Kate bit her tongue until the tip ached. “Sir, I have not given you leave to address me as such.”
“And again you show your sensitivity to what is right and proper, Miss Blakely. I wish I could say the same for some of the company gathered here.” He glared past her in the direction of the card players. “For instance, I must question your acquaintance with Mr. Carlisle. You seem on easy terms with him.”
“He is a friend of the duke’s. I could hardly give him a direct cut.”
“Still, a lady may be cool, distant, and remote to such approaches. He is irreverent, impertinent, and capable of leading a young woman astray.”
“Surely you are not implying I am foolish enough to be led about by such a man?”
The vicar smiled. “Indeed not. You have reassured me. I should have realized your appearance of cordiality toward him rose from your tactfulness and discretion. I shall say good-bye for now, but I look forward to meeting you again in the church when you come to decorate with your presence as well as with flowers.” He gave a creaky little bow and pressed his lips against the back of her hand. “Until then, my… Miss Blakely.”
The ladies soon began to trickle off to their beds and the gentlemen to their various pursuits, leaving Kate thinking longingly of her own room. At least there she could be quiet and alone—unless, of course, one of the bridesmaids or one of their mothers found something new to fuss about and came seeking Kate to complain.
Finally, the only female remaining in the drawing room was Lady Stone, absorbed in a game of piquet with the colonel. Kate couldn’t imagine anyone who needed a chaperone less than the tart-tongued Lady Stone, so she didn’t interrupt their game to say good night.
Two steps outside the drawing room she pulled up short, realizing the vicar was still standing by the front entrance, chatting with the duke. Kate had assumed he would simply walk across to the stables—but how silly of her not to realize Mr. Blakely was the sort to stand on ceremony and insist his horse be brought to him at the front door instead.
Kate ducked sideways into the library. If some of the gentlemen were there, she’d simply say she’d come to get a book for the duchess.
But the room was dim and quiet. The fire had burned low and a couple of lamps, barely glowing, made only a feeble attempt to keep the shadows at bay. Kate picked up a candle from the desk, lighting it from a lamp as she wandered toward a corner where she had seen some novels. She would browse to while away a few minutes, until the vicar was gone. And perhaps taking a book upstairs wasn’t a bad idea after all; though she was tired, she was not in the least sleepy.
Just as she put her hand out to brush the green leather spine of a promisingly thick volume, she heard someone moving behind her. The flame of her candle wavered as she spun around.
Andrew rose from a wing-backed chair, a book in his hand. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost, Kate.”
“I thought no one was here.” Her hands were trembling. She ran a finger across the books, trying to steady herself, and gave a little laugh. “I must have read too many silly novels. Letting myself be so startled—”
“You should read all the novels you desire now, for I doubt the vicar would allow you to spend your time with such frivolous pursuits after the wedding.”
“Thank you for the warning. I shall certainly keep it in mind.”
“But you believe novels would be a small thing to sacrifice, in return for the secure position he offers, don’t you? What has happened to you, Kate?”
“When one lives in complete security, the idea of taking risks has a seductive appeal. But when the future is doubtful, security looks quite attractive.”
Andrew shook his head. “When the future is doubtful, taking risks makes me feel more fully alive.”
“Clearly we are quite different in our perspective. What are you reading, Mr. Carlisle? And if I may ask, how are you reading with so little light?”
“I confess I was doing more daydreaming than studying.” He set his book down on the nearest table. “This is a survey of the new section of America, the Louisiana Territory.”
Kate tugged the fat green volume off the shelf. “It sounds like a wonderful place for an adventurer.”
“Do you really think so?” His voice was soft. “Why don’t you come with me and find out for yourself?”
Her heart gave a strange little flutter.
“Your skills at organizing would come in quite handy in my travels.”
Kate told herself she should have expected something like that. She kept her voice carefully level. “I doubt your patron would appreciate that plan. Good night, Mr. Carlisle.”
“Are you going to marry the vicar, Kate? He seems confident you will.”
“I haven’t made up my mind.”
“Now there’s a reply worthy of the most flirtatious of the bridesmaids—keeping all your options open as long as possible. I am disappointed.”
“And what business is it of yours?”
“You really don’t know?”
He moved closer, and Kate, caught in the corner with a heavy book in one hand and a burning candle in the other, felt trapped. Suddenly he seemed larger, though surely that was only because of the weird shadows cast by the low-burning lights.
Why had she not felt danger in the air the moment he had made himself known? She had been startled, yes, but not worried. Why hadn’t she excused herself immediately?
Because the vicar’s just outside and you’re tired of dealing with him. But she knew better. Part of her had wanted to stay, to talk with Andrew, to banter, even to flirt just a little…
“I’m not preventing you from leaving, you know,” he said softly. “All you have to do is walk past me.”
Her feet seemed to be frozen to the floor.
“That’s what I thought.” He took the book from her hand and set it on the table atop the one he’d been reading. Then he unfolded her fingers from around the candlestick and put it aside.
“Why did you do that?” she whispered.
“Because any man can take a woman unawares when she has her hands full—and she can blast him afterward. But you’re going to kiss me because you want to, Kate, not because I’ve left you no choice in the matter.”
His big, warm palms cupped her jaw and turned her face up to his. She felt the slow surge of his heat warming her blood as his fingertips massaged the delicate skin just in front of her ears, brushed across her lobes, and settled along her neck in the hidden spots under the low swoop of her hair.
For an instant, she considered resisting, and then she tossed the notion aside. Only one thing would burn away the silly, sentimental memory she had carried with her so long. Better to get on with it and let him kiss her again, so she would see there was nothing special about his touch. Then she would understand how foolish it was to still dream of the long-ago summer when she had been just seventeen. The summer when Andrew Carlisle had come to the vicarage each day for tutoring, but also, Kate had sometimes allowed herself to hope, to see her. The summer when, just once, he had kissed her…
His mouth brushed hers as softly as the touch of a butterfly’s wing, his lips firm but gentle. Yes, just the same as all those years ago—and nothing special, really, to have hung her dreams on. A good idea, really, to have come here to revisit the single minute that a foolish girl had believed so important. In just a moment now the kiss would be over, and her foolish fantasy would be gone.
He traced the line of her mouth with the tip of his tongue. “Such a prim little miss you are,” he whispered. “All puckered up and firm… Relax your lips for me this time, Kate. Kiss me back.”
All part of the experiment, she thought. Now that she had gone this far, she might as well finish. Then her illusions would be truly exploded and the vague longing she had always felt for him would be healed…
She let her mouth soften under his. Slowly he nibbled at her lips and then gradually deepened the kiss. What a very interesting sensation, Kate thought. He tasted of so
mething fiery and hot, something that felt intoxicating and robbed her of breath. Something that made her open her mouth wider and seek his tongue with her own.
Andrew’s hands slid to the back of her neck, holding her mouth tightly against his, but the firmness of his touch kindled a sense of urgency within her. She tilted her head to one side. All her senses seemed to be concentrated on his mouth. Why had she never realized before how very sensitive a tongue could be?
He pulled her closer, crushing her breasts against his coat. Kate felt tiny and helpless and weak, able only to melt into him and whimper a little as he stopped kissing her. His lips moved to the point of her chin; she arched her neck and he kissed her throat with tiny nibbling caresses as he worked his way down. His hands slid over her back, sending pinpricks along each muscle, until his palms rested snugly over her derriere and fitted her tightly against him. As his erection snuggled between her legs, Kate gasped, and he kissed her mouth again, this time not gently at all but plundering, demanding, wordlessly showing her what he would like to do…
What should really terrify her, Kate thought with her last fragment of reason, was the fact she was neither shocked nor frightened, but eager. She wanted to find out what came next. Her skin was on fire, and if she could have managed to take her hands off him, she might have torn off her clothes herself.
The library door swung wide, creaking just a little. By the time the butler was fully in view, Kate and Andrew were standing several feet apart. She didn’t know whether she had moved or he had. She felt a flood of relief that sanity had returned.
But her relief was mixed with another emotion—one she didn’t want to study too closely.
“My apologies, sir, Miss Blakely,” Greeley said. “I believed the room to be empty and came in to extinguish the lights.”
Kate’s voice was—miraculously—steady. “We’re just leaving, Greeley. Carry on with your duties.”
She was crossing the hall with her head high when Andrew caught up with her. “I was right, Kate. We are not so different after all. You are an adventurer—in the ways that really count.”
She shrugged. “An interesting sensation, I suppose, but that is all. Hardly something I care to repeat.”
He laughed softly. “Then we shall not repeat ourselves but go forward instead. You will let me know, will you not, when you’re ready for the next stage of the journey?”
***
Olivia reached for Simon’s hand and tipped the sapphire stickpin into his palm. He looked down at it and then up at her. “This is yours, Olivia. You—”
Stung, she said fiercely, “Don’t you dare say I earned it!”
“I would not insult you in such a way. This was a gift—a symbol of a promise.”
“Well, that symbol nearly undid me tonight when I dropped it in the drawing room. If your mother had gotten a better look…”
He smiled slowly. “You were carrying it with you, my dear?”
“What else am I to do with a valuable piece of jewelry? Leave it lying on my dressing table for any chance intruder to find?”
“If you’re giving it back because you have nowhere safe to keep it, I shall hold it in trust until you can safely possess it once more. Or would you prefer something else instead? It is not a lady’s jewel and would have to be reset before you could wear it. And though the sapphire would look lovely against your hair, it’s not at all the right color for your eyes.”
“I am not bargaining for a replacement.”
He didn’t seem to be listening. “An emerald clasp, perhaps. Or a pair of hair combs.”
Olivia shivered. “Not combs! I mean what I say, Your Grace. I never should have let you leave the trinket with me, and I never want to see it again.”
He turned the jewel over in his hand. “Never? Now that seems harsh, my dear. To say I can’t wear a particular jewel because you are offended at the mere sight of it—”
“I didn’t mean anything of the sort, only that I want no more responsibility for keeping your jewels safe.”
“I own I am glad the stickpin has come back to me, for it has always been a particular favorite. Now, however, I will enjoy not only a treasured bauble but a lively memory as well.”
She tipped her head back and stared up at him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes. You said you dropped it in front of my mother?”
“Very nearly.” Once more, Olivia felt the sheer terror of the moment. “And if you dare to say that only adds to its charm, I’ll take it back and stab you.”
He laughed and tucked the stickpin safely away. “Now may I take you downstairs, Lady Reyne?”
She picked up her lamp and put her hand on his arm. “Part of the way, perhaps. It would be obvious if you came to my room.”
“True enough,” he mused. “A risky business for you, smuggling a gentleman in and out of a bedroom right at the head of the main stairs. One would think my mother had planned the location for you, rather than arguing against it. At any rate, I have a better idea.”
Olivia stopped walking. “If you have some sort of mad notion of taking me to the duchess’s bedroom, I won’t do it.”
“My mother’s? Why would I…”
Olivia wished she hadn’t said anything, but his quizzical gaze demanded she give him an answer. “No. I meant your wife’s room.”
He took advantage of the pause to draw her close. “Since I have no wife,” he said against her lips, “one room is as good as another.”
“No, it isn’t. I suppose you won’t understand, but you must not defile the room reserved for your wife by taking a mistress there. You may not care now, but someday when you bring a wife to that room, you would regret the memories.”
“Then let’s go to my room.” His mouth moved with aching slowness over her temple, her cheek, her throat. “I would have given it up for you.”
“No,” Olivia said tartly. “You would have offered to share it with me.”
He smiled. “True enough. I honestly don’t care where we go, Olivia my sweet, as long as we make love. In a bed, without interruption.” He planted his feet wide apart and pulled her into him, clamping his thighs securely against her legs, wrapping his arms around her, and kissing her until she forgot how to breathe. “And more importantly, without delay.”
Olivia couldn’t deny the thrill she felt with the evidence of his desire pressing against her. Her own heartbeat had speeded up. There was something compelling about his urgency—and the risk of being discovered added an extra level of excitement.
But she realized to her own surprise that down deep she didn’t believe the danger was real. The duke would not be caught, for a man of his experience would have planned everything, avoided any possibility of exposure… She was perfectly safe in his arms in whatever bed he chose.
“Your room is closer.” His voice was hoarse. “Or else I’m going to take you right here. It’s up to you.”
For a mad instant she considered. “There’s no bed here,” she pointed out, and reluctantly peeled herself away from him to lead the way down the stairs.
He stopped her halfway down the last flight and blew out the lamp she carried. Then he went ahead, walking as silently as a cat, to peer around the landing. “It’s safe,” he called softly, and she tiptoed down to him as he stood just outside her bedroom door. “Your maid won’t be waiting?”
Olivia shook her head and pushed open the door. She didn’t know how they got across the room to the bed, but she thought she was the one who lost her footing and overbalanced them. The duke twisted as they fell, so she landed on top of him.
“You’re not nearly as soft as a mattress,” she whispered, and he rolled until she was under him, pressed into the featherbed and unable to move. She looked up at him in the firelight, and the harsh beauty of his features made her insides melt with longing. She struggled to free herself, and he let her go—but she moved only enough to tug at her skirt.
“Does taking off your clothes feel like
a waste of time?” he muttered, and at her nod, he laughed. “Then we are in agreement.” He raised her skirt, released the fastenings of his breeches, and answered the aching need inside her with a hard, deep thrust.
Their coupling was fast and tense, and for a moment Olivia gloried in the ferocity of her own needs, the throbbing and painful dark side of passion.
But something black hovered at the corners of her mind, swelling out to smother her desire. Something shrieked in her ears, growing louder until she couldn’t bear the sound. She went rigid in his arms, tried to push him away, and uttered a single tiny sob.
Instantly, the duke’s hold gentled. “I’ve hurt you. My sweet—”
“No.” Olivia could only gasp. “Not really. It was just… memories.”
“Memories? Tell me.”
How foolish of her. She tried to concentrate, letting herself feel the heat of him still fully sheathed inside her. But the magic had flown.
He seemed to know that too. He withdrew, very slowly as if giving her every opportunity to protest and draw him back—but she could not. Still, Olivia felt both bereft and guilty.
The duke kissed her temple and drew her gently against his side, almost in the same way she had cradled Charlotte against her body the night before to soothe the child. “Memories of Lord Reyne, you mean,” he said.
“I’m sorry.”
“The sorrow is mine. In my clumsiness, I reminded you of…”
“No!” She wiped away tears with her fists, suddenly anxious to take away the heaviness in his voice. “You weren’t clumsy. And I wanted to make love this time. I truly did. I don’t know what made me stop. Perhaps just because it was so fast… so hard…”
“You’re saying Lord Reyne raped you,” he said flatly.
“No.” Olivia’s voice was quiet. “He was my husband. He had the right.”
“The right of a husband to make love to his wife carries the responsibility to make the act of love pleasant for her. He was obliged to seduce you, not to take his own satisfaction without concern for yours.”
The Wedding Affair Page 22