Lottie froze, but she was unable to prevent the warm tingles that were flooding through her. What did he mean to do? She made a little gesture. ‘But they are jumbled and you were busy. You will be neglecting—’
‘The best place for them. I have more important uses for this table now. You are at the correct height.’ His voice was molten honey, flowing over her, lapping at her senses. Lulling her.
Lottie struggled to concentrate. ‘Just the height for what?’
‘Trust me.’ Tristan looked down at her pale oval face, her blonde hair golden against the deep red-brown of the desk. All his muscles tensed. Patience. He wanted to get this right.
She had come to him, had kissed far more passionately than he had expected, but he wanted her to understand that passion was not something that had to be hidden in the dark. He wanted her to surrender to him. Fully. Here. Now.
His hands grasped her shoes, eased them off. One, then the other. He forced himself to go slow. Rolled her stockings down, tracing the outline of her calf with steady fingers, and listened to her intake of breath. He balanced her pink feet on his hands. Small. Vulnerable. A finger slowly touched the now healing blisters. Her foot arched towards him and he placed a quick kiss on its instep. Tasted the smoothness of her perfect skin. His actions had damaged it, but it was healing.
He glanced up. Beyond her feet was the lace edging of her drawers and then the white froth of her petticoat. His body ached with need. He had to go slow. He had to savour this.
‘What are you doing?’ She raised herself up on her elbows and her hands began to smooth her skirts down.
‘Lie back on the table. I want to see how your feet are healing.’
‘I could have told you that.’ She gave a half smile as her hand tucked a stray ringlet behind her ear. ‘Your ointment worked wonders. I have obeyed your instructions.’
‘I wanted to make sure. Let me examine your feet.’ His fingers encircled her ankle. Held her still. ‘Indulge me.’
‘Are you sure it is safe?’
‘You were the one to close the door.’
Her shoulders relaxed slightly. ‘Yes, I suppose you are right.’
He put out a finger and traced the outline of her bottom lip, felt it tremble beneath his touch.
Tristan lifted her right foot and massaged it with strong steady fingers. His fingers circled and stroked and gradually her foot began to relax and her eyes became hooded.
‘Tristan, I hardly think a table is the right place for this.’ Her voice had deepened to husky rasp. ‘There is a sofa over there.’
‘It is exactly the right place for what I have in mind. Trust me.’
‘I do trust you. You are my husband.’
Tristan raised the foot to his mouth, closed his lips around her big toe and suckled. He heard a gasp of pleasure and reached out to catch her questing hand. Her fingers curled around his as he trailed his tongue down the instep of her foot. He squeezed them as he heard a moan of pleasure come from her throat.
Slowly he put one of her feet on his shoulder. Lifted the other. Trailed open-mouthed kisses from her heel to her toe. Heard her gasp of anticipation as his mouth hovered over her, teasing her toe with his tongue while his hands drew circles on her calves. He stopped. Looked towards her. Her skirts flowed around them and her drawers gaped opened, revealing her dark tangle of curls and her innermost folds—pink, glistening. Tempting him. His groin ached to breaking point.
He caught his breath and feasted on the sight as the urge to take her threatened to swamp him.
His body throbbed with need, but he drew on his reserves of self-control. He had to remember that she was not experienced. He would introduce her slowly to pleasure. Show her what it could be like between a man and a woman. Show her that a wife could experience passion with her husband. That it should be more than simply a duty—it could be the most pleasurable thing in the world.
‘Are you finished?’ Her voice brought him back from the brink.
‘Finished?’ He ran his fingers up her calf, under the fine linen, caressing her curves. ‘I have barely begun. Now you shall discover what you can do with a table. Why it is more necessary than a sofa or a bed. What its true purpose is.’
‘True purpose?’ Her tongue ran over her lips, making them glisten.
‘Relax and enjoy.’ He reached out and touched her hand. ‘But if, at any point, you wish to say stop, do so and I will. I want to give you pleasure.’
‘Pleasure.’ Her husky voice sent a quiver of desire through him. And he barely retained his self-control. ‘I will hold you to your promise.’
His fingers travelled up her legs over the drawers, this time, skimming until they reached her warm, moist cleft. He took his finger and very deliberately stroked along its length. Listened to her gasp. Forced himself to wait. To see if she could take more. To see if she wanted more. Her eyes were closed, her mouth full, but she uttered no protest.
He stroked more firmly, deeper. Saw her hips rise and her head began to writhe on the wood as her hands searched for purchase.
He slid one finger in and her body arched to meet him. Tightening around him. Soft. Warm.
He withdrew, bent his head and slid her forward and up until his breath touched her hidden folds. He felt the shiver go through her. His body tensed, waited, as her face was hidden from him in a froth of white. But her only reaction was to tighten her legs about his neck, urge him closer.
His tongue darted forward and lapped at her crease.
She gasped and wriggled as another wave of pleasure hit her senses. He put a hand on her stomach, held her there to allow her time to absorb the sensation. ‘Tristan.’
‘Do you like this?’ he asked as his deep gaze penetrated hers. She could only nod. Every particle of her seemed focused on this one spot. She knew many would be horrified, but his tongue against her innermost folds created a need within her. She wanted more. Her innermost being cried out for more as her body writhed against the silken smooth wood.
‘Please.’ It was no more than a breath.
He lowered his head and resumed his lazy exploration of her folds and hidden places. Taking her to the brink and retreating. She gave an inarticulate cry and her body bucked upwards as he found her innermost core and suckled. A great molten wave washed through her and her hands clung to the table top as her body arched upwards to meet him, to seek more of the sensation.
Her world exploded.
Her hands gripped the edge of the table, held on as his mouth continued to play between her thighs.
Then, when she felt herself begin to break, he raised his head. Stopped, looked at her. Leant forward. Placed a gentle kiss against her mouth.
‘I need…’
‘Soon. Soon.’ He slowly and deliberately unbuttoned his trousers. Lowered her legs to his waist, put his hands on her hips and brought her forwards. Entered her. Impaling himself. Her body opened for him, lifted up, urged him to drive deeper.
All around her stars burst as he called the rhythm. Faster and faster she felt the table slide under her bottom. She held on to him with her legs. Drove him deeper. Needing him. Needing to feel the length of him. Then, with a great cry, the world exploded for a second time. She heard his cry echo hers as together they reached that exquisite plateau.
He lowered her back down to the table. And she lay there, panting, looking up at the white confection of the ceiling. A deep languor went through her body. She reached out a hand, brought his fingers to her face. Pressed them against her cheek as no words could describe what she felt. She wanted this floating to continue for ever.
He traced the outline of her swollen mouth with his thumb, gathered her in his arms and carried her to the sofa. Tristan sat down with her nestled in his lap. Her head rested on his shirt and her hand played with the buttons.
‘Now do you see what a table can be used for?’ his lazy voice whispered against her ears.
‘I am beginning to understand.’ She gave a slight laugh. ‘But perhaps I can
have a reminder every now and then. From my husband. Tristan.’
Tristan felt the husky laugh go through him. He wanted to shout and dance. He had done it. He had tamed her. She wanted him for herself, not for his title or for his money. His plan had succeeded.
‘Do you like it here?’
A crease came between her eyebrows. ‘It has potential. Does the sofa have other uses as well?’
Tristan paused. He wanted her again, but he also wanted her to understand about her misconceptions. How she had to stop leaping to judgements. He wanted her to trust him. Completely. There should be no secrets between them. But how? Would she understand why he had done it this way? Gently he eased her off his lap. ‘I meant the house.’
‘The house is fine, but I want to be with you, Tristan.’
‘We need to speak, Lottie.’ He lifted a damp curl from her face. ‘About the future. About what happens next. After the honeymoon. After the wedding trip.’
She sat up straight, her hands primly in her lap. Her eyes became troubled. ‘To speak? Is there something wrong, Tristan? What have I done? This is our home, isn’t it?’
‘No, nothing is wrong. Everything is very right.’ He gathered her hands in his. ‘There are a few things—’
His voice was drowned out by the steady knocking on the door. ‘Master, master,’ Mrs Elton called. ‘A man has come to see you and he swears it is urgent.’
‘I will see him later.’
There was some mumbling. ‘He says that he is from Misters McGowan and Saidy, sir. Urgent, like. Important.’
Tristan ran his fingers through his hair, glanced back at where Lottie perched. If McGowan and Saidy had summoned him, it was because Peter had not held true to his promise. Tristan would have to make Peter understand there were consequences to his actions.
Lottie would have to wait. He wondered idly what she would look like dressed in nothing but a strand of pearls. They would be his gift to her. A way to explain. An omen for the future.
‘I have to go, Lottie.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘Trust me on this.’
‘Go where?’
‘Away on business. I should be back within a day.’
Her bottom lip trembled. ‘I will miss you.’
‘And I you,’ Tristan said, looking down at her. She started to rearrange her clothes, but he caught her hands. ‘Stay like that until after I have gone. Let me make a memory of you like that. My passionate wife.’
Her cheeks flushed scarlet.
Tristan forced his body to turn and leave her. In a few short hours everything would be clear between them.
‘He’s in there, or at least I think he is. McGowan and I slung in him there,’ Saidy said, jerking his head towards the stable when Tristan arrived at Mumps Ha’, the notorious hedge alehouse about a mile from Gilsland. It had lost none of the gloom and secrecy that Sir Walter Scott had noted in his novel about the area. ‘Bawling his eyes out like a girl. I would have expected better of a relation of yours, Thorngrafton.’
‘Have you harmed him?’ Tristan asked, handing the reins of his horse to the waiting groom. The ride from Gortner Hall had taken several hours and the weather had turned nasty. A sharp wind howled down from the north and the alehouse appeared permanently wrapped in mist. ‘I told you that I did not want him attacked, and you were only to approach him if he approached first.’
‘He came in, all swaggering and puffed up. Throwing his weight around in a manner he had no right to.’ Saidy twisted his hat in his hands. ‘Even told us that he were you, like.’
‘That he should not have done.’ Tristan examined his gloves.
‘I thought so. I says to McGowan, I says, this here man is our pigeon. That one that Thorngrafton told us to look out. He ain’t no right to that name.’ Saidy’s smile increased, revealing his broken teeth. ‘He had the stake, no need for a vowel there. Then the games really began. Fancied himself an expert. And it became right interesting for a while…’
‘But have you injured him? I wanted no physical violence.’
‘It weren’t necessary. Hurt his pride, mayhap, but other than that we obeyed orders. He became overconfident. Thought we were a couple of amateurs. It was like taking bonbons from a girl.’ Saidy puffed out his chest. ‘He lost and lost badly.’
‘Who has his vowels?’
‘The vowels are here. Ready for purchase.’ The man’s face took on a crafty aspect.
‘I will pay you for them.’ Tristan held a pile of notes out. ‘Unless you’d care to play cards for it.’
Saidy’s hand went out. He looked at the stables, then back at Tristan. ‘Cards? With you? Not on your life. Not after the other night. You know when to stop. A trick I intend to employ more often.’
‘I thank you for the compliment,’ Tristan said as Saidy handed him Peter’s debts. ‘It is the amount we agreed…the other night. I trust there are no added extras or incidentals.’
Saidy’s face took on an expression of outraged innocence. ‘I don’t need to count it, you know. We were working for you and you do have a certain reputation.’
‘A well-deserved reputation,’ McGowan said as he came out from the stables. ‘That there punch that you laid on Den Casey is the talk of Gretna Green. He were a champion, he were. And don’t deny it were you.’
Tristan nodded. ‘I will see him now.’
The stables were little more than a hovel. A figure crouched on the ground, pleading as Tristan walked in.
‘You have everything. I don’t have anything more.’
‘I warned you what would happen if you attempted to use my name.’
‘I had a letter from Lottie Dyvelston. Addressed to Lord Thorngrafton. I took it as providence.’
‘You had a letter from Lottie?’ Tristan started in surprise. What was Lottie up to? ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘She sent the touching epistle to Shaw’s and enclosed a considerable sum of money.’ Peter gave a watery smile. ‘She was under the impression I had asked your coachman to give it to her in case she needed to escape. Yours, I take it.’
‘Robinson was in an over-generous mood. And a little over-zealous in carrying out my orders.’
‘You should maintain better control of your manservant.’
‘Normally I do.’
Peter tapped the side of his nose. ‘Ah, but Lottie has very fine blue eyes.’
‘I have no wish to discuss the state of my wife’s eyes with you. Or with any other man!’ Tristan barely retained control of his temper.
‘Is your little deception running into difficulties, then, Tristan? Lottie is not feeble-minded. She saw through my stratagem with ease last November.’
‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’ Tristan crossed his arms. ‘I came here to offer you the chance at redemption. A chance to get out of this stinking hellhole and start a new life, away from here.’
‘Your wife appears not to know your proper title and begs me to join you at table when next I am in the area,’ Peter continued as if he had not heard Tristan speak. ‘It would appear that I am not in need of redemption, but you are. You have misled your wife, Tristan.’
‘That is the drink talking, Peter.’ Tristan tapped the vowels against his thigh. ‘I hold your debts.’
Peter’s laughter echoed around the stables as he shook his head.
‘I fail to see the merriment in this situation.’
‘Your wife.’
‘My wife?’ Tristan stared at his cousin in astonishment. ‘What does Lottie have to do with it?’
Peter pressed his fingertips together. ‘I am a gentleman, Tristan. And as such never borrow money from ladies. I sent the money back to Lady Thorngrafton with my compliments. Now who is ruined?’
‘You sent Lottie the money?’ Tristan bit out each word, not able to believe his ears.
‘It seemed the right and proper thing to do. A magnanimous gesture to appease the goddess of fortune.’ Peter put his hands behind his head. ‘I am not without family feeling.’
Peter’s smile increased. ‘That, too.’
Tristan weighed his options. The die was cast. He wanted to be the one to tell Lottie. He might get there before the letter arrived, if he hurried. ‘You are incorrigible.’
‘I am the only kin you have.’ Peter wiped a handkerchief across his face. ‘Now, are you going to give me my vowels back? You need me. I will happily explain that I forced you into the situation. Otherwise, what explanation will you be able to offer her?’
Tristan crossed his arms, stared at his cousin. He could not lie to Lottie. ‘The truth. She deserves nothing less.’
‘But…but…’
‘I am going to give you a chance to start afresh, Peter.’ Tristan tapped the pieces of paper against his leg. ‘Next time, the man you lose to might not be so generous.’
‘You are giving them back to me.’ Peter’s face shone in the pale light. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I never expected it from you.’
‘No, I am keeping them as insurance. You owe me first before anyone else.’ Tristan felt a pool of cold anger surge through him. Peter had so much, every advantage, and he chose to squander it on this. ‘You will not gamble again. You will go elsewhere and start a new life.’
‘But…but…’
‘Do you have the money to pay me?’
Peter hung his head. ‘No. My estates are all mortgaged. I even pawned the family jewels. But you will forgive me. You are my cousin.’
‘I did warn you not to use my title. What is mine stays mine.’
‘You remind me more and more of our uncle, Tristan.’
‘I am not him. His fate is not mine!’ Tristan bit out each word. He pressed his hands into his eyes, regained control. ‘Peter, I do want what is best for you, so you can prosper.’
Peter hung his head, defeated. ‘Where? Where should I go?’
‘I will provide you passage to one of the colonies. Prove yourself and you will go far away from here. I am not without mercy, Peter.’ Tristan permitted a smile to cross his face.
Michelle Styles Page 20