by Heather Boyd
As the door closed behind him soundlessly, he hesitated. He should lock the door behind him but then how would Walter return to his own home later that night. In the end, he concluded he had no choice except to leave the door unlatched. He didn’t know how long he had to speak with Imogen alone and he shouldn’t waste time. He snuck up the staircase hoping any servants would assume he was Walter returning from his evening out. He stopped at the doorway to the bedchamber he believed Imogen rested in and listened carefully. When he heard nothing he set his trembling hand to the door handle and slowly let himself inside.
CHAPTER TEN
Imogen jerked upright when her door opened and a floorboard creaked with the weight of a footstep. She held still and listened hard. “Who’s there? Walter?”
“Hello Imogen.”
Peter’s voice shocked her and she clutched her sheets against her chest. He shouldn’t be in her house at this hour of the night let alone standing at her bedchamber door.
The door closed softly and Imogen’s heart really began to thump in panic. “What the devil are you doing in my room?”
His footsteps grew closer. “I wanted to talk to you and since you never go out, I had no choice but to come in.”
Imogen wished she could see. It must be close to midnight. “How did you get in the house?”
Metal thudded against wood. “Key.”
The sheet tumbled from her hands. “Have you taken leave of your senses? Where’s Walter? What have you done? Did you win the key from my brother or stoop to steal it from him?”
“Neither.” The bed dipped as he sat at her side. “Lost all interest in gambling when you tossed me aside. Deuced unlucky of me. Would you believe Walter handed over the key to me with his best wishes?”
“No.” She swallowed the hard lump lodged in her throat. “He would never do such a thing.”
“Wrong. He’s not completely under your thumb as you imagine, for which I must say I am extremely grateful. Walter has been surprisingly helpful in my wish to speak with you privately.”
A heavy weight settled on her legs. His hand? Imogen fought to breathe as she shook off the sensation she’d lost control of her relationship with Peter. The man she remembered was so lacking in passion he would never dream of risking her reputation. “We’ve already spoken several times since your return. I’ve told you we do not suit.”
He swept his hand up to her hip and she trembled at the storm of sensations his caress caused in her. She slapped her hand over his, holding his wandering fingers in place.
“If you recall our final conversation a year ago I disagreed.” He touched her jaw with his fingertips so lightly she held her breath. “I should have fought harder. When you had no reason to pity me you couldn’t get out of the engagement fast enough, discounting any future we might have had together. I gather you wanted a malleable husband and a man with a title and money of his own would never do. The day my inheritance was confirmed you ended us.”
She huffed at his claims. “There was hardly any us.”
“No.” He dropped his hand to her shoulder and skimmed the skin of her neck above her nightgown. “I should apologize for being too much of a gentleman before, I suppose. I never laid more than a finger on you to prove otherwise and I find I regret not being clearer the first time very much.”
Imogen clenched her hands together to control her shaking. What had happened to the carefully polite gentleman of last night? “Hardly the behavior of an ardent suitor.”
Peter brushed her cheek with his lips. His hot breath fanned over her skin to give her gooseflesh down her arms. “So, it’s true you would have had me be wicked and steal a kiss or two before we married?”
Imogen shifted back against the headboard and crossed her arms over her chest. Her breath came in a rush and she couldn’t calm it. “If the idea had occurred to you I’m sure you would have done something about it long before now.”
His wide palm cupped the side of her head and eased her toward him. “Imogen, the idea occurred to me. I just didn’t want to make a mess of yet another situation. But that was a year ago and I’m no longer a patient man.”
As she took her next breath, Peter’s lips crashed against hers, tossing her theory he wasn’t attracted to her out the window. His arms encased her in warmth. Desire flooded her senses. She struggled to know how to respond as Peter took command of the kiss. He tugged at her lips, the tip of his tongue danced across the tender skin until she gasped.
A groan left him as he slipped his tongue into her mouth and tangled with hers. He pulled her closer, into his arms, freeing her from the barrier of the sheets that stood between them. He cupped her face as he softened the embrace, pressing kisses gentler than she had ever expected to her lips. “Should have done that long ago,” he whispered when he drew back momentarily.
The next instant he kissed her fiercely and her limbs turned to butter. She melted and threaded her fingers in his hair, anchoring herself to him so she didn’t fall. But she was already falling. Falling straight into a desire she had dreamed about, written about, but never experienced or expected to. Peter. She had not imagined such passion from him. The man was full of surprises. Being alone with him in the dark was more intimate than she’d thought possible.
He released her mouth and kissed along her jaw.
Imogen took a moment to gather her scattered wits. Peter was in her bedchamber making love to her neck as if he had the right to. As if they hadn’t spent an entire year apart from each other and were even greater strangers now than a year ago. Never mind his kisses were lovely, so thrilling they made her blush to the soles of her feet. If they were found together her reputation would be ruined. The gossip would be brutal and Peter might feel honor bound to propose to her. She couldn’t allow him to sacrifice his freedom just because he might be lonely.
She pushed at his shoulders. “Stop. You must stop.”
He drew back. Urgency threaded into his breathing, the pant of it fast over her cheek. “Why must we? It’s very clear we both desire each other.”
“Because it’s wrong.”
“Oh, Imogen. Kissing you is the most right thing I’ve ever done. Accepting the end of our engagement last year was a mistake I don’t intend to make again.”
She shook her head. The man couldn’t mean that. “If it was a mistake then why did you not come back sooner?”
“Because you told me you could never love me and I was fool enough to believe that was the only reason you ended it,” he whispered against her neck. “I planned to return the second the title was bestowed, but I confess I was still bitter about how things ended between us. I attended balls and parties, the opera and even a house party or two with new acquaintances. Do you know what I thought at each one? I wondered whether I would have enjoyed them more if I’d had you at my side.”
“I wouldn’t have seen any of it. My eyesight had failed well before Christmas.” A bitter pain pierced her chest. “I woke one morning and couldn’t see even my hand when I held it before my face. Poor Walter. I cried for days and he didn’t know what to do to comfort me.”
Peter kissed her again. “I wish I had been here to comfort you. I would have held you in my arms, wiped away your tears and promised to never leave your side.”
It was good to know she hadn’t underestimated his character. She’d believed he would stay, would have allowed their marriage to occur out of a sense of responsibility. She knew him well and had made the right decision then as she would now. “That’s no life for you, Peter. You deserve so much more.”
He shifted on the bed until she lay comfortably over his lap. The position was one she’d never been in before. She felt cosseted and wanted yet free of restraint. He nipped at the skin of her throat. “What I deserve is a lifetime of your kisses and a first look at the next K. D Brahms novel before anyone else.”
“If only that were possible.” She sighed and arched her neck so Peter could continue if he was inclined. To her delight he devoted severa
l more minutes to her throat before he stopped and simply held her against his chest. This side of Peter she wished she’d experienced when she’d been able to see the passion in his eyes. “I cannot write.”
“Yes, you can,” he insisted as he settled a warm hand on her waist. The thin barrier of her nightgown proved little impediment to knowing where each one of his finger lay. “I’ll be your eyes, fingers, and your willing assistant to do whatever your heart desires.”
She froze as his hand drifted along her side, coming to rest below her breast. “I cannot ask that of you.”
“You didn’t. I offered. The same as you offered your fortune and delightful self to save my worthless hide from debtor’s prison. My life is here, Imogen. I’ve wandered aimlessly for the past year and I want a chance to prove to you we belong together. Your lack of sight makes no difference to the way I feel. Let me prove I can be everything you need.”
His mouth descended on her neck again, teasing and setting her senses on fire. His hand rose to cup one breast. She jumped as the overwhelming desire struck her that Peter really did intend to demolish all her false notions of his character. She gasped while his fingers teased her nipple to a hard point through her clothing. For a formerly proper man he was showing a side of himself that was remarkably wicked. She wriggled in his lap. If she was going to stop him from going further then she’d have to speak up soon.
The problem was that his hands were far better than her fantasies had imagined any man could be. She rubbed the soles of her feet on the mattress and the next moment, Peter caught her foot gently and held it still. The touch had her squirming madly. To her surprise, Peter started to laugh softly. “You’re so unbelievably sweet.”
“No one has ever accused me of that.” Imogen tried to free her foot, but he held firm. What a strange thing for Peter to do.
He brushed his lips across hers once more. “Then I’ll consider it a secret and tell no one but you.”
Her struggles stopped as he began to caress along the outside of her leg, lifting her nightgown far higher than it was supposed to be in the presence of a man not her husband. His fingers teased her knee and then he pressed her knees apart.
The sound of a slamming door on the floor below caught her by surprise and she jerked upright on Peter’s lap.
A groan issued from Peter’s throat and he buried his face at her neck. “Forgive me for saying this aloud, but your brother is an utter bastard to come home so soon.” He wrapped his arms about her body and hugged her tightly. “I have to go.”
Imogen turned, rather disappointed by that. “I suspect you should too.”
His lips brushed hers, pressing sweet kisses to her lips that hinted he’d rather not leave her at all. “I will be back tomorrow and the next day until you see sense. This time, I’ll not give up so easy. Sweet dreams, my lady.”
He eased her from his lap, kissed her one last time, before he slipped out of the room and down the stairs. If Peter saw Walter on his way out, she didn’t hear a word of their conversation. She couldn’t imagine what the pair could say to one another at a time like this. Even Imogen didn’t know what to think. She wriggled beneath her bedding and sighed at the situation she found herself in. Peter was mad to want her and to her surprise, she might just be mad enough to want him too.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Peter whistled tunelessly as he took a turn around his back garden. Normally he didn’t torture the neighborhood with his whistling but Imogen stood at the window of her room in the sunlight, staring sightlessly out at the Brighton morning. He wanted her to know he was there and could see her. When she smiled, he ceased his noise, his heart tumbling like mad in his chest. She lit up like the brightest ballroom in London when she smiled. He should remember to tell her that.
“She’s a brave girl.”
Peter glanced at his housekeeper where she foraged in his kitchen garden to his left. “She is.”
Mrs. Simpson shook the dirt from the carrots and wiped her hands on a bit of rag. “Clear broke our hearts to see her suffering all on her own.”
Peter didn’t need the reminder. He was well aware he should have been here despite her rebuff last year. “Well, that will change for the better soon. Have no fear.”
Her smile turned sly. “Always thought you fancied her.”
Mrs. Simpson was far too observant. He winked and raised a hand to his lips to silence her then turned on his heel and hurried inside his townhouse to collect his hat and gloves before a startled Mr. Simpson could offer them. “I’ll be out for most of the day.”
His butler fussed a moment with his new hat flicking away invisible specks of dust from his brim and then sighed contentedly. “Very good, Sir Peter. Do you need a carriage ordered?”
Peter grinned. Simpson would soon discover he preferred things to be as they were before he inherited the title. It was a relief to be able to enjoy the slower pace of life at Brighton. “Not today.”
He stepped out his front door, traversed the short distance to the George’s residence and rapped on the wood. The door jerked open quickly. “Good Morning, Sir Peter.”
“Morning Perkins.” Peter stepped over the threshold and removed his hat. “I’m here to see Mr. George if he has risen for the day.”
The butler gestured to the front room.
“Mr. George could have used a few minutes more of peace,” Walter grumbled from his study where he had one ear pressed to the wall. “The strangest noise from your house is driving me mad. An infernal whistling that comes and goes.”
Peter winced. “Ah, that might have been me.”
Walter looked at him curiously. “You don’t normally whistle, do you?”
He grinned, unable to contain the happiness that had gripped him on waking. If he could sing with any tone at all, he’d probably be doing that instead. “Not really.”
“Good.” Walter put his finger in his ear and jiggled it about. “Damned annoying sound. What did you want to see me about?”
Peter checked that the butler had gone about his business before he replied. “I wanted to see your sister actually. I thought, for propriety’s sake I should pretend to be visiting you rather than her.”
Walter appeared skeptical. “It won’t take long for everyone to guess the truth.”
“Hopefully by then I’ll have convinced Imogen of the myriad advantages of renewing and deepening our acquaintance.”
Walter’s face pinked. “I thought that was what last night was for.”
Last night had been interrupted before he had obtained Imogen’s agreement. What he did know was that her lips and body were made for him. “Sadly, negotiations may take a bit more time than one night. I was hoping to continue my quest today.”
Walter’s frown grew. “And what will you do today that… ah… couldn’t be done last night?”
Peter grinned. “Today, K. D. Brahms lives again.”
A relieved smile passed over Walter’s face as he dropped to the chair behind his desk and rubbed a hand over his head. “You’re happy now to have her write. I thought you disapproved in the beginning.”
“I’ll admit, I was stunned on first discovery. But I re-read every book she wrote while I was away and I’m utterly astounded by her gift. I’m surprised she hasn’t run mad because she cannot continue her storytelling.”
Walter winced. “It was a close thing for a while there. In the end, I took her writing table into another room and locked it away. Without the desk to linger beside, she seemed less agitated.”
Poor darling. If his plan went the way he hoped, Imogen would have one less reason to be unhappy. She could find comfort in having an outlet for her creative talents. The fact that he would secure a first look at her work was a minor inducement to press on with his plans. And there was always the delightful prospect of a chance to steal another kiss or two. “Can you show me where her writing table is?”
“Of course.” Walter smacked the tabletop as he stood. “Come, we’ll collect Imogen on the way a
nd break her out of her doldrums.”
Walter thumped up the staircase and Peter followed close behind. He couldn’t imagine the difficulty he would have faced if he’d attempted to see Imogen like this without Walter’s approval and support. After last night’s kisses and touches he was eager for more. He couldn’t believe he’d walked away a year ago without attempting to claim one single kiss. What an utter fool he’d been. If he had tried and succeeded then, he might not be in the position of having to woo the bride he’d almost had.
As he gained the top step, Imogen stepped out of her bedroom, walking stick in hand, her sightless gaze skimming the hall before her. Today she wore a pretty gown of pale blue. The color made her skin glow but the frown forming on her face dimmed his hopes for an easy discussion. “Who is with you Walter?”
Peter smiled that she could detect her brother’s steps without George saying a word. One day, if luck were with him, she would know his steps just as well or better. “Good morning Imogen.”
Her perfect mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ as he drew closer. Her gaze rose until it seemed she could see him. She couldn’t, of course, but if he didn’t know better he could swear she pinpointed exactly where his face was located. When Walter turned away to unlock the other room, Peter touched Imogen’s cheek softly and bent his head to steal a kiss.
“Good morning.” Her voice was as breathless as he felt himself to be.
He caught her fingers in his and squeezed. “It’s a lovely day out. Would you care to take a stroll along Marine Parade?”
Her chin dropped a little, and worry added creases to her forehead. “I’d rather not go out.”
So, no public wooing. He grinned at the remaining possibility of how he could spend the upcoming hours. “Very well. We’ll do something else together.”
“Peter, you shouldn’t be here.” A heavy bang and muttered curse reached them from the other room and Imogen turned toward the sound. “What is Walter doing?”
Peter placed his hands on her shoulders and steered her into the room. “Time to write.”