Page 57 of The Rogue’s Countess

“Isis doesn’t like it when a mortal man keeps her waiting,” she whispered. A faint smile touched his firm lips as his gaze burned its way into her soul.

“And who am I to disobey the command of a goddess.”

In a split-second, he buried himself inside her, and she uttered a small cry of pleasure. Her hands caressed his back as she opened herself up to him completely. Reveling in his possession, her heart raced at a frantic pace as his body worshiped hers in a way only he could.

Every inch of her was hot and feverish as she clung to him. The exquisite rise of pleasure inside her drew a small moan from her. It was a soft cry, and he stifled it with his lips. Desire threaded its way through her like a finely woven cord. It teased her senses and tugged her upward as her body moved with his at a frenetic pace. Suddenly, a familiar sensation swirled through her blood to race downward into the heart of her.

The intensity of it made her jerk her hips upward and shudder hard against him. At almost the same instant, a deep groan of pleasure echoed out of him, and together they tumbled into the abyss of blissful sensation their lovemaking always sent them to.

Slowly, the pleasurable tension between them eased, and as Lucien’s body relaxed, he pressed her deeper into the mattress. The labored breathing whispering out of him drifted pleasantly against her shoulder as he pressed his face into the side of her neck. They laid like that for a few moments before Lucien rolled away from her to lay on his back, but he caught her hand in his in an obvious effort not to part with her. There was a warmth to the silence between them, but there was tension too.

Rolling onto her side, Constance gently traced the zigzag scar on his cheek. Eyes closed, he smiled slightly.

“You have always been fascinated by my scar, yâ sabāha.”

“It makes you look dangerous and exciting, and you know how much I enjoy doing dangerous things,” she teased. A solemn look crossed Lucien’s face as he turned his head toward her.

“Be careful what you wish for yâ sabāha. I think you underestimate the danger I present.”

“You are the most incredibly stubborn, hard-headed man I’ve ever met, Lucien Blakemore,” she sighed with exasperation.

“Why? Because I recognize the truth?” There was a bleak resignation in his voice that tore at her heart.

“The truth,” she snapped as she sat up and leaned over him, eyeing him with frustration. “The truth, Lord Lyndham, is that I’m beginning to wonder if you regret marrying me.”

Lucien pushed her away from him with a restrained strength, but not before she saw the stark desolation on his strong features. Constance gasped with horror as he sat up in bed and made to leave her. She was losing him, and she didn’t know how to save him—save them both. Furious that he refused to see how ridiculous his fears were, Constance scrambled out of bed to search for her underdrawers.

“Then it appears I was wrong, my lord,” she said bitterly over her shoulder as she found what she was looking for. “Your love for me isn’t as strong as you led me to believe.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement. Before she could dart away, Lucien was across the width of the mattress and tugging her down onto the bed. Pinning her body under his, Lucien glared down at her.

“Do not ever say that to me again, Constance.” Beneath the fury on his face, she saw despair. “My love for you is far greater than you could ever imagine.”

“If that’s true, then why do you persist in believing you’re like Oliver? Why do you believe you’ll hurt me in a fit of rage? Oliver was insane as a child. Have you ever exhibited any such tendencies?” Constance paused slightly as she saw the confusion on his face. Frustrated, she scowled. “No, you have not. However, what you have displayed is an irritating penchant for being a bullheaded man who still refuses to see he can argue with his wife without harming her.”

“Damn it, Constance. Are you deliberately trying to provoke me?” he snarled like an angry animal someone had poked with a stick. Angry as well, Constance smiled up at him with condescension.

“Yes,” she hissed fiercely. “If that’s what it takes to prove I’m right. You’re angry now, aren’t you? Furious. My guess is that just like earlier, you’re imagining how satisfying it would be to wring my neck.”

“I’m warning you, yâ sabāha, you’re treading dangerous waters.”

The words were nothing short of a dark growl of rage that indicated how angry he was at the moment. Perhaps even angrier than he’d been the other night when he’d walked out of her bedroom and locked her out of his room. Yet, he still hadn’t exhibited the first indication that he would harm her.

“I’ll always be in dangerous waters with you because if something happens to you, life will no longer hold any meaning for me. So if you think I’m provocative now, you should prepare yourself for a fight, Lord Lyndham,” she spat out viciously. “I’m tired of seeing you retreat from me every time we exchange a sharp word. I’m tired of trying to be the wife you want me to be. I’m a Rock—”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean,” Lucien’s voice was cold with anger, but there was a distinct look of bewilderment flaring in his cerulean gaze.

“I don’t under—”

“You understood it well enough to say it,” he said with restrained violence she’d seen him exhibit in the past. “Exactly what kind of wife do you think I expect you to be, Constance?”

“The kind that walks on eggshells to avoid angering you not because she’s afraid of you, but because she knows that if she doesn’t, you’ll retreat from her and go off to brood by yourself. The kind of wife who only uses her gift when someone asks her for help because her husband is worried he can’t protect her from the vicious words of the Marlborough Set.”

Constance eyed him with an expression of deep outrage, and the ferocity of her words made Lucien stiffen against her. He’d only seen her this furious once or twice since they’d known each other. At the moment, she looked as if she could easily step into the ring with him and knock him on his ass with one blow.

But it was the pain threading its way through her voice that pierced his own anger like a hammer against glass. The shards sliced into him as he took in Constance’s words. In his efforts to protect her, he’d only managed to drive a wedge between them.

“Christ Jesus,” he said hoarsely as he lowered his head to press his brow against hers. “Why haven’t you said anything before now.”