Let Me Be The One

by Jo Goodman

  North's foot bumped the breakfast tray. The lid covering a plate of bacon slid to one side and the aroma raised an instant response in his stomach. It rumbled loudly.

  Laughing, Elizabeth slipped her hand between their bodies and pressed her palm to the outline of his erection against his nightshirt. "Which hunger will you satisfy?" she asked.

  God help him, he thought, if it had to be one or the other. He sat up quickly, caught the tray before it slid off the bed, and lowered it to the floor. He inhaled deeply of the bacon's piquant aroma and resolutely covered the plate. Levering himself up again, he stretched out beside Elizabeth.

  "I take it you have made your choice," she said, arching one brow.

  "It was a narrow thing."

  "I cannot like it that my rival was a pig."

  "A dead pig."

  "A cooked pig."

  "Do you want to eat?"

  Elizabeth pushed herself upright. "I thought you would never be persuaded."

  North did not let her get as far as the edge of the bed. He caught her by the shoulders, pulled her back, and trapped her legs with one of his own. His hands slid up her arms to her wrists and secured them on either side of her head. "Later," he growled, nuzzling her neck. "If I can wait, so can you."

  "Hurry."

  He nipped her skin with his teeth. "You really wouldn't want me to."

  Elizabeth discovered he was right. North took her slowly, deliberately, drawing out each sensation so that she was balanced delicately on the narrow line between pleasure and pain.

  He showed none of the care for her chemise that he had reserved for her gown the night before, pulling it over her head and pitching it to the floor. A moment later his nightshirt followed. When she tugged at the sheet, he yanked it back. He touched her, first with his eyes, then his hands, and just when she thought she would sob with tension, he used his mouth.

  At times his touch was almost insolent, without regard for her person, and she found it wildly exciting rather than the opposite. It was but one part of the trust he had asked for and she had granted. His casual manner frustrated her, made her hot and wet and denied her release. She moved under and against him, stretching, digging her heels into the mattress, and still it was not enough.

  "Please," she whispered.

  North levered himself over her body. Her thighs cradled him warmly, and it took all his willpower not to bury himself between her legs. It was what she wanted. It was what he wanted as well, but not just at this moment. There was something else first.

  "How is that again?" he asked. His voice was husky and teasing, but there was also the edge of something serious framing the words.

  "Please."

  "That is not the word."

  Elizabeth actually whimpered then. She pushed at his shoulders with the heel of her hands and arched under him, trying to make him take her. What did he want from her? She would not say she loved him. She would not.

  "Look at me, Elizabeth."

  She turned her face and stared up at him. The arousal that had darkened the center of her eyes was giving way to defiance. Her mouth was set mutinously.

  North kissed her anyway. Slowly. Patiently. With infinite care he worked at her mouth until it parted for him again and his tongue could sweep the sensitive underside of her lip. He drew back when he felt her breathing catch. His groin settled more heavily against her; his pelvis gave an involuntary thrust. He groaned softly, almost painfully. He did not want to come against her belly.

  His rasped demand was intense, urgent. "Say my name."

  Elizabeth heard the words but not the sense of them. That came to her more slowly, and when she realized it was only this that he wanted relief made her very nearly shout it. "North!" She clasped her hands behind his head and pulled him closer. She kissed his chin, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. "North." More softly this time in both word and deed, she nudged his lips with her own. "Brendan." She gave up this last small intimacy as he entered her.

  She started to come on his first stroke, and by the time he reached his own release she had come again. Noisily. Happily. Her passion in these moments was unfettered by inhibition. It was left to Northam to swallow her cries and he had not the least desire to.

  They both lay unmoving, replete. The perspiration of their bodies mingled. For a few moments, at least, it mattered to neither of them if they never stirred again. When North finally made to move, Elizabeth stopped him, giving her head a slight, quick shake and trapping him with her legs. The damp inner walls of her vagina contracted around him as well.

  "For just a little longer," she whispered. "I can feel all of you."

  He could feel her, too. This was a novel experience for him, this wanting to remain joined in the aftermath of love-making. Sometimes it was he who wanted to quit the bed quickly; sometimes it was the woman who was eager to have him gone. Though they were loath to complain of his weight or the stickiness, he occasionally was amused by wagering how long it would be before they hurried to the bathing room to make their ablutions. With Elizabeth there was no such urge to leave quickly. It seemed to be the same for her.

  "Stop that," he fairly growled as she contracted around him again.

  "I didn't do anything." His skeptical glance raised her leisurely smile. "I didn't. Not on purpose. It just happens sometimes. There. Like that. I cannot help it. My insides are still aquiver."

  One dark brow was lifted a fraction higher. "Aquiver?"

  "Well, yes. All tingly."

  He chuckled softly. "It sounds—" Elizabeth's stomach chose that moment to rumble most disagreeably. Both of North's brows rose this time. "It sounds as if my lady still has certain appetites."

  She sighed. "It's true. I do." She did not try to stop him when he eased out of her. While he retrieved the breakfast tray, Elizabeth picked up her chemise and slipped it over her head. When she came out through the opening she found Northam was watching her with something like disappointment on his face. "I am not going to partake of my breakfast naked," she told him tartly. Her features softened when he managed to look even more pitiful. "At least not this morning."

  He grinned. "Then I have hope to live for."

  "Fool."

  "Probably. Hand me my nightshirt, will you?"

  Laughing, Elizabeth scooped it up and tossed it at his head. He slipped it on and they proceeded to tuck into their breakfast with ill-disguised relish.

  "I have been thinking," Elizabeth said as she plucked another strip of crisp, if cold, bacon from the plate, "that perhaps it would be wise if you did not mention the colonel's attendance at our wedding to my father."

  "Oh?"

  Northam's noncommittal response forced Elizabeth to go on. "It is simply that there is no love lost between them. My father will be disagreeable about it, and it cannot make the visit easy for either of us."

  "Then I will not bring it up."

  "Thank you." Elizabeth knew she was not entirely successful at keeping the full measure of her relief to herself. North was watching her very closely. "What is it?" she asked.

  "You did not really want the colonel at our wedding, did you?"

  His perception did not surprise her, only his willingness to put it into words. "No," she said after a moment. "I did not." She slowly placed her uneaten bacon strip on the plate. "It is not what you think."

  "What do I think?"

  "That I don't hold him in the same affection he holds me. Nothing could be more ill-conceived. I love him dearly. It is only..." Elizabeth shook her head, not so much unable to continue as unwilling. She wondered if Northam would know the difference.

  "Only...?" When she did not answer he said, "Pray, do not tell me it is because you thought the journey too difficult for him. That was my reasoning, and I am heartily glad South considered it not at all when he extended the invitation."

  "Are you really certain it was South who invited him?"

  "Yes." He hesitated, frowning. "Who else would have done so?"

  Elizabeth said
nothing. She merely stared at him for the length of several heartbeats, then ducked her head and applied herself once more to her meal. She should not have raised the question; she knew that now. He would be like a hound on the scent of a fox.

  Her scrambled eggs were cold and almost tasteless, but hunger and a need for diversion pressed her to continue eating them. "He got around very well, I thought. This wheeled chair is an immense improvement over the last."

  Northam did not like that she was shifting the subject, but he permitted it just the same. "I think the colonel would prefer his crutches. The chair is a defeat for him."

  "You are right, of course. I spoke without thinking. I believe you have come to know him better than I."

  He did not miss the hint of both melancholy and wistfulness in her voice."Perhaps that will achieve some balance now that we are married. I have cause to visit him quite regularly. I hope you will come with me."

  "I suppose I will," Elizabeth said quietly. In spite of her wish to the contrary, she had failed to inject any enthusiasm into her agreement. She tried again. "It is kind of you to suggest it." Ignoring his narrowed, watchful glance, she went on. "I could not help but notice that you spent a good deal of time in each other's company yesterday."

  "Odd," he said. "I was about to comment that my observation of you and Blackwood was quite the opposite. It appeared you went out of your way to avoid him."

  "Your perception is inaccurate."

  "Perhaps I should have said that, unlike me, you avoided being alone with him."

  "It does not matter how you put it. You are still wrong."

  North did not think he was, but once again he let it pass. "I believe he regretted he was not present in time to give you away."

  Elizabeth set down her fork hard and refused to give in to the ache squeezing her heart. She said coldly, "It would have been a pathetic display: He in his chair, I with my limp. I could not have borne it."

  As if she had struck him, North's head jerked back. He stared at her without moving again, reeling all the while on the inside. He imagined his face was as pale as hers and that his eyes were just as icy. Setting down his plate, he moved to the edge of the bed and stood. "You will excuse me."

  Elizabeth's fingers curled in tight fists around the sheet. Her mouth was dry and her tongue could not manage an apology even if she knew how to frame it. She watched him pick up his trousers and put them on, shoving the tails of his nightshirt under the waistband. He made equally quick work of his stockings and shoes and eschewed a brush in favor of raking his hair with his fingers. He did not take the time to put on his jacket, choosing to toss it over his shoulder instead. The door was closed quietly behind him. It was only in Elizabeth's heart that she felt it slam.

  * * *

  The ride to Rosemont was accomplished largely in silence. They sat side by side without touching. Elizabeth suspected that North chose proximity as the lesser of two evils. He did not want to sit opposite her and be faced with her countenance every time his eyes strayed from the window. She found herself wishing he had arranged for his mare to make this journey with them instead of sending her with a groom to Hampton Cross. He could be outside their carriage now, riding in solitary splendor and leaving her to lick her wounds in private.

  Elizabeth concentrated on smoothing the pale pink fabric of her muslin gown across her lap. Her head snapped up when North spoke in impatient tones.

  "Pray, have done with your fidgeting. Sit on your hands if you must. You have pressed your gown four times over since we left the inn. There is not a wrinkle in want of your attention."

  Fingers frozen, Elizabeth turned quickly to the window. The countryside passed in a blur, though it was not entirely the speed of the carriage that caused it to be so. She willed herself not to allow a single tear to fall.

  At length Northam sighed. "It is only that you spoke so cruelly, Elizabeth. Not only of the colonel but of yourself." Out of the corner of his eye he saw her nod. "I love him, you know. I loved my father, but I came to know the colonel better. I admire and respect him, and when you—"

  "I understand," she said on a thread of sound. "I... I love him, too."

  North said nothing for several minutes, hoping she would say more. When she didn't, he took a linen handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. She accepted it without acknowledgment, making a ball of it with her fingers while she continued to stare out the window. She held it so long that North thought he was mistaken about her need for it. "Will you say nothing at all, Elizabeth?"

  She shook her head. The small movement was enough to break the dam of tears. They dripped over the rim of her lashes and fell down her cheeks. She raised the balled handkerchief and impatiently wiped them away.

  Oh, my poor Elizabeth, he thought sadly. How am I ever to understand?

  Northam lifted his feet and placed his boot heels on the opposite bench, careless that the blacking would leave marks on the fine leather. Tipping his hat over his brow, he slouched comfortably forward, resting his head against the squabs and crossing his arms and ankles. In just this position he passed the remainder of the journey, sometimes in contemplation, sometimes in sleep.

  Rosemont was a grand structure, though not of the proportions of Battenburn. The Penrose forebears appreciated elegance and design but not strictly for its own sake. There was simplicity to the manor that other country homes would have done well to emulate. Northam was struck by how much it reminded him of Hampton Cross.

  Five towers rose above the main stone structure, three at the front and one each at the end of the east and west wings. The house was perfectly situated for a southern exposure and a large pond at the front required that a bridge be used to make the approach.

  North was sitting up now, looking out with interest. "Hampton Cross has such a pond," he said. "But no bridge, I'm afraid. It has never been practical, since the pond sits more to one side and it is easy enough to go around."

  "It is probably just as well," Elizabeth said, outwardly calm. "The bridge requires much in the way of attention." The fact that her palms were damp had nothing to do with the state of the bridge, but with the state of her nerves. She was loath to press her palms against her dress for fear Northam would accuse her of ironing it again. "I hope you will not regret coming here," she said suddenly.

  There was no time for Northam to reply. The carriage was stopping in front of the main entrance and Elizabeth was alighting without assistance from anyone. He watched her lift her gown and hurry up the stairs, only her limp preventing her from taking them two at time. Someone who knew her less well might have mistaken her haste for eagerness. Northam suspected that it was only her desire to forewarn that gave her such speed.

  He followed at a slower pace while servants began to spill from other parts of the house to deal with the horses, carriage, and tower of trunks. It was not Elizabeth who greeted him when the immense white doors were thrown open.

  Here was a woman singularly poised and of exceptional beauty. Isabel Penrose, Countess of Rosemont, stood just under five feet. Even on the lip of the entrance it was impossible to mistake her as any taller. Everything about her was dainty. Her delft blue eyes and smooth, almost translucent complexion only added to the impression that she had more in common with a china figurine than a flesh-and-blood woman. Her blond hair was covered by a lace cap, and the curls artfully arranged across her forehead might have been sculpted, so constant were they in the face of the breeze that flattened her gown against her petite figure.

  "Lady Rosemont," Northam said, making his bow. It should have been Elizabeth making these introductions and he vowed he would not spare her his grandfather's lecture this time. "I am not mistaken, am I?"

  "La! There is no mistake." Isabel Penrose threw out both of her small hands. Her charmingly bowed mouth widened to what passed as a broad smile for her. "And you are Lord Northam. Elizabeth described you so perfectly in her letter I would know you in any circumstances." Her curtsy was precisely executed, a
s fine and graceful in form as she was. "Please, forgive me, will you not come inside? It was not my intention to leave you standing." She raised her perfectly heart-shaped face to the sky. "It looks to begin raining again."

  Northam was ushered inside. His hat was immediately taken by the butler, who was waiting patiently in the hall for the moment he could be of some use.

  "Elizabeth is already with Rosemont," Isabel said. "She is not usually so ill-mannered, but I suspect you know that."

  "She has been in great anticipation of seeing her father, I believe."

  Isabel merely smiled. "Come, I will take you to them. Everything has been made ready for your visit, though I confess I had not expected you so soon."

  "And I was concerned that we were come too late. We were delayed in our departure from Battenburn and have recovered only a fraction of that time." Northam watched Lady Rosemont's brow furrow. Even this was done with delicacy. Her natural reticence kept her from questioning him or revealing what had come to her mind.

  "Here we are," she said when they reached the darkly polished pocket doors at the end of the great hall. "My husband's study. You may want to admire his collection of old weaponry. He holds it in high regard." She grasped the handles and parted the doors wide. They slid soundlessly from their runners. "Elizabeth, dear, you cannot leave your husband just anywhere. It is not done."

  Northam felt the tension in the room before he had fully entered. Judging by Lady Rosemont's unaffected air, North surmised she was either unaware of it, which seemed unlikely, or used to it.

  Lord Rosemont was standing beside the green-veined marble mantel. He was a tall man, not so commanding in his height as North, but considerably taller than his wife. He was also powerfully built, with broad shoulders and a robust chest, so that Isabel was made even more diminutive in his presence. His hands were as large as paddles. One of them rested on the edge of the mantel, the other held an iron poker.