"Y-you wouldn't hurt him for this little matter, would you?" she asked as she calmed down and looked up at his shadowed face that was staring down at her, his arms still wrapped around her body.
Belle saw the corner of his lips pull up into a smirk. "I will if you give me another reason to. I can travel to Aragonia and back again in less than a day, and you won't want to know what I will go there to do. Now, can we forget this happened and enjoy the night?" He arched an amused brow at her, making Belle's heart drop to her stomach as she recalled the so-called wedding night.
She hurriedly pulled away from him, her face flaming with embarrassment. From everything she had heard about this night, she was not ready to experience it with this man. The women whispering about it in Mr. Marchant's shop had said one would hate their husband's presence after it and be disgusted by the act. It was not an act meant for pleasure for any woman but torture. You would pray for it to end soon, Mrs. Blackthorn, the town gossipmonger, had whispered to her friends, and Belle had overheard them.
Now that she realized her husband would do the same with her, she swallowed hard and nervously clutched her dress. "I...I am not feeling well, My Lord, I—"
"Rohan," he cut her off with a tone of amusement. "Use my name when you address me, sweetheart. You looked quite energetic when you tried to go after the ring for someone who isn't feeling well, but," he sighed softly, "I've always been a generous man. I won't let you stress yourself tonight."
Belle began to sigh in relief and smile in her mind that he wouldn't push her for the wedding night ceremony. She was even about to part her lips and agree that he was indeed generous and even offer him a thank you when he continued to speak, causing the momentary relief to be replaced by dread.
"I will pamper you tonight, and you won't have to lift a hand. I will give you all the pleasure since you are feeling unwell. Take it as the first lesson in my plan to make you forget love and welcome lust."
Love could not always be the end of the road, and his innocent wife seemed to need him to teach her things that strayed far from her naive, innocent world. He quite liked a challenge, and she would be his new challenge. He would make her addicted to him until she forgot the name of her merchant.
Rohan smirked as he saw how pale she went. She flushed all over, and her faded nightdress, far more revealing, in his opinion, than what he had arranged for her, clung to her body due to the thin, worn fabric it had turned into over the years. As she stood in front of the light, the transparency of the material revealed the outline of her body. He could see she wore nothing underneath, and it made his thoughts stray.
A vision of her lying on her bed, her body naked beneath her dress, her arms outstretched to greet her lover. He swore softly as all amusement was suddenly wiped from his face at the direction his thoughts had taken. Instead of picturing himself taking her, he saw another man. A human with blue damned eyes.
Rage and impatience to stake his claim on her shook him, and without wasting time, he said, "Lie on the bed for me, Isa."
Belle felt her throat go dry at that strict command. A lump lodged in her throat, refusing to be swallowed, and her nails dug into her sweaty palms. She had been told she would not be forced into doing what she did not want in the agreement, but that did not include her wifely duty, as no one had talked to her about it, not even her mother. Apart from the whispers she had heard, she was completely ignorant of this aspect of marriage.
She'd heard most women say that a woman was not taught this aspect of marital duty until the day she got married. Her husband was to explain it to her, and most were not told at all—they were simply meant to experience it and learn through the process. Talking about it was taboo. All she knew was that a wife was to respect her husband and obey him. Even those who whispered about it were not nobles but middle-class families, and even then, it was spoken of only in hushed whispers among themselves.
Hearing it from the married women then was a fresh horror she had not anticipated, and she had no idea how she would react when it happened to her. She had even pictured herself in such a situation before, but only with a human—Jamie. She had believed she would endure the pain and discomfort he brought her as long as she could spend her life with him.
Now, however, she wasn't sure she was ready for this. She wasn't sure she ever would be.
"I...I..." She began but could not find any words to say to make him spare her tonight. What had she got herself into? Belle thought as a pit seemed to form in her stomach—a deep, gnawing dread.
"Do you need me to carry you to the bed, or would you rather walk there yourself?" Rohan questioned with dark mirth in his voice and eyes as he watched her like a hawk. He could tell she was nervous, but what to do—she had brought herself into his world by showing an act of selflessness she wasn't supposed to show to the wrong people.
Belle began to walk slowly to the bed at a snail's pace, as if delaying it would help prevent the dreadful act from happening tonight. She could feel him following closely behind her. When she reached the bed, she used her shaky hands to move the drapes aside and carefully sat at the edge of it, her hands folded nervously on her lap. She felt his piercing gaze on her, but she dared not look up at him.
"Lie down," he ordered softly.
Belle wanted to cry. She wanted to run, but she knew there was no escape from this. The torture of this night was inevitable for every woman, especially for her, who was unfortunate enough to marry someone with no heart and no soft feelings.
Obediently, she moved her feet up on the bed and lay stiffly, gazing up at his tall, well-built form that seemed to loom over her like a predator. She placed her hands on her stomach and felt her heart racing so fast she knew he could hear it. She squeezed her eyes shut as she saw him coming down on the bed.
"Please, don't..." She cried out through trembling lips even before he touched her. She was breathing heavily, tears already gathering behind her closed lids. She felt like a goat lying on the butcher's table, about to be slaughtered. Was this how animals felt before the butcher's knife descended on their throats?
Rohan looked down at her on the bed. She was lying so stiffly and breathing so hard one would think she was running a race in her mind. He could hear her frantic heartbeat and smell her fear curling around him like a vine. His gaze settled on her face. He could study her face now with her eyes closed—her freckled pale cheeks and nose were flushed red, and her eyes were pressed shut as she bit down hard on her lower lip, where the faint scent of her blood wafted to his nose, making him realize she had hurt herself.
Her fear amused him and yet baffled him at the same time. He lowered himself onto the bed and used his finger to trace the lip she was biting down on. She jolted and recoiled at his touch like a frightened puppy. She trembled but did not open her eyes, which amused him even more and made him bite back a dark smile.
His finger slowly pulled down her lower lip, coaxing it free from her clenched teeth. When he finally released it, it was moist, and a faint red dot had appeared on it. Unable to help himself, he ran the tip of his finger over the mark, swiping it back and forth before bringing the same finger to his own mouth. But there was no blood—only the taste of her—which left him slightly disappointed but not discouraged from his plans.
His hand trailed down and moved to her neck. She inhaled sharply, but Rohan did not stop his exploration. His hand moved down her chest, where his sharp eyes noticed the gooseflesh that had risen there. He moved downward until his hand was in the hollow between her rounded, high breasts, making his loins hot at the sight of them rising beneath her thin nightdress. Without looking away from her face, where she seemed to breathe shallowly, he caressed her nipple with his finger and gently pinched the tip through her dress, making her shudder and let out a small cry.
His touch was igniting something that frightened her, Belle realized, as she felt the urge to cross her legs to press against the heat warming her from the inside. What was he doing to her? she thought but still did not open her eyes. She could barely breathe as his hands touched a part of her body no man ever had.
Rohan allowed his hands to roam her skin. Her skin was smooth, unlike her palms, which he noticed had callouses from probably having to work in her own home. The fact that they had made his little bunny work made his blood boil. Her gold hair was silky, and he loosened the braids she had made them into just to run his fingers through them. His hand moved through the strands as he tried to imagine her naked, his mind building the picture with deadly precision and purpose.
Rohan paid attention to every detail of her body lying there—even the silly way she was gripping the bedsheets and digging her fingers into them. He imagined those fingers digging into his skin, leaving a mark on him. The thought excited him more than it should, but he reminded himself that this was just a sample to show her what this part of life was like.
He moved down, and his strong, gloved fingers circled her small ankle, feeling the texture of her skin through the fabric of his gloves. His breath caught in his throat, his body tightening in anticipation. He slid his palm up her calf, massaging, tantalizing, moving up farther to her knee, her thigh. He heard her breath come out in small, shallow gasps as her body shuddered and her heartbeat increased.