by Gayle Callen
But, of course, she needed his help to find whoever wanted to harm her.
But oh God, he felt so good against her, his body sinfully warm and alluring. She could have sunk into him, beneath him, and let all that rough masculinity consume her. Instead, she gritted her teeth and forced herself to slide toward the edge of the bed.
He caught her back against him, and she gasped.
“Good morning, wife,” he murmured into her ear.
She shivered at the rumbling of his voice, which seemed to echo through his ribs and into hers. His hand was no longer loose but cupped her breast firmly, playing with it, teasing it into a point that abraded his palm and made a surge of pleasure shoot all the way into the pit of her stomach. And then he slid his hand down her torso and between her thighs to boldly cup her.
She pushed him off her and vaulted from the bed, standing dazed and naked on the carpet. Where were the garments she’d so wantonly relinquished in her frenzy the night before?
Michael pushed himself up on one arm, his eyes full of admiration, the covers falling loosely about his waist. “You look exquisite with the morning sun bathing you in light.”
Without thinking about it, she crossed her arms over her breasts and groin. Laughing, he dropped back on the bed, arms wide, body arched as he seemed to stretch every muscle. She gaped at him, shocked at how much she enjoyed the sight of all the masculine beauty dominating her feminine bed.
He grinned at her, as if he knew what she was thinking. She couldn’t stop staring at his face either, the way his smile transformed her sober soldier into a lighthearted lover. Once again, she had the strangest feeling that only she had ever been privileged enough to see this satisfied, relaxed side of him. It made her feel all funny and melancholy and sweet inside, and she desperately ran for her dressing gown. Only when it was belted around her did she let out her breath and close her eyes.
She practically jumped a foot when she felt his arms close about her from behind.
“Come back to bed,” he urged.
“You’re naked!”
She tried to pull away, but he seemed to think it a game and only held her tighter.
“Naked and eager for you,” he replied.
“I can’t do this!” she cried.
He let her go, and she only briefly saw his happiness fade before she firmly turned her back.
“Please don your trousers. I can’t—I can’t talk when you’re like”—she waved her arm in his direction—“that!”
After a minute of rustling, he quietly said, “Very well, I’m decent. Now you can talk to me.”
She turned around to find him leaning on his cane, nude from the waist up. Briefly, she had a flash of memory of the terrible wound in his leg. But she couldn’t afford to feel any sympathy right now.
And she couldn’t keep looking at his impressive chest, full of muscles she couldn’t imagine having, tiny ripples of them leading down his stomach. She forced herself to bravely meet his eyes and not feel sadness at the lack of emotion there. Only moments ago, he’d been so happy, but she couldn’t let him think that was how their life would now be.
“I guess you have what you wanted, a legal marriage,” she said, trying to sound as impassive as he always could. “I know I initiated all of this.” She threw her arms wide. “But I would have ended it, and you pursued me.”
“You’re my wife. What did you expect me to do? I did not force you to make love with me last night.”
“I know,” she whispered, letting out her breath in a sigh. “I’m not blaming you.”
The tension in his shoulders eased, and he took several steps toward her. “Then why are you so upset?” he asked in a quieter voice.
“Because intimacy doesn’t change things between us! You need to know that. We can’t have a normal marriage. You’re going back to India, and I’m staying here.”
He inhaled. “After this, I thought you’d see we belong together. When Oliver reaches his maturity, you’ll be free of the estate. You could travel.”
“First, you imply that my brother might mean me harm, and now you’re talking as if he’s a functioning earl, ready to assume every responsibility. Which is it, Michael?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “We will find out who wants to harm you, then we’ll deal with what comes after.”
“I know how I want to deal with what comes after,” she said, trying to sound like she had everything figured out. “You have a career in the army, and I’m here. I can’t risk the livelihood of everyone on all the Appertan estates by abandoning them.”
“And I can’t abandon my family without a source of income,” he answered, sighing. “I have some small shipping investments just beginning in India. Perhaps sometime in the future . . .”
“And you’d just give up on your career, what you’re best at?” she asked pointedly. “Or do you think I’d blithely follow you to India? I won’t, Michael. That country was the death of my brother and mother, even my father. It tore apart our family. I won’t be second place again.”
They stared at each other, and she tried to keep composed, but for some reason, her eyes were stinging, and she knew her nose was getting red.
And then a knock sounded at the door, startling her. “May I answer my own door? I don’t imagine a villain would ask permission to enter.”
“If it’s the easiest, most unexpected way to get to you, he might.” He raised his voice. “Who’s there?”
“Nell, milord.”
“We still have much to discuss about your current situation,” Michael said, pulling his shirt over his head and tucking it into his trousers.
His choice of words was almost amusing. She found it easier to breathe without staring at all his flesh, remembering where she’d pressed her lips, how she’d licked the salt from his skin. It was as if she were a different person in the night. “Please allow me to dress first. I’ll have Nell send up breakfast, and we can eat here in privacy, where no one will overhear us.”
“Very well.”
“Come in, Nell,” Cecilia called, trying not to sound relieved.
As the maid bustled in, Cecilia knew her own face was bright red. The counterpane was in a pile near the chaise longue, and to her horror, her nightgown was in a discarded heap nearby.
“I’ve a bath on its way, Lady Blackthorne,” Nell said, nodding politely to Michael. “Milord, Tom tells me he’s seein’ to one for you.”
“My thanks, Nell,” he said.
Then, to Cecilia’s surprise, he took her hand and brought it to his lips. She wanted to pull away, to furiously ask if he’d heard anything she said.
“Until breakfast, Cecilia,” he murmured, and in his eyes was a promise that their discussion wasn’t over yet.
She couldn’t help but stare after him as he started to leave the room.
Suddenly, Nell called, “Wait, milord, I’ve a message for ye. In the commotion of Lady Blackthorne’s scare yesterday, and then dinner, Will forgot to let ye know he returned with a letter from yer family.”
“Returned?” Michael said blankly.
Cecilia winced. “Because of yesterday’s . . . upheaval, I forgot to tell you that I sent a letter to your family first thing in the morning inviting them for a visit.” He frowned at her, and she hurried on. “I felt bad that you’d delayed visiting them, and I didn’t want your mother to think that a woman of poor manners had married her son.”
When he narrowed his eyes, it was obvious that he didn’t believe her explanation for even a moment.
But he turned to Nell. “And where is the message?”
She removed a sealed envelope from a pocket in her apron and handed it to him. Without looking at Cecilia, he left the room.
She stared after him, feeling both guilty she hadn’t told him and irritated that he had chosen not to share the letter with her. But, of course, she would hate it if he’d gone behind her back in the same manner. Her actions seemed . . . underhanded.
She heard Nell movi
ng about the room, humming even as she picked up the nightgown. There was nothing normal about this situation, though Nell pretended otherwise. When the maid began to remove the bedsheets, Cecilia groaned and closed her eyes, remembering that there might be evidence of her “wedding night.”
“Now there’s nothin’ to be shy about, milady,” Nell said matter-of-factly. “I knew the moment you were left to die in that hole that his lordship would never let you sleep alone. And such a virile man as hisself? O’ course he would never be able to keep his hands from his own wife, beauty that ye are. And I say it’s about time. Everyone could see how fascinated ye both were with the other.”
“Everyone but me, apparently,” Cecilia said grumpily, sitting down at her dressing table and glancing at the mirror. She stared in horror at her wild hair, her bare throat, the gaping dressing gown that showed far too much of her breasts. “Good lord!”
“That’s what a man likes to see in the mornin’,” Nell said with satisfaction.
“And how do you know that?” Cecilia demanded.
“I hear things . . .” she said innocently, then went back to humming.
Cecilia slipped behind the changing screen while the pages carried in the bathing tub and buckets of hot water. The bath felt soothing, and she tried not to think of anything, simply let Nell care for her.
Nell tsked over her bruised cheek. “Ye poor mite,” she murmured.
“I’m all right,” Cecilia said. “And I promise I’ll take things easy today.”
“Good, ye deserve to be pampered and petted.”
And then she chuckled, even as Cecilia felt her face heat with embarrassment. Her gaze kept returning to the dressing-room door, as if she expected Michael to burst back in, wearing the furious expression she’d only seen once, when Sir Bevis had attacked her during Oliver’s billiards party. She should be relieved, she told herself. She wanted to keep some distance between them, and the letter would certainly help. But Michael didn’t arrive, and soon she was dressed, with breakfast on its way. Dismissing the servants, she went through the dressing room, took a deep breath, and knocked on his door.
Chapter 17
When Michael returned to his bedroom, he stared at the envelope, seeing his mother’s slightly messy penmanship, and reluctantly smiled. Cecilia hadn’t informed him that she wished to contact his family—and he couldn’t be surprised. She’d been looking for any kind of buffer to keep between them—hell, even after the previous night, she was still desperate to keep him away from her. There was nothing of proper manners about her letter to his mother and the way she’d gone about it.
Cecilia was afraid, and not just because someone wished her ill. She was afraid of their marriage, of the feelings that overwhelmed even him. There was a part of him that would give up anything for her, even what made him the man he was. And that wasn’t the way to keep his self-respect, or win hers.
She didn’t want to depend on him, but danger forced her to. And now they’d lain together. She must have been thrilled that his mother’s letter distracted him.
He wouldn’t be distracted for long. Ripping open the letter, he read the brief note, sighed, and rang the bell for one of his apprentice valets. As if they’d been waiting for his signal, the bath procession began. He studied the pages surreptitiously, but they completed their task with deference. What had he expected—that he might catch an evil grin?
When he was dressed, a knock sounded at the dressing-room door.
“Come in,” he called.
Cecilia opened the door, and if she felt at all guilty, her graceful movements didn’t betray any hesitation. She glided into the room, and although she was fully buttoned up to a high neckline, he could still recall her lush nakedness as she’d lain beneath him. He was hard in an instant, and it was difficult to collect his thoughts, to remember that he was waging a war for his future, and every small battle counted. Somehow, he would make her change her mind about India.
“I came to apologize.” She met his gaze forthrightly. “It was wrong of me to send the letter, but at the time, I felt my actions appropriate.”
“Because I could have been a suspect.”
“I truly knew you weren’t.” She pressed her lips together in a thin line.
“I accept your apology.”
She blinked in surprise, then with a nod, turned away as if to leave.
“And you feel no curiosity at all?” he called in bemusement.
She froze, then said over her shoulder, “Of course I feel curious, but I would never demand that you share a private letter.”
He could almost see the war within her, by her tight shoulders and her fisted hands. But her curiosity won out, and she turned back to regard him.
“Is your mother well?” she asked.
He nodded. “And eager to see us both. She and my brother expected to be leaving at dawn. I imagine they’ll arrive by luncheon today.”
Her eyes went wide. “Oh my! I’ll alert the servants, of course, but . . . is their visit all right with you?”
“I love my family, and I’m eager to see them.”
She let out her breath, and he couldn’t help but be amused how on one hand she wanted to keep her distance, but on the other, she didn’t want to offend him. She was trying to be a good girl at all times, perhaps most especially since she’d done something last night that probably seemed wicked to her virginal self.
“But what you did not anticipate,” he continued ruefully, “is that I hadn’t told my family of our marriage.”
She blinked, then smiled faintly. “I cannot be surprised. We hadn’t even met, and perhaps you thought we might never be truly married.”
“I never thought that even once—unlike you.”
“Then why would you keep that from them? They might have heard through common acquaintances.”
“As I’ve mentioned before, they do not socialize in the same circles you do. They never go to London at all.” He hesitated. “Frankly, I thought the news best delivered in person, so they could understand why I would enter into such a . . . contract.”
“They would expect that I bring a dowry to the family,” she answered flatly.
“Not at all. My father and grandfather were fortune hunters, Cecilia. I vowed to finance our family through my own efforts, and if I married at all, it would not be for money. But, of course, now it looks like I did exactly what I swore I never would—married a wealthy heiress, sight unseen.”
“You’ll explain things to them.” She lowered her gaze, her cheeks flushed. “I’m surprised to find that I feel guilty for not granting you the dowry every man should have when he marries.”
He strode to her, unable to keep himself from cupping her face and lifting it until their gazes met. “You didn’t buy me, Cecilia, and that’s important to me. Our marriage arrangement suited us both, and my family will understand.”
He couldn’t help himself—he leaned down to kiss her. He wasn’t surprised when she ducked away.
“The sun is up, Michael,” she said primly.
He smiled. “And you think a husband and wife should not touch each other in the light of day?”
“I have so many things to do to prepare the Hall for the arrival of your family. I will be glad to meet them, and I won’t embarrass you.”
He stared at her. “Embarrass me? You could never do that, my sweet.”
She flinched from his endearment, but he wouldn’t stop using it. She could try to keep her distance, but he didn’t plan to allow that. However long they had together, he would make the most of it. If he could win her over, perhaps they could have some sort of married life.
“I should go talk to Mrs. Ellison,” she said.
“No, we have our own plans to make.”
“Then come into my room, where breakfast is probably getting cold waiting for us. We’ll ring for a servant.”
They passed the news of guests to Mrs. Ellison, then sat down at the small table in Cecilia’s room to a meal of lobster and
ham, eggs, and hot rolls. Michael was ravenous, but he noticed that Cecilia picked at her food.
“I hope this disinterest isn’t worry about my mother,” he said. “She’s going to think you’re wonderful.”
“I’m glad,” she answered softly. “I don’t wish to make things more difficult for you than I already have.”
“You mean by thinking I’d try to murder you?” He smiled at her.
She didn’t smile back. “I saw you interrogating my former suitors last night. Did you learn anything?”
“I don’t think our villain is Carrington or Nash. It would be simple to discover if Nash had returned secretly before yesterday. Too many people talk. And Carrington is obsessed with a young lady he’s been pursuing for nigh on a year.”
“Oh.” The worry lines in her forehead eased with relief. “That is good to hear.”
“Not that I appreciated how they all flocked around you like gulls,” he added darkly.
Her blue eyes sparkled. “According to you, they’re harmless.”
“Well, revenge because a woman didn’t marry you is a poor motive for murder unless you’re insane. They don’t seem insane. As for other neighbors, unless you’ve specifically harmed anyone or his reputation . . .” He let that drag out.
Wide-eyed, she insisted, “Of course not! I am fond of all my neighbors, and they always seem fond of me.”
“And if it weren’t true, your servants would know from other servants. Both Talbot and Mrs. Ellison insist they’ve heard nothing disquieting. As for Lord Doddridge, he is leaving this morning, so I suggest we examine the account books after he’s gone, looking for any irregularities.”
She stiffened. “I go over those books every day. I would see any irregularities.”
“I know, but he is Appertan’s guardian for the moment, and we don’t know what agreement they might have negotiated that you know nothing about.”
She blanched but didn’t protest. He realized she’d considered that even though she didn’t want to believe the worst of her brother.
“As for Appertan,” he began.