by Peggy Waide
Reyn knew better. "Hard to believe. You were hotter than Jamaica in August. I am fair scorched from your response, not to mention the fact that I still suffer in dire need." His last words were muffled as he stood.
She gasped. "You're naked."
"How good of you to notice." He leered, glancing down at his torso.
Her gaze, full of shock and wonder, followed his and centered on his bold erection. "You ...you are... it looks..."
Mercilessly, he taunted her. "Looks what, Jocelyn?"
She managed to turn her eyes away long enough to squeeze an answer through tightly pressed lips. "It looks... insistent."
With a grin tugging at his lips, thinking the entire scene resembled something from a poorly written farce, he agreed wholeheartedly. "So it is. And I'll wager a day's betting at Ascot that it won't receive its proper attention this night."
"Cover yourself," she commanded while she launched a second pillow at Reyn. "Then kindly remove yourself from my room. You may take your manly intentions over to Lady Waverly's, and allow her the privilege of seeing to your needs."
Lifting his brows at her outburst, he concluded the reason for her earlier black mood. She knew about Celeste. Grasping the pillow to his groin, as if he were sharing his deduction with the king of England, he said, "You're jealous."
Eager to counter his outlandish remark, she said, "You have lost your wits."
"Not so. You are unconditionally, green-eyed jealous of the fact that I have shared myself with another woman."
For lack of objects to throw, she hurled insults. "You addlebrained, manipulative reprobate. You have lost a shingle or two if you believe that nonsense."
He had endured sufficient insults. "Enough. You are in dire need of a drink."
Briefly, he left, only to return with a large snifter of brandy, silently praising his good manners, for he had donned a pair of breeches. "Here, drink this." It was an order, not a request.
Surreptitiously, she eyed him while she sipped the amber fluid. "Don't you own a robe or something?"
Her fascination with his lack of dress brought the absurdity of the situation again to his mind, coaxing a less-than-gentlemanly response. "Would you like to visit my chambers and find out firsthand?"
She stalled to speak, then snapped her mouth shut.
"No? Pity. Never fear, I seem to have my physical responses under control. For now. I guarantee, should my desire run rampant again, a pair of breeches will sufficiently contain my-how did you put it? My `manly intentions."'
Sending a glacial stare his way, she gulped the last of the brandy only to lapse into a fit of coughing. Reyn chose the distraction to grasp both her hands in his. "Jocelyn, this isn't the end of the world. Nothing happened tonight that you should be ashamed of. If anyone is to blame, it is 1.1 apologize for disregarding your weakened emotional state. However, I won't apologize for giving you pleasure."
She remained stoically silent, her hands wrapped in a death grip around the white linen sheets. Gently, he suggested, "Do you want to talk about it?" When her head jerked upward, he saw the shock reflected in her expression, realized the misunderstanding and stifled the urge to laugh. "The nightmares, I mean."
She turned her pink cheeks toward her lap, but undaunted, gently grasping her chin, he plunged onward. "Do you have the nightmares often?" Considering their chance encounters, he pushed further. "The dark hours of the night, perhaps? You abandon sleep, seeking solace with the piano, reading in the library?"
When she didn't answer, he felt his frustration bubble. This was no time for anger. Calmly, he said, "Trust me, Jocelyn. Talk to me. I'm not the enemy."
"I know. It's been such a long time since anyone cared."
He tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. "Let me help you."
As if she were relinquishing a white flag, she sighed her surrender. Still lost within her own thoughts, she asked, "Do you believe in hell?"
He paused before he responded, knowing the answer mattered a great deal. If he hoped to gain any insight into his wife's past, he had to choose his words with care. "If you're asking me if I believe in a nether world for evil-doers, I honestly don't know. If you want to know if I have experienced my own personal hell, the answer is yes." Yes, he had battled the night, the oppressive darkness, until, as a man, he had learned how to cope with his own personal demons.
She seemed satisfied with the answer and rewarded his persistence. "My nightmares are manifestations of my time spent at Bedlam, enhanced by a goodly dose of fear and imagination." Once she uttered the first few words, her story flowed like a torrential downpour, filled with furious determination bent on cleansing the wounds of her mind and soul. "I'm running endlessly, fleeing down corridors that lead nowhere. Hiding. Screaming. I hope for, pray for, help, escape, even death, but no one ever hears." She dragged in a breath. "Then, the hands appear. Fleshy bare fingers, tugging, groping, hurting. There are never faces, only amber, glowing eyes, vacant and evil. Then the laughing begins. Shrill, piercing laughter, reminding me he's waiting. Waiting to find me and kill me." She paused. "But this time I'll be ready."
As she shuddered, Reyn pulled her into his arms with the ferocity of a doting father. Her words churned through his mind. He, whoever he was, appeared to be the threat, the impetus for her charade. And what was she ready for? This man's return, his attack? God, how he wanted to ask questions, though he knew he'd receive no answers.
Stunned by the intensity of his feelings, he cradled her within his embrace, long into the early morning hours. He fervently wished for two things: her complete trust and the presence of the man responsible, for he wanted nothing more than to beat her tormentor into a bloody pulp.
No visible signs showed: nonetheless, the changes existed. They came from within. Changes, basic and elemental, like the sunlight that drifted through the bedroom curtains. While Jocelyn sat at the dressing table, studying her reflection in the mirror, she recognized her strong attraction for her husband for what it was. Last night, she had surrendered to her passion, but more important, in the light of day, she finally accepted the truth.
She loved Reyn.
Defining how and when Reyn had managed to wriggle his way into her heart really didn't matter. He was arrogant, manipulative and dictatorial, but she knew he could also be tender, charming, witty and honest. She harbored no foolish illusions about a permanent relationship: too many unresolved hurdles blocked the path. Nevertheless, as if drawn against her will, she found herself choosing a path she had never thought possible. She had always believed she would marry for love, and never would she commit herself to a relationship without it. Reyn didn't love her; in fact, he didn't believe in love at all. He'd said so a number of times, but evidence, especially after last night, proved that he wanted her. She was willing to grasp whatever form of happiness she could, while she could.
The brush froze in midair, for her lack of experience with men left her bewildered as to how to proceed, Did she continue to spurn his advances? What if he grew weary of the game and returned to his mistress? What if she became the aggressor? With that thought came an even greater dilemma. How did one seduce a man? Life at the convent had never prepared her for this sudden uncontrollable surge of desire. Placing the brush on her dressing table, admitting she had hidden in her room long enough, she started downstairs with a great deal to think about.
She halted in the doorway, both embarrassed and thrilled when she found her husband lounging in the salon with his grandmother. When he realized her presence, he greeted her with a lecherous grin, brimming with mischief. Instantaneously, her body remembering their shared intimacy, his fiery kisses, his gentle caresses, her stomach quivered, her cheeks flushed, her temperature rose, and drat the man, he knew it.
With his hand extended, Reyn rose, and like the moth drawn to the flame, she went to him. Lightly entwining her fingers in his, he placed one seemingly chaste kiss across her knuckles that sent her senses spiraling. Oblivious to the presence of Lady Agatha, sh
e leaned toward him.
He whispered seductively into her ear. "Today is the letter V. I have selected Vivian after the enchantress in Arthur's legend. A rather alluring name that conjures all sorts of images. What do you think, Vivian? Can you control a man with a sigh, a look, a promise to fulfill his deepest desires?" As his seductive words floated by her ear, Jocelyn sighed and drifted closer to Reyn. "Yes, my sorceress, give me a kiss to welcome the new day, or shall you fulfill my fondest dream and take me upstairs to complete our business from last night?"
Agatha interrupted with her usual flamboyance. "Do cease fondling one another. Vivian who?"
"Never mind, Grandmother," Reyn said as Jocelyn jerked herself a safe distance from him.
"Well, come along, Reyn, we have things to do. I have come to review the final plans for your wedding ball."
Reyn muttered something under his breath.
Grasping the opportunity, Jocelyn fled to an isolated chair across the room. Holding a special soiree had been Agatha's idea. Reyn had loudly argued, Jocelyn had politely balked, but Agatha would not relent. Three days hence, the Duke and Duchess of Wilcott would be officially honored as man and wife.
Perhaps, Jocelyn thought, if she ignored Reyn completely, he would leave, forestalling further discussion about the previous night. She still needed time to decide her future. "I believe all the arrangements are in order, she said to Agatha as she seated herself. However, it would not hurt to make sure." She innocently cast a contrived smile at Reyn. "I imagine it could take hours."
The morning of the belated wedding ball arrived, and Reyn hid behind the locked doors of his study in a futile attempt to avoid the mayhem that overtook his home. At every turn, his peace of mind was thwarted by bakers, decorators, musicians and servants hustling to and fro in preparation for the night's activities. Even thoughts about his wife intruded into his mind, which caused him greater frustration. He could try to locate her, but she would simply find an excuse to avoid him. He frowned when he remembered how easily she had eluded him the last three days. It was clear she had decided not to trust him. Yet.
Assessing his options, he decided to take a long ride, then escape to Boodle's for a hand of whist. Darting between musical instruments, crossing over garlands of flowers yet to be hung, and pinching a ripe piece of fruit from a tray, he maneuvered through the hall. He froze when he heard his wife's laughter. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but he grew curious to know who her guest might be. He heard the one voice that could immediately send him into a frenzy. Reyn virtually attacked the salon with the single-minded logic of a mule.
"Just what the devil are you doing here?" He knew his abrupt entrance had startled Jocelyn, for she jumped from her seat, searching for the source of his ire. She didn't wait long. Reyn growled between clenched teeth. "Get out, Rodney."
The tall, gangly man unfurled his limbs and slowly rose from the settee. "Dear cousin, charming as ever, I see."
Unaware of the hatred between the two men, Jocelyn scolded, "Lord Wilcott, that is not a proper greeting for our guest."
"Guest? I think not." Reyn sneered as Rodney, stroking his bearded chin, had the audacity to laugh. Reyn pointed to the door. "You know the way out."
"Reynolds, old boy, did Agatha neglect to inform you of my visit? Tsk, tsk, a bit forgetful she is. I'm here to celebrate your marital bliss."
Reyn, ready to physically throw the flea-bitten weasel out by his over-sized ears, advanced as Jocelyn stepped between the two men. "Your cousin has been invited to stay for a day or two. I know you will make him feel welcome."
Reyn shook his head, assimilating the words he had heard. He snapped an angry retort. "I don't want him in my house, my stable, or my privy. For that matter, I don't even want him near my dog."
"We have no dog here in London."
"Fine, I don't want him near that damn cat," he stated emphatically while he pointed to Caesar, who lounged beside the fire. He decided then and there that his wife was in dire need of a reminder of her responsibilities, such as to honor and obey. "We do have a cat, don't we?" he needled. Satisfied by her barely audible response, he kept his eyes, filled with silent warning, fixed on hers. "Good. He can go."
The visitor, fingering the lace cuff at his wrist, watched the quarrel with fiendish delight. "It would seem the two of you have a few differences to resolve." Rodney continued with a nasal rasp. "I would hate to have the newlyweds harping at one another during the night's festivities." With a courtly bow and a sweep of his dusky brown hat, Sir Rodney Sithall left the room.
As Reyn turned to Jocelyn, agitation vibrated from every pore of his body. "Do not countermand my order. Ever! Do you understand?"
Clearly defiant, she crossed her arms under her breasts. "What I understand is that you are an ill-mannered cretin. How could you? That man is your cousin."
"A fact I try to forget daily." He wanted to throttle her for her ignorance, then kiss her senseless. Watching her color rise, her pouting lips pucker, he felt his body stiffen like a hundred-year-old oak. Annoyed at his undisciplined reaction, he nagged at Jocelyn. "How do you know my cousin?"
"While you were away, he introduced himself at the theater. I will have you know he has been exceedingly kind."
He reeled from her defense of the scum and closed the gap between them, nearly tripping over the black cat, who had suddenly shown an interest in their presence. Caesar wrapped himself about Reyn's legs. "Not now, you black devil." He turned to Jocelyn. "Define `kind,' if you would."
Standing her ground, she sighed with annoyance and tapped her toe in agitation, an immediate invitation for Caesar. The cat struck out wildly for the foot dancing beneath her dress. "Caesar, stop it. We will play later."
Reyn harumphed.
Jocelyn said, "This is ridiculous."
His eyes narrowed as she divided her attention between him and the cat. "I quite agree, but humor me." He thought she puffed up like an over-stuffed guinea fowl.
"Rodney provided friendship, conversation, loyalty, trust, acceptance and companionship."
Reyn almost laughed at her sterling opinion of his cousin. What a poor judge of character. "And what have you provided in return?"
"I beg your pardon?" she asked, distracted by Caesar's efforts to gain her attention.
First, he was going to kill the cat, then he was going to beat his wife. "Cat," Reyn hissed, "you will sleep in the cellar and dine on beetles and mice for the next month if you don't leave us alone."
Rolling to his back, his golden eyes fixed on Reyn, the cat seemed to consider the threat. With a sudden twist, he landed on his feet, his tail and head held high, yawned, and lazily marched from the room.
Reyn muttered. "At least someone in this household remembers who is master." He turned back to Jocelyn. "You were saying."
"What did you ask again?"
"I asked what you gave to Rodney to win his kindness and generosity." She continued to look confused, and his words came smoothly, purring softly into her ears. "Come now, Jocelyn. Surely, Rodney indicated his purpose, expressed his desire for something. A favor, perhaps. From you?"
"No, I don't recall him asking for anything."
For a moment, Reyn relented to consider the situation. Perhaps her only crime was her naivete. "I am telling you, that bastard never comes calling without a cause. He wants something, and he wants it badly to risk coming here after our last encounter. He knows I will not yield a farthing to him, so he must assume you will." A lurid vision struck him like a runaway carriage. "You. Of course. That lecher wants you." Another perverse thought crossed his mind. With narrowed eyes edged with accusation, he uttered his misguided assumption out loud without thinking. "Unless he has already had you."
If it was physically possible, her eyes darkened to pitch black, hot color raced up her neck, but she stood perfectly still, her hands fisted. Reyn thought her appropriately subdued until she kicked him soundly in the shin and stomped from the salon.
His mouth hung open in dumbf
ounded shock. Recovering rapidly, feeling her actions were unjustified, he allowed his anger to explode. He followed her into the kitchen with deadly precision. Reyn barged through the door, shooting a frigid glance at the staff, who gladly occupied themselves with tasks. They filtered from the room as Jocelyn inspected a silver tray of fruit tails.
"That, my sweet, was a foolish thing to do."
She kept her gaze focused on the tray on the large oak table. "Go away, I have work to do."
His body, pulsing with bridled fury, held rigid, more unyielding than a well-crafted suit of armor. "I agree, one of which is to promise me you will stay away from Rodney."
Finally, she looked up from her task. "Put me in the picture, so I can understand. Give me something other than an order. Tell me why, Reyn."
He almost softened, hearing his name spoken in a soft plea, but his need to establish authority was a volatile thing, ready to shatter if denied. With both arms on the counter, he held her prisoner to have his say. "Fine. Tell me who you are."
"One has nothing to do with the other."
"I disagree. We are talking about a matter of trust."
"This is not the time."
"Fine. I do not have the time explain my reasons to you.,,
"Well, I don't have to listen."
He didn't think her chin could possibly lift any higher. "The hell you say." Receiving her `don't curse' look, he ran his hand across the back of his neck. "I am telling you that Rodney Sithall is trouble of the greatest magnitude. He is a lying, sniveling parasite."
"Surely you're exaggerating. He is young, without tact and polish, but he doesn't seem capable of any true wrongdoing."
"You are undoubtedly the most bloody-minded female I have ever had the misfortune to meet." Exasperated and weary of this discussion, he issued a final warning. "Jocelyn, I'm tired of this nonsense, so listen and listen well. Do not so much as give him the time of day, or so help me, you will live to regret it."