Sarah Elliott

by The Rake's Proposal

  After a moment, she entered the room more fully.

  “I think your belongings are in the linen press,” he offered.

  She nodded and walked over to the tall, mahogany linen press, located a nightgown and a robe in its drawers, and silently crossed the room to enter the dressing room.

  Ben shrugged his shoulders, slipped off his robe and eased into bed. He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep. It didn’t work.

  It took Kate several minutes to reemerge from the dressing room. From beneath his lids Ben noted that her robe was thick and tightly belted, its sides drawn together at her neck. She paused in the middle of the room for a moment, as if expecting him to do or say something. He lay still, pretending to be asleep. After that moment passed, Kate quietly snuffed out the lamp. In darkness, she climbed into bed, careful not to touch him as she did so. She lay down so her back faced him, and she kept herself so close to the edge of the bed that she was in danger of falling off in the middle of the night. It was a rather difficult position to maintain, too. He was considerably heavier than she was and the bed naturally dipped in his direction. If she let herself fall asleep—not that she was in any danger of doing so anytime soon—gravity was sure to do its work and pull her in his direction.

  So instead she just lay there restlessly. Her heart beat quickly and she could think only of the large, warm body beside her. For over an hour, she lay very still, listening to him breathe. Eventually, his breathing became slow and even, so she assumed that he, at least, had managed to fall asleep. With the exception of some slight adjustments, he remained very still. Yes, she told herself, he had to be asleep. She didn’t know why it mattered so much, but she knew that she wouldn’t be able to sleep herself until she was confident that he was no longer awake. She simply felt too vulnerable.

  Several more minutes ticked by and she knew that if she didn’t find out for certain she’d go mad.

  Very carefully, she sat up in bed. With painstaking slowness, hoping that the bed wouldn’t betray her movements and disturb him, she leaned over to see if his eyes were closed.

  They were, and his dark golden eyelashes created peaceful half-moons. She only meant to look quickly for confirmation, but she didn’t lie back down immediately. For a moment, she just looked at the man who was, so suddenly, her husband.

  She’d never seen him sleep before and it allowed her an entirely new perspective. He was sinfully handsome and Kate knew that, try as she might to maintain her independence, she would never be unaffected when she looked at him. He did something to her, deep inside of her, that made her feel weak and soft and warm.

  His chest was bare. She wondered what he was wearing down below, beneath the sheet, but she didn’t dare look. She contented herself with just his chest. She’d seen it only once before, but on that occasion she’d been so angry and confused and scared that she hadn’t had time or the peace of mind simply to look, to enjoy. But now…she let her gaze wander even lower, to the hard ridge of his abdomen. He had a lot of muscles. She liked that about him, his strength. His body was firm, so unlike her own soft, curved and pliant body. She liked that contrast, too. Liked the way her fair body glowed against his darker tones, liked the way his slightly calloused hands felt on her smooth skin.

  She let her gaze travel up again, toward the tiny pulse in his neck that seemed to be beating faster; her gaze roved even farther still, to his face.

  His eyes were open, watching her. Her own eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t look away. Once his eyes met hers, she couldn’t have looked away if she wanted to. And she didn’t want to. A hot swirl of desire filled her stomach and she held her breath.

  “I don’t want to want you,” Ben said, his voice rough and quiet.

  Kate shook her head. She didn’t want to want him either.

  But she couldn’t help it.

  With the frustrated groan of defeat, he pulled her down to meet his lips.

  It felt like heaven. His hands were in her hair, her hands cupped his face, and in one swift motion he turned her over on the bed so his body covered hers. He dragged his lips from hers only to trail them roughly down the column of her throat, to her breasts. She still wore her robe, but she reached down to untie it, quickly, urgently, needing to be as close to him as possible. His lips followed, pausing to lick her nipples, to make them swollen, pink, erect. She mewled at the sensations he caused and he eased up, letting his lips travel down her stomach, delving into her navel. She arched her body beneath him, held his head tightly, not wanting to let go. His lips trailed lower still, scandalously low. Kate gasped in shock.

  “Ben? What are you—”

  “Don’t talk,” he broke in before she could articulate her nervousness, his voice hoarse, almost pained. For a moment her whole body remained rigid, too self-conscious over this extreme intimacy. She closed her eyes, not knowing whether she liked it or not. It was the most unusual, incredible feeling she’d ever experienced—insistent, intense. But then, oh, God, the sensations that washed over her…she writhed on the bed, unable to keep still, but it went on and on, growing to a crescendo pitch with every second. She cried out, wanting, needing—desperately—something more. Only she was still too inexperienced to know quite what…

  With a swift motion, he entered her, answering her need. Kate went very still at the sudden, strange feeling of having him inside of her: a fullness and pressure that urged her on even further. They’d not had a wedding night; this was only the second time they’d made love.

  “Ben?” she asked again, raising her head slightly.

  “Shh,” he said, nibbling on her lips. He began to move slowly, just a rhythmic rocking, in and out, and her worries disappeared instantly. She gripped him close as the feelings deep inside of her built up once more, swelling until she thought they would burst. Her nails left crescents on his shoulders, but she didn’t notice. All she could think about was her own pleasure. He moved faster, lifting her body to match his tempo, to meet his thrusts. And then everything exploded inside her, around her. She cried out as pleasure throbbed through her body, pulsating waves that traveled to her fingers and toes and sapped her strength.

  His gaze never left her face, watching as the last jolt of pleasure racked through her body. And as she gradually stilled, he allowed himself his own pleasure. It wasn’t a matter of effort; he simply let go. With a groan, part pleasure, part defeat, he thrust one last time, feeling, in that fleeting but intoxicating moment, that she truly belonged to him.

  Sated, limp and drained, they collapsed into each others’ arms.

  Ben was asleep. His breathing was deep and steady; this time Kate was certain of it. But she was still wide-awake, staring at the ceiling, her eyes tracing the paths of tiny cracks. She was terrified.

  She’d allowed herself to fall in love. There, she’d admitted it. She hadn’t meant to do it, but it had happened anyway. It was a disaster. Falling in love meant abandoning something she’d always clung to and cherished: her independence. And giving up her independence meant she’d gradually become someone only in relation to another, a wife to her husband, or a mother to any children they might have. A large part of her would love to be these things, but she knew that to do either would also mean forfeiting something she held very dear. Katherine Sutcliff, owner of Alfred and Sons, was simply not compatible with Lady Katherine Sinclair, wife.

  She didn’t actually know what that latter role entailed; the truth was, she didn’t have the faintest idea of how to be a proper wife. Ben hadn’t wanted a wife to begin with but she was certain that, having one now, he’d probably want her to behave like one. But all she knew how to be was bullheaded. He’d laughed at her—she could remember it vividly—when she’d confessed to him her true role in Alfred and Sons; she took that role very seriously, and yet he’d treated her as an absurdity, a trivial thing playing at a man’s business. How would he feel about her when he realized how totally unsuitable she really was? He knew she was unconventional—she’d hardly tried to hide
that fact—but did he realize that she couldn’t tell a hollyhock from a petunia, that she couldn’t draw…or sing…play a musical instrument…or sew? He’d expect his wife to be accomplished in these sorts of things, and Kate knew she’d never be. She didn’t even want to try. Eventually she’d become an embarrassment, and she cared too much about his opinion of her to let that happen. She didn’t know if she could endure his rejection.

  No, she could not allow herself to soften. She might love him already, but surely that was not an irrevocable state. She would need distance, though, if she were to have any hope of making this emotional about-face. He needed to leave, and although she couldn’t force him to go, she could make staying there most unpleasant. If he remained, he’d only break her heart.

  Chapter Eighteen

  November 1817

  To an outside observer, the scene in the breakfast room one month later appeared to be one of domestic tranquility. The early morning sun streamed in through parted curtains, skipping across the gilded highlights of porcelain plates and cups and saucers. Ben, still in his dressing gown with his hair rather devastatingly mussed, was pouring himself a cup of coffee while Kate—fully dressed and looking particularly pretty—quietly turned the pages of a book.

  Of course, it was rather rude to read at the breakfast table. One might even suppose that she was ignoring him….

  “I think we will have a party,” Ben said, breaking the silence.

  Kate looked up over her book with narrowed eyes. Like hell they were having a party. “I think we will not.”

  He sighed. These were the first words she’d spoken all morning. In fact, she’d spoken to him very little in the past month. He’d thought, after that first night together, that things might change between them, but that had not been the case. It was as if by getting Kate to open up just that much, he’d caused her, somehow in the bright light of day, to close down in other ways instead. In place of their previous bickering, they’d developed a strange sort of peace…with anger and mistrust never far below the surface. She stayed sequestered in the study for most of the day, although Ben hadn’t the faintest idea what she did in there since she told him nothing. Without Andrew Hilton her capabilities were extremely limited. She couldn’t arrange deals with suppliers or organize any meetings. She couldn’t do much, really, although she didn’t seem ready to admit that yet. That was why she spent so much time looking busy, he suspected. He would have helped her if only she’d asked him, but she hadn’t and he knew she wouldn’t. She was too stubborn to ask for help, especially from him, and he wasn’t about to offer his services. She probably wouldn’t accept them anyway.

  During the night, however, it was different. Inside their bedroom he experienced the most passionate lovemaking of his life. Still, she hardly said a word, but without fail she eased into bed and into his arms, turning to him for comfort or perhaps something more. He didn’t know what. During these moments he actually let himself wonder if she didn’t have feelings for him, too. On occasion, even during the day, he allowed his mind to wander down this path: sometimes he’d catch her watching him when she thought he wasn’t looking and he’d detect something in her eyes, something soft and even vulnerable. When she realized she’d been discovered she’d blush and look away…and when she’d meet his gaze again she’d always reverted to dispassionate form once more. He wished they could just start over. No one had forced him to marry her—he’d actually been daft enough to try his damnedest to convince her. She was the one being so blasted difficult with all of her stipulations. Kate had done her best to push him as far away as possible, and he wasn’t always sure if she hadn’t succeeded.

  His irritation began to show. “I think you have little say in the matter—”

  “I have every say—”

  She broke off as Mary entered the room, halting any argument that might have erupted between them. It was as if she’d been standing at the door, waiting for raised voices and prepared at any time to come to the aid of her mistress.

  “Yes, Mary?” Kate asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. She wasn’t actually in the mood for rescuing. She was prepared to fight.

  “Oh…I…was just looking for something, Lady Kate. I won’t be a minute.”

  “Of course,” Kate said, moderating her tone slightly. Mary was only trying to be helpful and she should be pleased at the interruption. She didn’t believe for one moment that Mary was really looking for anything. It was obviously just some pretense…she’d been extremely solicitous of Kate for the past month, at least where Ben was concerned. Kate wasn’t entirely sure why. Mary had heard her complain about him often enough in the past without getting too concerned.

  Ben just gave Mary an annoyed glance. He’d seen far too much of her lately and didn’t like the suspicious glances she kept sending in his direction. She kept looking at him as if she expected him to attack at any moment. It was bloody impertinent. “That party, Kate?”

  “I see no reason why we should. I think we can end the debate there.”

  He smiled to himself. She’d been cold and stiff since he’d entered the breakfast room and it felt good to annoy her. At least he could get some reaction that way. Anything was better than her silence. “Well, wife, it would seem a logical thing to do—celebrate our nuptials with the local populace. They might even be expecting it…would perhaps think it odd if we didn’t.”

  “They already think I’m a bit odd. A party won’t change their perception.”

  “Is that why you’re so annoyed that I’ve come here? You’re afraid I’ll find out how…odd…you really are?”

  It was part of the reason, anyway. She’d caused her fair share of gossip over the course of her life with her rather unfashionable clothes and lack of interest in feminine pursuits, not to mention her frequent appearances at her father’s boatyard. The more conservative members of the town, as well as many of the women, thought her most improper.

  Ben lowered his voice so Mary wouldn’t hear. “It would also give us a chance to invite our suspects.”

  “Oh, please don’t speak like that,” she whispered back furiously. “It sounds so…so sinister.”

  “Well? Isn’t it?”

  “No, it isn’t,” she maintained stubbornly. “There is no longer any risk. I am now married and therefore there is nothing for anyone to gain. Whoever it was who was a threat can no longer be a problem.”

  “Kate, the question is not whether we will hold this party or not. We will. I have decided. The question is whether you’ll cooperate.”

  “No. I told you—everything is fine now.”

  “Leave us, please, Mary,” Ben instructed, noticing that the woman was listening intently.

  She hesitated for a moment and then left. He suspected she was eavesdropping by the door.

  In an angry whisper, he asked, “Why? Just because nothing has happened yet?”

  “Nothing will happen. You’ll just have to accept that.”

  He looked at her hard for several seconds, trying to gauge what she was really thinking. Finally, he asked, “Accept that and leave? Is that what you would really like, Kate?”

  She didn’t mean to be nasty, and she didn’t want him to leave. Not really, anyway. She would love for him to stay, to fall in love with her; she would love to allow herself to love him back. But it just wouldn’t happen. She’d spent the past few years worrying about her independence, but independence couldn’t be compatible with being a wife, could it? Not in his eyes it couldn’t be, she was sure of that.

  She raised her chin. “Yes. I would like you to leave.”

  Again, he was quiet. His jaw tightened stubbornly and he rose from his seat.

  “We’ll invite the entire village, Kate. I’ll work on the invitations myself if you won’t help.”

  She arched a brow in challenge. “You, my lord?”

  He said nothing, but he slammed the door on his way out the room. That said enough.

  Writing invitations was women’s w
ork. That was how Ben had always viewed it. He’d never known a single man who’d sat, as he was at that very moment, over piles of gilt-edged paper, carefully writing names in his best hand whilst crossing them off of an accompanying list. It was the province of mothers, sisters and wives. Not the future Viscount Carlisle.

  Only his wife refused to do it so there he was. He would have enlisted the help of one of the servants, but that would only lead to questions of why he was doing such a thing rather than Kate.

  Bloody-minded woman.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The party, held two weeks later, seemed to be going well, although Ben wasn’t particularly concerned at just that moment if his assembled guests enjoyed themselves or not. Everyone he’d invited had come, and he’d been certain not to be too exclusive. Although he hadn’t actually invited the entire town, as he’d threatened, he’d invited most of it.

  As he looked around the overheated, crowded drawing room from his position along the wall, he was aware that he’d hardly seen his wife all night—not that that meant a great change from their usual habits. He’d spotted her once or twice, dancing past with local men or chatting quietly with neighbors. He had to admit that she was everything a gracious host should be, a fact that made her almost total lack of graciousness toward him all the more galling. But why should he care? He had only one thing to achieve that evening: finding out who was behind the attacks on Kate. And once he discovered that and made sure she was safe, he’d leave. That was obviously what she wanted him to do. She’d probably be pleased if he left tomorrow, and that’s exactly what he would do if only he weren’t in love with her. But he just couldn’t leave her. Not yet. Not until he knew she was safe.