A Masked Deception Read Online Free PDF Page A

attend to, he had explained, before he retired. How should she behave? Should she respond as she had before? Would he think her wanton? Would he be disgusted to find that he had a wife who would welcome his lovemaking eagerly and with passion? Should she behave with quiet decorum as she would be expected by her mother to behave on such an occasion?
    Her thoughts whirled on until she heard the door that led from his bedroom into the adjoining dressing room open. Her heart hammered until she was afraid that she would not be able to breathe. Almost immediately, there was a soft tap on the door that led from her room into the dressing room. Brampton did not wait for an answer; he entered his wife’s bedroom.
    He was wearing a dark-red, silk dressing gown. The snowy white neckline of his nightshirt showed beneath. Margaret fixed her eyes on his face, afraid that she would lose her courage otherwise. He walked across to the bed and looked down into her large, calm eyes. He sat down on the edge of the bed.
    “You have had an exhausting day, my dear,” he said quietly, searching her face for some expression that would give sign of her feelings. Did she have none? "Perhaps you would prefer that I should bid you good night?”
    “I am not overtired, my lord—Richard,” she said softly. Had she really said that? How brazen it sounded once the words were out of her mouth. But she could not bear to put this off, to have to go through the same torture again tomorrow night.
    Brampton looked into her face for a few seconds more, then leaned over to the side table and blew out the candle. Margaret felt his weight lifting from the bed, presumably while he removed his dressing gown, and then he was in the bed beside her. She put her arms at her sides, moist palms flat on the bedsheet, and forced herself to relax.
    He leaned across her and with an incredibly deft movement of his hands lifted her nightgown to her waist. Margaret barely suppressed a gasp of humiliation. He moved across her and lowered his weight onto her body so that she was crushed between him and the mattress. His hands went beneath her and tilted her closer to him at the same time as his knees came between her thighs and forced her legs wide apart. Before Margaret could react to the panic that was threatening to overwhelm her, she felt an unfamiliar hardness press against her.
    Brampton paused in his entry when he felt the resistance of her virginity. He raised his head and looked briefly into her eyes, which were like shadowed pools in the darkness of the room. Damn! He had never entered a virgin before. Was he about to hurt her badly? He pushed himself carefully the rest of the way in. She did not flinch.
    Margaret dug her fingers, clawlike, into the mattress and concentrated on her breathing. Was this it? Was it over now?
    Brampton moved his hands to her shoulders, pinning them to the bed, and began to thrust with deep, firm strokes, working himself to a climax as quickly as he could. When he was finished, he relaxed against her for a few seconds, then lifted his head once more to look down at her. She still had her eyes open, staring up at him. Had he hurt her? It must be dreadful to be a woman in her situation. As he disengaged himself gently from her body, he raised one hand and brushed the knuckles softly over her cheek. He felt the stirring of some emotion—tenderness? No, definitely not that. Compassion?
    “Did I hurt you, my dear?” he murmured.
    “No, Richard.” The voice was higher-pitched than usual, but quite firm.
    He lifted himself away from her, swung off the bed, and put his dressing gown back on over his nightshirt. He paused before leaving the room.
    “Sleep well, my dear,” he said. “You need rest.”
    And he was gone.
    Back in his own room, Brampton sank into a brocaded chair close to the blazing fire that a footman had built up a short while before, and blew out his breath through puffed cheeks.
    That was over!
    And really it had not been so