A Momentary Marriage

by Candace Camp

  As she readied herself for bed, her thoughts tumbled all around—what she should do if James did not come to her, how she should react if he did, what she should say or do or think. When at last there was a knock on her door, Laura’s mouth went dry, and she had to try a second time before she could get out a response.

  Then the door opened and James stepped into the room, and in an instant, Laura was in his arms, all questions and doubts vanishing.

  chapter 34

  James had found it difficult to keep his mind off Laura all day. Truth was, he had completely failed at it. He wanted to talk to her, touch her, take her in his arms. He wanted to be naked and in bed with her again.

  But strangely, when he entered her room and Laura rushed into his arms, he wanted just as much—well, almost as much—to simply hold her against him. An uncoiling started deep inside him.

  James kissed his way down her face and nibbled at her neck, relishing the leap of her pulse beneath his lips. Then, sweeping her up in his arms, he settled into the chair by the fireplace. Laura snuggled up against him, and he indulged in the pleasure of simply holding her, anticipation of what would come later simmering beneath the surface.

  “Have I told you how lovely you are?” James murmured.

  “Yes, but you are welcome to do so again.”

  “You are lovely,” he said obligingly, then went on, punctuating his words with haphazard kisses all over her face. “Beautiful. Radiant. Comely. Exquisite.” Laughter bubbled from her throat, and James smiled at the sound, kissing the tender flesh of her throat. “Utterly transcendent.”

  “Oh, my.” She sighed, idly tracing the pattern of his silk waistcoat. “That’s very nice. I think I’ll keep you.”

  “Will you? I’m a fortunate man, indeed.” He slid his fingertips down the sleeve of her dressing gown. “How did the invitations go?”

  “Slowly. I finished them. There was a slight contretemps, however.”

  “Indeed?” He enjoyed hearing her talk, but more than that, he liked . . . knowing her, learning what she did, what she thought. James spread out his fingers over her stomach, watching his hand glide slowly over her body.

  “Yes.” She stretched like a cat, arching back as if offering more of herself to his touch. He obliged, smoothing his way up and over her breast as she went on to describe Patricia’s stormy entrance into the drawing room.

  His blood heated, clouding his brain, but he retained enough wit to keep the conversation going. “Patricia has always enjoyed making an entrance.”

  “Yes, but here’s the thing.” Laura sat up, dislodging his hand, and turned to face him. “After she left, Adelaide told us Patricia was upset because Archie had run up so much debt in London they’d had to leave. Lord Salstone’s washed his hands of him.”

  “So that’s why they’re here.” He sighed. “Now I’ll never be free of them. Certainly that gives Archie an urgent need for money. Perhaps that was enough to spur him to get rid of me, even though they wouldn’t get a large amount.”

  “I thought so. Except . . . it seems too complex and planned for him.”

  “Yes, Archie’s intelligence, or rather lack thereof, brings one up short. Sad to say, I doubt Patricia has any more brains than he. What about our other suspects? What else has your sleuthing uncovered?”

  Laura sighed, reluctant to tell him. “Walter told me that one of the men Claude plays cards with is the apothecary.”

  “Ah.” A bleakness flickered in his eyes and was gone. “So Claude is friends with a man who could provide him with mercury.”

  “Acquaintances,” Laura amended. “That doesn’t mean the man was willing to conspire in a murder plot.”

  “No, but enough to purchase mercury for him, I imagine. It’s not illegal.”

  Hoping to turn the conversation to a lighter mood, Laura went on. “Sadly, I was able to find out little else of value. Aside from your Cousin Maurice’s headaches, digestive problems, and aching joints”—she smiled at James’s groan—“I also managed to determine that he hasn’t visited London in almost a year.”

  “That’s one reason I spent much of the last year in London.”

  “I doubt he’s a realistic suspect anyway, since I can’t see that he stands to gain anything from your death.”

  “Maurice needn’t resort to poison. He intends to plague me to death with his presence. I suppose he’s completely run out of funds. But I offered him the use of the cottage in Scotland, and he wouldn’t take it.”

  “Goodness, no. He wouldn’t want to be stuck up there all by himself. James . . . he’s lonely.”

  “Of course he’s lonely. Hard to attract friends when all one talks about are bunions and ague and lumbago,” James retorted.

  “Not if one was staying at a health resort. Bath, say, where he could partake of the waters and discuss illnesses with the other guests.”

  “Are you serious? You think I should pension him off to Bath?”

  “Why not?” Laura shrugged. “At least for some of the year. You would be happier. He would be happier. It’d satisfy your sense of responsibility for your family, and while it might cost you a little more than his living here, wouldn’t it be worth it?”

  “It might at that.” James grinned and picked up her hand to kiss it. “Tell me how to be rid of the rest of them.”

  “Well . . . I think your mother is growing bored. She may be tiring of Mr. Netherly’s attentions.”

  “No surprise there. The man’s too saccharine for Mother. Too practiced. There’s something . . . off about him. I’ve wondered if he’s more interested in having a free roof over his head than in Mother’s charms.”

  “Perhaps. But Patricia intimated Mr. Netherly was well-to-do; she said his family was in trade.”

  “Ah. That could be what’s ‘off’ about him.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if your mother decides to go back to London after this party.”

  “You’re probably right,” James agreed. “Planning the party will reinvigorate her love of socializing and at the same time remind her how much more the city has to offer.”

  “Netherly will follow, so that will be two more gone.”

  “Now if only I could persuade Salstone to leave.”

  “I feel sorry for Patricia.”

  “Why?” James quirked an eyebrow. “She’s not been kind to you.”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean I relish her misery. Look at her life: She’s married to Archie. She has no children. She isn’t the mistress of her own home; Lady Salstone apparently is tightly in charge of that castle, and here Tessa is the lady of the house.”

  “Actually, you are the lady of the house now.”

  “That makes it even worse—an interloper who’s no older than she. She tries to make herself happy with clothes and parties and such, but those are fleeting pleasures. She’s tied for life to a foolish man who fritters away their money and is never faithful.”

  “Patsy knows about that?” James’s eyebrows shot up.

  “I would think so. Your mother is the one who told me.” Laura gave him a wry smile. “Just because you men try to hide information from women doesn’t mean we don’t hear about it. Some unkind soul in London is bound to have ‘accidentally’ let it slip to Patricia. Imagine if you were having to leave London because your husband’s so deeply in debt he’s in disgrace, and you know that he has been supporting a mistress.”

  “Poor Patsy. I thought she had no idea about his women.”

  “I’m sure she’s angry and humiliated, as well as heartbroken. Difficult as it is for me to conceive of it, Patricia must once have been taken with Archie.”

  “I think Patricia was most taken with his title.”

  “Still, she thought she had more and discovered that she had far less.”

  “How fortunate for me that you knew you had very little to begin with.”

  Laura laughed and put her hands on either side of his face. “How fortunate for me that I was mistaken.” She leaned fo
rward and kissed him. James didn’t move, just savored the damp, sweet heat of her questing mouth and let her take the kiss where she would.

  Her fingers slid back into his hair, slowly separating the strands and sending chills through him. His desire for her was an ache within him, but he held back, wanting to experience her tentative explorations. He wanted to know her inside and out—her pleasures, her needs, her responses. Not only to take but to give. To see her eyes flare with heat and hear her moan of satisfaction.

  When she slid her searching hand beneath his jacket, he was quick to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt so that she could roam over his bare skin. Her trailing fingers left fire wherever they touched, and when Laura bent to press her lips against his chest, a shudder ran through him and his hands went to her hips, digging into the folds of her dressing gown.

  Laura raised her head and gazed down at him, her blue eyes warm with passion but also thoughtful, even analytical. She was, he thought, gauging him, studying his reactions.

  “Why do I feel as if I’m the subject of an experiment?”

  “Not that.” She laid a light kiss on his lips. “But, perhaps, an education.” She bent to kiss his throat. “Do you mind?”

  “Mind?” He let out a little laugh. “I find it arousing. Of course, I find almost everything about you arousing.”

  Her throaty chuckle sent another sizzle of desire through him. “I like that.”

  “So do I.” He bit back a groan as her fingers found his nipple and began to toy with it. How was it that Laura could do things to him that other women had done, yet it was ten times more exciting with her?

  There was something almost frightening in the way she could bring out of him a flood of sensations and feelings. Even as he kissed her, as the pleasure swamped him, it carried with it a frisson of alarm, as well, a hint of danger lurking below the surface. And, bizarrely, that dark undertow lured him most of all.

  His hands dug into the soft folds of her robe, pushing her firm bottom more tightly against him. She kissed him now deeply, urgently. He delved under her dressing gown, wanting her bare flesh beneath his hands. With an impatient noise, Laura pulled herself back from their kiss and turned on his lap, settling astride him.

  That was enough to send his hunger spiraling almost out of control, and he roughly pulled her dressing gown open and shoved it back off her arms. Freed of that impeding garment, Laura reached down and grasped the hem of her nightshift, stripping it up and off over her head.

  He took her in his hands, gliding over her legs, her hips, her narrow waist. The low golden light of the lamp flickered over her pale skin, shadows and light shifting on her as if caressing her. Words crowded his throat, so jumbled and eager he couldn’t say anything. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, how deeply desire struck him, but nothing could adequately express it.

  So he kissed her, his hands urgent on her body, and they came together in such a rush of passion that he did no more than shuck off his trousers before Laura sank down upon him, taking him into her with a slow deliberation that had him digging his fingers into the arms of the chair.

  She began to move on him, a lazy up and down that drove any thought of control from his mind and hurled him, mindless and aching, into a furious explosion. He gazed into her face as the orgasm took him, watching her as the sensual joy swept over her, and it made his own rush harder, longer, more complete.

  Laura collapsed against him, breathless. James wrapped his arms around her, unwilling to separate his flesh from hers. Finally, when the air began to grow cold on their damp skin, James carried Laura to her bed. He thought of leaving, the familiar instinct to separate himself tugging at him. But Laura smiled at him, the bedcovers pulled back invitingly, and he lay down beside her.

  Later. Right now he was too drowsy and content, the thought of lying with Laura too pleasant. She nestled against his side, one palm resting against his, fingers laced together, and lazily they talked, their conversation haphazard and tinged with laughter, punctuated now and then with a kiss or idle caress.

  James awakened some hours later. He had rolled over onto his side, and Laura’s body was a pleasant warmth against his back. He should return to his room now. He sighed, pushing aside the covers, and swung out of bed. He began to gather up his clothes. It seemed a great deal of effort to dress and return to his room. And, really, there was no need for it. He glanced over at the bed and Laura’s sleeping form. Then he tossed the pile of clothes onto the chair and, turning out the lamp on the dresser, he crawled back into bed.

  chapter 35

  To Laura’s astonishment, a dressmaker arrived on the morning train from London, bringing with her an assistant loaded down with a bag of sample materials and dress designs.

  “You simply must have a new gown for the ball,” Tessa explained. “I had thought we might run up to London to order one, but I know you’re reluctant to leave James.” Tessa’s eyes twinkled merrily. “So I thought, why not bring the clothes here instead of the other way around?”

  Laughing, Laura agreed. Though she had never been especially interested in fashion, she was not immune to the lure of new dresses. She had enjoyed wearing the gowns Abby had lent her, but a larger variety of gowns made just for her was even more appealing.

  Tessa and the other ladies retired to Tessa’s bedroom, shutting the door against the household men, and indulged in an orgy of fashion. While Laura stood for a seemingly interminable time with the dressmaker’s assistant crawling all around her, measuring, the other women clustered on the chaise longue, examining fashion books.

  The dressmaker arranged a profusion of materials across the bed for Laura to choose from—because, as Tessa pointed out, while Laura was still in mourning, it would not be terribly long before she could move to half mourning, and wasn’t this light shade of purple luscious?

  Laura was at first reluctant to order so many clothes at once; it would be a large expense, and really, she had no need of so many. She had to remind herself that she no longer had to watch pennies, and, given his frequent comments, James was more than willing for her to buy new frocks. Still, she could not be as extravagant as Tessa urged.

  Even Patricia was convivial as they bent their heads over the drawings of elegant dresses and discussed bustles and bows and trains. And since Tessa decreed that all of them must order something new for the ball, it was a cheerful group that went down to supper that night.

  Preparations for the party went on apace. Laura had wondered how they could possibly need three weeks to put on a ball, but after she saw the frequency with which Tessa changed her mind, she understood why. Laura was content to leave the other women to it. She preferred a walk in the garden or a quiet hour alone with a book or visiting Abby and the baby. Most of all, she preferred spending time with James.

  It was this new closeness with her husband, not the prospect of a grand party nor the anticipation of a new wardrobe, that wreathed her days in happiness. While a walk in the garden was pleasant, it became so much more if James strolled with her, holding her hand or draping an arm over her shoulders, stopping now and then to steal a kiss.

  James insisted that Laura learn how to ride, for he had in mind to buy her a horse, so they spent part of each morning on horseback. When he first announced his intention, Laura had a few qualms. James, she feared, would be an impatient teacher who required perfection, and she not only had never ridden but was faintly uneasy around horses.

  However, he turned out to be surprisingly easygoing, more apt to smile at her mistakes than to lecture. When she expressed her surprise, James looked taken aback, then gave her a wry smile. “Am I really such a tyrant?”

  “No. A bit impatient. And perhaps not entirely given to sympathy.”

  “Mm. Not entirely.” They rode on in silence for a moment, then he said, “You think I expect too much from people.”

  “No. Actually, I think it’s just the opposite. You expect very little of people.”

  “And I am rarely disappoin
ted.”

  “There. You see? That is just what I mean. You don’t demand that others be responsible; you don’t even assume they could be. You are so good at everything.” He snorted derisively, and Laura frowned at him. “You are. You told me yourself that you understand numbers.”

  “Well, yes, I’m good at that. Business things. Not feelings.”

  “No, you are rather leery about those. But it’s not merely numbers. You’re good at anything mental. You’re well read; you can debate on numerous issues.”

  “Not a habit that necessarily makes one a welcome companion, I fear.”

  “You know a great deal about art and music. Look at you; you even ride well. I suspect you waltz perfectly.”

  He shrugged. “I manage to get around the floor.”

  “You demand perfection in what you do. But you set such a low bar for everyone else that they are failures from the start. You don’t ask for affection or even friendship from anyone. Indeed, it’s only those who force it on you like Graeme whom you will admit into your affections.”

  “Graeme. Of course.” His lips twitched in irritation. “But then Graeme is perfect, isn’t he?”

  “Don’t try to distract me. We’re not talking about Graeme. We’re talking about you.”

  “I am well aware of that fact,” he retorted drily.

  “Have you ever expected Patricia to be anything but silly and flighty? Or for Claude not to be envious? Have you ever asked him for help or advice?”

  “No. Why would I?”

  “Because he’s your brother.”

  “He’s not—”

  “Don’t tell me he’s not your brother. So what if you have a different father? You have the same mother. You grew up in the same household. You’re brothers.”

  “You think he wouldn’t have tried to murder me if only I’d told him not to?” He raised his brows in cool inquiry.