The Duchess War (Brothers Sinister #1)

She lifted one hand and touched his cheek. “Stop worrying, Robert. I’ll tell you if it becomes unbearable.”


Bearable. This was bearable for her, when it was good for him.

Only good.

Somehow, he had had some notion that sexual intercourse with her would be different. That the complexity of what he felt for Minnie, their rapport… He had imagined that all of that would make this moment different in some way. That somehow, he would slide into her and his world would catch fire.

Knowing that it was just bearable for her robbed the act of anything but physical pleasure. This was his wedding night. It was supposed to be magical, as stupid and naïve as that sounded.

When he thrust inside her, it was supposed to feel different. He yearned for something magic to come out of her flesh—some secret thing that would transport them. Something that would make this more than good for him, more than bearable for her. As it was—he tried to suppress the terrible thought with her body so wary under his, but couldn’t quite—he’d have preferred his left fist to this.

No matter how he took her, whether slow or swift, no matter whether he curled his hands in her hair or set them next to her shoulders, there was no magic in the act. When one made love to a woman one really cared for, it was supposed to feel different.

If you’re any good in bed, I might fall in love with you.

She’d said it with a smile, but he hadn’t realized how much he wanted her to love him. He yearned for it, and he felt the possibility drift away with every thrust that was merely bearable.

He shut his eyes and thought of England, concentrated on the smaller pleasures of the act—the pleasant hum of his body as he slid inside her, the slow burn of his pleasure, gathering at the base of his spine.

“God, Minnie,” he said, and drove harder into her. It was good. Good was enough. She was enough—her body, tightening around his, her hips, her br**sts brushing against his chest with every last thrust. And then it was very good, in those final ragged moments. He came hard inside her, his release catching him up in a moment that was almost as sweet as what he’d wished for.

When he was finished he disengaged from her and lay down, trailing his fingers along her ribs.

So. One more romantic, idealized dream, fallen prey to reality. No sense crying over that. And…and it couldn’t always be like that for her, could it? He hoped not. He almost wished he had asked Oliver for advice.

Beside him, Minnie turned to him. He still couldn’t look her in the eyes. Slowly, she set her hand on his arm. “I don’t wish to alarm you.” Her voice was a little cool; he tipped his head to one side and looked at her as best as he could in the failing light.

“What is it?”

“I think we were doing it wrong.”

His whole body grew tense. If she hadn’t said it, they could have pretended. He pushed subtly away from her. “The first time, I hear, is the worst. For women. It will get…better.” It had to.

“No,” she repeated more gravely. “We were doing it wrong. I know what it’s supposed to feel like, at the end. And what happened for you? It didn’t happen for me.”

“I know,” he snapped. “God. You don’t have to tell me that. You could barely tolerate the act. You don’t need to rub in the fact that I couldn’t bring my wife to orgasm. I’m well aware of the truth.”

This outburst was met with silence, and Robert let out a shaky breath.

“I’m not trying to criticize,” she finally said. She sounded astoundingly reasonable, under the circumstances, and that made him want to snap at her more. “It’s just—the way we were doing it, it wasn’t ever going to happen for me. And…well, I had rather hoped that it would.”

“What do you mean, it wasn’t going to happen? How would you know?”

She simply looked at him, and he realized he was snapping at his wife because he’d not brought her to ecstasy. Because he’d had a better time of it than she had.

Excellent work, Robert.

“I’m sorry.” He let out a sigh. “I shouldn’t yell at you. It’s not your fault.” He took a deep breath.

Minnie took his arm. “We’re intelligent. We’ll figure it out. We have ten days in Paris to get it right.”

Hell. Ten nights like this one? He really would beg off first.

“Nine,” he corrected. “One down.”

“This one isn’t over.” Minnie bit her lip. “I have no experience with men, but… Do you want me to show you?”

“Show me?”

Her cheeks went slightly pink. “You know. Show you what I would do on my own.”

After the debacle he’d made of the night, it was impossible that he should want her again. And yet those words set in motion a tickle at the back of his mind, a hint of interest. He cleared his throat. “I don’t have anything else planned for the evening.”

She let out a little laugh. “I suppose. It starts here.” Her hand crept between her thighs.