Nicola Cornick Collection

by Nicola Cornick

  And then someone was beside her, his hand smoothing the hair away from her hot forehead, his arms about her, holding her with gentleness she craved but had never found.

  “Sweetheart.” His lips were against her hair. “Hush. You’re safe now.”

  Owen.

  He was there for her when she needed him. She had thought to push him away, uncomfortable with his physical proximity, but found herself clinging to him instead, burying her face in his shirt and holding him as though her very life depended upon it. She inhaled his scent and it felt so familiar and reassuring that her body softened into acceptance. There was no danger here. Owen would never hurt her. She knew it in her soul.

  After a moment he drew her back beneath the sheets—it was cold in the room, even with the flicker of the fire. Her head was on his shoulder, and his arms about her were as strong as steel bands.

  “Safe …” She murmured the word and felt his lips brush her brow. She was so tired; habit and an instinctive wariness told her that she should stay awake, that she should be vigilant. A deeper instinct told her that she could trust him and sleep. The warmth crept from his body to hers, wrapping her about with comfort, a drug on her senses. She could not resist any longer. Sleep ambushed her and with slight surprise she succumbed.

  When she woke the next time, the entire length of Owen’s body was pressed against her and she felt hot, as though she had a fever. His lips were about an inch from hers. She could feel his breath on her skin. Through the tangle of her nightgown she felt his erection—no, he most certainly was not impotent—and her gasp of shock brought him awake so fast she barely had time to register it. One moment his face had been vulnerable in repose. The next he was staring into her eyes, and his own were dark with desire, sleep fading fast. Tess froze, the terror pouncing on her, turning her body to ice. But then an extraordinary thing happened. Owen’s lips curved into a smile. He kissed her with the briefest and most fleeting of caresses, and rolled away from her onto his back, one arm behind his head.

  “I apologise,” he said, “if I shocked you.”

  “I …” Tess grabbed her scattered thoughts. Her heartbeat was slowing, the patter of fear easing from her body leaving her weak with relief. “I thought you would—” She stopped.

  “You thought I would make love to you?” Owen said. His face was tilted towards her. She could barely see his expression in the shadows. “I don’t force my attentions on an unwilling woman.”

  He had told her that earlier but it was still a revelation to meet a man with restraint, even though she had known they must exist.

  She frowned. “But you were aroused …” The heat flooded her body, embarrassment mingled with something else. She had never left so many sentences unfinished in her life.

  “I find you very attractive.” He sounded matter-of-fact. “I won’t lie. Nor apologise.” A thread of amusement came into his voice. “However, I don’t actually have to do anything about it.”

  “Oh.” She felt naive. In fact she felt a whole welter of emotions, but for the first time fear was not the strongest. She snuggled closer to his side, seeking his warmth again, and immediately felt him stiffen. She drew back. She had done something wrong. She knew it from his reaction.

  “I’m sorry.” She was mortified.

  “No.” He pulled her very firmly into his arms. “I was surprised, that’s all.” His breath stirred her hair and sent delicious shivers skittering over the skin of her neck. “I’m glad you trust me.”

  Tess relaxed. Her head was resting on his shoulder again, her lips only a couple of inches from his throat. The scent of him was like rainwater but with something in it that was uniquely his. Once again the relaxation seeped into her limbs but it had a different quality to it now. It felt peaceful, undemanding.

  She lay like that for a long time, watching Owen, listening to his breathing as he fell asleep. She felt different and strange, humble, filled with awe and happy. The happiness rippled through her like sunlight and she revelled in it, revelled in Owen’s closeness and the uncomplicated pleasure she could take from it. It was like a revelation to her. But slowly her awareness of him changed. Contrarily it was spiked with attraction now. She felt very awake. Excited.

  This time her gasp of shock was from a different cause. Impossible. It was impossible that she should want him…. And yet she did.

  She shifted imperceptibly closer to Owen. He was lying very still with his eyes closed, deeply asleep. Tess pressed her lips softly to the skin of his throat. It was warm, skin soft, stubble rough. The contrasting sensations jostled within her. So did the curiosity and the apprehension. Greatly daring, she parted her lips and tasted him with the tip of her tongue. Again that uniqueness; she tasted salt, fresh air, clean linen, Owen … Her head spun. She touched her fingers to his hair, feeling the smoothness of it like the flick of feathers.

  She wanted to kiss him. She wondered if she dared. In truth she wanted to touch all of him, the hard, corded muscles of his arms, the breadth of his shoulders, his chest … She gulped. It was too much, too soon. The idea simultaneously intrigued and frightened her. The desire in her shimmered, but it was still locked away behind that closed door. She had to breach those barriers in her mind first before her body could follow and find satisfaction.

  No, together they had to breach those barriers. She knew that Owen would help her if only she could trust him. She leaned over and kissed Owen very softly, and he murmured something and drew her down into his arms again and finally she slept without nightmares.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “THE DUKE OF FARNE AND LORD Grant are here to see you, my lord.” Houghton, very stiff, bowed Garrick and Alex into the breakfast parlour. Owen wondered what he had done this time to incur the butler’s disapproval. Perhaps there was some sort of social procedure that a newly married viscount should perform. Very probably retiring to the library at six in the morning and drinking half a bottle of brandy was not on the list of approved activities of the morning after the wedding, though knowing the ton, perhaps it was positively encouraged. Who knew? Owen certainly did not. All he knew was that he had left Tess sleeping under Margery’s watchful eye because he had had enough torture for one night. Lying with Tess curled safely in his arms had been both agony and delight. He had been astonished and humbled that she had trusted him but there was only so much that a man could stand, and when she had started her innocent exploration of him he had thought he might come apart beneath her questing fingers. He had lain awake, feeling her curiosity, feeling her hesitation, until finally she had slept. Then he had lain awake some more wanting to slake his hunger for her and knowing full well he could not in all honour. Finally he had got up and hit the brandy. Now it was ten o’clock and he felt vile. Not even the strongest coffee could soothe the monster of all headaches.

  “We thought we would see how you were this morning after the drama of the wedding breakfast,” Alex was saying. He grabbed a chair and poured himself a cup of coffee. “You look appalling,” he added.

  “No sleep,” Owen said succinctly.

  “Congratulations,” Garrick said.

  Owen shot him a look. “Not like that.” He swung around on Alex. “What the hell do you mean by telling my wife that I was impotent, Grant?”

  Alex almost choked on the coffee.

  “Bloody hell,” Garrick said. He backed towards the door. “I’ll leave you to deal with this one on your own, Grant.”

  “I didn’t have you down as a coward, Farne,” Alex said sardonically.

  “Stay,” Owen said, hooking out another dining chair with his foot. “I might need you as my second, Farne.”

  Alex peered at him. “Hangover?” he asked. “Is that the cause of this vile temper?” He reached for the bell. “Surely Houghton has something for that.”

  “Not sure the butler can cure thwarted desire though,” Garrick said. “Looks like a bad case.”

  Owen shot him a filthy look. “Shut up, Farne,” he said.

  “So
Tess thought you were impotent and you didn’t discover this … problem … until after the wedding, then,” Garrick observed.

  Owen rolled his eyes. “Well, obviously not.” He looked from Garrick, who was trying not to laugh, to Alex, and spread his hands. “Devil take it, what can I say? I’m a gentleman. I’m old-fashioned. Lady Darent and I had only been engaged a fortnight. Naturally I had not tried to seduce her—”

  “It’s all right, Rothbury.” Alex patted him on the shoulder. “You don’t need to explain yourself to us.”

  “This is all your fault, Grant,” Owen said.

  “What was I supposed to do?” Alex protested. “Mention that just in case Lady Darent was not aware of it, you were in no way impotent?” He shook his head. “I don’t go around talking about my friends’ sexual exploits, Rothbury.”

  There was a brief hiatus in the conversation as Houghton came in bearing a tray. “I have brought you a remedy against the drink, my lord,” the butler said, with deep disapproval. “Your predecessor, the late Lord Rothbury, swore by its reviving qualities.”

  “Had no idea my predecessor hit the bottle,” Owen said. “Not quite the dull stick he appeared, then.”

  He tossed the liquid back. It tasted utterly vile. His admiration for the previous Lord Rothbury went up another notch.

  “I’m sure you can overcome the problem, Rothbury,” Garrick said as the door closed behind Houghton.

  “I’m not so sure,” Owen said. Before the previous night, he would have said there was no hope. Now he had to believe there was a chance. He looked from one to the other. “The problem,” he said slowly, “is Brokeby.”

  Alex and Garrick exchanged a look.

  “Brokeby,” Alex said. His voice flattened. “Joanna wondered …” He stopped. “Hell,” he said.

  “Literally,” Owen said drily.

  “I’d forgotten Lady Darent had been married to Brokeby,” Garrick said. “It was over so quickly.”

  “Not quickly enough,” Owen said grimly.

  “What happened?” Alex said.

  “The exhibition,” Owen said. He was not going to tell them everything but he wanted their help. “Teresa didn’t know,” he said. “Brokeby drugged her and Melton painted her.”

  Shock flared in Alex’s eyes. “Christ, Rothbury,” he said faintly.

  “I want to find Brokeby’s cronies,” Owen said. The anger surged in him again, bitter, violent, no less sharp with the passage of time. “They were there. I’m going to find them and I’m going to kill them.”

  Alex shook his head. There was sympathy in his eyes. “Don’t do it, Rothbury,” he said. “I understand your feelings, but—”

  “If you tell me it’s not worth it,” Owen said through his teeth, “I’ll probably punch you.”

  “It’s worth it a thousand times over for Tess,” Alex said with a faint smile, “but it will never change the past.” He shifted. “Violence did not serve you so well before, did it, Rothbury? You lost your commission and you damn near lost your everything else.”

  Owen came to his feet. “Why, you—”

  “Don’t call me out,” Alex said calmly. “You’ve spent fourteen years putting that behind you. Don’t let it master you now.” His gaze was steady and watchful on Owen’s face. Very slowly, Owen sank back into his chair.

  “Curse you, Grant,” he said morosely. “Why are you always right?”

  “Because I’ve been in the same place,” Alex said. “When you told me what David Ware had done to Joanna I wanted to kill him. If he had not already been dead …” Owen saw him shrug, a little uncomfortably, as though the memory still had the power to hurt him. “But I realised that the only thing that mattered was how Joanna felt, not how I felt. You are the only one who can help Tess and you won’t do that by getting arrested for murder, no matter how tempting it is.”

  Owen let out his breath on a long sigh. “You’re damned persuasive.”

  “Most of Brokeby’s set are dead anyway,” Garrick put in. “Carver broke his neck on the road to Brighton a few years back. Helmsley was shot by his gamekeeper, and Towton was trampled at the Newmarket races.”

  “Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving bunch,” Owen said.

  The door opened and Tess came in. She was dressed in a rose-pink morning gown and looked pretty and fresh and very young. Owen felt a rush of pleasure on seeing her and a greater rush of relief that the first thing she had done was to seek him out, not to run away from him. He saw Garrick shoot Alex a look and they both rose from the table with almost indecent haste.

  “Did I chase them away?” Tess asked, looking slightly baffled as her brothers-in-law made their bows of greeting and departure at one and the same time. “I did not intend—”

  Owen took both her hands in his and she fell silent.

  “I think,” he said, smiling, “that that was their attempt to be subtle and leave us alone together.”

  “Oh.” Tess’s smile was mischievous. “Subtle.” She nodded. “I see.”

  “You are well this morning?” Owen asked softly.

  Her eyes searched his face for a moment, wide, wary and very blue. She looked uncertain and very shy. Owen felt the look like a physical punch in the gut. It stole his breath.

  “I am very well, thank you, my lord.” She sounded very slightly breathless.

  Owen kissed her hand and felt her tremble slightly but not, he thought, from fear. Last night, deep in the horror of all she had to tell him, she had recoiled from his touch, but later she had turned to him with complete trust. He had to try to build on that. He smiled at her and saw an answering smile leap into her eyes and he felt a ridiculous surge of pleasure, as though she had given him a present.

  “What do we do now, my lord?” she said.

  Owen liked that she was prepared to tackle the matter so bluntly. It was brave of her.

  “We are married,” he said, “and we will stay that way.”

  A shadow brushed her face. She looked down at their joined hands. “I told you yesterday that if you wish for an heir you would do a great deal better to divorce me,” she said. “I still feel it might be better. For you, I mean.”

  “Teresa,” Owen said, “that is a terrible plan. It’s the worst plan since your last bad plan.”

  “The one to propose to you because I thought you were impotent?” Unbelievably, there was a little smile playing about her lips now. “Yes, that was a very poor idea.”

  “And yet in other ways it was not,” Owen said. He drew her a little closer. “I like being married to you. So we will stay married.” He paused. “And I will demonstrate to you the many benefits of not having an impotent husband.”

  He saw the flicker of nervousness in her eyes but behind it, surely, a shade of something else, something that looked like a shy curiosity. His heart leapt.

  “You are very sure of yourself,” Tess said slowly, “if you think that you can persuade me.”

  “Yes,” Owen said. “I am.”

  The smile was back in her eyes now, delicious, irresistible. “You are confident,” she murmured. Her lips curved. “I find I like that though. One of us has to be.”

  Her smile was doing all sorts of dangerous things to his self-control. Owen wanted to kiss her. He ruthlessly subdued the impulse.

  “Give me leave to persuade you,” he said. He eliminated all urgency from his voice so that she would not know how much he already wanted her and run from that knowledge. “It doesn’t have to be like it was before for you. It would not be like that with me. I swear it.”

  Again she smiled a little. “I know.”

  “Then take the risk. Give me that chance.”

  She still looked uncertain. Owen reined in his galloping lusts and drew her slowly towards him until their bodies were just touching. There was a different sort of awareness in her eyes now but still she did not break away from him. The soft pink muslin of the gown brushed his thigh. Her hand rested against his shirt front, over his heart.

&nb
sp; “Teresa,” he said. “Before we wed, when we were starting to get to know one another, you liked me then, didn’t you? Admit it.”

  Her gaze flickered warily. Still she did not answer. He could feel the caution in her, as though she was on the edge of fleeing from him.

  “All right,” Owen said. He could see he was going to have to be very honest. “I liked you,” he said. “I liked you very much. Why do you think I came to see you every day? It wasn’t only because I wanted to trap you into admitting you were Jupiter. It wasn’t even because I wanted your money. It was because I—” He stopped. Liking seemed so pale a word for the heady mix of emotions he felt for her. “I loved spending time with you,” he said.

  “You wanted my money as well,” she corrected him, a hint of laughter in her voice.

  “Very well.” Owen bit back an answering smile. “I did. I do. But—”

  She pressed her fingers to his lips and he stopped abruptly.

  “I liked you very much too,” she whispered, and Owen felt as though the sun had come out.

  “And you trusted me,” he said.

  Her hand fell. She gave a little nod and Owen felt his whole body jolt with the release of tension.

  “Last night,” he went on, “even though you were exhausted and afraid, you turned to me. I would never betray your trust. I promise.”

  She nodded again. A shade of colour came into her cheeks. “Last night,” she said. “When I …” She bit her lip. “When I kissed you … You were asleep?”

  “No,” Owen said. He did not pretend to misunderstand her. “Not for a moment.” He felt her jump. Shock flared in her eyes. Her colour deepened. “You wanted to explore,” he said. “It’s all right. I thought I would let you do what you wished.”

  He watched the emotions chase across her face. “You understand,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” Owen said. “You are curious but you are frightened as well. It’s natural.” He gave her fingers a comforting squeeze. “I promise not to do anything you do not want,” he said. “One word from you and I will stop.”