If Ever I Should Love You

by Cathy Maxwell

  On those words, she flounced into the house, leaving the door open.

  Of course, the joke was on her, because the house was dark inside. Roman waited a moment, certain she would not like stumbling around in a strange house. He was right.

  She appeared in the doorway. “Please give me the lantern.” She spoke with dignity, as if she was Queen of the World.

  He wasn’t giving her anything. Instead, he walked past her into the house. “You don’t know where the bedroom is, do you?”

  There was a hesitation and then she said, “No.”

  Roman snorted his opinion. The problem was, the truth hurt and he did not thank her for pointing it out to him. He started up the stairs expecting her to follow.

  She shut the front door and did.

  “You never asked about my family before we married,” he said as he reached the landing and the second set of steps leading to the first floor. “You never asked about me. But if you must know, I didn’t see a need to haul them to London. As you can tell, my stepfather is not well.”

  “Because he limps?”

  “His legs are failing. One day, he may not walk at all.”

  There was a beat of silence and then she said, “I’m sorry. Roman.”

  She sounded sincere.

  “And,” he continued, “your dowry and the money I take in from tenants will be enough for us to live very nicely at Bonhomie.”

  “Do you mean Rook Haven?”

  He stopped on the top step, raising the lantern to frown down at her. “Rook Haven?”

  She took the opportunity to march right past him saying, “If my money is building it, then I believe I should name it. And this is a rook haven if ever I saw one. I’d wager they come down the chimneys.”

  “No, they don’t,” he answered, moving swiftly to overtake her.

  Bonhomie’s hallways were wide. His boots echoed on the stones as he led her to the room on the northern wall that served as his bedroom.

  “What is wrong with the other rooms?” She nodded to the doors down the hall.

  “Some of the walls have huge cracks. Others are without windows. And then there are the leaks in the roof over them.”

  “How did it fall into this state of disrepair?”

  “That is a good question,” he said, opening the door. “The damage was done by Cavalier cannon when the earlier Rochdale refused to admit defeat. Unfortunately, subsequent Rochdales spent their money on other things than the house. The structure here is sound but be careful when you walk on the other side of this floor.”

  He’d set down the lantern on the desk by the window as he spoke and now turned to find her inside his room and looking as he had pictured her.

  She’d removed her bonnet. Her hair fell around her shoulders and it did not take much imagination for him to picture her naked and willing. Exactly how she’d been last night.

  “Leonie,” he said, her name like a blessing on his lips.

  She smiled—she had a heavenly smile—and looked to the bed. It was a four-poster and built for a big man. Roman liked it and had recently had the bed ropes replaced so that the cotton stuffed mattress was quite comfortable. Her gaze swung back to him. “Where are you going to sleep? Because I assure you, my lord, you will not be in my bed.”

  Heavenly? She was the devil.

  “I beg to differ, wife. If you want to move—by all means move, but I plan on sleeping in that bed tonight and it is the only bed in the house. If you stay in this room, we will be sharing it.”

  Chapter 16

  Leonie was exhausted.

  It had been a long day.

  However, she was not going to let Roman run roughshod over her.

  She’d meant what she’d said about being thoroughly chastened this morning . . . and then to discover he hadn’t been genuine? Well, it raised her hackles.

  “May you have your cold bed, and be welcome to it,” she announced. She reached for the counterpane, an ugly thing of blue figured material, and pulled it off. She started for the door, dragging it behind her.

  “Where are you going?” Roman demanded.

  “To find somewhere to sleep.”

  “There isn’t anywhere else to sleep,” he answered. “The other rooms on this floor are not safe.”

  “Then I shall find somewhere else.” Leonie opened the door, but then realized how dark it was. Instead of reaching for her valise, she picked up the lantern and marched out into the hall before he knew what she was about.

  He shouted, “Hey!” in protest of her leaving him in the dark, but she ignored him.

  Because of the size of the bed, the counterpane was huge and a bit of a trial to carry, especially when it came to the stairs. Leonie reached down and grabbed her skirt to lift the hem. There would be no honor in tumbling down the stone stairs and breaking her neck.

  Of course, Roman might be happy if she did. Then he’d have all her money and no imperfect wife to bother him.

  Just the thought of him celebrating her demise sent her stomping into the receiving room. The chairs were still arranged in the circle where Roman’s family had enjoyed meeting her earlier. Something else was there as well—the bottle of elderberry wine. The glasses and tray were on a side table.

  Leonie glanced behind her. All was dark.

  She set the lantern on the floor, crossed to the bottle, and lifted it to her lips. There was not that much left but she had two swallows. She had to drink it, she realized. She’d been so good, so circumspect.

  The bit of wine could not hurt anything.

  Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Leonie quietly placed the bottle on the tray. She backed away from it, as if she could deny what she’d done by standing on the other side of the room.

  Today had been hard. Being with his family and watching them enjoy cider, which she adored but was afraid to touch because of Roman’s presence, had been a challenge. Leonie was not accustomed to denying herself anything.

  Guilt over what had happened last night had kept her humble. However, her body was comfortable with a nip or two. Well, perhaps more than that but it wasn’t like she was a drunkard.

  Her behavior at her wedding ceremony had been an aberration. She’d never had that reaction before and might not ever have it again.

  In fact, right now . . . after those few swallows of wine, why, she felt herself. She knew where she was. She understood what was happening.

  She just didn’t feel as irritable as she had a moment before. That was a good thing, wasn’t it?

  Leonie set aside troubling thoughts by giving her attention to devising her bed. There might be a better room to use but she’d never find it in the dark. Besides, she’d already given her ankle a twist. Who knew what other dangers could be lurking in this house?

  She also did not intend to sleep on the floor. She dragged two of the largest chairs together to face each other and form a bed of sorts. It would be more comfortable to change into a nightdress, but she refused to go upstairs for her valise. Instead, she took off her dress and decided to sleep in her chemise and petticoats. She would be comfortable enough with the heavy counterpane around her. She placed the lantern on the seat of another chair. She welcomed the wan light. The house was very dark.

  Wrapping herself in the blanket, she seated herself in one chair and raised both legs to place her feet in another. This was not that uncomfortable. Then again, she was sitting upright, which was not conducive for sleeping.

  Leonie wiggled her way down, feeling a bit like an inchworm as she settled in the chair. She didn’t fit. Her head was against the chair back. She’d end up with a crick in her neck.

  What she needed was a bit more width between the chairs.

  She pushed the other chair back with her feet. Her body finally stretched out and fit between the chairs, until her bottom fell between them and she found herself in a V shape with her bum on the floor.

  Male laughter greeted this new indignity.

  Leonie dropped her legs and rolled
onto her knees to confront her spectator. Shame made her angry. Had he witnessed her drinking from the elderberry wine bottle?

  Roman leaned against the doorframe. He was in stockinged feet and he had removed his neckcloth and coat.

  “How long have you been there?” she demanded. “Are you spying?”

  He held up his hands as if to ward her off. “No, of course not spying. I live here, remember? I’m the master of the keep?”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me you were there?”

  “I intended to let you know . . . until you took off your dress and then, well, words died in my throat.” He gave her a rakish grin.

  “You are a beast.” She was so relieved he hadn’t caught her drinking her words were without heat.

  “You bring that out in me.” He pushed away from the doorframe and entered the room. Her space, she wanted to inform him, but then, he was the master of the keep.

  Instead, she focused on immediate problems. She needed to rethink what she was doing. However, untangling herself from the counterpane was a bit confusing. She’d wrapped herself well.

  His feet were beside her. “Here, let me help.”

  Before she could coolly insist she didn’t need his help, he bodily picked her up, threw her over his shoulder, grabbed the lantern by its handle, and started for the stairs.

  “What are you doing?” Leonie demanded, arching her back and trying to raise herself up.

  “Taking you to bed. Duck.”

  “What—?” She hit her head on the top of the doorframe. It was a light bump because he stopped before she could truly be thumped.

  He took a step back. “Are you all right?”

  She rubbed her head. “Yes.”

  “Good, then duck.”

  This time she listened.

  Roman strode up the stairs. He seemed to be taking them two at a time. Leonie didn’t fight. It would be useless. No, instead, she plotted. He would have to put her down sooner or later.

  He carried her into the bedroom and plopped her down on the mattress. The counterpane had loosened and she quickly freed herself, not caring that she was showing her legs as she kicked the covers away.

  She had to admit, the mattress did feel good.

  And she was tired. Exhausted actually—and yet, energized. He could do that to her. It had been rather thrilling to have him carry her so easily up the stairs.

  It was also thrilling to have him begin shucking off his clothes as if he couldn’t wait to bed her.

  To bed her.

  A yearning formed between her legs. Her breasts took on fullness. What sort of wanton creature was she? Had she lost all pride?

  Yes, parts of her screamed. Her body longed for the closeness she had found in his arms.

  Leonie struggled for sanity and she did so by reaching for complaints. “You described a much different house.”

  He paused in unbuttoning his breeches. The lantern light made his body appear as if it had been cast in molten metal. His clear gray eyes met hers. “What I told you is what I know it will become. Bonhomie will be everything I said and more.”

  “And more?”

  “Yes, Leonie. Those were only my dreams for Bonhomie. I hope in time you will add your mark to it. Then it will be our home and it will be even more magnificent. We can make this house whatever we wish. I want you to be happy here.”

  To be happy here . . .

  Leonie didn’t know if she had ever been happy anywhere. She wasn’t certain she knew what happiness was.

  “Come here.” Roman sat on the bed and motioned for her to join him. He was naked and very much ready for her.

  And she was ready for him.

  Yes, he’d made her furious, but this joining between them, well, it could right many wrongs. She’d felt content in his arms last night. She’d even been happy to let him carry her up the stairs because, instinctively, she had known it would lead to this.

  Leonie came up on her knees and pulled off the thin chemise. She untied her petticoats and tossed her clothing aside.

  “That is exactly what I was hoping you would do.” His voice was a husky purr. “Come here.” He smoothed the place next to him.

  Leonie crawled on the bed toward him. His eyes lit up at the sight. She had only traveled a foot when he met her halfway. Taking her by the arms, he lifted her against his body and kissed her with such force, such passion, any resistance melted. She wanted to wrap herself around him, take him into her, and hold him forever—

  He broke off the kiss.

  His brows came together. He leaned into her as if sniffing her breath. “You have had something to drink.”

  “No, I—” Dazed from the onslaught of his kiss, Leonie had trouble grasping the accusation, until he released his hold—and then she understood. He had smelled the wine on her breath.

  He placed his legs over the side of the bed, giving her his back. “Where did you find something to drink? And why?” He reached for his breeches.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. She came up on her knees. “I’m fine.” She was. She wasn’t at all tipsy. She was clear of eye and mind.

  “Have you had something to drink?” He fastened the top button of his breeches.

  “You were at dinner with me—”

  “You didn’t drink any cider at dinner but you’ve had something.”

  “No—” Leonie broke off. She had been about to deny it, but then realized it would be an outright lie.

  Roman would not appreciate a lack of honesty. That was not the sort of man he was. She was better off to say nothing. She sat back on her heels, her hair falling around her shoulders.

  He started for the door. “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “To find the bottle.”

  There is no bottle, she wanted to shout.

  And he would listen to her and come back to bed and everything would fine—except it wasn’t true. The damning bottle was downstairs waiting for him. He charged from the room, not bothering to take the lantern with him.

  She listened to him move down the hall away from her. She doubled her fingers, clenching them so tightly her nails dug into her palms. She’d only had a sip.

  Of course, if there had been more left in the wine bottle, she would have finished it, but there hadn’t been that much—

  The sound of a bottle being thrown against the wall reverberated like the last of a gun. Leonie jumped, and then brought her fists to her stomach. She was going to be ill. He knew. He’d known all along. It was uncanny how perceptive he was about her.

  And then there came a crash and another crash as if more things were being thrown.

  Or were they under some sort of attack? Was Roman downstairs needing her help?

  Leonie scrambled out of the bed to her valise. She quickly pulled out her nightdress and threw it over her nakedness. Picking up the lantern, she rushed down the stairs to see to her husband.

  There was no attack.

  He sat on a chair in the middle of the receiving room, his elbows on his thighs, his head buried in his hands. Around him were broken chairs. In the cold hearth were the fragments of the elderberry wine bottle.

  Leonie froze, stunned by the power of his anger. He did not raise his head, although he had to know she was there. She held the lantern.

  The tears she’d been holding back escaped. “I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t move at first. Instead, he seemed lost in his own world.

  She set the lantern on the floor. She took an uncertain step, then another, toward him.

  When she was in front of him, he pushed himself up. The lines around his mouth were tight, and yet, there was confusion and, yes, compassion in his eyes.

  “Oh, Leonie, what am I going to do with you?”

  “Hold me.”

  Her words were a plea. She’d never asked anything of anyone before. She’d managed on her own.

  But now? She feared being alone. Or what could become of her.

  He wavered in indecision. She u
nderstood his struggle. If he was wise, he would run.

  Instead, he opened his arms and Leonie fell into them. She wrapped herself around his shoulders and buried her face in his neck. Her thighs were around his hips, her breasts against his chest. This felt right. It felt safe. “Help me, Roman. Please help me.”

  “I would that I could,” he whispered fiercely.

  “Then it will be enough,” she said, praying she was right. “I don’t want to be my mother. I don’t.”

  “I know. I believe you.”

  “You said you thought you loved me. Please, don’t stop,” she begged.

  His hands came to her shoulders. He pushed her back so that he could look in her face. “I do. God help me, I do. Even though you may be the ruin of me.”

  She placed her hand on his chest, just over his heart. “I’ll be better.”

  The lines of his face softened as if he feared that would not be true.

  In answer, she kissed him, a frantic, questing meeting of their lips.

  To her joy, he responded. He took charge. He still knew better than she what it was they needed. What she wanted.

  His hands raised the skirts of her nightdress.

  He was aroused. He had been from the moment she’d climbed into his lap. She’d felt the prodding, the heat. After all, he’d only buttoned the top one of his breeches and it was a small matter to release him.

  Their kiss deepened; she stroked his shaft while his hands beneath her dress sought her breasts.

  This was good. So good. He was forgiving her. And she would behave. She told him with her kiss—she would try to be what he wanted. She would.

  His hands lifted her hips and sat her down upon him. Leonie gasped in pleasure as he buried himself deep within her.

  He liked it this way, too. “Ride me,” he ordered quietly. “Do as you wish.”

  At first, she didn’t understand his meaning. She wiggled her hips. The movement sparked a laugh from him that she felt roll through his body and to her deepest core. She tried it again, delighted with the sensation.