He shifted his weight. Whatever poor excuse for padding had been built into this torture device had long since worn away. “I knew the late Lord Worthington.”
A gasp. No, she wouldn’t expect this topic. Why would she, when they’d managed to navigate supper conversation with the usual social inanities?
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you from that,” he added.
Her gaze snapped to his, her mouth rounded into an O. “It wasn’t so bad.”
Her reply rang false in his ears.
“Truly? I’ve just told you I knew him.” Nathaniel had seen the man at White’s on a regular basis, telling bawdy jokes with his reactionary cronies, drinking too much, laughing too loud, smelling of stale tobacco smoke and sweat.
“I was quite content when he went up to London to take his seat in Parliament.” A hint of a smile played about her lips. “I always prayed some hotly contested matter would come up at the end of the session and necessitate an extension.”
Once again, he adjusted his hindquarters, bracing himself against her potential reaction to his next question. “Might I ask why you did marry him?”
“Why do you believe that is any of your affair?”
There it was, the verbal slap he’d been expecting. He deserved it, too. “Call it curiosity, if you like. It’s my curse.”
“Is it not enough that he had a title? And that he offered?”
He winced at that one, but it was no less deserved than her first set-down. “Don’t forget, I know you as well.”
“Perhaps not as well as you think.”
He rose to his feet. His aching arse thanked him. “The girl I recall was not chasing after a title.”
“That is not how your family viewed it.”
The devil take it, this was going all wrong. And he could not make excuses for his family. He knew quite well how the situation had appeared to them. And he, damn his own eyes, had not fought hard enough. “Your pardon. I did not intend to spend the evening disputing the past. We all have our regrets, I suspect.”
She watched him out of the corner of her eye. “What is it you regret?”
The hopeful note behind her question gave him the courage to approach. “Many things where you are concerned.”
“Many?” That came out on a whisper. “Such as?”
“For one, we never had a chance to waltz.”
“Waltz?” Her brows shot up. “The waltz hadn’t yet come into fashion when we were younger.”
“More’s the pity. I would have caused a great deal of gossip asking you for every set.”
A becoming bloom of pink spread across her cheeks. “As it was, you caused enough talk with the number of times you asked me to dance.”
He held out a hand. “Have you ever waltzed?”
“No.” Of course she hadn’t. By the time the dance had been admitted to Almack’s, she’d hidden herself away in the country.
“I wonder if you’d indulge me now?”
Her mouth opened halfway, and she shook her head. “You cannot be serious. We’ve no music.”
“We could pretend.”
She was tempted. He could tell from the way she drew her lower lip between her teeth, biting down slowly. Damn, but he wanted to do that—and he wouldn’t stop with her lip.
Muttering something that sounded suspiciously like incorrigible, she rose from her chair. “If I tread all over your feet, it would be roundly deserved.”
“You’ll not hear a word of complaint.” He set his left hand at her waist, enjoying the way her lips parted on a small breath of air.
If he pulled her closer than polite society would have deemed appropriate, she would not protest. She didn’t know the difference. Besides, she felt curiously right in his half embrace, just as he suspected she would.
He took up her free hand, setting the bare flesh of their palms together. A tingle of warmth spread up his arm at the contact. “Now you set your other hand on my shoulder.”
“I’m not at all certain this is proper,” she murmured. Still, she followed his direction, the weight of her arm resting on his biceps and her fingers curling round his shoulder muscle.
“It’s not, according to some. My mother considered this quite the scandalous display when it first came into fashion.” For good measure, he pulled her an inch closer. “And now you let your movements mirror mine.”
He took the first step, and she moved with him, hesitating only a moment.
“That’s it. Step with me. In rhythm. And step and turn.” On the next beat, he twisted his hips. She came with him, her fingers tightening about his.
She caught on quickly, and soon he was whirling her about the room, the tips of her breasts grazing his chest on every turn, while her hold tightened. Just the way the waltz was meant to go—in his head, at least, and with this particular woman.
At last he came to a stop. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes alight, and she laughed, a beautiful, full-throated sound that sent his blood rushing south. Good Lord, she would have scandalized all of polite society the way she took to this dance.
“It’s even better with music.” His words emerged on a husky tone.
“Thank you for showing me. It was diverting.” Sadness tinged her statement, leaving him with the impression a long time had passed since she’d done something purely for amusement.
“Then it was worth risking scandal.” He couldn’t stop himself from raising a hand and setting it against the softness of her cheek. “There’s something else I regret.”
Her eyes darkened, as if she knew what was coming. Her body recognized the overture, at any rate. Her entire being leaned toward him. “What?”
“That I never got to do this.” And he let his lips descend to capture hers.
Chapter Three
UNTIL KINGSBURY’S MOUTH took hers, Patience did not know the true power of a kiss. It possessed the ability to erase the past, to make her forget the lack of feeling his sister had claimed of him. When his mouth moved on hers, she had to believe in this reality. These were his true feelings. Here.
Now.
Thank heavens she’d never before experienced the force of his kiss. If she’d known the way he could enflame her senses with his lips and tongue, she might never have borne her husband’s attentions. What Kingsbury was doing to her now combined every conversation, every dance, every furtive touch they’d ever shared and multiplied the effect a thousand times over.
She savored the taste and scent of him—the bitterness of brandy enmeshed with the man himself, expensive sandalwood mixed with his musk. As with the waltz, she followed his lead, opening when he opened, touching tongue to tongue along with him. The press of his palms against her spine gave her hands permission to explore the muscled plane of his back and the contours of his shoulders.
As with the waltz, every movement stole her breath and made her cling.
Scandalous, that’s what this was, because he drove her thoughts straight to the bedchamber. He provoked her brain to call up shocking images of them moving together in a more intimate dance, completely naked on tangled sheets.
The benefits of widowhood indeed. She hadn’t realized the full extent of what she’d missed, but somehow her body recognized and demanded what it had never had. An aching hollowness took up residence between her thighs, clambering to be filled, to be stretched beyond endurance.
The thought drove her to press herself against him like some wanton, her breasts crushed to his chest, her fingers speared into his hair.
With a groan, he tore his lips away to trail hot, urgent kisses along her cheek, her jaw, her throat—all the skin he could reach, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted that mouth on places yet covered.
God, she wanted. And so did he, if the hard thrust against her lower belly meant anything. She arched her neck in offering. Yes. More. Show me where this
leads.
His fingers slipped to her nape, lingering at the fastenings of her gown. But then he raised his head, and his hands glided up to her jaw. His caress grazed her cheeks; his breath expelled in hard little puffs.
Her eyes opened to meet his searching blue gaze. Good Lord, he wanted assurance. She read that much in his expression. He wouldn’t simply take what he wanted. This highly placed, powerful man needed confirmation that her hunger was as strong as his.
She tightened her fists about the lapels of his topcoat. She ought to tear it from his shoulders and let him know in no uncertain terms that she accepted him. Accepted this. Only the smallest sliver of doubt stopped her. In the back of her mind echoed Linnet’s warning to guard her heart.
How difficult a task that was proving, especially when he was studying her with such intensity. Waiting. They’d done nothing but wait for each other, for this moment, yet he would wait more if she asked it of him. That, as much as anything, put the lie to Diana’s words. Patience was more than a mere trifle to him. She had to be.
Her heart gave another dangerous lurch in his direction.
She smiled to fend off the inevitable. “Why did we wait so long to try this?”
He’d never tried to lead her astray when they were younger. A good thing, because she would have followed him onto the nearest darkened terrace and tripped happily toward her downfall.
With the pad of his thumb, he traced a cheekbone. “I think on some level, I sensed it would be like this. I wouldn’t have been able to stop. I’d have ruined you.”
“You’ve stopped now.” She couldn’t prevent herself from pointing out the obvious.
“Only because I do not wish you to do anything you’ll regret.” Suddenly he yanked himself out of their embrace to stride across the room, his hand tearing through his hair. “Damn it. I should have done it then. I should have ruined you.”
“What?” Patience stood rooted to the spot, shaken. What he’d just proposed did not jibe in the least with the man she’d known. As for the man he’d become—no, it wasn’t right for him either. Not when he’d stopped himself to assure himself of her feelings.
“If I’d gone through with it. If I’d ruined you . . .” He turned, his expression bleak. “I would have had to make you an offer. No one could have stopped me.”
“Are you so certain of that?” She asked the question carefully. His family would have stopped at nothing to keep them apart. After her father’s death, his parents had leaped on the opportunity to invent an excuse to send him on an extended trip to Italy with his younger brother. The war had prevented a grand tour, but they’d claimed his brother had needed to see something of the continent and had required a guardian to keep him out of trouble.
Or, at least, that was the tale gossip had made of his fate.
Kingsbury had returned only after she was safely married to Lord Worthington.
“I would have taken you to Scotland.”
His vehemence struck deep. “I’d no idea you felt so strongly then.”
Perhaps if she had, she would have worked harder at encouraging him. At the time, she’d thought they disposed of sufficient time to allow their feelings to take their natural course. But then, if they had married, Diana would have made her life hell.
“I can no longer be certain of my affections then,” he admitted. “They may be influenced by what I’m feeling now.”
She bit her lip. She ought to demand clarification, but part of her held back. Whatever tender feelings they acted on tonight did not change the fact that his family would surely protest any permanent relationship between them.
And she refused to allow herself to be kept as a mistress. Then she would become his plaything. That was a line she would not cross, not even for Kingsbury.
In the hallway, the case clock whirred before striking twelve solemn chimes. They sounded like the intrusion of reality. “My goodness, it’s Christmas already.”
“Indeed.” His tone was clipped, his jaw firm. “Happy Christmas.” He glanced about at her bare walls. “Just look at what we’ve accomplished without mistletoe.”
She returned his smile, but she could not shake off the echo of the clock striking. Perhaps it was time for a little circumspection. She might have made some trite observation, something expected. She might have mentioned the late hour, but he might have misconstrued that as an invitation to her bed. Any number of conversation options paraded through her mind, but she rejected each one, until the quiet weighed heavy on the sitting room.
With a nod, he indicated he understood the meaning behind her silence. She wasn’t ready for more. Not yet.
He crossed to her, and the warmth and softness of his lips brushed her cheek. “However long you require, I will wait for you.”
WITH THAT FINAL comment to Lady Worthington, Nathaniel buggered himself. Or at least he condemned himself to a sleepless night. He passed the long hours waiting for the sky to lighten, straining his ears for the gentle pat of a naked footfall on the carpet, the snick of a door latch, the creak of a floorboard.
Anything.
But of course, she didn’t come. As much as she’d responded to his kisses, as much as he suspected he’d awakened her passions, she was too proper, too well bred to blithely set convention aside and fall into his bed.
No matter how much he longed for her. No matter how much she might desire that outcome for herself. She’d returned his kisses with all the sweetness and wonder of a woman discovering for the first time the boundless joy that might be shared with another. The give and take of pleasure.
How much greater might that response be when she lay beneath him? When he was buried so deep inside her he’d never wish to come out.
The vivid nature of those mental images haunted him while he rolled out of bed, knotted his cravat without a valet and made his way below to find Patience already at the breakfast table. He wished her good morning and took his place, but the particular shade of pink staining her cheeks sent his mind in all manner of scandalous directions. What would that blush look like on her breasts and belly once she’d taken her fill of pleasure?
Suppressing a groan, he set down his teacup with a dull thunk. He had to stop thinking about bedding her while she sat across from him spreading apricot jam over a piece of toast.
Yes, and wasn’t this a domestic little scene? They might have sat like this on any number of mornings long since if only he’d possessed the courage to defy his family. But he’d been raised to do his duty, just as much as the lady facing him had.
And he’d done that duty. He’d married the young lady his parents favored, but her perfect bloodlines hadn’t saved her.
Sitting here now, he realized the full scope of what he’d sacrificed to society.
Lady Worthington bit into her toast. “The snow appears to have stopped in the night.”
When in doubt, mention the weather. Had their interactions been reduced to the mundane? Or worse, was she reminding him of his impending departure?
“I doubt the roads will be practicable today.” He reached for his teacup, but the liquid inside had turned cold.
“Oh, certainly not, but you can’t let your family worry over your whereabouts.” She traced the rim of her saucer with a forefinger.
He suppressed a stab of envy for the china. “Nor yours.”
“I’d send a messenger, but I’ll arrive just as quickly myself, I suspect.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “As I recall, you noted the lack of mistletoe last night. If we’re to spend Christmas here, we might do something to rectify that situation.”
Last night, yes. He’d much rather talk about that than the inevitability of their separation, especially if the discussion involved mistletoe.
“I’m not sure we’d find any mistletoe now,” she added to his disappointment. “But we might do something to add a little holiday cheer to the
place. Holly and greenery and such.”
“I shouldn’t mind a constitutional. It ought to be bracing.” He pushed his chair back. “Just so long as you don’t expect me to cut you a Yule log. I’m afraid I’ve never had the opportunity to hone my skills with an axe.”
And if they got cold enough, perhaps he’d persuade her to share her body heat with him.
“I’ll get my bonnet and wraps. Jane will bring your overcoat.”
Before long, they were breaking a path through ankle-deep snow, headed toward the thick woods behind the dower house. Their breath plumed from their mouths in white clouds that dissipated into the cold, crisp air.
Beneath the naked branches of oak and birch, woodland creatures had already left their own tracks since the storm had ceased. Here and there, a spruce or fir peeked between the trunks, a dark smudge on the landscape beneath its mantle of frosting. But for the crunch of their feet, the woods lay blanketed under silence. Not even a birdcall disturbed the calm. Kingsbury glanced about him, seeing nothing but trees and the odd forms created by snow-covered bracken.
Lady Worthington paused in her tracks. “There’s a stand of holly somewhere back here.”
“Do you walk this way often?” His voice seemed loud to his ears.
“It’s cool and pleasant in the summer. A stream runs through a bit farther on, but it’s likely frozen over. If you venture that far at twilight, you might even come across deer—as long as you’re quiet.”
Quiet, just like these woods. Almost too quiet. “You don’t have any troubles with poachers, do you?”
“Why, no.” Her brow furrowed. “At least, I wouldn’t think so.”
“Didn’t you say the earl had gone for the holiday? If anyone wished to try, now would be an excellent occasion.”
“They’re welcome to try if they like.” Lady Worthington shrugged beneath her pelisse before marching off again. “It’s Christmas, after all, and the harvest was poor.” She strode on a few paces, then pointed. “No one’s going to catch a deer in that.”
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