by Lavinia Kent
Doveshire considered, his brow puckered.
“I have been to the West Indies on several occasions, and, although I found them beautiful, I have a feeling that Mr. Swatts might not,” William said. “The climate is definitely not easy.”
“I don’t think I would ever give the man the satisfaction of giving him property.” Doveshire did not even look at Swatts. “However, I might be persuaded to hire him on as a manager.”
Swatts finally seemed to be paying attention. “I don’t want . . .”
“Perhaps you’d rather I let a couple of your gambling acquaintances know just where you can be found,” Harrington said. “I’ve an understanding that even with the funds you’ve been getting from the cartoons, there are still a few, shall I say, friends who think that you owe them more than a bit of gold.”
Swatts rose to his feet. “You wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t put very much past any of us at the moment,” William answered. “Now, I know a certain ship’s captain who is heading back in the direction of the Indies within the week. Why don’t I take you over there now and introduce you? He’s always looking for another deckhand.”
“I don’t . . .” Swatts began, but Doveshire and Harrington had taken him by the arms again.
“Why don’t we help you?” Doveshire said. “And then I can visit my agent in the morning and have all the appropriate papers and letters of introduction drawn up.”
Swatts began to sputter, but held firmly between the other men, he had no choice but to go along.
“I’ll see you at home later,” William said to Elizabeth as he led the man away.
Once they were gone, the ladies could only stare at each other.
“I don’t think Harrington has ever punched someone for saying nasty things about me,” Kathryn said after a few moments.
Linnette answered, “And I know that Doveshire wanted to punch somebody when everybody was speculating that I was pregnant and unwed, but he never did—at least as far as I know.”
“And Tattingstong was too busy trying to apologize to me to even think about anybody else. I do think he considered punching his father when he realized the duke was the reason I had received so few invitations.”
Now that it was over, Elizabeth did have to admit that it had been a little thrilling to have William move so strongly in her defense. Well, maybe even more than a little. It had been extremely thrilling, enough to have her toes curling in excitement. “You don’t think it was too much?” she asked.
The other women all just gave her the look, the one that says you already know the answer to that.
She shrugged. “Yes, I liked it. I didn’t think that he cared enough to do something like that for me.”
“I actually think he was braver when he explained how he had injured your feelings, earlier in the evening,” Kathryn said. “A man might throw a punch simply because he feels like it—but to apologize in front of a group of ladies, now that takes courage.”
“You are right about that.” Linnette laughed, her voice full of relief. “Do you really think it is all over?”
“Do you mean I’ll never get my chance to be scandalous?” Annie whined, but with a grin.
“I think you can manage being scandalous—even without a cartoon—if that’s what you want,” Elizabeth said, and then turned to look up at the house. “Do you think it’s possible to sneak out? I really don’t want to face anyone else tonight. I feel like I’ve been run through the wringer, even though I didn’t actually do anything.”
“I know a back way,” Kathryn answered. “And I don’t feel like facing the crowd either. Come follow.”
It took only a few moments to head through the conservatory to the front of the house. William had taken the carriage, but left a message that she was to ride home with Kathryn.
The women were all quiet as they waited for the drivers to pull up. Tomorrow there would be plenty of discussion, but for now they were all lost in their own thoughts.
Elizabeth was still thinking of William. She didn’t know quite what she was feeling or what she wanted. He had said he’d see her at home, but did he mean tomorrow—or tonight?
CHAPTER TEN
Was he ever going to get home? And would he even notice the note she’d left on his pillow? It had seemed only fair to send William’s valet off to bed with a promise that she’d help him off with his coat if he arrived home before morn. That was seeming less likely by the moment.
And just when she’d decided to offer him a place in her bed for the night. She wasn’t quite sure if she was offering more than that or not. One moment she’d be convinced that there was no reason to wait any longer in proceeding with their marriage, and the next she’d be remembering just how hurt she had been when William had refused her advances four years ago. Did she want to risk that again?
No.
But was she really risking it? If she’d read William correctly—and she was a much better reader of men than she had been at nineteen—he was more than ready to move things to the next step.
Hell, she sounded like a frightened virgin—move things to the next step.
The question was clear: was she going to have sex with her husband?
The answer to that was yes, but the when was not certain.
Tonight?
Tossing the covers aside she stood and strode to the window, staring out into the darkness.
Where was he?
And then she heard it, the gentle click of the front door closing, his soft tread up the stairs. Should she open the door that stood between them? Invite him in?
She took a step in that direction.
No, she had left a note. The decision was his. Chewing on her lower lip, she stared at the door. Her stomach was filled with iron-winged butterflies trying to beat their way out.
She glanced at the twin candles glowing beside her bed. They still burned bright enough that he would see the light beneath the door and know she did not yet sleep.
A light rap sounded on the door.
“Come in.” Gads, was that croak her voice?
He entered, slowly. Fatigue was plain on his face, his lids drooping and his mouth without smile. Even his shoulders seemed a little bent. Maybe she didn’t need to worry about whether she wanted more than sleep tonight. It didn’t look like he was ready to do anything except collapse.
“You left a note—said you wanted to help me?”
“With your jacket. Was I not clear?”
His gaze swept over her, starting with her toes, moving up the soft white linen gown to her hips and then up to her breasts. Her nipples pebbled beneath his gaze and she wished she were more lushly endowed. If she’d had Annabelle’s breasts she would not be standing here filled with self-doubt.
Although—he was still staring. His glance had not yet made it up to her face. Did his shoulders seem a little less bowed?
Taking a small step forward, she asked, “Do you want my help?”
“What?” His gaze finally made its way back to her face.
“With your jacket. Do you need me to help you remove it? I know you wear your clothes looser than some men’s, but it is still tight.”
He shrugged. “I am used to doing for myself. I hadn’t used a valet in years before I returned. I was surprised you had kept mine on.”
“The man did need employment and I did not know when you would be back. Your letters never said. And am I to assume that you do not need my help then?” She knew her tone had turned curt.
“No.” He did sound weary. “I did not mean that. I would be delighted to have help.” He turned halfway away from her and held out his arm.
Heat rose off his body as she slipped her hand beneath the jacket—and his shoulders were so hard. Despite her boasts, she’d had very little experience with male flesh, but she had never imagined it to be so firm. She could not resist giving him a little stroke as she eased the fabric down his arm. He was so warm and smelled slightly of sweat . . . sweat and musk and someth
ing else. Something that made her wish to bury her nose against the fabric of his shirt.
His head turned to her, staring down at the fingers that caressed him—and it was a caress, she could not pretend otherwise. She swallowed and allowed her fingers to play a moment before pulling the jacket free of his shoulders. Turning, she folded it neatly over the back of a chair. She stroked the fabric one last time, wishing it was him.
The time had come for her first decision.
Did she invite him to share her bed—being clear that it was simply that, sharing a night of sleep? It seemed cruel to send him to the child’s bed that still stood in his room. Her gaze drifted toward the door to his chamber.
“Do you want me to go?” He had caught her glance.
“Can I pour you a drink first? I have a lovely port. I know it is probably shameful for a lady to drink alone, but I do enjoy a small sip before bed.”
He stared down at her, his eyes focused on her lips. “I would like that. If you are sure it is what you wish.”
“I think it is a first step—or should I say first sip.” She moved away, conscious of his gaze following her. Her hand shook as she lifted the decanter and splashed a good measure into two glasses—and then added another splash to his. “Here.” She held it out.
He took it and brought it to his lips, taking a good swallow. “That is good, you have a fine purveyor. It is one of the things I missed most on my adventures. Occasionally I would receive a bottle and treasure it for months.” He took another sip.
His lips closed about the cool glass—she knew it was cool because the one she held was—and she watched the amber liquid slip between white teeth. She’d never thought watching a man drink could be seductive, but as his cheeks drew tight and tensed, and then relaxed, as his Adam’s apple rose and fell, she felt her fascination grow. How had she missed out on enjoying this little ritual for years?
She lifted her own glass to her lips and took a small swallow, felt the burn, then tasted sweetness. She turned the glass between her hands, enjoying its smooth feel.
“You’re staring.”
“What?” She blinked, trying to focus.
“You’re staring at my mouth. Am I dribbling?”
“I am? I am. No. You look fine. I am merely distracted.”
“By my mouth?
“By your lips. I am thinking that we have been married for over four years and have not kissed since we touched lips on our wedding day—if you call that a kiss.”
He put his glass on the table and took a step toward her. “I have always considered that a kiss, but now you do make me wonder. If it wasn’t a kiss then I still have our first kiss to look forward to.” He took another step.
Her gaze dropped, the butterflies in her belly began to fly again, but in a much gentler pattern. “And would you look forward to it—to our first real kiss?”
She heard him shift, saw the toes of his shoes enter her line of vision as she gazed at the floor.
“Yes,” he said. “I look forward to it immensely. I’ve had years to consider what it would be like.”
Her teeth nibbled on her lower lip. “I do like the taste of port. It would make for a pleasant kiss.”
“It would.” She felt the air move as he leaned forward.
She pulled in a deep breath and tilted her head up.
William stared into her eyes for a moment and then moved to close those last inches. His lips were soft. She had not expected that. After the surprise of just how hard his body was, she had expected his lips to be also.
Pressing tighter, she rubbed her lips against his, enjoying the lushness of his mouth. It was so sweet, so gentle, so perfect—she wanted more. She opened her lips for him, inviting him in. He did not refuse the invitation.
His tongue swept across her teeth—and then deeper. She sucked his tongue in, bringing her whole body against him, her whole being caught in the warm, moist sensation of his mouth. She could feel his breath filling her, taste the warm port on both their lips.
She moved closer, wanting to feel more, experience more.
It was he who pulled back. “Not yet.”
The sting of his rejection from all those years ago hit again. She recoiled, moving to put a good yard between them. A sharp retort rose to her lips.
He reached out, grabbed her arm. “No. I mean exactly what I said—just not yet. Unless you really want to be fucked standing up by a man covered in sweat with blood still on his knuckles.”
She grabbed the hand that held her arm and brought it close to her face. Blood speckled across his skin. “Swatts?” she asked.
“Who else?”
He turned, pulling his hand free and moving toward her washstand. The water was still warm and he dipped his hands in it, giving them a good scrub. He wet the towel and wiped his face. “Would you bring me my port?”
Picking up his glass, she took a small sip, placing her mouth over the print of his lips. It felt slightly sinful.
His shirt, damp from the moisture on the towel, clung to his chest. A few dark hairs were visible through the nearly translucent fabric. Her mouth felt dry. She took a large gulp of his port.
“Are you going to give any of that to me? You do have your own glass,” He smiled.
“Yours tastes better.” She didn’t care how ridiculous that sounded.
“I am sure it does. Now bring it, and yourself, here. I feel the need for another kiss now that I am a little cleaner.”
She walked forward, but stopped a few feet from him, holding out the glass.
William took it from her, his fingers brushing hers with slow deliberation. “Not coming closer.”
She held a deep breath and turned away. “It is my turn to say not yet.”
“You think I will hurt you again.” He said it flatly.
“I don’t know, but I am certainly not sure that you will not. I do think we need to talk, to understand each other better.”
“I can only agree with that.” He sat on the edge of her bed.
A lump rose in her throat, but she forced it down. She was not the girl she had been before. She was a woman now, a strong woman. “I was going to invite you to sleep in my bed tonight. Don’t look like that. I merely thought you might be more comfortable than you were in your own bed. You did fight for me tonight, it seems less than kind to . . .”
“ . . . put me into a nursery bed? Would you be in it with me?” he asked.
“I was going to put pillows down the middle.”
He chuckled. “Do you really suppose that would work?”
“I think it would work if we both wanted it to.”
“Well then, I accept.” William slipped out of his evening shoes, and swung his legs up on the bed, wiggling his toes. Her bed was so wonderful, so thick and lush. He felt like he could sink into it and never be found—of course, in his mind he was not lost alone.
Elizabeth’s shoulders went back. He had expected they would, just as he had predicted her next words.
“I had not actually asked you.”
He smiled. “But you’re not actually going to kick me out, are you?”
She snorted, a delightful little sound that crinkled the end of her nose. Without answering she went around the other side of the bed and slipped under the covers. She did not move the pillows to separate them, but neither did she even approach the middle of the bed. Her body hovered so near the edge that he worried she would fall.
He stayed above the coverlet, staring down as his feet. It felt wonderful to be here with her even if nothing else happened. “Do you know, if I could go back in time I would not turn you away on that night when you came to me.”
“It’s easy to say that now. And that still doesn’t explain why you didn’t come to me on our wedding night. I waited for you until dawn, spending the last hours with silent tears running down my cheeks.”
He swallowed. “I didn’t know. It didn’t actually occur to me that you would want me to come. I thought you understood I was after a marriag
e in name only. I would never have expected more—atleast not then. I would have felt I was taking advantage of you.”
“Why would you have thought that?”
“I told you when I proposed that I would never do anything you didn’t want. I would never have broken my vow.”
“But I did want. Even if you didn’t realize that I wanted you then, you must have when I came to you later. When I begged you.”
He turned to stare at her. Their eyes locked, giving more intimacy than the shared bed had. “You were such a child.”
“I was nineteen.”
“But still looked like a child. You were all big eyes and thin legs and arms.”
“So you were not attracted to me?”
“I never said that. Hell, you had only to look at me and I turned hard—and I spent years denying that. It made me feel like the worst kind of man. I hated that I thought of you as a child and yet I wanted you. It was only seeing you again that made me remember how I truly felt. And even then it’s taken me days to admit the truth of my feelings. I was supposed to protect you.”
“And you did. But —”
He reached over and took her hand. “Let me finish. I was scared. I know that you think I’ve had plenty of experience with women, but I’ve had very little. A couple of meetings with an older widow behind one of my father’s barns when I was a boy. And then a couple of years later, a few quick encounters with professionals. There was nothing to brag about on any occasion. I don’t think that any of my liaisons lasted more than twenty minutes. I hardly felt ready to help to teach you about pleasure even if I could convince myself that I deserved you—and that you were truly old enough. And I knew I was leaving. Nothing, not even you, was going to change that. I did not wish to take you to bed and then desert you.”
“It was better to just desert me?” Her voice dripped with bitterness.
“Yes.” He squeezed her fingers tight. “I had no idea what would happen. I thought I was leaving you safe and cared for. I knew my staff, knew they would pamper you. And I knew that you would grow. I thought I was giving you a chance to become whatever you wished. I certainly never expected you to be ridiculed. Everyone knew I planned to leave. I’m still not sure why it was ever linked to you.”