The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

She suddenly screamed, her voice hoarse with terror. She struggled frantically, wildly, to free herself of him. He drew back quickly in surprise, for he knew he hadn’t hurt her. But his own desire was now an insistent throbbing. Though he felt her fear, he refused to withdraw from her. Slowly he allowed himself to ease deeper inside her. In the next instant he realized with undeniable certainty that she had no maidenhead.

His wife wasn’t a virgin. He jerked back, dumbfounded. No, he thought frantically, he must be mistaken. But her fear, her wild struggles, seemed to betray her. She had deceived him. Savage, uncontrolled fury swept over him. She’d given herself to another man, or was it to other men? God, how very gentle and careful he was, seducing his innocent, virgin wife.

With no further thought, he thrust deep within her, oblivious of her cries of pain. He tore through the small, tight passage, ripping her in his frenzy. He gripped her hips in his hands, his fingers digging into her flesh, and forced her body upward to take all of him. He pushed until he was touching her womb, and still the fury pounded deep within him, angry betrayal, such a sense of hopelessness that he couldn’t help it, couldn’t help himself, the hatred he felt for his own blindness, for her perfidy, for her mocking of him, which was what her coy denials all were, naught more than a harlot’s teasing. He wanted quite simply to hurt her, to punish her.

He cried out as his own release clutched at him, holding him in its grip for a brief moment. He drove into her with all his strength, spewing his seed deep within her body. Finally spent, he let himself fall on top of her, his head next to her cheek on the pillow.

As if from a great distance, he heard her crying, low ugly sobs. His fury slowly receded, and with it the cruel, animal savagery. Slowly he eased himself off her and stood staring down at her, his mind hollow with blank despair. His wife. His innocent young virgin wife. God, what a mockery. She was no longer crying, and he thought her unconscious, so quietly did she lie, until she tried to bring her legs together in a weak, futile gesture.

He gazed bleakly at her exquisite body, wanting to laugh at his own folly, his overweening pride. Bitter laughter mixed with despair in his throat and he turned abruptly away from her. Now he knew why she hadn’t wanted him to touch her. It was not fear as a frightened virgin or a misbegotten desire to thwart him as her husband, but rather her dread that he would discover that he wasn’t the first man to be her lover. His hands clenched at his sides. He wanted to shake the truth out of her. Who had been the man to possess her? God, not that bumptious ass Bleddoes, surely not him. Kate herself had laughed at his tenacious courtship of her. But who? Who?

Julien was shaking. Never before in his life had he so completely lost control of himself. He turned back, almost unwillingly, to look at his wife, suddenly sickened with himself. He’d raped her, Jesus, he hadn’t intended that, no never that, but he had. He’d planned so carefully to teach her pleasure, to force her to realize that she was a woman with a woman’s passions, and he had, he’d given her immense pleasure. He’d planned to reveal himself to her afterward. His jaw tightened in renewed anger at her. There had been no need to teach her passion. God, she had forced him to go to such lengths because of her lies, her deceit.

For a long moment he cursed her silently, trying to counter the nagging disgust he felt at his own actions with her unforgivable perfidy. Suddenly he became aware of the time. He thought it now impossible to reveal himself to her. He must get her back to the villa. Yes, he had to do that first, then think, then decide what to do.

Julien removed the vial and cloth from the pocket of his coat, doused the cloth thoroughly, and walked to the bed. As he bent over her, she thrashed her head wildly to avoid the cloth. He grasped her firmly and brought the soaked material over her nostrils. In but a moment she was quiet. He held the cloth against her face for several minutes to be certain that she would not awaken too quickly.