It surprisingly had two dressing rooms, one sitting area, but only one bed.
“It’s outrageous! Where is the lady of the house to sleep?” Loretta commented before thinking her words through carefully.
Something she only seemed to do in this man’s disturbing presence.
“With her husband, Duchess.” He pulled the large sheet down from the canopies. “Did you not sleep with your husband?”
“Why must you always say the most outrageous things to me?” she demanded.
But he’d moved closer to her. “What is so outrageous about a man sleeping with his wife? I find it even more outrageous to consider that a man would not sleep with his woman. Was your husband some sort of backgammon player?”
Crack!
Loretta stared at her stinging hand before she even realized what she’d done.
CHAPTER FOUR
He deserved it. He’d known he was going too far the second the words flew out of his mouth. No, strike that. The second after the words had flown out of his mouth.
He didn’t even allow himself to flinch.
And yet.
His blood ran cold at the expression on her face. He’d hit a mark with his joking comment. He’d not meant to. Hell, stupid, callous bastard that he was, he ought to have remembered the rumor about the son.
About Lord Harold.
But that wasn’t it, and he knew the truth in an instant. The duchess’ deceased husband had preferred to lay with men.
Fuck.
Her complexion, rosy only moments ago, had drained of any color. And then she spun around with every intention of fleeing the room. Of fleeing from him and his careless, thoughtless attempt at a joke.
“Duchess!” She flew through the corridor and down the stairs as he went after her. Could he even begin to set matters to right with an apology? He slowed to a walk. He’d allow her a minute or two to herself, but no longer than that. Hell, no wonder the lady had locked herself away.
The implications of such a marriage as she’d had… he shook his head.
The front door was left open and he could see her standing beside the curricle. Rigid. Proud.
Alone.
How long had she been alone for? Much longer, he’d guess, than since she’d been widowed.
She remained still as he descended the steps and stood behind her.
Thomas knew he’d likely be slapped again, but didn’t care. Dropping both hands upon her shoulders, he pulled her back against his front. When she went to resist, he wrapped both arms around her and held tight. “I’m sorry,” he managed.
For his words? His insensitivity?
Or was he apologizing for the fact that she’d essentially had a white marriage? Of course, the duke had sired two heirs, he’d fulfilled his duty. But what of affection? What of sensual enjoyment?
“I’m sorry.” He spoke the words again, softly, near her ear.
She shook her head but no longer fought to free herself from him. Instead, her hands came up to clutch at his arms.
They stood alone together, neither moving or talking, for several moments. When she finally shook her head, he turned her around in his embrace so that she was facing him.
What he saw tore at his heart.
A lone glistening tear hovered at the corner of her eye. Warm, brown, soulful eyes. Thomas lifted his hand and collected it on his thumb.
“At the risk of angering you further,” he began. “How in God’s name did you manage?”
And surprisingly, she laughed at his question. And then she shifted her gaze away.
Whether she’d taken a lover or… His groin tightened. There were some sins, he supposed, a duchess would never admit to.
He moved his thumb to her lower lip. “How long has it been?” His question willed her gaze back to his.
But then lashes dropped, answering his question. If he were to hazard a guess, he’d bet she’d not been kissed in ages—if ever.
He rubbed along the seam of her mouth, finding a hint of moisture, and then smooth, white teeth with the tip of his thumb. “You’re not dead, Duchess.”
“But he is. They are. And I fear some large part of me is gone.” She blinked unshed tears away. Her response wrenched at his heart.
“But you’re not dead.” He continued stroking her lip. She’d done nothing to stop him.
“Would you like me to kiss you?” Would she admit so much?
He didn’t think she was going to answer but then, “Do you want to?”
At which he couldn’t help groaning just a little. “I’m holding you, aren’t I, Duchess? I’m a man, aren’t I?” He didn’t care in that moment that he was so very far beneath her. She’d been denied the affection every woman needed.
“Yes.” He barely heard the word. God, but what a gift she was. A prickly, proud, gift.
He replaced his thumb with his mouth. Nipping at her before she could tighten those too often disapproving lips of hers.
He could practically hear her heart racing. “Breathe, Duchess.” He spoke the words against her mouth.
He dropped his hands to her shoulders, and then down her arms. She trembled beneath them.
Thomas deepened the kiss.
Roaring filled her ears, and heat swept through every inch of her body. Her hands fluttered in the air for just a moment, until she settled them upon his shoulders. Unyielding, hard. There would be no padding beneath his jacket as Prescott had sometimes worn.
Mr. Findlay’s arm tugged her closer, pressing all of her front into his solid length. His heat spread to her almost instantly.
So much sensation. She didn’t remember ever feeling this way. So much to experience in this one moment. His mouth, his hands moving along her sides, the unmistakable feel of his manhood pressing against her abdomen.
Too much.
He pulled away when she let out a small cry, but did nothing to release her. One hand cradled her cheek and the other wound around her waist.
His mouth remained only inches from hers, their breath mingling. His thumb massaged the tender skin beneath her chin. “Ah, Duchess.” He dropped another kiss at the corner of her mouth.
Part of her wanted to push him away. The rational part. The part created from living years as one set apart from most of the world. These feelings could not be a good thing. They were primitive, foolish. A lady did not invite such cravings into her body.
But there was another part of her that rebelled.
She was not dead yet.
She was but barely forty years old. She might possibly be only halfway through her life. Was she willing to go on living it in this shell of a person she’d become?
“Thought I’d have to trap you beneath some mistletoe to get away with doing that.” When he chuckled at his joke, she felt all the vibrations in her own body. He stood so close. Prescott had never invited this sort of intimacy.
Who was she? Was she a duchess or a woman?
She pushed against those shoulders of his, and he only resisted for a moment before dropping his hands and stepping away.
She could not look at him.
She’d given him permission. She could not make excuses for such untoward behavior in herself. “That was a mistake.” She nearly croaked the words.
Because, although relieved, she already missed the feel of his touch. He’d unlocked a longing within her, and she wasn’t sure what to do with it now.
“Ready to finish the tour?”
She required a moment to comprehend what he was asking. The tour? “Of the manor.” She spoke aloud as it dawned on her. “Of course. Of course.” Head down, she returned to the front door, stopping only to wait for him to open it for her.
She wondered that he didn’t mention her jumpiness when his hand fell upon her waist to innocently usher her inside.
“There is an orangery in back.” Why did he not sound as unhinged as she felt? He likely kissed ladies all the time. “It leads to the gardens. And then a smaller quarters set apart from the house.”
Loretta barely comprehended her surroundings, somehow nodding and murmuring her approval, making the appropriate observations.
The kiss played in her mind, over and over again. How had she reached such a ripe age and never before experienced anything so carnal? So…sensual?
“Many of the plants have died, but a few are merely dormant.” He pointed to some vines that clung to the iron along one window in the warm, sunlit area.
She supposed that was the question she must ask of herself. Was she dead, or was she dormant?
Dormant. Only dormant. But what would happen if she were to be watered again, so to speak? If she were to bask in the sunlight of a man’s attentions.
She’d not even considered the possibility until today.
Not exactly true, she reprimanded herself. She had imagined a few scenarios with this man. How could a woman not?
Ah, so she was as much a woman as a duchess, the argument continued in her mind.
He’d kissed her. And he’d wanted her, she knew that much. She’d known that the prodding against her center had been his member.
Something she’d never experienced with Prescott. He’d required some time to prepare before accomplishing the deed.
She’d suppressed the memories of those occasions. They had been awkward, uncomfortable, and humiliating. They’d always created more distance between them than anything else. Those encounters had emphasized what was missing between them, rather than done anything to bring husband and wife closer to one another.
She’d felt closer to Mr. Findlay during that brief kiss on the front step than she’d felt to anyone, except for her children when they’d been babes.
Even that intimacy had been withdrawn from her.
What would it feel like to lie with a man like Mr. Findlay? To lie with Mr. Findlay?
“Watch your step, Duchess.” Again, he touched her protectively on the small of her back. Without him offering his arm, she drew hers through it. He glanced over and she saw satisfaction.
He liked her to touch him.
His hand covered hers where it rested on the wool of his jacket. The temperature had dropped, and the sky was darker in the west. Perhaps they’d experience snow after all.
“This path leads to the other structure. We can take a look inside, and then we’d best be getting back on the road.”
They’d walked together before, on a few occasions at Eden’s Court. This path was narrower, paved with flagstone and rough in spots. She was forced to lean into him to avoid brushing against the bushes and trees in places. She continued to do so when they stepped out of the heavy brush.
“Could be used for a steward, or guests, I suppose.” Mr. Findlay gestured toward a porched in single story abode. Not much more than a rough-hewn cottage, but it had been carefully maintained. “Do you mind if we inspect the interior?” He was a commanding person, she knew that. He’d amassed a virtual empire on his own, and yet his voice cajoled and comforted her.
“Not at all.” How did she manage to sound so amiable when her thoughts had her swinging back and forth inside?
What would it feel like with a man like Findlay? The question would not leave her.
Could she? Dare she?
He once again held the door wide for her, and she stepped inside to glance around.
A counter, two chairs set around a table. On the other side, a single chair and a bed barely large enough for two. When the door closed behind them, Loretta glanced over her shoulder and held his gaze.
“How long has it been, Duchess?” He repeated his question from earlier.
Dare she?
Loretta bit her lip, took a deep breath, and flung everything she’d ever been taught to the winds. “Too long,” she finally answered.
CHAPTER FIVE
She did not disappoint. How had he known? He mentally shook his head. He did not know. But when that energy built up between two people, it was foolish to ignore it.
But this duchess. This woman… She presented something of a quandary to him.
He’d heard about these nabobs, how the ladies were taught to lie upon their beds and think of their duty to England. And God help this one, from what he gathered now, the duke hadn’t even liked women.
And then the tip of her tongue peeked out to lick her lips, and most of his blood began flowing to his nether regions.
She might be a duchess, but she was a willing female, and damned if Thomas Findlay didn’t know what to do with a willing female.
Allowing nothing but pure instinct to take over, he took her into his arms again and held her close, absorbing the occasional tremor.
“Are you afraid, Duchess?”
“No. Yes.” She buried her face in his chest.
Best to take her mind off any fears right away. Tilting her head back, he tasted her lips again and removed her coat at the same time. “Loretta?” He knew that to be her given name. He thought he’d read it somewhere.
“I was named after my grandmother,” she murmured, tilting her head back farther so that he could trace his lips along her chin to her throat.
“Unusual name for a duchess, isn’t it?” He dragged his mouth along tender skin until he located pulse beating wildly.
“She was American,” she explained on a gasp.
Thomas sucked and then nipped, his hands now exploring her back beneath the thinner material of her gown.
He was glad she wasn’t wearing the blacks today. His hands didn’t stop when he smoothed past the indention of her waist, instead boldly settling themselves upon the plump flesh of her derriere. He squeezed, tugged her close, and then growled. He’d taste every inch of this woman.
“I don’t like the name Lettie, though. My brother called me Lettie.”
He hushed her again with his mouth.
“How ’bout I just call you Duchess?”
“Um hm.”
Walking forward, he backed her against the bed until her knees buckled, causing her to drop and break the kiss.
Thomas held her gaze and tipped her back so that she could only lie there and look up at him.
“You’re wearing far too many clothes, Duchess.” He wasn’t sure if the shock in her eyes was from his words or the fact that his hands now rolled her slightly to one side, exploring the back of her dress in search of buttons he might unfasten.
For nary a second, he thought that he should have done this before she was lying down. But no. This was just as good. No matter how a man undressed a woman, the end result would be the same.
He helped her remove her arms, and then pushed the dress all the way down her legs and onto the floor.
Beneath her stays and chemise, he caught glimpses of warm, sweet woman now.
“Must you? Remove everything?” That arrogance sounded in her voice for a moment, but a quiver gave her away.
“I didn’t get to where I am in life by doing anything halfway. I’m not about to start now.” He tasted the skin on her shoulder as his fingers deftly unlaced the stays. She shivered but moved so that he had better access.
To both the laces and the skin on her shoulder.
She liked this. She needed this.
What surprised him was the tremor in his own hands. She was so very different from any woman he’d ever bedded.
The first time they’d met, he’d been a bit in awe of her. And then he’d pitied her. It took a few additional meetings before he’d begun to feel attracted to her.
Before he’d realized how much of herself she was hiding from the world.
“Beautiful.” He said the words aloud now, as he remembered that exact moment.
He’d been a guest at a house party at Eden’s Court last summer, and he’d spied her haunting the gardens in the moonlight. The wind had blown her dress against her figure, revealing voluptuous curves. It had caught her hair, unravelling most of her chignon. She’d appeared regal and wild at the same time.
It was then that he’d known. She was so much more than a duchess. This woman
. This female with needs.
Thomas reveled in each inch he uncovered as he removed the rest of her clothing and shoes, kissing, nipping, caressing… distracting her.
She moaned and arched her back with her eyes closed. Perhaps she was able to acknowledge the sensations he caused so long as she didn’t acknowledge who he was.
A commoner.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded once he could finally hover over her. Although she lay naked beneath him, he remained fully clothed.
She squeezed her eyes shut tightly before eventually fluttering those eyelashes and meeting his gaze.
“What do you want?” He knew what she wanted. He simply needed to hear it.
She frowned in confusion.
“What do you want?” He repeated and then lowered his body to press her into the mattress.
She pushed back up against him.
“This?” His hand covered her breast, and he squeezed. But he needed to know. Not what. He needed to know who.
Would just any man do? He didn’t want to believe this.
Because he felt something for her. Damn his eyes. He felt something other than simple lust, and she was bound to stomp all over it when they returned to her family.
“I want…” And then her fingertips came up to caress the side of his jaw. “I want… you. I want you, Thomas.” Her eyes closed and she arched into him again. The words had been hard for her to say.
Thomas shifted himself atop her, spreading her legs beneath him and devoured her mouth with his kiss.
She wasn’t candy, she wasn’t ice. This woman was sustenance, life. Her mouth tasted of wine, and the scent of her skin wafted over him like springtime.
Loretta’s emotions battled between pleasure and object mortification.
Pleasure was winning.
When she closed her eyes, focused on the sensations his hand aroused, her last misgivings dissolved.
“Yes,” she whispered. She’d felt empty for so long. Dry. Unfulfilled. It was as though Thomas Findlay had been sent to bring her back to life. With each flick of his tongue, stroke of his palm, he sent her blood flowing, coursing through her limbs and into her core.
Hell Hath Frozen Over Page 4