Chapter 4
Dare damned his cough, his weak chest, and his disease as he waited for his lady wife to emerge from her chamber the next morning. They’d breakfasted in their separate rooms, but he’d hoped she might need help with her fastenings, and that he could make his first overtures then. But while he cast up his accounts again, she emerged fully clothed, carrying her valise, and already wearing her frivolous hat. This time, the hat was adorned with purple flowers to match her purple gown, he noted, hastily rinsing his mouth and pretending to straighten his neckcloth as he stepped away from the dressing screen.
The physician had warned the medicine might be as bad as the disease, but it lengthened his life just a little, he’d have to live with it.
Dare supposed his wife’s gown was purple. His sisters would have insisted that it was violet or mauve or lavender. All he knew was that his bride looked stunning in it. It was made of a fabric sturdier than the muslin she’d worn yesterday, so he assumed it was some sort of travel gown. But it clung to her slender waist and narrow hips. Embellished with ruffles and a short cape, it created hourglass curves where he was fairly certain there were none. He enjoyed the effect. She’d even tilted the hat back enough that he could see the color rising in her fair cheeks as he continued to stare.
“Did I miss a button?” she inquired with hesitation.
“I would like it if you missed a button or three,” he admitted salaciously. “You could miss the whole cape, and I would be a happy man. How did your former suitors keep their tongues in their heads around you?”
He offered his arm before he said anything else ridiculous. Perhaps the disease ate at his brain. He took her heavy valise, and it almost wrenched his arm from his socket. Books, she’d said. She’d brought books to bed.
Her cheeks brightened to rose, but she slipped her gloved fingers into the crook of his elbow. “I am sure I do not know,” she said with just a touch of acid. “I would think loose tongues would lead to unpleasant drooling. I should be forced to consider rabies.”
He couldn’t stop a chuckle. “Only my brilliant wife would call me rabid. I think I like it.”
“I am still new to this. . . intimacy of saying what I like, as you do,” she said, not as stiffly as before. “No one has ever insulted me in quite such a manner before.”
Dare laughed. Feeling in charity with the world again, he almost clattered down the narrow stairs as was his usual wont, but he was aware that she had to lift her skirts and go slowly. He wouldn’t have her breaking her neck, so he walked sedately and caught her arm again once they reached the common room.
“I’ll have you know that wasn’t an insult, my lady,” he said in mocking offense. “I normally do not pant over ladies and wish their clothes to the devil. But you, my lovely wife, are a confection beyond any man’s wildest dreams. I still cannot fathom why someone with more to offer hasn’t snatched you up before me, although I am eternally grateful that they did not.”
He would say many things to worm his way into her bed, but he honestly meant these.
She tilted her hat down so he couldn’t see the color rise in her cheeks, but now that he knew he could make her blush, he was relentless. Even if he could only touch her with words, it added spice to the long ride ahead.
“I did not wish to be snatched by just any man,” she replied as a footman opened the carriage door. “But as far as I am aware, no man has ever shown interest in snatching me.”
Dare leaned under her hat to kiss her cheek before tucking her valise back in its hiding place and climbing into his bed. He despised being treated as an invalid, but he decided to accept the notion of a rolling bed as long as there was any chance that his bride might join him. He waited until she was inside the carriage with the door closed before removing his gloves and pulling at her hat pins.
“Then I declare every man in London to be deaf, dumb, and blind. You are so far beyond exquisite that perhaps your beauty blinded them.” He flung her hat to the far seat with his gloves.
Instead of berating him, she sat still for a moment. He feared he’d gone too far and that she would switch to sitting at his feet rather than be near him.
Finally, she spoke without looking up. “Is flattery your idea of seduction?”
Ah, she remembered what he’d told her last night—he wanted a real marriage, or at least the bed part.
Dare leaned back against the pillows and admired his polished boot toes while he considered the question. “Actually, I don’t think so. I flatter my mother and sisters outrageously, and I’m pretty certain it’s not to seduce them. They’re pretty, and they go to great lengths to look so, and they deserve recognition of their efforts.”
She turned her head so he could see her large purple eyes and pink cheeks. “I have a modiste who tells me what is fashionable. The only effort I make is to braid my hair when my maid is unavailable. I will tell Madame Durand that you appreciate her efforts, thank you.”
Dare laughed, then coughed. She instantly rummaged for the horehound, and he took one without argument. They were nasty but effective, and he wanted to talk since there was little else they could do. He took a sip of the mineral water she offered when the cough calmed down.
“Thank you.” He returned the container to her. “I am apparently out of practice in flattery as well as seduction. One does not have to flatter glass beakers to get what one wants.”
She smiled with more assurance at that bit of nonsense. “Precisely. I am not very good at expressing admiration for a gentleman’s hand with horses or the quality of his boot polish or whatever it is that ladies say to suitors to flatter them. But I’ll happily admire your extensive collection of glassware. Do you have someone in particular who creates it for you?”
“Come here and let me whisper sweet beakers in your ear.” He held up his arm and reached for her shoulders.
She glanced warily at his arm, then shifted ever so slightly closer so that he might rest it on the useless cape covering her bodice. He reached around and found the bow and pulled the ribbon. “It’s a hot summer day. You don’t need this.”
“My shoulders will be nearly bare without the pelerine,” she protested. “And my neck is much too long for the style otherwise.”
“Tell that to your modiste, not to the husband who wishes to admire your beautiful shoulders and neck.” He removed the purple monstrosity and flung it to join the hat.
The ruffled neckline of her gown hid her bosom, although he was already aware she wasn’t voluptuous. That scarcely mattered when he was nearly drooling over lovely, supple shoulders the palest shade of alabaster. Her skin was so fine, he could see the pale blue vein in her throat. He traced his finger along it, enjoying the texture of her silken, lavender-scented skin.
She instantly stiffened. He waited, his finger lingering just over her pulse. “I cannot believe I am so fortunate as to have a wife as beautiful as you. I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve it.”
She gave an exaggerated sigh and shifted away again. “My beauty or lack thereof is irrelevant. I am far more interested in the source of your glassware.”
“And here I thought I was single-minded! Do you find me repulsive?” he asked with curiosity. Ladies generally did not dismiss his attentions. Gauging from the heat in her cheeks, he was reasonably certain that she might be minimally interested.
She sent him what he assumed to be a shocked glance. “Repulsive? Why would I find you repulsive? Because of your cough? That hardly reflects on who you are. From all I’ve ascertained, you are a generous gentleman who takes care of his family, and an intelligent man who knows about laboratories and chemicals, even if you do tend to blow them up. If I’d found you repulsive, I would not have presented my proposition.”
Dare angled himself to better study her. Her attitude of cool elegance appeared a little more vibrant than usual, and she actually seemed to be regarding him with attentiveness. “You find my intelligence attractive? I do not believe you live in the same world as
the rest of us, my dear.”
He shrugged out of his coat as he spoke. “I’m fairly certain you’re no otherworldly angel or you wouldn’t be sitting in the same carriage with me. Have you no curiosity about fleshly pursuits? Have you never kissed in the shrubbery with an admirer, if only to see what it is like?”
Dare didn’t see any alarm in her expression as she watched him struggle out of the prison of his coat. Her detached scientific inspection would make him feel like a botanical specimen if it weren’t for the rose circles high on her cheeks.
“I may have tried kissing once when I was very young. I didn’t like it much. You will understand that I spend the majority of my time in my studies. I’ve not had much opportunity to be exposed to rakes who kiss in the shrubbery.”
His beam of delight should have terrified her, but she only widened her eyes.
“Then let me be your first rake. I don’t consider seducing innocents a wise investment in my time, but since you are my wife, we’ll both learn something new.” He reached for her lovely, almost-bare shoulders and encouraged her to shift closer again. He could swear she flinched—and he halted.
She was a grown woman—surely she had some notion of what marriage was about?
“Are you sure seduction is a wise idea?” she asked with doubt, using her gloved hand to move his fingers from her skin. “You have said kissing may be contagious. And I would think any exertion would return your cough. You do not need to exert yourself for my sake.”
Ah, she was just nervous. Laughing, Dare stroked the underside of her delicate chin with his less-than-delicate hand, then lifted it so he might kiss the pink on her cheekbone. “I think I can manage the kind of exertion I have in mind, and I don’t think kissing your lovely cheek will hurt. A beautiful woman should be offered tokens of appreciation for her efforts to improve the view.”
“That’s flummery,” she said in disgust, but this time, she did not move away.
Emilia clasped her hands tensely while her husband stroked her throat with his bare hand.
He touched her—and she did not feel his pain.
Perhaps the excitement he stirred in her breast overrode the perception of pain. She needed to experiment with what made her more aware of him than herself.
Breathlessly, she waited as he toyed with her hair. Still, no pain, and her heart began to pound in anticipation. The heavy braided chignon looked dreadful on her. Until now, she hadn’t cared. The big hand tugging loose her pins produced interesting shivers and made her think she should care.
If she thought of hair, she didn’t have to think about how her flesh had unexpectedly developed an urge to be caressed, or how her insides knotted with longing when her husband pressed kisses along her cheek. Her senses were too overwhelmed to encourage the dangerous connection of her gift. She was aware of the shaving soap smell just inches from her face and the sudden need to know how hard a square chin might be, or if she could feel the whiskers beneath his skin.
Until now, she had avoided male proximity and stifled any curiosity to touch and sniff.
Her husband didn’t want her to stifle her urges. Even as an invalid, his big body sprawled across the large carriage with the muscled tension and power of a lean panther, and she wanted more than anything to stroke the sleek planes of muscle.
This was supposed to be a marriage of convenience, not a visit to the Garden of Eden. Shaken, she couldn’t force her formidable mind to think this through. She simply wanted the boldness to kiss his cheek as he did hers.
But then she would want to touch his chest. Her unpredictable mind/body connection would take over. He’d panic and push away, demanding explanations, and she simply couldn’t bear it. . . .
He resolved her dilemma by taking her hand and placing it against his shirt, as if he knew what she wanted. “I’d like for you to touch me,” he murmured, kissing her nape. “It’s been far too long since a woman has touched me.”
He deliberately drew on her sympathy, she knew, but how could she resist? She needed to touch, and he wanted to be touched. With appalling fascination, she waited for the pain, for the insensible, too sensitive connection.
Tell him, a little voice whispered. But she couldn’t, not yet. She would hate it if he laughed. Or looked at her with horror. It was not as if he was the most understanding of men. But he was her husband. If he didn’t mind her touching, surely she should be allowed to, just a little.
Swallowing hard, she splayed her fingers across his linen, which ought to be safer than bare flesh. In relief and delight, she felt his heart beat and his lungs gasp for air without absorbing his pain. She wished she knew more of consumption and how his lungs ought to feel.
But his kisses provided a satisfactory distraction from her medical curiosity. Captivated by the wonder of his mouth on hers, she stroked his hard chest simply for pleasure.
His bare hand slid beneath the neckline of her gown, at her shoulder, not far from her breast. The traveling gown was meant to be worn with the pelerine he’d so casually tossed. It had been too hot to add a chemisette. She gasped as his lips pressed against the rise of her breast.
“We will be stopping soon,” she warned in a whisper, but her hand couldn’t retreat from his chest. His waistcoat was open, as usual. She could unknot his neckcloth. . . but they would be almost disrobed when it came time to change the horses.
And she really hadn’t thought any of this through. She was simply delighting in pain-free touching.
Lord Dare lifted his head enough for her to see his heavy-lidded eyes and the direction of their gaze. Emilia felt the heat rise in her breast, mottling her too-fair skin, another reason she preferred to be fully covered. Her nipples hardened, and she feared she was just as silly as any other foolish female he looked upon.
“I’ll not take you for the first time in a coach,” he murmured. “But there are so many other pleasant ways to pass the time.”
Unable quite yet to pull her hand away from his chest, she stroked just a little lower, only a little, until she felt a wrongness. Did consumption also attack lower than the lungs? She hastily yanked her fingers away before the prickles started, and she forgot to be cautious.
He caught her misbehaving hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I know seduction wasn’t part of our agreement, but you do not seem to object. Am I correct? Or are you simply being polite by not slapping me out the window?”
She could hardly catch her breath much less consider a proper answer. She yanked her hand away and folded it in her lap. “Men generally do not show interest in me, so I did not give seduction any thought,” she said honestly. “I’m anxious to start on the laboratory and to check on my grandfather’s herb garden, and there was so much to do with the wedding and packing and. . . I just did not think.”
“And you considered me too ill to make demands,” he finished for her with a deprecating laugh. “I may be in a few months, when winter closes in. But in the meantime, if there’s any chance that you might wish to be a wife in truth. . .”
Now, now, tell him now. But she couldn’t, not any more than she could deny a dying man his wish or deny her own curiosity. If he had only a few months, why let her lack of knowledge stand between them? She had always feared that physical intimacy would cause the same dangerous connection as healing, but if she wasn’t falling into the vortex of her gift now. . .
She swallowed hard and looked up to meet the shadows in his lovely gray-green eyes. She saw the sadness and the heat and the hope. . .
“You are hoping for an heir, are you not?” she answered, understanding more than he would say.
Looking disgruntled, he rumpled his hair and sat back. “It’s not likely,” he pointed out. “And if you do not wish to be left alone with a child, there are ways to prevent conception. My first thought was simply of how much I want you.”
He said that as if he honestly meant it. She’d heard the rumors. Her husband was accustomed to having women in his bed. That he’d been deprived these last
months of illness and living with his mother meant he would seek any woman handy. And she was convenient. There was the reason he was abandoning the city and its pursuits for rural boredom and took an interest in a bean pole like her.
She could feel his longing deep in her center, but rather than act on the pooling heat, she contemplated his statement with interest. “You really mean that, don’t you? But now that I have mentioned an heir?” A child. . . She had really never given one a thought. Hers wasn’t a maternal nature.
His disgruntlement slowly melted into a grin, then spread to dance in his eyes in a manner that made her heart go pitter-patter. He was a handsome, conniving male animal and almost nearly irresistible when he smiled like that.
“I would want to come back as a ghost to see Cousin Peter’s face if you delivered a boy. He is planning the wallpaper for the townhouse already. He’s told me he plans to install his childless wife in the rotting hunting box that we laughingly call my estate, and install his mistress and children in my mother’s Mayfair home. He wants to bring his bastards up like ladies and gentlemen.”
“The children aren’t at fault for the iniquities of their parents, but he cannot be a very sympathetic man if he’s telling you his plans for your death!”
“Exactly so,” he murmured, sliding his fingers a little further beneath her bodice.
Her new husband had the devil’s way about him, of a certainty. But miraculously, he still wasn’t causing her any of the pain she feared. She held her breath and waited to see what he would do next.
Chapter 5
Dare had seduced his fair share of women over the years, but he felt like a green youth when it came to his own bride. His prick rose to the occasion with no more provocation than a scent of lavender and a hint of soft skin as she leaned into him. They were in a carriage, deuce take it!
Chemistry of Magic Page 5