A Matter of Temptation

by Lorraine Heath

  “Would you like help getting your boot off?”

  “Oh, no, I can manage, thank you very much.”

  Missed opportunity there, Robert. She would have had to get nearer in order to help.

  “Your problem?” he repeated.

  “Your boot first.”

  “Very well.”

  He sank onto the chair, lifted his foot, grabbed his boot, and tugged, tugged—

  “You do need help,” she said as she walked over.

  Her rose and lily scent wafted around him, as intoxicating as the whiskey in which he’d recently indulged. She knelt down, took hold of his boot, and pulled, having no more luck than he had.

  “My valet usually has better luck if he…” He let his voice trail off. His valet in the position he was going to propose was one thing. She was something else entirely.

  She raised those dark brown eyes to his, and he thought he could so easily get lost in them. No, not lost. It was as he’d told her earlier in the day. With her, he could find himself again.

  “What does your valet do?”

  “Well, he…uh…I can get it off.” He tried to bring his foot up but she refused to relinquish hold.

  “You’ve tried and I’ve tried. What does your valet do?”

  “He gives his back to me. Straddles my leg. I raise it, he grabs hold of the boot, then I place my other foot on his backside and push,” he finished quickly.

  “I see.”

  “I thought you might. Let me have my foot back now, if you please.”

  Instead she straddled his leg, bringing his foot up, holding on to his boot. Her nightgown lifted until he could see her calves. They were lovely. He wanted to reach down and run his hands along them, then sprinkle kisses over them.

  “Hurry up and push,” she called out. “Your foot’s getting heavy.”

  His gaze traveled up, up to her hips. Good God. Her backside in no way resembled his valet’s. His mouth grew dry. He should do this quickly for her sake.

  “Come on, be quick about it,” she demanded.

  Without further ado, he pressed his foot to her firm—it was so firm—rounded backside and shoved. The boot came off and she tumbled forward, caught her balance, and righted herself.

  He jumped to his feet. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She clutched his boot to her chest.

  “I thank you for your assistance. I much prefer being the same height on both sides.”

  She released a self-conscious laugh that caused her dimple to form.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Sometimes you seem so very different that I hardly know what to think.”

  And that was the problem. He was beginning to sober just a bit, and Weddington’s notion about wooing her suddenly seemed like an incredibly bad idea. “You said you had a problem that I could help you with.”

  “Oh, yes.” Very carefully she set his boot on the floor and clutched her hands in front of her. “I couldn’t figure out how to do the elephant.”

  He angled his head slightly. “Pardon?”

  “The birds and the dog and the deer with the antlers I could do, but the elephant baffled me.”

  He was no doubt looking equally baffled because she added, “The hand shadows. From earlier. With Richard.”

  “Oh, yes, the elephant. It’s quite simple really.” He glanced around, looking for an empty bit of wall. “Do you mind sitting on the floor?”

  “No.”

  “Marvelous.” He grabbed a lit lamp from the table and set it on the floor. “Let’s try it over here then. Sit in front of me so I can place my arms around you like I did Richard. Makes it easier to shape your hands,” he felt obligated to explain. Now that sobriety was returning with stunning swiftness, he realized it was best to avoid her, because holding his passion in check if he gave it any freedom at all was not going to be easy. It was like taking an inmate to the gates of Pentonville, opening them, and saying, “All right now, take a step out, then come right back in.” Not bloody likely.

  To reach her arms as she held her hands in front of the lamp required that he be very close to her, and that was best achieved by placing his legs on either side of her hips. She exhibited no hesitation at all as she nestled against him. The possibilities caused his heart to thunder and his mouth to go dry. Once he finished helping her with her “problem” he thought he might make a trip back out to the bathhouse and this time jump feet first into the frigid pool. Head first. Sideways. Every way imaginable. And he would stay there until he—and his manhood that was clamoring for attention—had shriveled into nothing.

  “The elephant?” she prodded.

  “Yes, the elephant.”

  He took her left arm, could feel her heartbeat fluttering madly at her wrist. Was she as nervous as he?

  “Raise your arm, bend your wrist, relax your hand, let it just dangle. You have such small hands. So soft.” He skimmed his thumb over her wrist. Satiny. He remembered from their excursion to the library earlier that the skin at her throat, so near his mouth, felt the same.

  “The elephant?” she reminded him, sounding rather breathless.

  Showing her how to make hand shadows was not the same as showing Richard. Robert could hardly keep himself focused on the task when such delectable rewards were within reach. He could nibble on her ear, skim his breath over her hair.

  “Lower your two middle fingers. They form the trunk, you see. Then raise your smallest finger and your index finger slightly and you have tusks. Your thumb will form the outline of the mouth. Move it down to open it, up to close it.”

  He took her other hand. “Now cup your right hand over your left until you’ve created a head. Curve your fingers slightly until a little sliver of light gets through to make the eye. And there you have it. We’re in Africa.”

  “Have you ever been to Africa?” she asked quietly.

  “Only in my imagination.”

  “I’ve hardly ever gone anywhere. I’d like to travel.”

  “Where would you like to go?”

  “I’ve always fancied a trip to Egypt. I don’t know why, but I’d like to see the pyramids.”

  “Perhaps we’ll go someday. We could journey down the Nile.”

  “I think it would take a lot of courage to do that.”

  “It’s not so frightening when you have someone with you.”

  She turned her head slightly, which brought her lips in line with his. He had but to move his mouth…he raised his eyes to hers.

  “Eleanor says that storms are good for snuggling, that Weddington holds her and kisses her silly—”

  “Kisses her silly? I’m not sure he’d find that description of his amorous endeavors flattering.”

  “She loves him desperately…my arms are getting tired.”

  “Are they? I’m sorry. Rest them on top of mine.” He moved his arms until they were beneath hers, supporting hers.

  “Have I ever told you that I’m terrified of storms?”

  Dear God. Had she? Was he supposed to know the answer or was it a rhetorical question?

  “If you did, I don’t remember.” Insensitive-sounding lout. He thought he’d remember every word that she’d ever spoken since the moment he met her.

  “I am,” she said. “Especially here, by the sea. It’s so loud and the wind sounds so angry. And I can’t sleep, which is the reason that I was trying to draw comfort from the hand shadows, but it would be so much nicer if the comfort came from you—”

  And that was all he needed.

  Chapter 17

  Torie knew a moment of uncertainty when she saw the desire suddenly smoldering in his eyes, as though he’d kept it banked and was now free to unleash it. She’d been unable to ignore the tenderness toward him that his time with Richard had stirred within her. She wanted to know him in every way possible. She was tired of being the patient wife.

  She wanted to open her heart completely. Then his hand was cradling her face, his mouth was on hers, and she r
ealized that she might very well be falling in love with her husband.

  She’d never known a touch so tender, a kiss so enticing, both encouraging her to surrender to his seduction. Not with force or insistence, but with the simple act of granting what she’d asked for and taking no more.

  Twisting around, she improved the angle, the positioning of their bodies, giving him permission to deepen the kiss, which he did with enthusiasm. She responded in kind, her arms going around his neck, vaguely aware that he was changing their position once again, carefully laying her on the thick carpet beneath them.

  He had one arm around her, the other hand still on her face, his fingers inching up, becoming entangled in her hair which one of Eleanor’s servants had pulled back and braided before she’d retired for bed.

  He trailed kisses along her jaw, down her throat, murmuring her name as though it were a benediction. Then his mouth was again on hers, with a subtle difference.

  He was no longer holding back.

  It was as though he couldn’t get enough, as though she’d never be able to satisfy the desire burning within him. His groans echoed around her while his tongue explored and his lips taunted.

  “What do you want?” he asked, his breath mingling with hers, the kiss barely stopped as he asked.

  “What do you want?” she replied.

  “Everything you’re willing and able to give this night.” He pulled back slightly, his gaze near enough that she could see dark black flecks in his deep blue eyes. She could see the passion and the doubts, but more she could see the fondness, the possibility for love.

  “I want your hair unbound,” he rasped, “your buttons undone. I want your touch on my bare chest, my back, in my hair. I want to look at you but be so close I can’t see all of you. But mostly I want you to want what I have to offer. Give me permission and I will be as gentle as the night falling around you.”

  Permission? What an odd thing for a husband to ask for. Had she ever given him the impression that she wouldn’t grant it, that she didn’t want this moment? Wasn’t she the one prodding and prompting and urging him on?

  She would have never thought her husband, a duke, would be uncertain of her desire for him, that he would doubt that she wanted him. A man who ruled estates and was coming to rule her heart. She smiled warmly, and he dipped his head, kissing her cheek.

  “I love when that little dimple appears,” he whispered. “I would do anything to keep it visible.”

  The rasp of his voice sent shivers cascading through her, her stomach coiled and her heart expanded. “Oh, please,” she heard herself sighing, “oh, please.”

  He returned his mouth to hers, and she thought this moment could be the prelude to something grand. He was so very skilled, his tongue swirling, waltzing with hers, an ancient rhythm. She was vaguely aware that he’d tugged her braid from beneath her, while his mouth wove its magic. Then was gone, his breathing labored as he unraveled the thick rope of her hair and spread it out, bunching his hands in the abundant strands near her scalp.

  “So beautiful, so soft.” He buried his face in her hair as though it were the most marvelous part of her. A tremor traveled through him, his body tensed, and it was as though he needed a moment to recover from a momentous discovery.

  Turning his head into her, he kissed her jaw, her chin, her throat. Each touch ignited a fire that spread through her. Shadows wavered at the edge of her vision. And she thought of how skilled his hands were at creating shadow creatures, how much more skilled they were at eliciting pleasure.

  Sitting up, he pulled his shirt over his head, and she found herself reaching out, flattening her hand against his chest.

  “So beautiful, so firm.” She smiled up at him, he laughed, a sound she was coming to love.

  When he returned to her this time, she sensed the joy and the wonder in him as his fingers skimmed over her buttons. He watched as his fingers undid one button, then another. Not in a hurry, not in a rush, but as though he was opening a gift, each part of the journey toward discovering what was nestled inside the box to be savored.

  When the last button was freed, she held her breath while he parted the material. The wonder in his gaze brought tears to her eyes. He molded his hand over her breast, moaned softly, and held it with exquisite care. She’d thought she should be embarrassed or frightened, anything but what she was: wishing he might hold it forever.

  With a deep groan, he pulled her to him, the heat of his chest penetrating the coolness on her skin. “You can’t imagine how desperately I’ve wanted to be this close, ever since I first saw you making your way up the aisle.”

  Before she could respond, he was touching her with his hands, his mouth, his tongue lapping over her skin, and she was touching him as well, reveling in the firmness of his muscles, the velvet warmth of his flesh. Oh, yes, this was what it was to be cared for, cared about.

  Try having love without it…

  No, she didn’t think so. It was part and parcel of the complexities of a relationship, the seeking out, the enjoyment…

  A knock sounded on the door. She squeaked as it opened and a footstep sounded. Robert drew her near, her face buried against his chest. She inhaled his intoxicating unique scent, trying to fight back the mortification of being caught in such a compromising position, even as she was aware that he was seeking to shield and protect her.

  “Oh, so sorry to interrupt but frightfully glad to see you were taking my advice.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “No? Certainly looks like it. Anyway, it’s not important. A ship has gone aground in the storm, a ways from shore. I’m off to see about getting the survivors safely to the beach.”

  “I’ll join you momentarily.”

  “Good. But hurry. The ship’s listing and if it goes—”

  “I’ll be there!”

  “Right.”

  The door banged shut. Robert lowered her to the floor and rolled away from her. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

  Sitting up, she began refastening her buttons, watching as he put his shirt back on before jerking on his boots.

  “But you’re foxed.”

  “I’ve sobered up considerably.” He glanced over at her. “Although I daresay I could easily become drunk on your kisses.”

  She thought she might have become a little drunk on his.

  He stood, stomping his feet into his boots.

  “You’re going to help them?” she asked.

  “Yes, of course. Don’t look so worried. I’ve helped before. I know what to do.”

  Did she look worried? Probably because she was.

  “But it’s storming—”

  “Yes, that’s what caused the problem.” He reached for the jacket resting over the back of a chair.

  “How will you help them? If they’re on the boat—”

  “We’ll row out, bring a few at a time back to shore.”

  “When did you help before?”

  “When we were lads.”

  She rose unsteadily to her feet, suddenly more terrified of the storm than she’d ever been, terrified of losing him when she was only just beginning to truly possess him. Her body was still humming, seeking something she didn’t quite understand. Her lips were swollen, tingling, and carried the taste of him on them.

  He suddenly stopped and stared at her.

  “What?”

  “Your hair. It does flow past your hips, like a velvety curtain, not really brown, but not red, dark like mahogany. Lovely.”

  Self-conscious with his flattery, she pulled her hair forward, draping it over her shoulder.

  “You will be careful, won’t you?”

  He grinned at her, a devil-may-care air about him. “Of course.”

  He strode over, placed his hands on her shoulders, and lowered his mouth to hers, the desperation in the kiss nearly bringing her to her knees. She found herself clinging to him, reluctant to let him leave.

  He pulled free. “I have to go.”

  He headed fo
r the door.

  “Robert?” she called after him.

  He stopped and looked back at her.

  “I’ll be here when you get back so I can help you take off your boots.”

  His grin broadened. “If you are, then I’ll kiss you silly.”

  She laughed as he disappeared out the door. Laughed, for goodness’ sakes, in spite of the danger into which he was heading, realizing that she would definitely be there when he returned.

  Torie sat in the chair for all of a minute before realizing that she couldn’t simply wait for him. Surely she could do something to help. She drew her wrap more closely around her and went in search of Eleanor, certain she wasn’t sleeping, either. The servants offered her directions through the massive manor, and she found the Duchess of Weddington standing in front of a large window, three flights up, gazing out at the sea, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “Eleanor?”

  Eleanor sniffed and wiped at her cheeks. “Sorry. I hate the sea, you know.”

  “No. I had no idea. Why ever do you live here then?”

  “Because Weddy loves it so. It’s the only lady with the power to take him from me. And I fear a day will come when she’ll take him away forever.”

  Torie joined her in front of the window. Whenever lightning filled the sky, the sea, the wrecked ship, the storm became frighteningly visible. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Not even the sea has the power to take him from you.”

  “A Gypsy fortune-teller once passed through the village, and I made the mistake of asking her to read the tarot cards and to tell me my future. She told me that the sea will take from me two whom I love.”

  “Your Weddy could travel on the ocean to Egypt and that would take him away from you.”

  Eleanor shook her head. “No. She said that I wouldn’t have the one I love for long. I’ve thought a thousand times of asking Weddy to move us to one of his other estates, far from the sea, but I would rather have a few years with him happy than a thousand with him sad.”

  “Eleanor, no one has the power to see into the future.”

  “Perhaps not. Perhaps I’m being silly. But it’s my fear that our time will not be enough that prevents us from engaging in the social whirl that is London this time of year. I want nothing to distract us from each other. I will never be ready for him to leave me, but I will make memories while I can. And now I’m being morose, and we have much work to do. We’ll soon have people to warm, feed, and find dry clothes for. You can help if you like.”