The Wicked Wife (Blackhaven Brides Book 9)

by Mary Lancaster

  Then, with a sense of deep anticipation, she walked back into the bedchamber. Torridon watched her, appreciative, almost predatory. And when she slid back into bed, sitting beside him against the propped-up pillows, he turned and took both her hands, raising them to his lips one after the other before he again kissed her mouth.

  “I had almost forgotten how soft and sweet you are,” he whispered against her lips. “And yet I dreamed of you nearly every night.”

  She slid her hands over his warm shoulders, wondering if she was silly to give in so easily. Only she had longed for his embrace so much.

  She pressed her cheek against his. “I missed you,” she gasped into his ear. “If I behaved badly—and I know I did—it’s because I missed you.”

  “I know. Shall we start again?”

  She smiled into his neck, inhaling the scent of his skin. “You mean, wait to be introduced and dance together, make stilted conversation in public?”

  “Your conversation was never stilted.”

  “Neither was yours.” He had been magnificent, confident, charming, making her laugh and overwhelming her with sheer emotion that she had been too innocent to put a name to.

  Now she knew it as desire, lusts of the flesh, and it was happening all over again. She began to tremble as he kissed his way down her throat to the neckline of her nightgown. She stroked his back, smoothing her palms over the rippling muscle, remembering with familiar pleasure and new wonder.

  His mouth found hers once more, kissing her deeply, while he drew her down to lie beside him, half under him. His hardness pressed urgently against her thigh. Her whole being ached for his love.

  He groaned softly into her mouth. “Good night, my sweet,” he whispered and lay back on the pillows.

  Stunned, aching, she took a moment to turn her back on him and douse the lamp. She didn’t know whether she felt more hurt or frustrated.

  Seduce him, Serena had said. Well, that clearly didn’t work.

  He moved, clasping her shoulder as he loomed over her again. “Just to be sure you know,” he murmured, “this is harder for me.”

  “Then why—” she began and broke off with a jerk of impatience. She refused to ask.

  Of course, he understood anyhow. “Because we are starting again,” he reminded her. “And it is not gentlemanly to seduce a gentlewoman on the first night of one’s acquaintance.”

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or slap him. “And where did you discover this little-known point of etiquette?” she managed.

  “Oh, I read it in a book somewhere. But I give you notice, on the second day, you are fair game.”

  In spite of herself, she shivered with anticipation. “Unless, left to myself, I rediscover my shyness.”

  He settled down at her back, wrapping his warm, completely naked body around hers. His smiling lips brushed her neck. “I look forward to breaking down that barrier. If I find it.”

  Happier than she had been for months, Frances closed her eyes and wallowed in her husband’s embrace. It had been a long time since she had looked forward to the next day. Suddenly, life was full of exciting possibilities once more. Of warmth and gladness and love.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Daylight streamed through the curtains they had never closed. Sounds of bustle came from inside the castle and out. Carriages were being loaded, ready for Serena’s departure.

  Frances was aware at once of her husband’s presence in her bed. His hand brushed the side of her knee, where her night rail had got caught up in sleep, and unhurriedly caressed its way up her leg to thigh and hip. Slow-burning desire weighed down her limbs, but since she had no wish to move, that hardly mattered. Alan was here with her at last, his hand continuing its slow, sensual journey under her nightgown to her waist and upward until it found the soft curve of her breast.

  She turned her head toward him, reaching for his kiss. He gave it, and the sweet ache in her body caught fire. A low, excited breath of laughter escaped him, because he knew she was won. As she always was.

  But she was no longer a naïve, wide-eyed girl. And she would not let her love, her physical surrender be taken for granted ever again.

  Detaching her lips from his, with some difficulty, she said breathlessly, “Not now, my lord.”

  He smiled, pulling her under him. His hardness pressed between her thighs. “My book of etiquette is quite clear that this morning is quite permissible.”

  “That must be the gentlemen’s book. The ladies’ book says not.”

  “Does it give reasons?”

  “Oh, yes. In short, I am too busy. Jamie will wake momentarily, and my sister is preparing to leave.”

  “If I know Serena, she will be preparing for some time.” His wicked hand continued its caresses.

  It was one of the hardest things she had ever done, to lie still and not throw her arms around him in abandonment. Her whole body was aflame. Perhaps he knew very well that a little more perseverance would reduce her to a pliable blob of lust. She couldn’t take the chance.

  Reluctantly, but firmly, she pushed his shoulders and turned him on to his back. He went willingly, as though he thought it part of her love-play, but without his weight upon her, she slid out of his arms and the bed.

  He laughed softly. “Minx.”

  Smiling, she checked on Jamie who still slumbered peacefully, and went in search of clothes. Torridon lay propped up on pillows, his hands behind his head, watching her every move as she washed and dressed. And that was exciting, too.

  “Come here,” he growled, low, when she was brushing her hair.

  But as she turned to him, Jamie woke with a demanding cry. And so, while she fed the baby, Torridon appeared to give up, rising to wash and dress himself.

  Frances had little to compare his body to, but the sight of Torridon without clothes had always overwhelmed her with awe and desire. She ached to relearn its every plane and muscle and hard curve. She wanted to hold him, feel him moving on her, within her.

  Swallowing, she returned her attention to Jamie.

  After a while, as other matters flitted through her mind, she said, “You have been here a few days now. Did you see much of my little sisters? Maria in particular?”

  “Not really. The castle was full of guests. Why?”

  “Maria has an admirer, a young officer whom she meets in secret. It is innocent, of course, for the moment, although the world will not necessarily believe that. I spoke to her yesterday, but I have a feeling the matter is not over. I just wondered if you or anyone else had noticed her unhappiness.”

  Torridon patted himself dry with a towel. “No one has mentioned it in my hearing. And I’m afraid I have been too involved in my own business to notice hers. Who is the man concerned? Does Braithwaite not like him?”

  “I doubt Braithwaite has ever met him,” Frances said wryly. “He was the officer you struck the night of the ball.”

  Torridon paused with his shirt half over his head, staring at her. “That is not good. But did Maria not see him in that state? Did it not cure her infatuation?” He straightened the shirt, and reached for his pantaloons.

  “It certainly gave her pause. He disappointed her quite gravely.” Frances sighed. “However, I fear she may be a little like me. If she feels she has made a commitment, she may well feel obliged to stick to it beyond what is reasonable.”

  For an instant, Torridon met her gaze, his eyes oddly stricken. Too late, she realized he had taken the comparison to mean her commitment to him was a matter of obligation. In reality, she had been thinking of her unreasonable commitment to the wager with Ariadne.

  His eyelids swept down, hiding the emotion. Frances opened her mouth to explain, but Jamie, replete for the time being, let out a squawk, and by the time she turned him onto her shoulder to wind him, Torridon had begun to speak of other things.

  As if the awkward moment had never been, he obligingly fastened her gown for her. And then, with a quick smile, she left him, taking the baby with her as she
went in search of Serena.

  *

  Torridon watched her go. He couldn’t deny that the comparison of her commitment with Maria’s had wounded him. But, in fact, it didn’t make sense. The fog of doubts and suspicions and sheer anger that had haunted him since she’d fled Torridon had vanished. He now had a much clearer view of his passionate, loyal wife whom he himself had unwittingly made unhappy. If she had ever stuck to her commitment through mere obligation, he should be grateful. But in his heart, he didn’t think she ever had. The love he had sensed had always been there. She had been talking of something else… her wager with Ariadne Marshall, no doubt.

  Either way, he would not let it cloud his day or interfere with his courtship. And he knew perfectly well what she had been doing this morning—paying him back for his abstinence last night. But he would not take her again merely as a matter of course. This time there had to be a clear understanding between them. He had to win her utterly, completely.

  Still, her teasing this morning enflamed him even further, for he relished the hunt and anticipated the end result with ever-greater pleasure. He might have still chastised himself for a blind fool who had unwittingly hurt her and all but wrecked their marriage, but he no longer doubted her love or his ability to hold her. To take her when he chose, with her full, delightful cooperation. Oh yes…

  Adjusting his pantaloons, he reached for his boots. His valet arrived and was sent away with nothing to do, and Torridon strolled off to inspect the chaos of the Tamars’ departure.

  Three coaches waited at the front door, two crammed with baggage. More was being brought out constantly and being bestowed either inside or on the roofs. Serena flitted busily in and out, as did various familiar castle servants and men probably hired for the journey. Or they could have been Braithwaite’s retainers, for he travelled to and from London a great deal.

  Tamar leaned one shoulder against the wall and seemed to be drawing in a little book held in the palm of his hand. Torridon strolled up to him and examined the amusing sketch of people rushing to fill a coach that was buckling under the weight, while an attached horse had turned its head to watch with an expression of horror.

  Torridon laughed, and Tamar grinned in response.

  “Is any of that stuff actually yours?” Torridon asked.

  “One small trunk. And some painting gear. But most of that was in my studio—been sent ahead already. I think your wife is trying to persuade mine to leave behind her bedchamber furniture and gowns she had when she was fourteen years old.” He straightened, stuffing the notebook and pencil into his pocket. “It’s hard for her to leave. Perhaps it would have been easier if we’d gone as soon as we were married.”

  Torridon considered. “No. You know each other better now, and so the change in scene will be easier for her with that support. Besides, she’ll thoroughly enjoy arranging everything. She loves a project, Frances tells me.”

  “Well, she’s already taken Sylvester in hand,” Tamar observed as his brother emerged carrying two framed pictures and a Queen Anne chair. “After that, a ruined house and estate will seem like a stroll in the park. How the devil are they going to get the chair in?”

  “Roof,” Torridon said succinctly. “Good luck, my friend!”

  He had caught sight of Maria in a voluminous cloak, her expression unhappy as she stood alone behind the coaches, watching the proceedings. He strolled up to her, which seemed to surprise her, although she summoned up a wan smile.

  “Have you given up on Serena’s packing?” he asked lightly.

  “She has Frances.”

  “From what I hear, she needs a small army just to persuade her to leave the castle furniture.”

  “Life is changing for her again. For all of us,” Maria remarked. It didn’t appear to fill her with pleasure. She glanced to the left, toward the woods.

  “Doesn’t it always?” Torridon said.

  “No. For years it stays the same.”

  “No it doesn’t,” Torridon argued. “It just changes more slowly. I hear you are coming to stay with us.”

  “Perhaps,” Maria replied vaguely. “Later… if you’ll have me.”

  “Of course we will,” Torridon said.

  Again, she glanced toward the woods. She was tense, strung as tightly as a bow, like a soldier before battle. At least he knew how to help with that.

  “Walk with me a little,” he invited, turning in the direction she kept looking.

  Maria hesitated a moment, then fell into step beside him.

  “Frances is worried about you,” he said. “She thinks you are unhappy.”

  Maria laughed, presumably by way of proof to the contrary. “And what do you think?”

  “That she’s right. And that you look like someone who’s about to do something they don’t want to do.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I used to command men in battle. I saw many soldiers, and not just the untried ones, determined to do their duty and fight when what they really wanted to do was stay exactly where they were—or preferably run back to their homes and families.”

  “But they fought anyway,” Maria guessed, looking at him. “They did their duty.”

  “Their duty was clear cut in those cases, though sometimes they had to be talked into it. Other duties are not so obvious. Like yours at this moment.”

  Her eyes widened. “You mean I should be with Serena?”

  “I think you wish to be with Serena.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “But for some reason, you believe your duty is elsewhere.”

  Her breath caught. Then she laughed again, a short, mirthless sound. “Would you believe me if I said I am about to elope with the man you hit the night of the ball?”

  “No,” Torridon said calmly. “I don’t believe you are so silly. I think you are contemplating it with considerably less joy than is necessary for such a step, but won’t bring yourself to do it.”

  “And yet, he’s waiting for me now, in a borrowed curricle on the road beyond these trees.”

  “And you told him you would go?”

  She nodded dumbly. “I suppose you will tell Frances and Mama and Gervaise.”

  “And we will all rush to stop you? Is that why you’re telling me?”

  “I don’t know why I’m telling you. Won’t you though? Rush to stop me?”

  He considered. “I don’t think I need to rush. But yes, I will stop you.”

  “Why?” she whispered.

  “Because there is nothing but misery for you with him. And here, with your family, you have such a bright future. It’s not your reputation they would mourn, Maria. It’s your happiness. Do you not know how much they love you?”

  “I don’t know anything anymore,” she whispered. She dashed the back of her hand across her eyes. “Except that you’re right—I don’t want to go with him. And yet…”

  “And yet you feel you should since you’ve said you would.”

  She nodded. “You must think me very stupid.”

  “No.” He didn’t elaborate. Instead he said, “I think we should both go to meet your ardent suitor. Don’t worry, I shan’t hit him again unless he insults you. Tell him how you feel while I am there to protect you. If he is half a gentleman, he will be ashamed of himself. Or if you prefer, I will play the heavy-handed brother and forbid him from seeing you again. Don’t worry, he will obey.”

  Maria shivered. “You can be quite frightening, can’t you?”

  “To foolish or badly-behaved young soldiers? Oh yes.”

  A flicker of humor lit her unhappy eyes. She drew in a breath. “I think I should be honest with him, don’t you? He deserves that much.”

  Torridon didn’t believe the bounder deserved anything but a severe kick in the breeches. But he merely inclined his head.

  Maria swallowed. “I would be grateful for your company.”

  “I’m afraid you have to have that, grateful or not. Come, let us hurry so it is done, and you can be back in
time to say goodbye to Serena.”

  This time, her smile was better, and a few minutes later, he glimpsed a waiting curricle through the trees. Her tension redoubled, raising her shoulders noticeably inside the cloak. Torridon bit back the platitudes about him not being worth her pain, or that if he truly loved her he would wait. He suspected it was the loss of love she was mourning, not the loss of her soldier. As he recalled, though only faintly through the years, there was pain enough in that.

  Voices reached them through the trees. Torridon glanced quizzically at Maria, who only shrugged. Eventually, he saw that there were two young men in the curricle, apparently arguing. One was the young officer he had struck, though now in civilian dress. The other was a complete stranger to Torridon.

  “Who is with him?” he murmured.

  “Bernard,” Maria said blankly. “It’s Bernard Muir, Gillie’s brother. Lady Wickenden’s brother,” she corrected herself. And it seemed that the presence of a childhood friend made the whole scene more natural. She actually increased her speed, calling, “Bernard? What in the world are you doing here?”

  Both heads jerked up to face her, taking in not only her presence but Torridon’s, too. The officer’s face blanched. Involuntarily, he touched the bruise on his cheek.

  The other young man seemed not in the slightest put out. “Maria,” he said in a business-like manner, jumping down from the curricle. “That is, Lady Maria,” he added with another quick glance at Torridon. “I’ve lent Heath my curricle, but only so I could drive him up here to speak to you. No idea who you are, sir, but if you haven’t come to forbid this—which I hope you have—I wish you’d talk some sense into these two.”

  “Why, Bernard,” Maria said on a choke of laughter that was almost a sob. “Have you come to save my honor?”

  “Not sure exactly why I came,” Bernard admitted. “Except that Heath seemed to think I was the most respectable of his friends—which says a lot, in my opinion!—and I should lend him my new curricle to elope with you. Anyway, the question is, Maria, what do you want? Do you actually want to go to Scotland and leg-shackle yourself to this gudgeon?”