed too much wine, had kissed her passionately and been so bold as to touch her breasts through the fabric of her gown. It had been a sloppy moment that had embarrassed them both and ruined their friendship. She said as much to Derek.

  The ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. He shook his head. “I intend to do far more than simply kiss you, and I can assure you I won’t be embarrassed about it.”

  Calla dragged her teeth against her lower lip. “I…I see.”

  “Do you?”

  She shook her head. “No. But perhaps if we waited…”

  “Waited?”

  “Yes. If we just had more time to—”

  Whatever she might have said next was lost as he tucked his arm around the small of her back and pulled her tightly to him. He pressed his body against her own until she could feel every unyielding, muscled inch of his hard, male form.

  Calla stiffened, bracing herself for the physical onslaught she was certain would follow. But there was no hint of force or domination in his embrace. In fact, just the opposite was true. He lowered his head, slanting his lips over hers. His touch was infinitely light, a mere whisper of a kiss that made her breath catch in her throat and brought her senses to life. A kiss so soft and unexpected, so rich with promise, it made her ache for more.

  The heat of his body seeped through the thin fabric of her gown, warming her as no fire ever had. The heady, masculine scen
t of his skin swirled around her. Derek was a rock-solid mass of tightly restrained power, a fact which only served to heighten her curiosity. Breathless anticipation surged through her veins like the swell of evening tide. She leaned into him, tacitly begging for more.

  Applying the subtle pressure of his jaw, he gently coaxed her lips apart and slipped his tongue inside her mouth. She stiffened in surprise, then relaxed as a jolt of fiery, erotic pleasure sizzled through her. His tongue glided over hers, thrusting, plundering, exploring the silky recesses of her mouth. She tasted champagne on his tongue, and something else, something foreign and male that she instinctively recognized as uniquely Derek.

  Her husband. This mysterious man was hers to touch, to taste.

  No sooner had that thought formed when he shifted slightly. Without breaking their kiss, he slipped his thigh between her legs, gently pulling her body forward so that she was straddling his knee. She grasped his shoulders for support as he moved his thigh up and down between hers, softly rocking her against him as they kissed. The steady, rolling motion between her legs set off a chain of reactions within her. A shiver raced down her spine, followed by a churning heat that pooled low in her belly. Her breath hitched and a husky moan escaped her lips.

  Derek pulled back at that, his smoky gaze searching her face. A hint of something that looked like surprise glittered in his dark, hungry gaze. Calla returned his stare, unable to speak. Never in her life had she imagined anything like this.

  Minutes earlier she had wanted to run. Now she couldn’t imagine turning away. She felt intoxicated, dizzy with desire. Her lips felt swollen, her breathing ragged, her skin impossibly tender. Passion. She’d heard the word before, but never until that moment did it hold any meaning for her.

  Raw, naked greed bubbled up in her. Unable to stop herself, she reached for him. Her fingers curled into the soft white linen of his shirt, pulling him toward her. A low groan tore from his lips as his mouth captured hers. His hands moved over her body once again, but no longer with the light, gentle caress she had experience earlier. Instead he touched her with a fierce possessiveness, as though marking her body as his.

  His touch was bold, wildly intimate, primitive. He massaged her breasts, the swell of her hips, her waist. He ran his hands down her spine, cupping her buttocks to pull her ever closer to him, until she became conscious of the shocking length of his erection pressing against her thigh.

  She’d barely accustomed herself to that sensation when he shifted abruptly, lifting her as though she weighed no more than a child and settling her across his lap. Dragging his lips away from hers, he pressed his mouth against the satiny skin exposed by the bodice of her soft, rose-colored gown. He kissed the top of her breasts, her collar bone, and the nape of her neck, using his lips to explore the very places his hands had caressed only moments earlier.

  Calla tossed back her head to allow him greater access, running her fingers through his dark, silky hair as he nuzzled the sensitive skin just beneath her ear. The unexpected contrast of the light stubble on his chin and the softness of his lips sent a tremor of delight racing down her spine.

  “Oh.” The word tumbled unbidden from her lips. Then, after a beat, “My.”

  That was all she was capable of. Just the faintest breath, the smallest sigh of surrender. A barely audible sign of recognition that the dark, enigmatic man she had married knew exactly how to touch her. That he pleased her in ways she hadn’t even thought possible. And that this was only the beginning.

  He worked free the row of tiny buttons that ran down the back of her gown, loosening the bodice enough to allow the garment to slip from her shoulders. It pooled about her waist, leaving her in nothing but her sheer cotton chemise. Moving with slow deliberation, Derek traced his palm lightly over her breasts through the soft cotton. Her nipples tightened to hard, stiff peaks, wildly sensitive, achingly tender from the friction of the chemise. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts into his palms, craving more of his touch even as the teasing sensation was driving her mad with need.

  He drew in a sharp breath at her response. Dark fire lit his gaze. Using his teeth, he tore free the silk ribbon that fastened her chemise. He cupped one breast, then lowered his head and drew the taut, rosy peak into his mouth. She jolted in stunned surprise. With his lips and tongue he teased and licked and suckled, first one nipple, then the other, giving them both the same wet, hot, loving attention. In the dim recesses of her mind it occurred to her that a proper lady would protest, pull back, but Calla couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

  Instead she writhed beneath him, astonished at the feelings that ricocheted through her at his intimate touch. His embrace was entirely shocking, yet somehow so right. A mere prelude, she suspected, to what was yet to come. Giddy arousal collided with nervous anticipation as he tightened his grip on her body, as though intent on melding them into one. He slipped his hand beneath her skirts, running his palm up her leg until he reached the smooth expanse of thigh exposed between her stocking and her drawers. Letting out a low murmur of appreciation, he began to rhythmically stroke the velvety band of flesh.

  A soft, breathless whimper tore from her throat. A whimper that turned to a cry of alarm when he shifted his palm to cup the dark tangle of curls that covered her sex. Calla clamped her thighs together, instinctively resisting his touch. He couldn’t mean to touch her there, in her most forbidden of places.

  “Easy, jaanu,” he murmured. “Easy, now. Let me show you.”

  His breath fell softly against her ear in a low, soothing rhythm. So calm, so controlled, so masterful. As though she were a skittish mare and it was his task to gentle her. Whispering soothing nonsense into her ear, he eased off her shoes, her stockings, her drawers, all the while running his hands over her flesh, kissing her mouth, nuzzling her throat, whisking his thumb over the tight, pebbled peaks of her breasts. Calla submitted willingly to his skillful ministrations, losing herself in a blinding storm of pleasure, discovery, and longing.

  Her clothing was coming apart. She was coming apart. Her tidy bun had come undone, causing her hair to spill over her shoulders in wanton disarray. She parted her thighs to allow him shocking access to the slick, hidden folds of her sex, which he massaged and teased with his fingers, bringing her to a state of almost desperate arousal.

  It slowly occurred to her that she ought to find some way to rectify her situation. She’d been advised that the best way to weather her wedding night was to stoically endure her husband’s attentions. Maintain her dignity. Act like a lady. But it was far too late for that.

  Her body trembled, but not from fear. An unfamiliar excitement seized her, radiating through her limbs and building low in her belly. Her pulse pounded as she arched against him, leaning into his hand, silently begging for more. Straining for something she couldn’t define, she rubbed her breasts against his chest, rocked her hips against his, nipped at his throat, and wracked her nails down his spine.

  “Derek,” she breathed, his name a whispered plea on her lips. “Derek.”

  He gave a low groan and swept her into his arms, carrying her a few short steps to her bed. He deposited her with a whoosh of her skirts, then kicked off his boots and climbed on top of her, the mattress sinking beneath his weight.

  Positioning his knees on either side of her hips, he rose above her, his smoky gaze raking over her body with a look of intense satisfaction. His clothing was in the same state of disarray as her own, she noted, as though they’d both been tossed about in a violent storm. He reached for the buttons on his trousers and slowly undid them, one by one. His words echoed through her mind:

  I intend to do far more than simply kiss you, and I can assure you I won’t be embarrassed about it.

  Calla watched in breathless suspense as he lowered his trousers. His cock sprang free, leaping forward in an impressive display of phallic eagerness. And the size of it. Wonder, fear, and—God help her—excitement collided within her. For a long moment she could do nothing but stare. She’d accustomed
herself to the fact that her husband was a large man, lean and powerfully built. It hadn’t occurred to her until that moment that his member would similarly proportioned. Yet there it was.

  How utterly foreign, utterly male, and utterly fascinating. His penis jutted up against his flat belly, thick and hard and enormous. Pulsing with life. Tearing her eyes away from his sex, she lifted her gaze to his and found him watching her, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he held himself still. She tentatively reached out her hand, then hesitated, searching his gaze for permission to touch him. Understanding what she needed, he gave a curt nod.

  Calla delicately drew her fingers along the length of his member, acquainting herself with that most intimate part of her husband. He felt like iron sheathed in velvet, stiff and warm, pulsing with life. Derek sucked in a tight, sharp breath as she lightly traced her fingers up and down his hardened, throbbing penis, feeling it jerk and spasm in her hand. Her gaze shot to his face but she read no pain there, only an odd mixture of tension and pleasure. But before she could explore him any further, he gave a soft growl and pulled her beneath him, capturing her lips with his own.

  His kiss was fiery and possessive, hungry and demanding. Calla clung to him as he swept his tongue into her mouth. He kissed her into dizzy, reckless submission, leaving her unable, unwilling to break the spell he cast over her with his touch. All she knew was a single, breathless word: more.

  He drew back to lavish kisses on her cheek, her throat, her neck, reawakening the driving, aching need she’d experienced earlier. Moving lower, he brushed his lips against her breasts, her ribs, and her belly, driving her mad with need. Following his lead, she pulled him to her and used her mouth to trace a hungry path down the column of his throat, then along the wall of his chest. She lightly grazed one hard, male nipple with her teeth, then teased it with a flick of her tongue.

  The action drew a sharp, shuddering response from her husband, followed by a low chuckle. Balancing his weight on one forearm, he reached down to stroke her innermost being, drawing one finger into her wet, silky heat. Shock coursed through her. Calla bucked beneath him, a moan of husky pleasure torn from her lips. He parted the petals of her sex and the spicy scent of her arousal wafted through the air around them.