by Lavinia Kent
He drew back. Her tone had been gentle, but she could feel his stiff reaction.
She didn't open her eyes as she heard him turn, but then . . . "I don't mean it like that. I don't mean never – just not now, not tonight. I need time to think, to decide."
"To decide what? I am your husband." There was anger in his voice.
"How quickly you revert. One moment I am thinking that just maybe . . . and then there you go trying to take charge, trying to demand."
"Believe me, if I were trying to demand you would know it. That is one way that I have always respected you.” He glared down at her.
"The only way – and even there I think it's as much lack of interest as anything. Why bother with your wife when you have a mistress?"
He stepped back, paced to the mantel and then back. He stopped before her, this time leaving more room, but his eyes continued to burn with fire. "I have not had a mistress for years, not since Coquette."
"Oh, was that her name?” Annie knew she was just about spitting the words, but could not help it. She'd been so determined to remain indifferent – and then he said he'd try calling her Annie. Something so small and she softened. But did he appreciate it? No. He made assumptions, just like always.
Rising to her feet, she did her best to meet him glare for glare. "Is this really what you want to talk about? Is this what you think a conversation between husband and wife should be like, a discussion of his mistress?"
"Georg. . .Annie. That's not what I meant.” His eyes dropped to her lips and then lower to her chest.
Annie glanced down, the robe had come loose and he could see . . . well, he could see everything. Looking back up, she met his glance, felt the heat, felt the burn. All the air left the chamber in less time then it took to blink. And then she couldn't breathe. All she could do was stare. They weren't actually touching but she could feel the beat of his heart against her breast, feel the heat of his body coursing through her.
And then it wasn't enough. She was pressed against him, her mouth finding his. Her fingers tangled in his hair pulling him closer yet. He nibbled at her lips and then found entrance, her tongue hungry to meet his. Everything she had dreamed for months was here, was now.
She pulled his head nearer, wanting no separation. When his hands cupped her buttocks and raised her to press against his hardness it was all she could do not to moan her desire aloud. His fingers splayed, cupping her lifting her. Her hips thrust forward urgently, wanting more.
This was heaven. This is what she had longed for.
This was wrong.
Chapter Eight
Richard would never understand women. One minute his wife was spitting fury like an angry kitten and the next . . .
Lips. Breasts. Kisses. Fire. Passion.
He knew he needed to think, needed to stay in control, needed to be sure this was what he wanted. God, who was he kidding, of course, this was what he wanted.
Thought vanished and only sensation remained. His lips released hers, moving down her face, stopping to taste the sweet curve of her jaw. Ahh, the wonder of her neck, of that delicate skin and those tender places that made her whole body shudder. Wrapping his hands about her he lifted her higher, buried his face in that wondrous spot where neck and chest met, that gentle hollow between her clavicles. He could have stayed here forever – only he couldn't. The urge grew to move, to feel more, to see more – to have it all, to have her.
His lips moved lower, nipping at the edge of her nightrail, pulling at the ribbon that held it. Thin linen had no chance against his determination. The ribbon slipped and he moved on, tasting the swells of her breasts. Lemons. She smelled of lemons, lemons and paradise. He licked, tasting the salt, tasting the woman.
He lifted her higher, settling her core against his straining erection. Her thighs settled about him, centering him just where his body demanded he be.
Creamy skin. The flush of passion. The rosy pink of a budding nipple. Hand or mouth? How should he capture his prize?
Mouth.
He licked lower, moving up the full curve. His tongue savored her flavor, flicked out . . .
Her hands pushed against his chest – hard.
He gripped her tighter, his needs could not be denied.
"No." Her word was sharp. The meaning unmistakable.
Still he resisted. He was a man. She was his.
"No." A further push against he chest.
Relaxing his grip, he let her slide down until her feet again rested upon the floor. He could feel her breath heavy against his chest, feel the speeding beat of her heart.
How could she be saying no? She'd been with him on that wild ride – what had stopped her?
"This isn't right. Isn't what I want.” The words vibrated against his chest, the warmth of lips caressing him.
His fingers curled with the urge to pull her tight again, to ignore her words and follow the messages her body was sending him. "I think it is. I can taste your want.” He nuzzled the edge of her chin.
"Yes. No. I mean no.” Her hands pushed against him again, separating the heat of their bodies. "I cannot deny that I -- that I -- I enjoy your kisses, but this is not what I want, not now."
She was killing him. He stepped back, paced away. His body demanded that he grab her again, that he show her what she wanted. Those peaked nipples did not lie, neither did her flushed cheeks, and passion darkened eyes. Damn. This was not what he had wanted when he'd come in – he really had wanted to talk, to reach understanding. Blast. He had wanted this too. Well, not this, but what he'd had a moment before. No man would want this. He felt the urge to punch something. That would not help anything.
"So what do you want?” God, he felt like he was back where they'd been moments before – only much more frustrated.
"I asked you to leave.” She did not sound as sure as she had before.
It was as if the last couple minutes had not happened. He turned again, and walked to the door.
He paused to look at her. Her dark hair lay loose about her shoulders, inviting his touch. Her lips were bruised with passion, red and full. Her eyes spoke of so many things – pain, desire, confusion, want . . . It hurt to look at them. Far better to stop at her breasts, at those tight nipples and snowy curves. His frustration grew. "We will talk tomorrow. Sleep well."
He said the last full aware that neither of them was going to spend that night slumbering with the angels.
#
She'd barely slept at all. Annie wished she could just lean her head against the back of the chair and let her eyes drift shut, only she doubted she'd sleep anyway. Elizabeth sat across from her engrossed in a volume of poetry. Annie glanced down at her own novel and wished she could pretend such interest. She couldn't sleep. She couldn't read. She didn't feel like walking in the garden, or riding, or . . . She didn't really feel like anything, well anything but . . .
She felt herself color at the thought.
Why couldn't she stop thinking about the blasted man?
She was glad that he'd left last night, that he hadn't pushed things farther. Why hadn't he pushed things farther?
At least she would have slept well if he had. And she could have blamed him for however she felt this day.
"Are we ever going to talk about it?" Elizabeth asked, startling Annie from her thoughts.
"Talk about what?"
"Your husband, I imagine. Whatever it is that has you shifting in you chair like it was filled with burning coals."
"Am I that obvious? I thought I was covering it well."
Elizabeth raised a brow. "You've been staring at one page for ten minutes and then you turned twenty in less time than it takes me to finish one. So, do you wish to talk?"
"No, but I don't know what else to do."
Leaning back in her chair, Elizabeth waited.
"I know we'd decided that I would try to make Richard earn my affection – but every time he touches me I – I – I have feelings that make me want to – Oh, I can't even say wha
t it makes me want to do."
Elizabeth chuckled. "It is amazing the things we ladies can do that we could never talk about – not even with our best friends. I do, however, understand. I remember those feelings well. And, in truth, I still feel them. No matter how angry Westhampton makes me, if he looks at me in a certain way and then touches me I lose all track of the argument. It's the only time I don't win – although there is a certain type of wining in such a defeat."
Annie laughed along with her, but her heart was not in it. When she talked with Elizabeth she could pretend it was all a game, but she knew it was not. This was her life. No winning move would get rid of the knots that twisted and turned in her stomach. In her experience life did not have winners and losers, merely survivors.
Suddenly rising to her feet, she held out her hand to Elizabeth. "Let us walk. It is a beautiful morning and, as you have mentioned, I am restless. We can plot while we stride down to the lake. One of the grooms mentioned that the ducklings have hatched. He said there's one duck with a good dozen fuzzy babes trailing behind her."
"Well," Elizabeth said, "that may be a wonder to see, but I am glad I am not her. I can't imagine a dozen babes all at once. I must admit even the thought of one still has me quivering in terror."
"Oh, one is quite wonderful. I don't know what I would have done without Robbie. I will, however, admit that the thought of a dozen would have me running in fear." The thought of another one, another precious baby was something, however. Annie had loved the feeling of that soft baby hair rubbing beneath her chin – and the smell, that wonderful sweet fragrance of a newborn.
"I am sure that you are right, and that I will find out for myself soon enough – assuming Westhampton can stop traveling long enough to find out."
The two women smiled at each other and then went to gather their shawls for the walk. For a few moments Annie would think about nothing save the joy of the spring sun and the joy and fun of watching the mother duck herd her babes.
#
"Elizabeth believes I should make you earn my affections, court me again.” Annie said to her husband as they sat before the fire. It was warm for the blaze, but the dancing flames added a certain cheer to the dusky room. Elizabeth had retired immediately after dinner pleading a headache, but Annie knew her friend just wanted to give them privacy to settle their differences.
"You talked about our relationship with Elizabeth?" Richard asked it as a question, but Annie could hear the horror in his voice.
"Well, not everything – I did leave out some details.”
"I am glad of that." Did he sound like he was choking?
"Yes, I didn't tell her of the truth of your brother's death. I knew you wished that to remain a secret. But, everything else seemed fair. I was hoping that she could give me some advice on starting again with one’s husband."
"Everything." Richard sputtered over his sip of brandy. It was clear he had heard nothing after that.
"Why, yes.” Annie held her face calm. She'd never before realized how easy it was to tease her husband. "Was there something you didn't want me to tell her?"
Richard was still sputtering something about women and gossip and he'd always known it.
She blinked at him fluttering her lashes. "We've been discussing husbands and abandonment. She seems to believe it possible to forgive them. I am still waiting to see."
"I did not abandon you."
"What do you call leaving before our son was born and barely coming back for years?"
"You told me you wanted me to go."
"I'd just found you with your mistress. What did you expect me to say? I didn't mean that I never wanted to see you again."
"How was I supposed to know that?"
She would not roll her eyes or express her exasperation. "You could have come to investigate. I would have assumed you would want to see your son more often."
"I did . . . I would have come, but then you came to London."
"When would you have come? I think I waited long enough. I daresay that if I hadn't come and your brother hadn't died you still would not have come."
"I would have come – perhaps not soon, but I would have come. It took me awhile to come around to the idea of marriage – but I do know what I want now, and you are it."
Rising to standing, Annie began to pace about the room, her earlier restlessness returning. "I do not know if I believe that."
"But you do not disbelieve it?"
"I just don't know.” She paced some more. "Perhaps Elizabeth is right and I need to make you prove yourself. I need something so that I can believe you, trust you. I do know I don't want a marriage without trust."
He rose and came to stand beside her. "What does that mean?"
"Maybe I should set you tasks and see if you can complete them? Or maybe you should bring me gifts, tokens of your affection. How did you make me love you the first time?"
His face said, "bloody hell," even if he kept his lips tight pressed. Was it really such a difficult question she had asked? Annie had to admit that she was not quite sure of the answer. Moving to the window she stared out. The last reds of the sunset still marked the sky, the branches of the oaks moving in a gentle breeze. Fireflies danced across the lawn.
Turning, she held out her hand. "Walk with me."
"What? Why?" He took a step toward her, but did not reach for her hand.
"Consider it your first task. A walk as the sun fades from the world and the stars appear. Do you remember that first summer how I would sneak out just to stare up at the sky?"
Now, he did take her fingertips within his own. "I thought you were sneaking out to meet me. Your father would not have approved. You were still engaged to my brother."
A sad smile curved about her lips. "I did want to see you, but it was also the magic of a summer night. I am not sure I've walked out at night since Robbie was born."
He grasped her fingers more tightly, bringing them to his arm. "Then let us walk. That is one task I can complete for my lady, my Annie.” Her name trailed off his lips, soft, slow, seductive.
They slipped through the door onto the terrace, the scent of roses filling the air. The night lay about them in ever increasing darkness. There was the slightest of chills and Annie wondered if she should send Richard for her shawl – yet another task he could complete. But, no, this was an adventure. One did not need a shawl for an adventure.
Wordlessly they walked down the graveled path toward the lake. Shadows slid across their path as the breeze rustled through the trees. An owl cried once and then was silent.
Annie slowed, pulling Richard to a halt. She leaned her head back and stared up at the heavens. "There are moments when I feel so small."
Richard didn't answer, and when she glanced back at him she saw his eyes were focused on her face. "You are more beautiful than the stars," he said.
She laughed, for what else was there to do. "Are you trying to be a poet now? I don't think you've ever compared me to the stars before. I think you once blushed and told me that I was pretty. Now, I am more beautiful than the stars?"
"Don't laugh. I was a boy then – and I am now a man. I speak only the truth."
"If there was enough light you would see me blush brighter than an apple."
"Why should you blush at the truth?"
"Enough.” She stepped away from him and again looked to the sky. "If you say another word I will decide you speak nothing but rubbish. Besides I need more than words. Words are easy. Actions are more difficult – even the simple action of walking with your wife. You would not always have agreed to it and have rarely been around even if you had wanted to."
Richard moved to stand behind her, resting his hands lightly on her hips. "So it is action that you want?” He leaned closer pressing his hips against her. It was a small gesture, but his meaning was unmistakable."
She should have pulled away, but instead she let her head fall against his chest. "Not this type of action. I want you spend time with me, me and Rob
bie."
"That I can do." He pulled her tighter, the heat of his body warming her.
It was too much, the temptation too great. Her body was crying out for her to lean back further, to invite him to wrap his arms about her, to invite his touch to rise, his lips to lower. No.
She pulled away and with a deliberate laugh ran towards the lake.
"Oh no, you don't." His answering laugh followed her.
She knew she had no hope if he actually gave chase, but could Richard ever forget his dignity for long enough to actually run? It was hard to imagine. Dukes did not run through the garden in play. Dukes did not laugh and toss their shoes aside so that they could wade in shallows. Dukes did not . . .
He was following her – and not at some dignified trot. He was in true pursuit. Lifting her skirts, she made a dash, but it was hopeless.
Within seconds he'd caught her, pulling her tight against him, lifting her into the air and twirling her about.
And as she spun through the air something within her sank and buried itself, all those feelings that she'd been holding on to in order to save herself from being hurt again hid. The anger was not gone. The pain might never leave. But for now they scurried into the deep corners of her soul leaving her free to relax and enjoy.
This time when her laughter rang out there was nothing deliberate, nothing practiced, nothing but pure joy. When Richard slowly allowed her to slide back down his body she let herself enjoy every moment, every touch. When her lips came parallel to his forehead, it was her who reached out and planted a soft kiss above his left brow, who tangled her fingers in his hair.
It might have been the magic of the night or just the decision to let go of all her heartache and unhappiness, but whatever the cause she was going to take this moment and hold it tight, to dream that it could last until morning light. The stars were so bright. The wind whistled by in the fairest of caresses. The air chilled, but not so cold as to cause discomfort. And the scent. She didn't know if was him, or the scent of flowers yet to come, or the very scent of growth, but it filled her senses, making her want more and more.