He exhaled a small, contented breath. "It's not a secret. I've just never told anyone."
She continued to stroke his leg, saying nothing in reply, hoping he wouldn't now decide not to confide in her.
At last he dropped the arm propping up his head, adjusting his body comfortably beside her, resting his cheek on the pillow once more, eyeing her directly.
"You're an only child," he began, "and female, so maybe you'll not understand this. But I'm the second son of an earl."
She laid her head down beside him, pushing her hands up under her pillow, smiling. "I know that, Jonathan. You're not shocking me yet."
He smiled in return. "Don't take that statement superficially, Natalie. Think about what it means. There are only two of us, Simon and me, nineteen months apart in age. My father was overjoyed that his wife bore him two sons, but I probably would have been better off had I been born a girl—"
Her scoff of the ridiculous cut him off. "That's nonsense talk coming from someone who won't ever have to be one," she scolded. "You have options, the entire world available to you; I'm expected to marry and have babies and bow to my husband's whims."
He tenderly touched her cheek with the back of his fingers. "You don't understand. I'm talking strictly of the attention given girls by their parents. Yes, as a man I can make my own decisions, go places and do things at my discretion. I know society allows me things it doesn't allow women." He lightened his voice. "And of course I enjoy women far too much to ever want to be one. I'm very much thankful I was born male."
She tensed a little at the remark, but he didn't appear to notice, carrying on before she could comment, reaching again for the ties holding her nightgown together at her neck.
"I'm referring to me as an individual, Natalie," he explained, subdued. "My parents cared for both Simon and me, there's no question there. But my brother was raised to be an earl; I was raised to be one 'just in case.' My brother was expected to be educated; I was expected to do less because it didn't really matter since I wouldn't be managing the estate. My brother was groomed for importance; I was allowed to do as I pleased most of the time. My brother was the serious one, taking on his duties efficiently and at a young age; I was far more gregarious and teasing by nature, more … tolerated, for lack of a better word."
"I should think there are many noblemen wishing they could be second born," she offered. "Where choices and opportunities would be theirs, where the pressures to succeed didn't weigh so heavily on their shoulders."
"I suppose there are," he agreed. "And maybe if I had several brothers and sisters I wouldn't feel this way."
She frowned. "Feel what way, exactly?"
He paused, brows creased in remembrance, concentrating on hidden thoughts. "When I was fourteen I stumbled upon a private conversation between my parents. They were arguing about me, about my carefree nature and lack of application to my studies." Hesitantly he added, "My mother mentioned that I paid too much attention to girls and having fun."
"It seems you haven't changed," she acknowledged without expression.
He smiled faintly again but ignored that, adjusting his head and body so that he moved even closer to her—so close, in fact, that she could feel the warmth emanating from his skin, his soft breath on her cheeks as he talked.
"They were deep in discussion about sending me away," he disclosed huskily, "about sending me abroad—to a boys' school in Vienna. My mother was reluctant, but she and I were very close so this was not surprising. My father felt I lacked refinement as a child of good breeding and that a strict environment designed to instill good moral conduct was what I needed to correct my tendency toward what he felt was irresponsible behavior. In the end, though, due to my mother's determination and my father's adoration for her, I was allowed to remain in England. As far as I know, they never again mentioned it. They never told me of their discussion, and they never knew I knew."
He lowered his tone to a sullen whisper. "The idea of being sent away didn't surprise me, or even really upset me all that much. But it was the actual exchange between them on that day that changed my life, Natalie, and I will never forget it. My mother, crying, said, 'I always thought Jonathan would be the clever one.' To which my father said, 'He's not clever, he's devious. He's an ill-behaved boy who will never amount to anything but a social rake, who will run up debts that will need to be paid by Simon. Simon will be the one to make us proud. Jonathan will be the one to ruin us.'"
Natalie felt a powerful wave of compassion and sympathy course through her as she considered how such a conversation, even spoken with good intentions, could devastate a child if overheard. There was no one in the world who better grasped the feelings of not living up to set ideals, of being underrated and unappreciated.
"I know what it's like never to quite meet parental expectations, Jonathan," she whispered in a silky breath of deep reassurance.
He stared at her as he answered intensely, "I know you do. You're the first person I've ever revealed this to, Natalie, and I did so because you're the only person I've ever known who would so totally understand."
She felt drawn to him from that simple statement, uttered in absolute honesty and with such depth of emotion, of trust. She lay beside him, alone together in a small, warm bed, in a beautiful bungalow on the seashore of an enchanted land, and right now, for her, they were the only two people in existence.
"So why did you choose to become a thief?" she asked, looking into his blackened eyes. "Doesn't that mean they've won?"
He placed his palm over her nightgown, flat on her chest though just under her neck, and for the first time ever, the forward action didn't bother her at all. It felt marvelously natural.
"Think about it, Natalie," he suggested in a smooth, rich voice. "We've all won."
That's when she fully understood. He lived the life expected of him and his station, a life carefree but with the underlying stability of honest work, his amazing cleverness and achievements as a fantastic thief concealed beneath the guise of a frivolous air of gaiety within fashionable society. Most of all, he had grown into the man he wanted to be with the integrity his parents had never foreseen.
"But they've been dead for years, Jonathan," she argued carefully. "They never knew you as the Black Knight. They'll never know of your successes."
He smiled again. "I will know."
She grinned in return. "And Simon."
"And Simon," he concurred.
Silence grew around them, calmness filling the room, and neither one of them moved. Jonathan had a better view of her than she did of him, he realized with a slight acknowledgment of the advantage. The full moon behind him cast a glow to her vivid eyes so full of expression, to her face and shiny hair as it tumbled in waves over her shoulder and breasts. Since she'd crawled into bed, he'd wanted to reach for her, to wrap his arms around her and pull her close, but as always, because he knew how she'd react, he held the desire in check. So naturally it came as a complete surprise when she reached up with her hand and gingerly touched his face, cupping his jaw, the pads of her fingers caressing his cheek as she studied what she could see of his features in the dimness.
He watched her, saying nothing, unmoving for fear she'd back away. It was the first time she'd ever purposely touched him expressing tenderness, flowing from her in radiance, embracing both of them tightly, and he didn't want it to end.
"You're not sad about any of this now, about your parents never knowing what you've become?" she asked in a deep whisper.
"No, not really," he responded at last, yielding to the closeness. "I think they'd be pleased if they knew. I'm happy with the way my life has progressed, and I enjoy what I do. The only thing bothersome about it is that it's a very lonely occupation. I really wish, Natalie, that I'd had you along to keep me company on every single adventure."
She didn't know how to take that at first. She pulled her hand away from his face as her eyes grew to round pools of uncertainty lightly traced with caution. Then her mouth broadened in a smile
.
"I'd be trouble."
"But wickedly fun trouble," he teased.
"You'd grow bored with me, Jonathan."
He snickered. "I can't imagine ever growing bored with you, Natalie."
"That's a singularly odd statement coming from a gentleman known for his carousing nature," she returned in a light rebuke. "And at some point we'd get caught. I couldn't lie to my parents about where I was going every time."
"You could marry me, and then I could take you with me anywhere."
He'd suggested that in a jovial tone, and very easily, which surprised him. But it shocked her. He could feel her heartbeat steadily increase beneath his fingertips, hear the shallow, nervous breath escape her lips.
She stared at him, unsure. Then she grew markedly serious, and in the space of seconds the mood between them changed to one of sharp static.
"I will never marry someone like you, Jonathan," she asserted with a sorrowful, profound conviction. "You're a wonderful man, so charming, and I think very clever. But I've seen what unfaithfulness can do to a marriage. I've experienced it, and I will never put myself through that—not if I can choose. If I marry at all, it will be to someone devoted to me, and I don't think anyone who has been with many women can be devoted to just one for an entire lifetime."
For the first time ever, Jonathan felt the crushing weight of regret and a sickening wisp of something like panic slowly taking form in the pit of his stomach. Real and centered determination graced her features, and it bothered him more than he thought possible.
"But you wanted to marry the Black Knight," he insisted, sounding calmer than he felt. "He was rumored to have been with many."
Her eyes narrowed; she set a grim line to her mouth. "It was just that, Jonathan, a rumor, which, sadly to me, has turned out to be true."
That irritated him a little. "So how many is too many, Natalie? Three? Fifteen? Or did you expect to marry a virgin?"
She had no idea how to respond to that as the conflicts within her surfaced for his view, shining in her expression.
"I think most ladies are fortunate enough to marry virgins," she answered forcefully.
He slowly shook his head. "I think most ladies are naive or unknowing."
That made her mad, and for a moment he was certain she would leave the bed. But she didn't; she kept her eyes locked with his and didn't appear to notice that he still held his palm on the base of her throat.
Then her face went slack, and gradually she lowered her lashes and surrendered. "Perhaps men are, too," she whispered almost inaudibly.
That admission softened his heart. He knew what she meant, realizing at once how difficult it must be for someone who had never experienced the pleasure of the bedroom to have to understand and then deal with all that pertained to it. She had yet to enjoy the best of it but had already witnessed what was ugliest—a firsthand betrayal.
"Why did you risk your reputation—your entire future—to help your mother when she's been the one to cause such resentment in you?"
Her eyes opened to his again, her brows pinching delicately in noticeable confusion.
"I didn't come to France for her, Jonathan," she revealed in a dark, low voice. "There is very little I hold dear in my heart for a woman who nagged me for twenty-two years about being virtuous, who is so quick to denounce any lady for immoral behavior when she herself lied in the most hurtful way imaginable." She shook her head in disgust. "I wouldn't go to Rochester for my mother. But I would go anywhere on earth to save my father from the disgrace of her adulterous affair."
At last it all became clear to him. He understood her motivations.
"Does your father know?" he asked quietly.
"About the romance?"
He nodded negligibly.
She snuggled down deeper into the pillow and under the coverlet. "He knows. He loves her still, which is hard for me to imagine." Her expression clouded. "He was devastated when he learned the truth, Jonathan, when she admitted that she loved this Frenchman. In all my life I'd never seen my father like that. He was heartbroken. Tensions in our household ran high for a long time, and things are just now starting to settle down to how they were before. But their marriage will never be the same for them. She's ruined that. I just hope you're able to get these letters before society learns of her indiscretion. I don't think my father would live through the humiliation."
Jonathan ran his thumb along her neck, feeling her pulse beating strongly, enjoying the warmth and softness beneath his fingertips. Moonlight made her pale skin glow with the sheen of pearls, her hair shine silver. With his free hand he touched it, lacing it through his fingers as it spilled over her breast and onto the sheet.
"You cannot predict the ups and downs of love and marriage, Natalie." She was uncertain of that statement, and he gave her a comforting smile to explain. "What I mean is that it's impossible to know how any individual will react to life situations. You cannot judge a person by his past."
She stiffened. "My father had no past—"
"That you know of," he cut in. "And your mother likely didn't. I'd bet money that she was a virgin on her wedding night and yet it didn't stop her from becoming unfaithful."
That made her uncomfortable, and Jonathan, for what it was worth, felt a small measure of triumph.
Then she breathed in very deeply, with resolution, her eyes piercing his through the darkness. "I will never marry a man who is likely to hurt me. Sharing intimacies with different women before marriage would only make a man more prone to realize what he's missing when the honeymoon is over."
"You don't know that," he argued soberly.
"The point is not whether I know this to be true, Jonathan, but simply that I won't take the risk," she replied with conviction anew. "I won't marry a man who doesn't love me like my father loves my mother. He knows her favorite color, her favorite wine, her favorite flower. He can order dinner for her down to the specifics because he knows exactly what she likes. He knows her moods, her joys and fears, and adores her because of the good things and in spite of the bad."
Leaning toward him, she clutched her pillow with a brilliant excitement she could no longer contain. "I want love to be fun and exciting and new; something shared—a romantic … secret between just the two of us. I want my husband to know that I loathe embroidery and riding horses and gossip between ladies; that I adore chocolate and dark, rainy days and Shakespearean comedies, and the thrill and sparkle of the city at night; that my favorite color is rich, midnight blue; that I've always wanted to attend the opera in Milan and dream of one day traveling to China."
In a rush, the enthusiasm fled her face as she shook her head in small movements of contempt. "Geoffrey Blythe doesn't know these things about me. He knows I'm from a good family and that I have a decent dowry, which would likely pay off any future debts of his if he doesn't lose it first. Even worse, he'd never care to learn my interests and desires. All that matters to him, and all the other gentlemen who call on me, is that I was born of quality and will bear hearty sons. Yet my mother would marry me to any of them tomorrow. If they don't love me for who I am, what's to keep any one of them from growing bored with me and the marriage bed and moving on to another? My mother doesn't know that my father loves autumn in the country, adores long walks through the forest, and reads poetry when he's worried. She doesn't love him, and I won't marry for anything less."
Her passion entranced him; her sweetness rocked him. He couldn't find his voice after such an intimate disclosure of hurts and longings, and even anger at the indignities of life. He stared into large, beautiful eyes, felt the heat of her beside him, aching anew to take her into his arms and comfort her completely. He understood the reasons behind her conclusions, and yet he wanted to shake her into believing in him, in the truths of his past, the nature of his desires, and the longings in his own heart. But right now, more than he'd ever wanted anything else, he wanted Natalie to trust him.
From instinct more than calculation, he boldly
began to caress her neck in soft, wispy movements. She didn't react outwardly to the touch, just continued to stare at him through the measured stillness. He knew she was thinking about what she'd just said to him, attempting to gauge his reaction, waiting for his response.
"Do you know," he whispered very slowly, never taking his eyes from hers, "just how badly I want to make love to you? Not to your body, Natalie, but to you? Do you know how hard it is to wait for something wonderful?"
Her determination faltered at those words, or perhaps just his confidence, her eyes betraying the first real flicker of doubt, of charged emotions and confusion of purpose.
And from that small hesitation on her part, which he considered to be a positive response, and from his own surge of raw need, he took the ties by his fingers and gently pulled until they gave way, opening the very top of her gown.
Her breathing became shallow, but she was captivated—by his daring, by cravings within her that she was, with each passing day, finding increasingly difficult to resist.
With cautious reverence coupled with a nervousness he'd never felt before, Jonathan placed his palm directly on her skin between her breasts, taking only seconds to savor the heated silkiness beneath his hand and fingers. Then, before she could protest or move, he slid it to the side and covered her bare breast completely.
She sucked in a clear, sharp breath from the contact, but beyond that she remained still, focused, eyes fusing with his—not from fear but with a growing sense of wonder.
His throat tightened; his body ached with an incredible urgency. Gently he stroked her flesh, back and forth and in soft circles, as he brushed her nipple to a hard, round point against his thumb and fingers.
At last she swallowed with difficulty, eyes gleaming with tears before she finally closed them, serenely, grasping his wrist and pulling his hand out from beneath her nightgown. But most perfect of all was that she didn't let it go. She clung to it, cradling his arm tightly against her chest, between her breasts, as if it were a priceless thing she feared losing.
Jonathan remained still beside her, watching her for a long time as she succumbed to sleep, feeling the steady beating of her heart against his hand.
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