by Candace Camp
His kisses were no longer frantic but had turned soft and seductive. He tasted; he savored; he feasted. “Laura . . . Laura . . .” He mumbled her name against her skin as he worked his way down her.
A sudden “Eek!” of surprise brought them out of their erotic trance. James’s head snapped up, and he turned toward the open door, where a maid stood, gaping at them. She quickly popped out of sight.
James let out a pithy curse and scrambled off the bed. Laura hastily rose to her feet, as well, her hand clutching together the opened sides of her bodice. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. This would be all around the servants’ hall in ten minutes.
“God. I—uh . . .” James shoved his hand back through his hair. “Laura . . . I didn’t mean— I— Forgive me.”
He whipped around and strode from the room. Laura stared after him. What in the world had just happened?
One thing was certain. Whatever James might say, he wanted her. Just as clearly, he did not want to be drawn to her. He ran from it—literally today. The question was: What was she going to do about it?
Laura set her jaw pugnaciously. This time she was not going to sacrifice her happiness for what was good or right. This once she was going to go after what she wanted.
She yanked at the bell pull and began to rebutton her dress. When the maid answered, Laura asked, “Have Lord and Lady Montclair left yet?”
“No, ma’am, they just walked in from the garden.”
“Good. Run down and tell them to wait.” Laura grabbed up her bonnet. “I’m going with them.”
chapter 29
James charged down the hallway as if someone were in pursuit, but he could not escape his thoughts. How could he have broken his word . . . again? And he hadn’t just stepped out of line—he had grabbed Laura so tightly he must have left bruises on her arms. Then he had compounded his sins by tumbling her onto the bed like the veriest doxy.
Laura was bound to be furious. She hadn’t asked for his kisses; indeed, only the moment before she had shoved him away, ordering him out of her room. It didn’t matter that her mouth had been soft and yielding beneath his. What was important was that he had been angry and demanding, not thinking of her wishes at all, only of his driving need.
James wasn’t aware of where he was going until he looked up and found himself at the stables. It had been months since he had ridden, but he realized that a long, hard ride was precisely what he needed right now. The groom looked surprised to see him, but quickly saddled James’s horse. He took off, thundering across the countryside, jumping fences and hedges and ditches without care for life or limb, until he had ridden both his mount and himself into exhaustion. Dem, smarter than both of them, had stopped beneath a tree a few minutes from the house and lay waiting there for them to come back.
But no matter how hard he rode, he could not exorcize his demons, and finally he returned to the house. The first person he saw when he stepped inside was his mother. James let out a curse under his breath.
“James, love, there you are!” Tessa started toward him, beaming.
“Hello, Mother.”
Tessa stopped, taking in his sweaty, disheveled appearance. “Goodness, love, what have you been doing? Do not tell me you’ve been out riding!”
“Then I fear I must keep silent. Mother, where—”
“But it’s scarcely a fortnight since you rose like Lazarus from your deathbed.”
“Hardly like Lazarus, since I was not yet dead. I’m fine.” He wasn’t; he was exhausted and sore, and his head was throbbing, but there was no need to tell her that. “I’m sorry, I haven’t the time to chat. I must speak to Laura.”
“But, dear, she’s gone.”
“Gone!” It hit him like a blow to the chest. Laura had left him.
“Yes, she went home with Mirabelle and the others.” She frowned faintly. “Now I’m not sure of the number for dinner. Ah, well, Simpson will manage, no doubt.”
“Damn Simpson,” James said bluntly. Laura had gone running to Graeme. “Is she—did she say if she’d return?”
His mother looked at him oddly. “If she’d return! James, whatever is the matter? You look white as a sheet. I knew you shouldn’t have gone riding!” Tessa linked her arm through his and steered him toward his study. “Come and sit down, dear. I’ll ring for tea. No, maybe a brandy would be in order.”
She directed him to a chair and bustled about, pouring a healthy dose of brandy into a glass and thrusting it into his hand. As he gulped down the liquor, Tessa shut the door and turned back to him. “Now. Tell me what is going on. What is the matter? This isn’t just from your riding out, is it? Why did you say ‘if she’d return’? Why wouldn’t she? Oh, James.” Tessa sank gracefully down onto her knees beside his chair and looked into his face. “What have you done?”
He intended to make his usual sort of sardonic remark, asking why she would assume he was the cause of the problem, but instead, he looked away from his mother’s sympathetic face and said, “I’ve ruined everything.”
“Surely not.” Tessa took his hand in both hers. “Laura is a sweet girl. Whatever you’ve done, I am sure she hasn’t left you. She didn’t take any of her dresses, and no woman runs away without her clothes. Laura will forgive you. You haven’t—was it one of the maids?”
“What?” He glanced at her, startled. “Good God, no. I haven’t been sporting with a parlor maid.”
“I didn’t think you would, but men can do the most foolish things. Especially when they’re in a jealous temper. Did you shout at her?”
“No! Honestly, Mother, what do you think of me? And I’m not jealous.”
“Of course not, dear.” She patted his hand. “Then what did you argue about?”
“We didn’t argue. One cannot argue with Laura. She simply answers you calmly, then does whatever she likes.“
“I know.” Tessa sighed. “People like that are so irritating, aren’t they? Just when you want a good healthy storm, they’re doggedly agreeable. Mirabelle is like that.”
“I didn’t want a storm, healthy or otherwise.” He frowned.
“No, it doesn’t seem like you, but when a man’s in love—”
“I’m not in love.” James shot to his feet and strode away. Setting his glass down with a thunk, he stood for a moment, looking down at it, his finger circling the rim. “It was Graeme you meant, wasn’t it? When you said I was jealous. You think she’s still in love with him.”
“Dearest, Laura would never—”
“I’m not worried about that—” He stopped, then sighed. “We didn’t expect me to live, you see. When Laura agreed to marry me, we thought it would end soon and that she would be free. I didn’t intend to trap her, but that’s what happened.”
“She wants to be free? To leave you?”
“She doesn’t say so. Laura always makes the best of things. And I’ve kept to our bargain . . . mostly. Until today.”
“Dearest, what did you do?” His mother’s voice rose in alarm. “Surely you did not—”
“I didn’t force myself on her, if that’s what you’re about to ask. I’m not quite a brute, at least not yet. But—oh, the devil—I cannot talk about this with you.”
His mother laughed. “Surely you don’t think you will shock me. I do have some knowledge of men.”
“Well, Laura does not. She’s an innocent. A lady.”
“She’s a woman, James. I’m sure she will forgive you if you were a little . . . overeager, shall we say?”
“You know I’m no good at apologies.” James grimaced. He ached for Laura’s forgiveness, but the thought of asking her for it filled him with dread. It always seemed as if the guiltier he felt, the harder it was to force the words out, and he invariably sounded stiff and insincere. And with Laura—well, with Laura it mattered. What if she looked at him coldly and turned away? “Besides, what can I say to her? I already broke my promise, then swore not to do so again—and I still couldn’t hold to it. She’ll never believe me.”
“Then you’ll just have to prove it to her. Honestly, James, if anyone can control himself, it is you.”
“I would have thought so. But I can’t think straight anymore. Blast it, I’m terrible at all this. I don’t have the first idea what to do.”
“Of course you don’t. This isn’t a matter you think through. Let me tell you something: I loved Laurence; I truly did. But he tried so desperately to make me into who he wanted me to be that he drove me away. I felt driven to show him that he could not own me.”
“I don’t want to own Laura. And I will not run roughshod over her as Father did to you.”
“I know, dear. That is what I am saying. I think perhaps Laurence tried so hard to rule me because he knew he couldn’t control himself. You must prove to Laura that you are in command of yourself. That you will not push her where she doesn’t want to go. Laura has been sheltered; girls always are. Perhaps she still harbors feelings for Graeme—though how she could spend eleven years pining for a man, I cannot imagine. You must step back. Give her time and room to breathe.”
“What if I’m not able?”
“You are able. Believe me. I’ve seen you be patient as a cat outside a mouse hole to get something you want. Accept these ‘boundaries’ of hers for the moment. Let her see that you are not Laurence. I can assure you that Laura is not me. She’ll come around.”
“Will she?”
“Trust me. I am an expert on women in love.”
“I’m not after love.”
“I know what you’re after, dear.” Tessa grinned, an impish twinkle in her eyes. “But with Laura, I think you won’t get one without the other.” She patted his arm and started toward the door, tossing back over her shoulder, “Apologize, James. Then suffer in silence for a bit. And flowers are never amiss.”
Flowers.
In the city, it would have been easy—just buy them and have them sent to Laura’s door. But what was he supposed to do here—pluck them out of his garden and take them to her door, clutching them in his fist like a grubby schoolboy? In the end, James resolved his dilemma by telling Simpson to make up a vase of flowers and take them to Laura’s room.
Then he went upstairs to clean up and dress for dinner—and think of an apology. He could scarcely believe he was about to follow his mother’s advice. Was she wiser than he thought or he more foolish?
As his mother had predicted, Laura returned home, arriving before supper. It settled James’s nerves a degree to hear her footsteps in the hallway. Demosthenes, of course, went bounding over to greet her. James wished he could do the same, but of course he could not apologize in the middle of the hallway. And besides, he didn’t have the words down quite right yet.
When it was almost time to go down for the evening meal, he went next door to her chamber. The door stood open, and he paused in the doorway. Laura stood at her vanity, dabbing on perfume, and though he could not smell it from here, he knew the scent and the thought of it made his abdomen tighten.
Laura turned. “James.” Her voice was pleasant, but not exuberant; she offered no smile. Obviously she didn’t intend to give him any help with this. She glanced at the dresser, where a bountiful display of flowers sat in a large vase. “Simpson brought in a lovely bouquet.”
What was he supposed to say to that? It was my idea? Do they make you willing to forgive me? Somewhat lamely, he settled on, “I hope you like them.”
“I do.” As she strolled toward him, James realized that Laura looked . . . different. Her hair wasn’t braided and coiled around her head in a neat knot, but swept up in a full, soft style that seemed too heavy for her slender neck. A few stray wisps had slipped out and clung to her skin in a way that made his fingers itch to touch them.
And where had she gotten that dress? He was certain he’d never seen it before. It was her usual mourning black, but the material was luxurious satin that would be, he knew, slick to the touch. Black lace edged the heart-shaped neckline—which, by the way, exposed a good deal more of her breasts than Laura usually showed. It was no more revealing than the dinner gowns Patricia or Tessa or Adelaide wore. But this was Laura, and the sight of her turned his brain to mush.
Had she raided his mother’s closet? Or had she actually ordered dresses from London as he had urged her to? It looked like the sort of dress Graeme’s wife might wear: rich, fashionable, and a little bold, but it seemed unlikely that Laura and Abby would be girlishly sharing clothes.
The cameo on a simple black ribbon around Laura’s neck was hers. She had worn it before, and he’d always admired it on her. However inexpensive and ordinary it might be, there was something about the black velvet against the creamy skin of her throat that did peculiar things to his insides. But tonight, with that dress, it was enough to turn a man into a gibbering idiot.
It was no wonder that his carefully worded apology flew right out of his head. “I . . . um, Laura . . .”
“Yes?” She waited, calm and unconcerned.
“I apologize for my behavior this afternoon,” he said stiffly. “I assure you it will not happen again.”
“Oh, James . . .” Laura sighed.
Clearly he’d bungled it. The speech he had labored over earlier had sounded far better, but he could hardly go back and start over. He half turned away and crossed his arms, aware of her eyes on him. Finally he said, “Well, say something, will you?”
“What do you want, James?”
He scowled at her. “I want things to be the same. I want you to stay.”
“Stay!”
“Bloody hell, Laura, you know what I want.”
To his surprise, a smile curved her lips. She stepped forward, tucking her hand in his arm and starting for the door. “Yes, I rather think I do.”
Laura stayed, certainly enough, but things were not the same. She had apparently acquired a whole new wardrobe of alluring dresses, and she favored softer, fuller hairstyles that looked as if they might tumble down at a touch. And he wanted very much to touch them.
But it was more than lower necklines and beckoning curls. It was the way she would lean forward over the table, giving him a clear view down the front of her dress, or climb the ladder to search for a book on a high shelf when he was in the library, or stand close to him as she talked, looking up into his eyes.
Her goal, he decided, was to break him. She was testing his control, punishing him for breaking his promise. It surprised him that Laura was capable of this cruelty. Perversely, the fact that she did it to tease and torment him only made him want her more. Equally twisted, he chose to endure it. Foul as his temper was, he did not remove himself from her presence. Indeed, he sought her out. It was worse not to see her.
Every night he waged an internal battle, pacing around his room, and thinking of going to her door and . . . what? Seduce her? Grab her and kiss her, as he had before? Prove once more that his lust for her was greater than his honor?
He was beginning to think his mother was as wrong about this as she usually was about money. Laura seemed entirely unaffected by his display of patience and control. And, really, Laura had never shown the slightest inclination to be intimidated by him. Why would she suddenly have become shy and wary? But if Tessa was wrong, if this didn’t work, then it meant that Laura was simply uninterested. And what was he to do then?
Finally, after a torturous week of her campaign, James walked into his room to find Laura sitting in the chair by the window, waiting for him. She was wearing a blue dressing gown, the ruffled neckline of a white cotton gown peeping between the open V at the top. Her hair hung in a long, thick braid that he ached to wrap around his arm.
Lust surged in him. His tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth. Finally he managed to get out a strangled, “Laura.”
“James.” She stood, her face pale but set. He was suddenly afraid again that she was leaving him, and he felt even more certain of it when she went on, “I want to talk to you.”
“Very well.” He was a trifle amazed that his voice came
out as steady as it did.
“When you proposed our . . . arrangement, you compared it to a business agreement, a contract of sorts.”
James stuck his hands into his pockets so she wouldn’t see them clench. “What is it you want?”
“I want to amend our contract.” She lifted her chin, looking almost defiantly into his eyes. “I want a complete marriage.”
chapter 30
“I beg your pardon?” His voice came out a croak. Laura could not mean what James thought she did.
She made a little moue of exasperation. “You heard me. Please, if you have any gratitude, any friendship, do not make this more difficult for me.”
“I have no desire to upset you, I assure you.” He held himself rigidly, stifling his willful, idiotic hope. “Just say it, Laura, and be done with it.”
“Very well.” She drew a breath. “I have no desire to spend the rest of my life in some kind of marital limbo. Neither one thing nor another. Lady de Vere but not your wife.”
“You are both.”
“No, not really. I realize that I am not the wife you would have chosen had you not been in a desperate situation.”
“Nor would you have taken me.”
“No,” Laura admitted. “Probably not. But those people, those lives, are not a possibility. All we can deal with is what we have. Don’t worry, I am not asking you for love. But I would like to”—pink started along her cheeks—“to have what other married women have. I don’t want to grow old, knowing I’ve missed out on . . . well, on so many things.”
James clamped down on another stab of desire, waiting for whatever hook would come at the end of her statement.
Laura went on, not looking at him, “I know you must think me terribly bold, but I have been trying and trying to entice you, but it hasn’t worked. So I realized that I must just ask you. I wouldn’t do so if I did not think that you—the other day you seemed to feel some desire for me.” She lifted her head, setting her chin.
“Some desire.” He let out a little huff of a laugh. “You might say so.”