She hesitated. But if it helped to explain him to her . . . “Yes.”
“All right. You’ll probably hear about it eventually, anyway.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “How well do you know my brother’s wife, Charlotte? Who used to be Mrs. Harris?”
Her blood stilled. “I’ve met her a few times, and of course I saw her at the wedding today. I know she created the School for Young Ladies in Richmond, the one everyone calls the School for Heiresses.” Until now Minerva had admired the woman, not only for her keen mind and kind spirit, but also for her perseverance in building up her school from nothing.
“What most people don’t know is that she and my brother were on the verge of marrying nearly twenty years ago. It was the summer of the year your parents died, when I was eighteen and she and her family came to visit. She and David were getting along very well. Until I did something stupid that broke them apart.”
A pressure built in her chest. “You and she didn’t—”
“No,” he said hastily. “I doubt my brother would have forgiven that. But as you know, he and I resemble each other a bit. David had given me his dressing gown while Charlotte was visiting, but she didn’t know that. It was fairly distinctive, and she’d only seen David wearing it.”
He glanced out the window. “We had a maidservant who was very . . . loose with her affections. Molly had worked her way through most of the footmen and had decided I was going to be her next conquest. She asked me to meet her outside on the terrace late one night. I did, and we . . . coupled.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “That probably shocks you.”
“No,” she lied, but it did. Her brothers were rogues—or had been—and her father had been the worst rakehell ever, but to her knowledge none of them had ever trifled with the servants, not even Oliver when he was in his wild phase and had lived in a bachelor house of his own. Only the worst of the worst toyed with servants.
Then again . . . “You were young,” she said softly. “Men do stupid things when they’re young.”
“Kind of you to excuse it, but we both know it was unconscionable. That wasn’t the worst part, however.” He dragged in a heavy breath. “Charlotte saw me and thought I was David.”
“Oh dear.”
“Exactly. For complicated reasons that I won’t go into, Charlotte didn’t speak to David about it. She just broke off their association in a rather dramatic way. She sent him a letter that somehow ended up in the papers—”
“Wait, I remember this! That was quite a scandal—that anonymous letter that everyone figured out was about your brother. She wrote that? Good Lord. But it didn’t say anything about . . . well . . . seeing him doing . . .”
“No. That’s why for years, I wasn’t sure if I was responsible for their rift. I told myself I wasn’t.” He gave a harsh laugh. “But some little part of me always knew . . .” His gaze met hers. “It was the one and only time I ever let my physical urges lead me to do something so foolish, and it destroyed their lives for years. I never dreamed . . .”
“Of course not,” she said, his clear guilt making her wish she could wipe it away with a word. “How could you anticipate that?”
“Once I learned of it, I made a solemn vow never to let myself be so carried away by desire that it impinged on my duty to my family. Never to let it make a fool of me again.”
Her heart twisted in her chest. “Is that how you see our desire for each other? As making a fool of you?”
That seemed to stymie him. “No, that’s not what I meant. I meant that . . .”
“You don’t like to be manipulated with it.”
He let out a breath. “Exactly.”
“And you haven’t been trying to manipulate me with desire at all,” she said, baffled by his logic.
That arrested him. “What do you mean?”
“From the moment we began our faux courtship—or what I saw as our faux courtship—you kissed me senseless every chance you got. Assuming that you weren’t letting desire run away with you—as you’ve said quite clearly—you must have been trying to use it to make me amenable to your suit.”
“Perhaps a little.” He shifted uncomfortably on the seat. “But it’s not like that between us. I wasn’t just trying to manipulate you. Our desire was a natural manifestation of our affection for each other. And we were always sensible about it. We didn’t let it drive us to do stupid things. We should continue in that fashion.”
She nearly pointed out that they hadn’t been very sensible about it the day they’d gone to the pond. Or in the inn. Or even when they’d been walking in Hyde Park. But perhaps logic wasn’t the way to handle this.
Because he didn’t sound logical. He sounded more . . . panicked than anything. Men did get panicked with women. She’d recently begun to understand that. Certainly her brothers had panicked when they’d started caring about the women who’d become their wives. She would swear that Giles was starting to care about her. And clearly it panicked him, too, a bit.
“The point is,” he went on, “do not think to use our hunger for each other to twist me about your finger, Minerva. It won’t work with me.”
She doubted that very much, but he needed to believe it. He needed to think he was in control. Still, the very fact that he’d told her this little part of his past meant he was already opening up to her. It reassured her as nothing else had that they could have a good marriage.
“Well, there goes my dastardly plan,” she said lightly. “You really are a spoilsport, Giles.”
His low chuckle sounded relieved. No doubt he’d expected her to fight harder. And she would. Just not the way he thought.
“Anything else you want to warn me about?” she went on. “Any hidden vices like knuckle cracking or sleepwalking?”
“Nothing you can’t handle, I expect.”
He had no idea. She was ready to handle just about anything from him. She might have been forced into this marriage by her own recklessness in succumbing to her desires, but now that she was here, she meant to make the most of it.
GILES WAS STILL cursing himself as they drew up in front of the house. What had possessed him to tell her about that night with Molly? For God’s sake, this was his wedding night. He was supposed to be sweeping her off her feet, not spilling his unsavory secrets.
He stepped down from the carriage. And why had he bristled so at her assertion that she could have him do her bidding if she wanted? She couldn’t. He knew that.
Well, he knew it intellectually, anyway. Physically . . .
Just helping her out of the coach was having the same potent effect on him she’d been having for weeks, even months, ever since their Valentine’s Day dance. Her hand in his, so dainty, so . . . naked without her glove on, had the perverse effect of making him want her even more. God, he was in trouble.
They got to the top of the steps, and the door opened as his new butler strove to impress the new master and mistress. Giles stopped her just before entering. “Oh, no, darling, we’re going to do this right.”
When he swept her up in his arms and carried her across the threshold, she laughed. It made her beautiful eyes sparkle, and her cheeks shine a rosy pink that had his blood roaring in his veins. He must have been mad to tell her she couldn’t manipulate him with desire. She could do anything she pleased when she looked at him like that.
“Finch,” he said, “you’re dismissed for the evening. You and all the servants.”
“Yes, sir,” Finch answered, barely hiding his smirk.
Then Giles carried her toward the stairs.
“Put me down!” Minerva said, her eyes twinkling up at him. “You’ll break your back hauling me about the house! I’m heavier than I look.”
“Ah, but I’m stronger than I look.”
“All the same . . .” She wriggled out of his arms to cast him a coy glance. “You need to save your strength.” With another laugh, she darted up the stairs.
“So that’s how it’s going to be, is it?” he called out as he followed
her leisurely.
It wasn’t as if there were many places for her to go. The house was large enough to be comfortable but nothing like the mansion she was used to. She could hardly get lost in its rooms, and with scarcely any furniture yet there were few places she could hide.
So when he reached the first floor he wasn’t surprised to find she wasn’t even trying to hide. Instead she stood motionless in the doorway of a room that was not the bedchamber.
He smiled as he realized which room it was. Perhaps it would make up for how he’d bungled things in the carriage.
“What is this room?” she asked as he walked up beside her. “Is it your study?”
“No. My study is downstairs. This, my dear, is your wedding present. It’s your own study. For writing.”
“For writing my books?” she said, almost disbelievingly.
“Unless you’ve been writing something else I don’t know about. Please tell me Rockton isn’t going to appear in a play.”
“Don’t be silly.” Her eyes filled with tears that she brushed away, as if embarrassed. “Oh, Giles, that is the sweetest thing you could ever have done for me!”
When she broke into a blazing smile, his heart flipped over in his chest. At that moment he would have given her whatever she wanted.
Careful, man. Don’t be a fool.
But it was hard not to when she was so excited. Hurrying to the center of the room, she twirled like a little girl, then walked about, examining the bare bookshelves, the desk he’d fitted up with writing materials, and the comfortable couch he’d placed near the fireplace.
“It’s still a bit sparsely furnished,” he said, “but I figured you’d rather do that part yourself anyway.”
“It’s perfect, absolutely perfect.” She spotted something and let out a cry. “Oh, and you’ve even had my books and papers brought up here!” Rushing over to the trunk, she began to remove things. “I can put the novels on that shelf, and the papers—”
He caught her about the waist. “This wasn’t quite what I had in mind for tonight, darling.”
Startled, she gazed up at him, then flashed him a teasing smile. “I can’t imagine what you did have in mind that would be more important than unpacking my books.”
He took her hand and drew her toward the door. “Can’t you?”
“Well, you already said that you wouldn’t let desire rule your life, and I don’t see why it should rule mine, so if I want to set up my study—”
He kissed her square on the lips. “All right, you made your point. I’m an idiot.”
She looped her arms about his neck. “Yes, you are. But I rather like that about you. Clearly, there’s something seriously wrong with me.”
He picked her up and headed for the bedchamber. “Absolutely. You resisted marrying me, didn’t you?”
“True. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You were skittish, that’s all. Some maidens are.” He stared down into her face as he angled her through the door. “I’ve never bedded a virgin, you know.”
“Well, that’s good, because neither have I. So it should all work out.”
He laughed. “You do realize that any other man wouldn’t find that amusing.”
“Ah, but you aren’t any other man, are you?” she said, eyes bright.
Unfortunately, he really was concerned about bedding a virgin. From what he’d heard, some women had more difficulty the first time than others did. What if he hurt her? Or God forbid, made her afraid of him?
It would kill him to see Minerva look at him in fear.
Then there was his other concern, one that he’d been thinking about quite a bit the past few days. Minerva’s only lover had been the imaginary Rockton, whom she’d described as a consummate lover more than once. He wasn’t sure what that meant to a virgin. And he damned well didn’t like the idea of failing to live up to his alter ego’s fictional reputation.
So he wouldn’t fail. He would keep his desire in check until he could bring her so much pleasure that she would find their joining well worth it, despite any pain she suffered. Because he was not going to disappoint her on her wedding night. He was going to outperform Rockton, even if it killed him.
Chapter Eighteen
From the moment Giles set her down near the bed, Minerva’s heart jumped into a stammering that wouldn’t be quelled. Not that she wanted to quell it. This was the night she’d been waiting for half her life. Giles was going to make her his wife, and she could scarcely contain her excitement.
But when she reached up to remove her veil, he said, “No. Let me do it.”
Ooh, he was giving orders now. How perfectly delicious. Who could have dreamed that such a thing would thrill her?
He took it off, then let down her hair, pausing to kiss a coil of it and give her more delectable shivers. Then he turned her around and unbuttoned her gown slowly. Too slowly.
She wanted him to take her with abandon, to fall on her like a hungry animal, to show her that she inspired him to heights of reckless passion. This aching sensuality unnerved her.
“Giles, please . . .”
“Do you know how often I’ve imagined this, Minerva?” he said in a guttural voice. “Imagined undressing you piece by piece, unveiling your perfect skin, your lovely back . . .” He pressed a kiss into her back, then pushed the gown aside so he could do the same to her shoulder. “Your fine arms . . .”
“You can’t have imagined it too often,” she snapped, “or you wouldn’t be doing it so slowly. Besides, you already unveiled my perfect skin at the pond. I should think you’d want to unveil something a little more . . . intimate.”
“Patience, darling,” he said, laughter in his voice. “There’s something to be said for the pleasures of anticipation.”
“Is that what you’ve learned from all your . . . I mean, they say you’ve been with hundreds . . .” Now, why had she brought that up?
Probably because his careful seduction was reminding her that he’d done this far more than she had. That she couldn’t possibly measure up to his others. Not that she was jealous of those other women. She wasn’t.
Oh, all right, she was.
“Not hundreds,” he countered. “The number is a good deal smaller.” He dragged her gown down her body to fall in a puddle of shimmering silk at her feet, then dispensed quickly with her petticoat. “And they were mere ciphers compared to you.”
Him and his silver tongue . . . no wonder he was such a good barrister. “Gran told me that you didn’t . . . don’t have a mistress.”
His hands stilled on her corset ties. “How did she know that?”
“Mr. Pinter found it out.”
He hesitated a moment, then continued working her laces loose until he could shove her corset off, too. It landed atop her gown and petticoat. “Your grandmother was very thorough in her investigations.”
Except that Gran hadn’t found out about his stealing. Or if she had, she hadn’t said anything to Minerva. “Gran is always thorough. She wanted to be sure I wasn’t giving myself to an out-and-out scoundrel.”
“I take it that she decided you weren’t, or she wouldn’t have let you marry me.”
“Gran had no say in that,” she said stoutly. “I chose to be here. I hope you realize that.”
His answer was to reach around and cup her breasts.
Her knees went weak. “So . . . was Mr. Pinter . . . right? You don’t have a mistress?”
Why was she harping on this? She knew he didn’t. Yet she wanted to hear him say it. If she couldn’t have words of love from him, she wanted reassurance that he really did want her and only her.
“I don’t have a mistress,” he said with an edge to his voice as he dropped his hands from her. “Truth is, I’ve only had a couple in my life, and only when I was young.”
“Truly?”
“Once I became successful, I had no time. It was less complicated to have the occasional . . . Good God, must we discuss this on our wedding night?”
“That I chose to be here, too. That I chose you over any others.”
“Yes,” she said, relieved that he understood.
His eyes burned into hers. “Do you see that bed behind me?” he said as he tugged her against him.
She hadn’t noticed anything but him when they’d entered the room, but now she looked past him at the bed.
It was a truly fine example of a Chippendale four-poster, but the part she paid particular attention to were the hangings and coverlet of spring green figured silk. They seemed a bit . . . extravagant for a man.
“I had you in mind when I picked it out weeks ago, even before we began courting,” he said. “I kept thinking of you in it, on it, with your hair spread out about your luscious shoulders. The bedclothes are the exact color of your eyes, which I imagined shining up at me as I made love to you.” He swept his hands down her body. “Does that answer your question?”
She couldn’t speak. Her throat was too dry, and her heart pounded like a timpani.
He bent forward to whisper in her ear, “I’ve wanted you for a very long time, Minerva. You, and only you. And if you haven’t figured that out by now, then you’re not as clever as I thought.”
There was a truth to his words that she simply couldn’t deny. But wanting her body was one thing, wanting her was quite another.
Still, when he took her mouth, kissing her with deep, bold strokes of his tongue, she forgot anything else but him. At least he did want her body. Lord knew she wanted his. And his kisses were perfect, fiercely passionate, making her eager for their bed.
Except that he was not taking her to their bed. His hands lingered over her, touching and caressing until she thought she’d go out of her mind. He tore his mouth from hers only so he could tug her shift up and untie her drawers. When they slithered down her legs, she dragged at his coat lapels, and he shrugged off his coat. But before she could do more, he stripped her shift off over her head, then lifted her in his arms and took the few steps to the bed, where he laid her down.
How to Woo a Reluctant Lady Page 21