Her assessment of him had been based on nothing of substance, nothing of import. Was it any wonder that so many couples seemed to be unhappy with their choices?
But now at long last, she was coming to know him a bit better, and she realized that he was a man composed of fascinating layers. The way he’d held her in the coach. The way he’d sought to welcome her last night—with warm cocoa. The way he teased the cook. The way he mourned his parents still.
Somewhere she’d once heard that still waters ran deep, and only now was she beginning to understand the complexities of the expression and the complexities of her husband. His public persona was quite different from his private one, and she was discovering that the man riding beside her touched a place deep within her heart that she’d doubted he’d ever be able to reach.
She adored the way he looked at everything as though it was all wondrous, as though he appreciated the simple beauty of the countryside that surrounded them as they rode their horses across a field toward a forest. It was as though he was grateful to be out and about, with the sun warming his face and the song of birds filling the air.
He’d not spoken a single word since they’d left the mausoleum. Occasionally he’d glance over at her, give her an almost shy smile, then look away. She wondered if he was embarrassed because he’d been unable to hide from her the depth of his love for his parents. She thought of explaining that she cared for him that much more because of what she’d witnessed, but she feared it would only serve to distance him, to make him feel more self-conscious. So she sought instead to bring him back to her with a reminder of their present business.
“What will you do with the fox when you find it?” she asked.
His eyes widening, he released a short laugh. “Oh, no, I…no, I’m not searching for a fox. I’ve not ridden in a while—”
“You rode last night when you came in search of me.”
“Well, yes, but that hardly counts. My mind was centered on you, not enjoying the feel of a beast beneath me.”
“We rode together last week,” she reminded him.
He creased his brow. “Yes, but that was in London.”
His statement sounded almost like a question, as though he were guessing.
“In Hyde Park,” she affirmed.
“It’s much different to ride in the country.” He brought his horse to a halt near a stand of trees. “I believe I’d like to walk now.”
He swung his leg back and dismounted before glancing up at her. “The brush grows thick in there, you might find it easier to walk.”
“All right.”
He looked up at her, not moving.
She waited. He waited.
Finally she said, “I’ll need assistance dismounting.”
He jerked slightly as though suddenly awakened from a long nap. “Yes, of course.”
He came around and wiped his hands on his trousers before placing them on her waist with such care, as though he thought she was made of glass and easily broken. He’d never touched her with such gentleness, such awareness. Not even when they’d danced.
She unwound her leg from the horn of the sidesaddle and placed her hands on his shoulders, surprised to find them so firm, so sturdy. He seemed slightly broader than she remembered. Perhaps it was simply that she’d only ever placed one hand on one of his shoulders—while dancing.
He lifted her up, held her aloft for a heartbeat, before slowly lowering her to the ground, his eyes locked on hers. For a moment she felt as though she was gazing into those eyes for the first time, as though she’d never before seen them.
They held warmth, wonder; they looked as if he was seeing her as differently as she was seeing him. Perhaps their not rushing into lovemaking was a good thing, because it gave them an opportunity to build the emotional bond between them before they created the physical one.
When her feet touched the ground, she swayed toward him slightly, while his hands remained on her waist. She felt his fingers flex, jerk, while his smoldering eyes dipped down to her lips. She was certain he was going to kiss her, so she couldn’t have been more surprised when he suddenly released his hold on her and stepped quickly away.
“I’ll just tether the horses so we don’t find them gone when we’re finished with our exploration of the woods,” he said.
She watched as he immersed himself in tying both horses to a low-lying bush. How remarkable that his nature contained a shyness that revealed itself at the oddest of moments.
He turned to her and smiled uncertainly. She didn’t know why she found it so endearing, and yet she did.
“Shall we go then?” he asked, nodding his head toward the forest.
“You changed your side whiskers,” she said, wondering why she’d not noticed sooner, wondering if they were the reason that he seemed so different.
Before they had covered a good portion of his cheek, coming down to leave only the strong square of his chin visible. Now he rubbed that chin, those cheeks, his fingers grazing along the thinner side whiskers that went no farther down than his earlobe.
“Yes, this morning. I decided they were a bit bothersome. A tad showy.”
She pulled her hands into tight fists to stop herself from doing what she suddenly had an irrational urge to do: brush her fingers over them. “I like the way they look.”
He released his self-conscious laugh, dipped his gaze to the ground, then looked back up at her. “Do you?”
“Yes, they’re more friendly.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not explaining it well. But they suit you better.”
“I shall give your compliments to my valet.”
“Please do.”
They stood there as though this were an awkward first meeting, unsure what to say, yet feeling the need to say something.
“Follow me,” he announced, breaking the spell before heading for the trees.
She hurried to catch up with him, intrigued by this man who was so completely different from the man she’d known in London. If she didn’t realize that it was absolutely impossible, she’d think he was someone else entirely.
Robert had only trekked a few feet when the forest thickened, and he decided he’d best stop to wait for his wife. She moved carefully, cautiously, elegantly. He didn’t know if he’d ever seen any one as graceful as she was as she picked her way over the forest floor.
As she neared him, she lifted her gaze, smiled, and with her attention no longer on the ground, she tripped, squeaked—
He quickly reached out, caught her hand, her waist, and it was as though the world receded and time stood still. Although they both wore leather riding gloves, in the coolness of the forest he could feel the heat of her skin mingling with his. He wanted to draw her nearer, press the length of her body against his, until her warmth completely saturated him. At the same time, he wanted to hold her away so he could gaze into her wondrous brown eyes. He’d never seen eyes so large, so lovely, and when she smiled or laughed, they danced like a thousand stars in the night sky.
He could clearly see why his brother had chosen her.
His brother.
And she had chosen John.
The reality of that choice hit him hard in the gut.
“Steady now?” he asked, hoping she didn’t detect that he sounded as though he was strangling.
She nodded.
“Good.” He let go of her and stepped back. “We should go a bit more slowly, to prevent any mishaps.”
“Did you play in this forest when you were a boy?”
He began the journey again, going at a leisurely rate until she fell into step beside him, then increasing his pace only a bit. Her strides weren’t as long as his, so he adjusted his to accommodate hers.
He thought for her that he could make many such adjustments. Perhaps his brother had felt the same. Not to the extent that he might have released Robert from his hell, though. To do so would reveal John for the fraud that he was, and a woman who had thought she’d become a duchess would have discovered that she w
asn’t. Her disappointment might well have made for a miserable marriage.
“Yes,” he finally answered, remembering a time when he’d thought he was happy, when he’d loved his brother and thought his brother loved him. He wondered if Abel had possessed the same misconceptions regarding his brother Cain’s feelings toward him. At least John hadn’t killed Robert. Although there were many moments when Robert had wished he had. Only now he was grateful that he hadn’t, grateful for the woman walking beside him, her sweet fragrance wafting over him from time to time to mingle with the pungent earthy smells of the forest that surrounded them.
“What did you play?” she asked.
“The Napoleonic Wars. John liked to be Napoleon.”
“And you were Wellington?”
“Of course.”
“I always thought it would be great fun to have a twin. Tell me about one of the times when John pretended to be you.”
She’d given him the perfect opportunity to reveal the truth of the situation. While he was courting you. When he asked for your hand in marriage.
But he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. He convinced himself that the forest wasn’t the proper place for such a revelation, but he suspected his real reason for delaying was the knowledge that with the truth he would lose her completely. And he wasn’t quite ready not to have her near.
She’d provided comfort at the mausoleum, and her smiles brought sunshine into his soul. So he would borrow her for a time. John had borrowed a good deal more.
“There were far too many to recall.” When they were lads, he’d only found it mildly irritating when he’d discovered that John had been masquerading as him, stealing the first kiss from a girl Robert had favored, convincing Mrs. Cuddleworthy that Robert’s favorite dishes were those he abhorred, challenging their father—in the guise of Robert—as Robert never would have, but when the punishment fell, John was suddenly John again, and Robert took the brunt of his father’s lectures and firm hand. Even as a lad he’d been unable to prove that John was playing the pranks, that John was pretending to be Robert.
If his own father hadn’t believed him, how could he expect the rest of England to see the truth?
Of course, Robert had been equally mischievous when pretending to be John. Torie was correct in her assessment. It had been quite fun to fool people—but John had taken their games too far. They were men now, and it was time for them to behave as such and to put away their childish pranks.
“Bad memories?”
He twisted his head to look at her. The depth with which she studied him astounded him. He’d expected his brother to marry a woman with little sense and a voluptuous body…not that he found fault with Victoria’s body. She was trim, but not overly so. He could well imagine that a man would find great satisfaction in gliding his hands over her—
She stopped walking and whispered, “Robert, you’re going away again.”
Going away? Drifting into thoughts that he couldn’t invite her to share. He stopped as well. “My apologies. You asked about the memories.”
“Yes, you were scowling.”
“I was simply remembering all the times that John pretended to be me and got me into trouble.”
“As you did him.”
“Yes.”
“I always thought it was the role of brothers and sisters to get the other into trouble.”
“Yes, but John would take it to the extreme. And I bore the brunt of his pranks—which I think was the real purpose behind the pranks. Not pretending to be me to see if he could get away with it, but pretending to be me so he could get me into trouble.”
“And if he got you into trouble, then he succeeded at the pretense, which must have been a victory as well.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Why do you think—” she began, but he heard a slight brushing noise nearby and placed a finger against her lips, trying to ignore the warmth of her breath traveling over his glove, more than ready to turn the direction of the conversation away from his memories of John. “Come,” he whispered.
Taking her hand, he carefully threaded his way through the brush until the clearing and the small pond he remembered became visible. Just as he suspected…
He pulled her in front of him, taking delight at her soft intake of breath as she looked at the doe and the fawn sipping from the pond.
She twisted around to look at him, and the beauty of her smile, the dimple in her cheek, the joy in her eyes was his undoing. He removed his glove and touched the strands of her hair that had escaped the pins holding them in place. So soft. Then he touched her cheek. Silk beneath his fingertips.
“You are so lovely.” In spite of his best intentions, he lowered his mouth to hers, drawing the taste of her into his own, relishing the heat therein, the moistness of her lips, the rasp of her tongue over his.
He didn’t remember reaching for her, pulling her against him, but suddenly she was there, her curves flattened against his chest, her hands resting on his shoulders. Like a man drowning, searching for salvation, he deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue through her mouth, wanting more, so much more, his body aching with needs unfulfilled, needs that were not hers to satisfy…
In spite of papers that stated otherwise, she belonged to John.
In spite of the fact that John had strived to take everything from him, Robert would not take from his brother that to which he had no right.
He broke off the kiss, stumbled back, breathing heavily. She was staring at him, her own breathing labored, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed, the dimple gone as though it had never been.
“My apologies,” he stammered. “I had no right.”
“You’re my husband. You have every right.”
“Not in the forest.”
She laid her hand on his chest, just above his heart, and he wondered if she could feel the steady, hard pounding that he thought might be in danger of cracking his ribs.
Her dimple appeared. “And not in a coach.”
He shook his head, swallowed hard. “No, not in a coach.”
“And not when you’re weary.”
“Not when I’m weary.”
She angled her head thoughtfully. “If you didn’t look at me as though you might devour me on the spot, like you are some primal beast that might reside in these very woods, I might think that you have no interest in me whatsoever.”
He lifted his gaze to the canopy of branches above him. Perhaps if he counted the number of leaves, the evidence of his desire for her would dwindle. “Trust me, Torie, I have a good deal of interest in you.”
“Then why do you work so hard not to express that interest?”
He looked down to find the dimple gone and concern mirrored in her eyes. How to adequately explain his behavior without revealing the truth or increasing suspicion?
“As you’ve said, we’ve had little time alone. I thought it would be best to ease into the intimacy.”
She slid her hand up his chest, his neck, until she cradled his jaw. “I’m not frightened. I know you won’t hurt me, so don’t take too long…easing into…anything.”
Before he could react, she spun around, leaving him to wonder if there were double meanings to her words, if she were aware of them, embarrassed by them.
Dear God, but she tempted him to lay her down now, here, on the forest floor. Take her, so there would be no returning her to John. Hold her, because he had no desire to let her go.
He cleared his throat. “I think we should return to the manor.” Before I do something we’ll both regret..
She glanced over her shoulder at him, giving him a teasing smile, something in her eyes telling him that she knew the battles he waged and that she would see to it that he gained no victory, and in losing he would win.
But would she feel that she had lost?
Abruptly she averted her attention and began trudging along the path they’d taken to arrive at this spot, and he fell into step behind her.
It was i
mperative that he set himself to the task of proving himself as soon as possible, more important than undoing the damage to the estates that his brother had managed. He could take care of everything later, set it all to rights.
For now, he must rid himself of this woman before she brought him to the edge of insanity that he’d managed to avoid while in Pentonville.
Chapter 12
H e didn’t say another word until they arrived at Hawthorne House. And even then, it was merely “I’ll see you at dinner” after he’d walked her back to the manor and seen her safely inside.
Then he went back outside. She crossed over to a window and looked out. He was strolling up the wide cobbled path that led to the manor, his hands clasped behind his back, his head bent. Dejected. He appeared to be utterly dejected and so incredibly alone.
Why was he not seeking her company to ease his loneliness? It made no sense. He drew her near only to push her away.
During the late afternoon, she spent an inordinate amount of time preparing for dinner. She chose a lilac gown trimmed in Brussels lace. A string of pearls adorned her throat. Simple yet elegant. She wore her hair pinned into a stylish coiffure.
Based on her husband’s reaction when she joined him in the library, she’d met with success at presenting herself in an alluring fashion. He stood by the fireplace, a white-knuckled hand gripping the mantel as though it was the only thing preventing him from rushing forward to take her in his arms. It was an incredible thrill to see such blatant desire smoldering in his eyes.
While he’d always provided her with attention, in the past two days the intensity of it was sharpening. She understood it completely, because she was feeling the same way. A tightening in her midsection that caused her breasts to tingle and her lower regions to shimmer. A need to touch him and to be stroked by him.
The heat was building, and she considered that when they did finally come together, they might ignite a conflagration that would set the bed afire.
A Matter of temptation- The Lost Lords Trilogy 02 Page 13