He despised how he had played into this game of adversaries and resolved to proceed fairly. She deserved that. She deserved so much more than that, more than him, but he needed her.
“I would not treat you that way, August.” He whispered into her hair as he tightened his arms, savoring the feel of her curves and warmth against him.
She pulled back but did not release him. Her eyes were bright with tears. “I . . . I realize that . . .” She paused and took in a deep breath, her lips trembling with the effort. “I’m sorry I misplaced my anger at my father. It’s not your fault. At any rate, I have come to talk to you. I want to negotiate our marriage.”
“You wrote down your terms?” he asked, referencing the sheet of parchment on the table.
“Yes, but I expect you to add terms of your own.”
“Are you certain this is what you want?”
She shrugged. “I am certain that my trust in my parents is shaken. I think this is the only way for me to get any semblance of what I want.”
“And what is that?”
“A happy marriage, though I had planned for that to be far into the future, but it was a goal, nonetheless. Some autonomy. It is actually all in the terms I have set forth.” She pulled back then, all business again. “If you will?” She indicated the table.
He paused, disturbed by the fact that he was the villain in her story. “We can have a happy marriage, August.”
She gave him a slight nod, as if she did not believe it were true, and then took herself to her chair.
* * *
* * *
It took some time for August to settle herself at the table. He sat across from her as if this were a true negotiation, and she found that she was reluctant to begin. All her years of thinking of marriage in pragmatic terms and as some looming business transaction in the future, and it turned out she was a romantic. Her idea of a happy marriage—before now—had been two people who tolerated each other for companionship and children. Well, she wanted more than that. The problem was that she didn’t know how to define more, or how to write it into a contract. Also, she was feeling quite vulnerable after nearly giving in to tears with him. In addition, she couldn’t stop thinking about him being naked in the tub. It was an unsettling way to begin a negotiation.
Clearing her throat to give herself some reason for the delay, she picked up the pen. “I have taken the liberty of listing the simple components I believe we both require. Shall I read them?” A glance at his expression showed strain around his mouth and eyes. He nodded, so she continued. “I believe it is desirable to have at least two male children, yes?”
The image of his naked chest rising up out of the water filled her mind, the light dusting of tawny wet hair, the pink of a hard nipple, the strength encased in smooth skin. She would see even more of him to conceive those children. A pleasant flutter low in her belly had her shifting in her chair.
“It is the standard.” His tone was closed off and difficult to read.
“Primogeniture being what it is, I have written that two male children is ideal. If, however, we have reached five children without two male issue, then I would want to renegotiate. If we have one son at that time, then I will likely not be willing to bear more children.” She paused. The word son sat between them, heavy and unwieldy with meaning. One day soon they would have a child together. It did not seem that something so hallowed should be a business transaction, and yet it was. She blinked to bring the words into focus again. “If we have two sons immediately, then I would still like to have a daughter, but again, I believe five children is a good limit. However, and I must stress that all of this is dependent upon my health and ability to—”
“Jesus Christ.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and then stared at her incredulously. “I would never force children upon you. Of course your health comes first. That is not something that we must write down to enforce later.”
“Unfortunately, writing it down does nothing to prompt later enforcement. I am yours bodily after marriage. I simply wanted things to be understood between us.”
He stared at her with a peculiar look on his face. It seemed to suggest disbelief coupled with something she could not name straightaway. “So you agree?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.” She dipped the pen in ink and made a check mark, forcing herself to move on to the next point. “The next is slightly more delicate but no less important.” She had to clear her throat again before continuing. “It concerns you more than me, so I would prefer your honest input.” He gave her a single nod. “I am aware that things are done differently here than in New York, and I am willing to concede marginally on this one point.” Though it pained her to do so. Even writing the words had caused her an ache that she did not altogether understand. “It is my understanding that it is customary for a man of your position to keep a . . . well . . .” Why was it so difficult to say the word? It was a fact of his world, was it not? She cleared her throat again. “A m-mistress.” The word settled between them like a stone plunging to the bottom of a lake. “I would demand that you do not set one up until after we are finished with children.”
His voice sounded strangled when he asked, “Does that mean that the physical part of our relationship would be over at that time?”
She nodded and forced herself to look at him. “That is precisely it. If you would like to consort with someone else, then we would not . . .” Her face flamed and she could not say it. “We would not . . . anymore.”
He ran his hand over his face, much as he had on the previous point. “I do not intend to have a mistress.”
“We are not a love match. I do understand that you may seek one out. Actually, to be sure, this includes all women, not simply one you may set up as mistress.” She stopped talking when he rose and began to pace, his movements jerky and short. His broad shoulders shifted restlessly under the fine wool of his coat.
When she had made the list in her bedroom, the idea of a mistress had been dispassionate and another point on the list. Now, however, being this close to him and having the heated imprint of his hands still on her body, well, it seemed vulgar and maddening. She did not like it one bit and was tempted to strike out the possibility completely. The more she imagined him kissing some other woman as he had kissed her, the angrier it made her. “In fact, I demand that you are not to be seen with any woman. If you have one now . . .”
Where had that thought come from? It had never occurred to her that he might have a mistress. Did he? Had he touched her so intimately in Camille’s library only to go to his mistress afterward? Nausea churned in her stomach. “If you have one, then you must give her up immediately.”
He looked at her as if she had grown a second head. “You think I have a mistress? Are you mad? I have been too busy of late trying to save my estates to even consider the expense of one.”
Some devil made her ask, “But you had one before?”
He shook his head. “I have never felt the need to confine myself to one woman.”
It was a reminder that he had never intended to and likely never would confine himself to her alone. Oil trickled onto the seething blaze of her anger. “What of that dancer . . . Madame Laurent . . . She is not your mistress?” The woman was beautiful, had been present at his fight, and had appeared proprietary with him.
“No.”
“But she is your . . .” What was the word for a woman a man slept with but was not responsible for? “Lover?”
“Friend. We are friends, and yes, I have known her intimately, but not for several years.”
She nodded and pretended to study the paper. However, all she could see was the two of them in bed together. The parchment trembled with her suppressed and unreasonable rage, so she laid it back down. One was not supposed to become emotional during negotiations.
“She attends most of the matches,” he explained. �
��She enjoys them, and the crowd enjoys her. Her presence promotes attendance and betting.”
All perfectly reasonable. Only she could not stop imagining them together, the beautiful woman’s hand on his shoulder, proclaiming an ownership in that simple touch. It was a claim that August would never have. The black against white of ink on parchment could not give her that. And did she even want it, knowing that the arrangement had been coerced?
Yes! she realized with a start that nearly propelled her to her feet. She wanted it very much. Her anger was rooted in jealousy. She was jealous and possessive of this husband she hadn’t wanted. Only now she very much wanted more than a negotiated marriage.
“What else is there?” He was behind her, looking down over her shoulder. “May I?” His brows lifted as he stared at the paper.
“Yes.” She moved her fingers to give him an unobstructed view.
“Yes to the jointure. I suppose it is wise that you are considering my early demise, even if it is unsettling.” He paused to read the next point. “Yes to the account in your name and the allowance. It is your money, after all. Ah, the fighting matches.”
“I believe they’re dangerous. You should not put yourself in danger that way.”
Grinning at her, he said dryly, “There will hardly be a reason after my accounts are funded. I will still participate in sport matches at the club from time to time.”
She nodded, taken aback by the force of his smile so close. It was the same one he had given her that night in the warehouse match. He turned his attention back to the parchment, skimming the rest of the list, which contained everything from provisions about educating the children of the tenant farmers to stipulating that she could visit her family as she wanted. “Yes to all of it.”
He reached over and gently took the pen from her. The warmth of his body encased her, and his scent washed over her, taking her back to kissing him at this very table. His grip on the pen seemed particularly harsh as he signed his name with a flourish.
“Do you not have anything to add?” she asked.
“You seem to have thought of everything.” His tone was perfectly practical, but his jaw was clenched tight, indicating his displeasure.
She could not help but poke the beast. “Oh, then you are fine with me taking a lover?”
He stared at her as he dropped the pen, leaving an ink blot on the parchment. “You are intentionally provoking me.” He paced back to the fireplace.
She was and they both knew it. She wanted him to be as filled with impotent and restless anger as she was. “I am simply hoping to clarify things between us, and I find it odd that you don’t prefer to include a provision on my having a lover. What else am I to conclude but that you don’t mind?”
“I do mind.” He faced away from her, staring into the flames, his voice rumbling with barely constrained emotion.
“I find that difficult to believe. This is simply a transaction to you. You need a wife who comes with significant capital, and I happen to be that woman. I don’t know the figure you and my father have discussed, but I have read the papers, and I know the rumors say two hundred thousand dollars—”
He turned toward her, and a sound she could only describe as a growl issued from deep in his chest. Before she could move, he was pulling her against him, one hand at the small of her back, the other delving into her hair to gently cradle the back of her head.
“You are mine, and I will not share you with any man. I want us to be done with this negotiation.”
Her instinct should have been to put distance between them, but instead of pushing him away, her hands moved up his shoulders and curved around them. Her body pressed closer to the hard strength of his, thrilled to be held by him again. This was the emotion she craved from him. “No, you wanted this negotiation.”
“I want you, August.” The intensity of his gaze only inches away burned into her. “I want the woman who fought me at every turn. The woman who knows that this entire negotiation is archaic and wrong.”
Her heart pounded, but she was afraid to hope that his words meant what she wanted them to mean. That he, too, wanted that indefinable more with her. “Archaic and wrong because you believe certain things should not be discussed?”
His breathing came hard, almost as if he had been running. His breath was hot on her lips. Somehow, the inches between their mouths had reduced to a mere fraction. “Because I want us to be more than a business transaction.”
His lips crushed down on hers, and she melted into his kiss.
Chapter 19
What draws men and women together is stronger than the brutality and tyranny which drive them apart.
Millicent Fawcett
Kissing him made all of the fury and aggression vanish. They simply slid away like warm honey under the onslaught of such tenderness, for it was not a frenzied, chaotic thing. While the initial touch of their lips had bordered on fierce, he had gentled her, moving to cup her face and take her mouth in a tender and slow caress. The kisses melted one into the next until she was a trembling thing of need. August clung to the lapels of his coat, suddenly aware of the difference in their clothing as her unencumbered breasts pressed against the stiff fabric of his dinner attire. Yet it hardly mattered in her search for the comfort he brought her. The heat of his body became a part of her.
She gasped, drawing in much-needed breath, and squeezed her eyes shut. He moved; whether it was to pull back, she couldn’t say, but she grabbed his arms and held him. He made a soft groan, and his hand slid up to cup her head.
“August,” he whispered, soft and barely more than breath of sound. “If I could save you from this, I would. Forgive me for not understanding earlier?” He placed petal-soft kisses along her jaw and neck.
“For not understanding what?” she whispered.
“That I need you for you and not your wealth.”
He drew back then but only so far that she could see his face clearly in the firelight and the single lamp that burned on the table. His eyes were tender and full of a dawning wonder. It made the ache in her throat expand. “I want to shield you from this. Let me negotiate with your father. I promise that once we are married, you will not have to worry.”
“No.” She gave her head a shake because eloquent words had deserted her, and she needed him to understand she meant it. “I don’t need a shield.”
“How thoughtless of me.” A smile curved his lips, and he pressed a kiss to her mouth. “You need someone to fight beside you.”
His eyes were serious as he said that, as if he meant the words and was not humoring her. “Do you mean that?” she asked, because she dared not believe he could understand.
“I do. We will do this together.”
His hands roved down her back to fill his palms with her bottom. An involuntary gasp escaped her as he squeezed and brought her against the hard ridge contained in his trousers. Molten heat burned low in her belly and throbbed between her legs. Without corset or petticoats, she could feel him all along her front, except the very thickness of his own clothes was in the way. Her hands fumbled their way inside his coat and pushed it down off his shoulders. He released her long enough to shrug out of it and allow it to drop to the floor before reclaiming her. His mouth took hers, tongue delving in to taste her. Her fingers tore at the buttons of his waistcoat as his mouth dragged across her jaw to nibble at ear. An erotic shiver rocked her to her core, and the insistent throb between her thighs grew more intense.
“I love being able to finally feel you.” His voice was a harsh rasp as his mouth moved down the column of her neck in hot, openmouthed kisses. She let out a sound of satisfaction as one large hand kneaded her bottom and the other covered her aching breast to shape it and revel in the unencumbered touch. His thumb brushed over the sensitive tip, tugging at the need building inside her. Never had anything felt more gratifying.
Her hips moved
against him in an unconscious rhythm, desperate to get closer. He groaned into her neck and held her tight against his rigid length. Tugging his shirttail from his trousers, she pushed her hands beneath to find his smooth skin and the light furring of hair that abraded her palms. It was only then that she realized this groping wouldn’t be enough. She wanted to explore all of him.
“I want to see you.”
His answer was immediate. He let her go to quickly unbutton his shirt and toss it away. The firelight kissed him, turning his skin a pale gold. She marveled at how his muscles were clearly defined, like a sculpture. Her fingertips explored him with a will all their own, tracing the line that bisected the ridges on his stomach to where it disappeared into the high waist of his trousers. His erection was clearly outlined beneath the fabric, but she wasn’t quite bold enough to explore there just yet. Instead, she moved upward to the twin muscles of his chest. She squeezed gently, marveling at how well-formed he was.
He gently took pins out of her hair until it fell in a heavy rush down her back. His fingertips traced down the curve of her brow to take a length of hair and bring it to his nose. He closed his eyes as he inhaled, and her stomach tumbled over itself. The mere scent of him caused her belly to swirl pleasantly. Was it the same with him?
Before she realized her intention, she was talking. “I went into D.R. Harris last week on the pretense of buying my father a birthday gift, but really I wanted to find your cologne.”
He gave her a slow grin. “Did you find it?”
“No, and Mrs. Barnes disapproved.”
The strand of hair slid out of his fingers as he reached down again, only this time when his hands grasped her bottom, he lifted her against him. “Oh!” His laugh vibrated through her as he walked with her to the sofa before the hearth. Then he sat down and placed her on his lap. He hardly gave her time to get her bearings as he buried his face in her neck and his teeth raked pleasantly against the sensitive skin there as he said, “She would likely faint if she could see us now. Take this off.” He tugged at the buttons of her wrapper.
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