The Virgin and the Viscount by Robyn DeHart

Author:Robyn DeHart
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Regency Historical Romance; Historical Regency Fiction; Historical British Fiction; Regency Romances; Historical Romances; Women's Historical Fiction; brother-in-law; Entangled Publishing; Scandalous; Series Romance; Romance Historical Romance; Historical Romance; Regency Romance; New Regency Romance; Robyn DeHart; New Historical Romance; New Regency Romance; New Regency Book
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Published: 2021-03-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Tilly met Sullivan’s eyes and just stared in wonder. That had been amazing, unlike anything she could possibly have imagined. Nothing her mother—or anyone else for that matter—might have told her could have prepared her. This was obviously why her friends were so blissful in their own marriages.

Though that was not entirely true. If her friends were happy in their marriages, no doubt, it was due in part to the relations they shared with their husbands, but certainly not solely to that. Her friends had husbands who adored them. Loved them.

She did not have that, nor would she ever.

She simply wasn’t the kind of woman who inspired such feelings. She was too blunt. Too outspoken. She had neither Agnes’s beauty nor Harriet’s sweetness. She had resigned herself long ago to the fact that she was not the kind of woman to inspire romantic passion in a man.

Of course, then she hadn’t known such other passions existed. And while Sullivan certainly didn’t seem to feel romantic passion for her, physical passion seemed like another matter entirely.

She hadn’t expected pleasure, least of all to feel as if she’d break apart from the powerful sensations. Her entire body still tingled. That secret place between her thighs was sticky and wet and felt used in the best way. He moved off her and fell onto the bed, pulling her with him so that she lay half upon his chest.

“I didn’t think you wanted me,” she said dumbly.

He chuckled. “I hope I’ve dispelled that notion.”

“I suspect you have.” He’d said he’d lied to her at the inn about his arousal. That he had wanted her all along. She wasn’t certain she believed that. It could have simply been because she’d been the one there, naked and pressed against him. And now he wanted her because she was his wife and therefore willing to be naked and available for his pleasure. She wished she could make sense of the jumble of thoughts and emotions scattering through her mind.

“I wanted you very much. Too much.” He squeezed her to him. “I feared I’d be too rough, too intense,” he said. “Did I frighten you at all?”

“No, of course not. I’m not such a ninny to be scared of you. It was very pleasurable.” Even if Sullivan would never love her, would it be so bad as long as he merely desired her?

Lying here beside him now, draped over his body, she could very well believe that desire and pleasure in the bedroom might well be enough for her. As long as she never let her own heart become vulnerable to him, couldn’t they at least share a bed and enjoy the physical benefits of marriage?

Might that not be enough for her?

It would have to be.

As long as she never expected more from him. As long as she kept her heart protected from him, this marriage of theirs might prove to be very rewarding.

Now she ran her palm down the sinewy plains of his torso. “Are all these muscles truly necessary?”

“I believe they help hold me upright.

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